What Tangled Webs

by Dan Dillard

  *

  “You said we had the funding,” George whined.

  The voice on the other end of the phone delivered the bad news again. George smacked the handset down on the counter and then calmed himself before putting it back to his ear and resuming the conversation.

  “Sorry. I dropped the phone,” he said.

  His face twisted in anger as the muffled voice on the other end continued. Sarah walked in and immediately knew the news was unpleasant. George made a hasty retreat.

  “We’ll be talking again very soon,” he said and seated the phone in its cradle.

  “No fucking way,” she said.

  “It’s just a setback,” he said.

  “Set-back my sweet, sweet ass. This is the same bullshit they pulled last time.”

  “Easy. So much profanity gives you acne,” George said.

  “Right. I need to keep my looks for the videos, although no one is buying them. There’s just too much of…all this going on,” she said gesturing at all the equipment and cameras.

  She and George worked in the paranormal field for well over ten years. Ten hard fought years of schmoozing investors and filling out forms for government grants and now they were staring eye-level at the end of their phantom rope. She hated that her job was now trendy, that it was on every fucking cable channel.

  “We’ll find our niche. The difference is that our findings are real. We don’t sensationalize. Hell, you cuss our clients out if you think they’re frauds.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably not good for business. We need someone screening our calls. Checking to see who’s full of shit and who might not be,” she said tapping her fingers on the desk where she was seated on her sweet, sweet ass.

  “It’s called networking sweetie. That’s how you get things done,” George said with a sarcastic tilt of the head.

  “I hate the living. That’s why I have you,” she fired back.

  “You’re sweet. Somewhat attractive. Shit, girl, if you lost ten pounds you could pass for hot in dim lighting. Too bad I love the cock or we might just live in sin. Why don’t you become the card carrying vag-etarian I know you can be? We’d be like gay superheroes.”

  She laughed and he walked over to give her a hug. It was what best friends were supposed to do. Then the phone rang, seeming louder than usual in the moment and both were startled. They stared at it as if it were some alien artifact that neither recognized.

  Ring!

  Ring!

  “Saranormal,” she answered.

  After a brief pause, a woman’s voice said, “I need help.”

  Sarah put the phone on speaker.

  “I’m Sarah, and I’m here with my partner, George. How can we help you, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know,” she continued, a strong voice, but one that wavered with fear. “It’s going to hurt me.”

  “What’s going to hurt you?” Sarah asked.

  Normally she would’ve shrugged such a vague phone call off, but this woman was crying and the quality of her voice was haunting.

  “I’m not sure. I can’t see it clearly. It’s just staring at me … but it has hurt me before. Please…help me,” she said.

  Sarah and George looked at each other with a shrug.

  “Can you give me your name? Your address? We can be there in a few minutes,” George said.

  There was a case like this three years prior where a woman claimed a demon had attacked her. They ignored the call and the woman was on the news that night, beaten to death by her husband. He’d beaten her so often and so severely, she’d hallucinated the demon—although in Sarah’s estimation, they were one and the same. Ever since then, they’d taken all such cases seriously.

  “2874 Kensington. Please hurry,” the woman whispered.

  “Can you describe what you see?” said Sarah as she wrote down the address.

  There was no answer, just a dead line and after a few seconds, the dial tone assured them the woman had hung up. George grabbed one duffle bag full of gear and Sarah grabbed another. They had cameras, recorders and meters of various types along with laptop computers and enough batteries to run everything if the power went out for a week. They tossed the stuff in their black van with the green “Saranormal” magnets on the doors and headed for a familiar neighborhood across town.

  “Whatta you think it is?” George said.

  His eyes gleamed with possibility. He looked happy that this woman was being tormented.

  “I don’t know, but she sounded legitimately scared. That’s the only reason I didn’t hang up. Not like last time. I can’t do that again.”

  “I hope it’s juicy. I need a good tingle.”

  “You’re such a woman,” Sarah said and grabbed his nipple with her free hand.

  “Jealous?” he said.

  The radio blared something by the current flavor of the month and they rocked in time with the music, singing every word as they turned left on Kensington Avenue. The neighborhood was older, homes built in the 1980’s and the street was lined with mature trees. It was what you pictured when you thought of the suburbs and 2874 had nothing peculiar about it. No dark clouds and no police tape…no graveyard out back. It was just a simple brick home, two stories—maybe four bedrooms, with a nicely manicured lawn and a Honda Accord parked in the driveway. The front door was solid wood with a leaded glass window and the whole thing seemed very inviting.

  George exited the van first. They left their gear behind except for one small digital camcorder and a pocket voice recorder that Sarah always carried. They walked the concrete pathway to the front door and rang the bell listening to make sure it sounded, and then they turned their backs, facing the neighboring homes across the street. Kensington Avenue was quiet in the morning hour. Neighborhood kids were in school and most everyone else was at work. The deadbolt tumbled and the door opened. George and Sarah turned to meet the owner of the voice on the phone.

  A haggard looking woman stood behind a partially open door with one eyebrow raised. She scanned them each with that same eye and didn’t speak.

  “Hi,” said George. “We’re from Saranormal…you called us?”

  The door opened fully and the woman attempted a smile. She looked tired and her age was more advanced than the strong voice from the phone call. A voice that was no longer wavering or crying.

