Haunt Water

by Leigh Selfman

  He presses stop and looks at me with a smile.

  I stare back at him, shocked. “How’d you get that? You taped my private conversation?”

  “Yup. It’s not so private when you’re talking in the middle of a grocery store, is it?” He smiles smugly.

  I stare at him in disbelief.

  “I followed you there from the set, after I got a tip you were some kind of ghost hunter. Which seemed like it had potential for a good story. Then I heard you talking on your cell phone and realized you were a total fake. Which seemed like it might make an even better story."

  "Just what is it you want?" I ask defeated.

  "Well...unless you want this tape to get out and the story of the swindling film-set psychic, to become page one on our gossipshoundz.com site, you’ll give me the whole story about what's really going on, on that film set."

  "But nothing's going on. I’m not involved in any of it anymore. I promise. In fact, I was going to write an email tonight saying I quit."

  "Well that's too bad," he shrugs. "I guess I'll just have to put this tape of you online then. Since that appears to be the only story I have.” He sighs dramatically and starts walking away.

  As I watch him go, I can imagine what will happen next. Not only will I be fired from the film shoot and shunned by Buck and by everyone else, I'll probably never eat lunch in this town again. And I really need to eat lunch since I almost never eat breakfast.

  "No. Don't go," I call out. "Wait!"

  He stops and turns around.

  I take a deep breath. "Please... please don’t publish that. I’m a struggling screenwriter. Don’t make me out to be a con artist "

  "But…that's what you are. Right?"

  "No..." I protest, trying to think of how to explain myself. Finally, I just shrug and say, “It’s a long story.”

  He looks at me, considering. “Well…Maybe I don't have to put it up just yet. I mean... Maybe you could get me a more interesting story."

  "Like what?"

  "Like just stay on the shoot. And give me the inside scoop on what's really going on there."

  "But I can't do that. And even if I could...I signed a non-disclosure. No one wants any of this ghost stuff to get out.”

  "So there is a ghost!"

  Darn, he was good.

  "No! I didn't say that."

  "Well I don't care about any that anyway. To tell you the truth, all I really want to know is if Buck and supermodel Coco are having an affair."

  "Really? Are they? I hadn't heard that."

  He shoots me a look. “That’s what I want you to find out.”

  "But how? I don't know anything about that," I say. “Besides, I’m quitting. Like I told you.”

  "Yeah…I don’t think so. Not until you get me some kind of story. And you better do your best to find out who Buck’s sleeping with these days or your tape goes live. Oh and get a cell phone pic if you can too. Here I’ll give you my number.”

  He takes my old cell phone out of my hand and frowns at it. Then he types in his name – Tony – along with his number. “There. Now I’m expecting something good from you. Otherwise…you'll never eat lunch in this town again. Or even breakfast."

  “I never eat breakfast,” I mumble as I watch him go, wondering just what in the world I'm going to do now. Gabriel will despise me if I continue to do the ghost hunting work. But my Hollywood career will be killed before it even starts if I don't do it.

  And then there’s that pesky serial killer ghost to contend with.

  Oh...what to do?

  "What do I do Trevor?" I ask as he wanders into the yard to sniff around.

  He lifts his leg and pees against the tree in answer.

  "Sure, sure. That's your answer for everything," I say as I open the door to let him back inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I decide that I have no choice. I have to pursue the ghost hunting thing, at least for now. At least until I can figure out how to get rid of Tabloid Tony.

  Therefore, in order to at least give the appearance of knowing something about what I’m doing, ghost-hunter-wise, I grab my computer and search online for "How to get rid of an evil serial killer ghost."

  The answers I find seem to be a lot of the usual methods for dealing with any kind of ghost:

  1. 'Smudging' - which involves lighting sage and wafting it into to all the nooks and crannies of the haunted house- or in this case the haunted yacht. I decide I'll give this a try, even though it didn't work for me during my last haunting.

  2. ‘Salting’ - this involves pouring table salt in each doorway – the theory being that the ghost will have to stop and count each grain, which will irritate him so much that he’ll just choose to move on towards the light. I'll probably try this one too, even though Duke doesn't really strike me as a salt-counting type of guy.

  3. ‘Banishing’ - this involves ordering the ghost to be gone! I decide I will give this one a try tomorrow as well. But again, I feel this is unlikely to work. After all, I can't even get Trevor to obey me, and I doubt I'll be any more 'alpha' with spectral beings. For a moment I wonder if there are any kind of delicious, bacon-flavored treats to use as ghost bribes. But somehow, I doubt it.

  Armed with my new ghost busting methods, I decide to go to bed early so that I can get started early. After all, the sooner I get rid of the ghost, the sooner I can get out of the clutches of Tabloid Tony and get back to writing.

  As I lay down to sleep, I wonder if pouring salt on my doorstep would keep out tabloid reporters –but somehow I doubt that too.

  ***

  The next day, I arrive early to the film set. I know they've been filming all night and should therefore be gone all day, but when I arrive, I still see a lot of crew members lugging gear around.

  I am let on board by the security guard who says, "Back to bust the ghosts?" as I head past him.

