Ghosters

by Corbitt, Diana;

  She sets the camera down on the bed. “Yeah, but this isn’t all I got.” With a grin that nearly splits her face, she dips both hands into the backpack. “When I told Uncle Scott what we’ve been doing he decided to help, so he decided to loan me this.” She pulls out a plastic case the size of a kid’s lunch box and opens it. “This little fellow costs four thousand dollars.”

  To me, the thing looks like any other camera, but Kerry squeezes it to her chest like she’s just won an Oscar. “It’s a thermal infrared video camera. It shows the heat signature of things, and since ghosts are made of energy, they’ll show up on this. You know, like rainbow colors. Billy Joe used one the other day on Ghosters.”

  This is awesome. Now we’ll both be able to see in the dark. I lay my hand on the first camera, the full-spectrum. “So, I get to use this one tonight?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I’m still taking my flashlight for backup. Oh, and don’t forget your inhaler.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She pulls one out of the backpack and sets in on the bed. “Are you one hundred percent sure you want to go through with this? I mean, I obviously am, but you have a lot more to lose than me.”

  I look down at the bed, where our collection of ghost-chasing tools range from plastic sandwich bags to an infrared camera worth thousands of dollars. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’ll be fine. All we have to do is to wait for dad to go to bed.”

  CHAPTER 23

  KERRY AND I find something quiet to do while we wait for Dad to come upstairs. Since she doesn’t have to worry about draining the battery on her phone anymore Kerry lies on my bed playing Fruit Frenzy. I kick back in the big chaise longue with a paperback, an old afghan draped across my feet. But I can’t focus on my reading. Everything that’s happened and everything I hope will happen is circling through my head.

  Once Dad sees our recordings, he’ll have to believe. And if he admits ghost exist, then why not heaven? A chance to be with Mom someday could be just what he needs to snap out of his depression. After that, who knows? Maybe he’ll start writing again.

  Even with the possibility of all those good things, the idea of seeing another ghost makes me tremble. I tug the afghan up over me. Maybe it’ll be less scary this time since I actually expect to see one. I stare at the book, stuck on the same page until the grandfather clock chimes the hour fifteen minutes later. Soon after, the stairs creak.

  Dad’s coming.

  The way Kerry and I stare at the door, you’d think we have x-ray vision. After a few seconds, we hear a door shut, then water running and some bathroom sounds. Thankfully, the walls muffle most of them. After what seems like a lifetime, the door opens again. What if he can still see light even with the towel stuffed under my door? I hold my breath. Stupid. We should have turned the darned lamp off and sat in the dark. I imagine Dad glancing at my door, noticing a tiny sliver of light. He bursts in and freaks out over all the ghost stuff piled on the bed.

  Of course, none of that happens. Like every other night, Dad heads straight to his room, which shares a wall with mine. I breathe easier when the door clicks shut behind him. Soon after, his mattress groans as he settles himself onto it. As far as he knows, we’re snoozing away like two little lambs with Kerry on the trundle bed we’ve pulled out from beneath mine.

  By eleven ten, Kerry’s asleep. By eleven twenty, Dad’s snoring away. After a while I set aside my book and glasses and poke Kerry.

  “He’s sleeping now,” I say, voice lowered.

  “How do you . . . ?” At the sound of Dad’s snoring, her head swivels toward it. “What’s he doing in there? Cutting firewood with a chain saw?”

  I shrug. What I can’t believe is how she could nod off knowing what we’re about to do.

  Once Kerry blinks herself awake, she turns on the EVP recorder, clips it onto her waistband, then carefully hangs the four-thousand-dollar video camera around her neck by the strap.

  I do the same with the full-spectrum HD camera and, since Joey won’t be with us, stuff the EMF meter into my back pocket. We tuck the top of a battery-filled sandwich bag into our waistbands, leaving the contents to hang visible on the outside. We clip the flashlights to our belts. Kerry pockets her inhaler, and we’re ready to go. What am I forgetting?