  "Ghost," I say. "Singular. There appears to be only one."

  "Really? Is that your scientific assessment?"

  I turn and give him a look.

  Boy who knew ghostbusters got such a bad rap in Hollywood. I'd have thought they'd be totally accepted here, in the world of weird. But surprisingly, it seems they're treated with as much disrespect as screenwriters. Maybe even more.

  "Are they still filming?" I ask. "I spotted a few of the trailers on my way in."

  "They wrapped for the day so everyone's leaving now. Soon, the boat will be all yours. Well yours and the ghost's I guess.”

  I roll my eyes and head across the deck and down the stairs of the Andrea Clair. But before I do anything else, I remember to give that Polaroid I found yesterday, back to the script supervisor.

  "Is Mary around?" I ask one of the crew members who’s carrying a big camera past me.

  "Uh... scripty mary?" He looks around as though seeking her out.

  "Yeah. The script supervisor.”

  "Check the main stateroom." He points to the end of the hall. "They just finished shooting in there so she's probably still there."

  "Thanks," I say as I head back to the room that I was in yesterday. The room where the slaughter of Mr. and Mrs. Baker took place.

  The door is open and various crew members are coming out, some carrying large pieces of lighting equipment. I wait for them to pass, then I enter the room and immediately spot Mary who is sitting in a chair near the bed, making notes in her notebook.

  "Mary?" I say, as I walk up to her.

  She looks up at me. "Oh. Hi, Arden."

  I reach into my purse and hand her the washed-out-looking Polaroid. "I found this Polaroid yesterday, after you left."

  She frowns at it, unimpressed, then she hands it back to me. "This isn't one of mine. All mine are accounted for."

  "Really?” I take it and put it back into my purse. "Huh. So how did filming go today? Any accidents?"

  "No. Thankfully,” she brushes a stray hair off her face. “And we're off for the next two days. So I guess that leaves you a lot of time to
deal with things here. But make sure you don't move any of the furniture. Or anything on the nightstand over there. Or anything on that side of the room. It's a hot set."

  "A hot set? You mean you're still filming here?"

  "Yep." She nods. "Everything needs to stay exactly the way it looks now. That's why that PA is putting up yellow tape around it."

  She motions to production assistant who is stringing yellow caution tape around the side of the room where the bed and nightstands are.

  "But I can walk in that area as long as I don't touch or move anything though, right?"

  "I’d rather you didn’t,” she says as she snaps a Polaroid photo of the room. She looks at it as it develops and writes something on it with a sharpie. “Just be careful,” she says. Then she picks her stuff up and walks out.

  I watch her go.

  As I wait for everyone else to leave, I spot Phil the writer walking by.

  When he sees me, he comes into the room. "Hey Arden. How's it going?"

  "Good. Hi, Phil. I’m just going to smudge the place," I say, not really expecting him to know what that is.

  "Oh? Sure.” He nods. “That makes sense.”

  I look at him, surprised. Though I probably shouldn’t be. This is LA after all. Smudging is probably as common as getting your car detailed.

  As he turns to leave, I say, "Oh, Phil - I read your script. I thought it was really good."

  “Yeah?” He turns back and smiles. "Thanks for saying so. I worked really hard on it. Like for two years, actually."

  "Really? Wow.”

  “Yeah. I was sort of like...addicted to it." He gives a quick laugh. "I actually started it when I was in rehab for pills and booze. While I was there, I realized I had to do something to turn my life around. Something for me, y'know? I didn’t have any family anymore, no good friends to speak of and I just needed something. And I guess writing was it. And this story in particular. It just...spoke to me."

  "Well, it shows. It was really compelling. And I can see how the story could get under your skin. I mean it’s pretty disturbing – sort of like a nightmare you can’t shake."

  "Yeah. Exactly.” He frowns. “That's why getting it made into a movie is so awesome. And getting Buck to star. Talk about surreal."

  "I can imagine."

  "Yeah, originally, an unknown was cast, but somehow Buck got hold of the script and really wanted to do it. So, yeah, it’s like a dream come true. Which is why I just hope you can get rid of the ghost. Or whatever it is. So we don’t have to stop filming."

  "I’m trying,” I say with a smile. "I'll do my best."

  "That's all any of us can do," he says with a sincerity that touches me. Then he gives me a thumbs up and heads out the door of the cabin.

  "Smudge well," he says as he walks away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I wait for everyone else to leave the boat and after about an hour, everyone seems to be gone. The boat has completely quieted down and when I look out on deck, even the security guard is gone – though his chair is still sitting there with a radio on it. My guess is that he’s probably making the rounds or off relieving himself somewhere and that he’ll be back.

  I sigh as I think about what to do first. I consider just trying to banish the ghost with a command to go, but from what I've read, these things should be done in order. In other words, don't start bossing the ghost around before trying a more gentle method, like smudging.

  So I pull the sage stick out of my purse and put it into the little ceramic dish that I bought to go along with it. Then I light the sage and let it burn. When it gets all nice and smoky, I blow it out and use a big feather to wave the smoke into every corner of the room. As I do, I politely suggest to the ghost that he should go on towards the light.

  After I finish with the master cabin, I move down the hall and go into the one next door to do the same thing there. Then I do the next and the next and the next.

  It takes me hours to waft smoke into every room and corridor on the boat and when I'm finally done I feel satisfied that I've followed all the directions and have done it properly. But just to be safe, I put salt down near every doorway – and put an extra bit down near the doorway of the cabin I started in - the main stateroom where the parents' murders took place.

  When I'm finally all done with the smudging and the salting, I go back over to the sofa to find my purse. I pick it up and turn to go, but as I leave, I call out, "Bye ghost, good riddance."

  At which point the boat begins to sway. Violently.

  I grab onto the nearest piece of furniture –a big chair – and I’m trying to catch my balance as the boat finally calms down and steadies itself.

  "Whew," I say aloud as I start to walk out of the cabin. But as soon as I take the first step towards the door, the boat starts sloshing around again, rocking crazily, like a plastic toy in a bathtub. I lose my balance and fall onto the floor, trying not to smash into anything as the room starts spinning again.

  I scream, as the furniture in the room starts sliding around, the large chair, coming towards me, ready to crush me against the wall.

  I crawl away just in time, and wind up under the yellow police tape as, just then, the big heavy nightstand comes sliding towards me.

  "No! No! no!" I scream as I quickly slither against the side wall.

  The big wooden piece stops, just before it crashes into me.

  By the time the boat come to a rest, I'm terrified. My heart is racing and I can barely breathe. I cover my mouth in horror and look at the wall behind me. I realize I'm in the same area where I found that Polaroid yesterday. I can't help but feel that there’s some kind of presence here.

  As I stare, bloody handprints start materializing all over the bottom of the wall. I look over at the bed in front of me and it’s covered in blood. Blood is spattered all over the floor nearby and on the wall behind it.

  But before I have a chance to make heads or tails out of it, the wall above me seems to start wobbling – almost as though it’s being pushed outward by a huge hand. I scream and cover my head and my eyes, expecting the whole thing to come crashing down.

  But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I look up and see that that an invisible hand is scratching big letters into its surface: K…I…L…L

  I watch, terrified. Unable to look away.

  “Kill,” I whisper, under my breath. Then, without waiting to see any more, I jump to my feet and run out.

  As I make my way out of the room and down the long corridor, the boat starts swaying and sloshing again and I fall against the side walls. I feel like I’m trying to walk on one of those moving funhouse floors – but now, the danger is real.

  I slowly make my way out onto the deck and on to dry land, where I stand there, trying catching my breath.

  I look up to see Jose, the security guard walking over, eyeing me warily.

  "Did you see what happened?" I ask him breathlessly.

  "No. What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost." He smirks at his own cleverness, then adds a little laugh for my benefit.

  "You didn't see?" I say, my voice rising in disbelief.

  "Nope." He studies me through narrowed eyes. "What happened?"

  "The boat!” I point back, still shaking with nerves. “It was sloshing around. You had to have seen it. Or heard it. You were right out here, right?"

  "Yup. Sure was. But there was no sloshing."

  "Yes there was! Everything was moving around. It was crazy."

  He gives me a look as though I might be the crazy one.

  "I'm telling you, it happened.”

  He looks over at the boat, suddenly concerned. "Okay. show me what was moved," he says as he goes over to the boat. He starts heading up the ramp and on board.

  "No way. I'm not going back there."

  "Come on. I'll go with you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

  "That's what you think," I say, as I watch him go. Then a few moments later, I hesitantly follow him up the ramp and back on
to the haunted yacht.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I follow Jose, down the hall to the door of the parents’ cabin.

  "It's in there," I say. "There're scratches on the wall and...blood." I shake my head, too disturbed by the whole memory to finish.

  I'm still too afraid to go back inside, so he opens the door and goes inside without me.

  I stand alone in the empty hallway, trying to control my nerves. And just as I’m starting to calm down again, I hear a bloodcurdling scream come from inside the cabin.

  Then the door flies open and Jose stands there, looking at me, an expression of terror on his face.

  "What? What is it? Was it the ghost? Or…the scratches on the walls? The…blood?"

  "There’s…nothing," he says with a smirk. "Seriously. Come inside. There's nothing."

  "But…what about the letters on the wall and the...everything else?"

  He's looking at me like I'm crazy so I stop talking and follow him into the room.

  And lo and behold...it's fine.

  No words scratched into the wall. No furniture moved all over the place. Not even a drop of blood. It's just as the film crew left it.

  "So?" Jose turns to me. "Is this part of your flim flammery? You pretend to experience some spooky effects to bolster your ghost cred?”

  "What? No." I look around. “I don’t understand what happened. It was all different.”

  I stand in the now- perfectly-calm room and wonder just what exactly did happen.

  Did I dream it? Was I hallucinating?

  I slip under the police tape and walk over to the nightstand.

  Touching the wall above it, I feel painted wood panels along the wall, but there's nothing untoward there.

  "I have to go,” I finally say as I hurry out. “Thanks for all your help."