  After a little digging around in my closet, I come out holding my old softball bat. Kerry looks at me like I’m nuts, so I motion for her to bend down. “This isn’t for the ghosts,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s for the cobwebs. They’re all over the stairs.”

  She mimes a long Ooooooooh and gives me a thumbs-up. Then she holds up my glasses, another thing I forgot.

  Since I’ll need those when I use the full spectrum camera, I perch them on my head for later.

  Okay, this is it.I toss aside the towel I stuffed under the door, lay my hand on the doorknob, and in my softest voice say, “Let’s go win two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Kerry taps me on the shoulder.

  I look up at her, eyebrows raised. What now?

  She’s pointing at my desk.

  The key to the third floor is sitting in the middle of it. Come on, Theresa. Get it together.I shoulder my way past Kerry and grab the key, then hold it above my head like a tiny little sword. “Now, let’s go win two—”

  With a shush and a push, my speech is cut short.

  She’s right. The less noise we make, the better.I turn off my bedroom light and open the door.

  The sound of Dad’s snoring leaks out into the hallway, but it’s Joey’s softer higher pitched rumble that widens Kerry’s eyes.

  Whatever. For all I know, I do it too.

  We troop toward the door to the third floor, shoes swishing along the carpet runner. The rest of the house is dark, but here, tall and short shadows bob in the glow of the night light Dad set out for me.

  We get to the end of the hallway, and I lean the softball bat against the wall. Then, it hits me. For the first time in my life I’m completely ignoring Dad’s orders. Not that I’m a perfect angel. I’ve done stuff. But mostly my sins are minor, like taking my brother’s Halloween candy and not brushing my teeth. Never anything big . . . like this.

  If we’re selected as finalists, Dad’s obviously going to find out. He’ll be mad, but he’ll want that money. Heck, he needs that money. Anyway, it’s for his own good, and that secret he’s keeping can’t be that big of a deal.

  Satisfied I’m doing the right thing, I slide the key into the lock. It turns easily. I swing the door open and it makes an eye-bulging creak.

  We freeze.

  The snoring stops. Kerry glares first at me, then at the now silent hallway.

  I signal for her to wait then look that way too. Come on, guys. It takes more than a little door creaking to get you two out of bed.

  After a few seconds, Joey starts up again, then Dad.

  “Get the WD-40,” Kerry whispers. “That door’s going to squeak again when we close it.”

  I nod. The servants’ stairs are right there, so I flick on my flashlight and slip down them. Having stored the spray can in the pantry, I’m back in less than a minute. After a few squirts on the hinges, we step inside.

  Even though the door is open all the way, it’s as dark as a movie theater in there. The smell reminds me of the house on the day we moved in, dusty and abandoned.

  Kerry turns on her thermal infrared camera. She points it at the staircase, and I lean in for a look. The three-inch screen is filled with bright shades of purple, blue, turquoise, and green. She motions me toward the stairs, and I step in front of her.

  “You look awesome,” she whispers. “Your body heat makes you show up red, orange, and yellow.”

  Anxious to start using the full-spectrum camera, I pull out the EMF meter.

  Nothing.

  I give Kerry the thumbs-down signal we agreed would mean no ghost action. Then I turn it around to check the temperature.

  Sixty-seven degrees. Cool, but nothing weird.

  Kerry passes me the softball bat
and waves me up the stairs. As planned, she keeps a lookout for ghosts with the infrared while I knock down the webs.

  With one hand waving the bat and the other gripping the banister, using the camera will have to wait as I inch up the dark staircase, hopefully, tearing down cobwebs. After a dozen steps, I check the EMF meter again. Even though I can barely see Kerry, I give her another thumbs-down. Hopefully, she sees it on her camera screen.

  I’m creeped out by so much darkness, and my hands are sweaty, especially the one gripping the banister. Lucky for me, this one is tons sturdier than the one in the basement. At the top of the stairs I wave the bat around some more, then scurry back down the stairs.

  “Slow down,” Kerry whispers. “It’s not safe to run in the dark like that.”

  “Who’s running in the dark?” Like a little sprite, Joey pops out from behind Kerry.

  Freaked by Joey’s surprise appearance, the bat slips from my hand and bounces off the floor with a clatter.

  Kerry gasps and spins around. “Joey, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m standing,” he answers in his normal speaking voice.

  I want to jump on him, cover his mouth with my hand. Knowing that will only make things worse, I press one finger to my own lips. “Shhh!” Even in the dim light, I can see that he’s looking right at me. “Joey, we—”

  “You promised you wouldn’t come in here again.” At least he lowered his voice.

  “Yeah, but the—”

  “I’m telling Dad.” He turns around.

  Before he takes two steps, Kerry grabs his tee-shirt and yanks him back inside with us. I click on my flashlight and push the door most of the way shut.

  He glares down at the floor. “I don’t like when people touch me.”

  “Please, Joey, keep it down,” Kerry begs, palms pressed together. “I’m truly sorry, but give us a chance to explain.”

  “Explain what?” Even though his voice is softer, it’s obvious he’s angry. To my surprise, he looks right at me. “Why are you in here? Dad specifically said—”

  “Jojo . . .” Kerry reaches for him but stops. “Things aren’t always black and white.”

  All the eye contact must be too much for him, because his gaze drops to the circle of light my flashlight is throwing on the floor. “Why is Kerry talking about old-timey TV shows?”

  I push between them. “No, Joey, not TV shows. Kerry means that sometimes things aren’t a hundred percent right or a hundred percent wrong. Remember that key we found in the basement?”

  “Yes, you used it to get in here.”

  “That’s right, but you know where we found it?”

  “In the basement. I was with you, remember?”

  Not wanting to lose my cool, I stop and take a breath. “I meant after that. Kerry found it lying in the middle of my desk.”

  “So?”

  “It was sitting on a piece of paper that said LOOK.” I lay my hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t put the key there, Jojo. And I didn’t write that word either. A ghost did.”

  For a while he studies the floor. Then he shrugs off my hand and points up the stairs. “So the ghost wants you to see what’s up there?”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “But Dad doesn’t want us to do that. We could get hurt. He was very precise.”

  Kerry blinks hard, obviously frustrated by this pause in the action. “And we know that, but we aren’t planning on stomping all over the place.” Even though she’s anxious to get going, she still manages to make the words come out soft, slow. “We’ll just creep up to the top of the stairs and have a look. Theresa’s already gone up and back once, and the stairs were perfectly safe. Isn’t that right, Theresa?”

  I nod. “Yeah, Jojo. Not even squeaky.” I pull the EMF meter from my pocket and offer it to him. “Here. We’ll probably be finished in five minutes.”

  He stares at the EMF meter as if taking it is equal to signing a contract with the devil. “I don’t think so . . .”

  “Please, Joey. If you tell Dad, I’ll get in trouble. Then, there’ll be no more ghost chasing. Maybe even no more Kerry. Ever. Do you want that?” Maybe I’m exaggerating, but what choice do I have?

  After more than a few seconds, he accepts the EMF meter, and Kerry starts breathing again.

  I pick up the softball bat. “Thanks, Joey, and don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Since I don’t trust the lock, I lay the bat on the floor between the door and the frame, allowing a thin crack of light to leak through. The full-spectrum camera hangs against my chest, and I turn it on.

  “Thanks for letting me use this,” I tell Kerry. “Everything’s super clear, so who cares if the picture’s in black and white.”

  “That’s yours, Kerry?” Joey leans in to see. “It’s like watching an episode of I Love Lucy.”

  “I got it from my uncle.” She holds up the thermal infrared camera. “He loaned me this camera too. Check it out.”

  Joey squints at the screen, and the hint of a smile touches his lips. “I like that.” He eyeballs the bags of batteries hanging from our waistbands, but doesn’t ask.

  Kerry huddles us all together. “All right,” she whispers. “I’ll go first. Joey, you can walk alongside Theresa and share her camera.” She looks from Joey to me. “That all right?”

  We both nod. I click off the flashlight. My camera screen shows wood paneled walls, just like the ones in the main hallway, along with the same worn-out carpet runner.

  Kerry stops halfway up. “Anything on the EMF, Joey?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hang on. I want to try something.” I pull the bag of batteries from my belt and hold it up. “Hey, ghost?” I say in a hard whisper. “See these batteries? We’d really appreciate if when you need some extra energy, you take it from these, and not from the ones in our equipment.”

  Kerry holds hers up to, and Joey watches as we wave the bags over our heads.

  “Nothing’s happening,” he whispers.

  “We don’t know that,” Kerry says. “A ghost could have drained every single one of them. How would we know?” She tucks the bag back in her waistband. “Never mind. Let’s keep going.”

  We make our way to the top without any more stops. Once there, my camera reveals a square landing much larger than the one at the base of the stairs, surrounded by four closed doors. In the middle of the dusty hardwood floor is a square floral rug, and on top of that, a round table with thick legs ending in lion’s paws. I lower the camera. On the far wall is a floor-to-ceiling stained glass window, all dull reds and oranges in the moonlight.

  Other than some dust and a chandelier covered with cobwebs, the place seems like any other part of the house.

  “So, where’s all the mess?” Kerry asks, scanning the area with her video camera. “The way your dad told it, we should be crashing through the floor with every step we take.”

  I shake my head. I’m as confused as you are.

  Joey holds up the EMF meter to get our attention. “One of the lights is lit now.”

  “Good,” Kerry says. “But remember, that could just be bad wiring.” She bounces on her toes. The floor seems solid, not even a creak. After taking a few steps, she does it again.

  “Hey,” I reach out. “You promised you wouldn’t . . .”

  Kerry ignores me and strides toward the stained glass window. I can barely feel the vibration. I don’t get it. There’s nothing wrong with this floor . . . is there?

  “Come on, Kerry. My dad said—”

  “Yes, I remember.” She turns in slow circles, filming. “It looks like your dad was misinformed. This floor is actually quite sturdy.”

  Before I can stop him, Joey heads over to Kerry and does some bouncing of his own.

  “It’s true,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with this floor.”

  Was Dad lying to us all the time? Why in the world would he do that? Out of the blue, my skin starts to tingle like a gang of invisible ants
are crawling up my arms.

  “Either of you guys feel weird?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Joey says. “It’s probably because of the four lights on the EMF meter.”

  I turn slowly, scanning the room with my camera. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s over here,” Kerry says in a raspy voice that makes me hold my breath. “Turn around, Theresa . . . slowly.”

  CHAPTER 24

  EYES STILL ON my camera screen, I do what Kerry asks and gasp. Across the wide third floor landing, it looks like steam is seeping out of the wall.

  “Do you see it?” she whispers.

  “I . . . I see it.” Since I’d rather not stand alone, I move closer to Joey, who’s studying the screen of Kerry’s infrared camera like it’s one of his bug videos. Kerry holds it so I can see too. A circle of red and white heat the size of a baseball hovers a foot or so off the floor.

  Even though the room is almost black, the glow from the camera screens gives off just enough light for us to see each other’s faces. Joey leans in to look at my black-and-white screen.

  “On Theresa’s it looks like a ball of dust,” he says matter-of-factly.

  Oh my god, this is really happening. “It’s getting bigger.” I say it in a whisper even though I feel like screaming. A tiny moan still leaks out. Keep it together, Theresa.

  With Joey pressed between us, Kerry and I keep recording. Once the vapor finishes oozing from the wall, it changes shape: first a head, then a torso, and two arms. But no detail, like something a kid might shape from a ball of clay. A swirling mist takes the place of legs.

  Joey takes a step closer, hands on his hips. “Not very big, is it?”

  He’s right. The thing is barely as tall as the lion’s paw table. Maybe it’s the same little ghost I saw in Grandma Carmen’s wardrobe.

  I glance up from the screen to look at it with my own eyes. Nothing. Just a dark empty room.

  What the . . . ? Whoa! Without Kerry’s camera I wouldn’t even know if—holy crabs! How many times has that thing stood beside me and I didn’t even know it? I shiver at the idea.