  “Hello. Come in… I’m sorry for the paranoia, but I don’t get many visitors. It’s been a rough year.”

  She paused and let them enter, then continued. “My name is Josephine Killian. You may both call me Joe.”

  “I’m George and this is Sarah, our namesake,” George said and extended his hand for her to shake.

  “Forgive me if I seem odd. I don’t like human contact. It’s a phobia and I mean no disrespect,” she said.

  “No, hon. Your house. Your rules,” George said and rolled his eyes at Sarah behind Joe’s back.

  “Can you tell us why you called? You said something was watching you and it wanted to hurt you.”

  “That’s right,” Joe said as if it were some other, more normal conversation.

  “Can you tell us more about it?”

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “That’s why we’re here, ma’am. We need more information so we know how to approach the issue.”

  “Not ma’am. Joe,” Joe said.

  “Joe. Right,” Sarah said.

  Joe led them to a small dining table in the back part of her kitchen and offered them coffee and a seat. They thanked her and sat while she gathered cups, cream and sugar. Coffee bubbled fresh in the cheap plastic brewer with the glass pot as if she’d started it as they were ringing the doorbell.

  “Joe,” George began, “is it a spirit that is in your house?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Progress,” Sarah mumbled.

  George smiled and continued, “And you’ve seen it?”

  “Oh yes. Cream and sugar, George?” she asked.

  “Please,” h
e said.

  “Black for me,” Sarah interjected.

  “How often do you see it?” he said.

  “He comes to me every day. Sometimes twice a day,” she said.

  “He?” asked Sarah.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know it’s a he?” Sarah asked.

  “He has a man’s voice.”

  “He’s spoken to you?” asked George.

  “Yes. And he has touched me,” Joe said.

  The two stared at the coffee cups Joe sat in front of them and Sarah noticed a set of bruises on Joe’s forearm. She began to have déjà vu about the case with the wife beater and was ready to turn the investigation over to the police when the coffee pot smashed onto the floor.

  “He’s not happy that you’ve come,” Joe said.

  She closed her eyes. The other two sat dumbfounded as they watched her set the coffee pot—back in one piece—onto the contoured burner. A slight breeze circled around them and the light bulb over the table surged and steadied and surged again. George sniffed the electricity in the air and his eyes found Sarah’s.

  “Would you mind if we brought in our gear? I’d like to take some video and some readings,” Sarah asked trying to gently place her hand on Joe’s.

  Joe pulled her hand away and quickly spoke.

  “No hon, I don’t mind. You bring whatever you need, though I don’t think a camera is going to help.”

  George rushed to the van and grabbed both bags. He was out and back within two minutes and had a computer on the table booting up and two cameras laid out ready to go. Sarah placed her voice recorder on the table and turned it on. She spoke the date and time and then the words Josephine Killian and Kensington.

  “Joe, has he hurt you before?” she asked.

  “Once. I told him I was leaving and he hurt me. He pushed me down the last few steps and I broke my wrist.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three years,” she said.

  George tested both cameras and then set one on its tripod aimed at the breakfast nook from the kitchen counter. He palmed the other one and sat back at the table to record the interview giving Sarah a nod.

  “Do the occurrences happen anywhere else in the home?” She asked.

  “Yes. He follows me from room to room,” she said.

  “Does he follow you outside the house?”

  “I never go outside the house. He won’t allow it.”

  Sarah’s face flushed at the statement. The thought made her angry and sympathetic for Joe at the same time. She wondered if all that had been going on for the past three years as well.

  “We’d like to take a look around and just get a quick inventory of the home if that’s ok?”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Joe said.

  George and Sarah stood with camera and voice recorder and headed to the adjacent living room. A quick look around and a scan with the camera and it was on to the garage. Nothing appeared out of place. George popped open the breaker box looking for anything unusual. They had been duped before by some handy special effects work and he made it a habit to look at the electrical systems in each place they hunted.

  “Do you have a basement?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “May we go upstairs?”

  “Of course,” she said and gestured toward the entry way.

  “Is there anyone else who lives in the home with you, Joe?”

  “No. I’m alone.”

  Single file, the three ascended the steps, Sarah in front, George with the camera in the middle and Joe in the rear. At the top of the steps, a perpendicular hallway led to the master bedroom on the left and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the right. None of those rooms yielded anything of importance. All had nicely staged furniture and empty closets except for the master. Joe’s clothes were there. The extra bathroom was unused.

  “Why do you live in such a large home all by yourself? It seems like a lot to care for,” George said.

  “I’ve been alone here for a long time,” Joe said.

  Sarah and George continued their sweep with the EMF and a digital voice recorder. They questioned the air, asking whatever haunted the house for answers. Nothing flinched; there were no cold spots or mysterious noises. Nothing, save for Joe’s odd personality, was out of place. George broke the awkward pause.

  “Joe, we’d like to set up some cameras and recorders and leave them overnight if that’s okay. You can continue on with your normal routine and we will pick them up in the morning and see if anything shows up.”

  “Fine by me,” she said.

  “Normally we would ask to stay and investigate, but if our presence might cause you danger, we don’t want to risk that.”

  “What if something happens?”

  “Call us. Or if you prefer, we can stay in the van, just outside. We’re used to staking out like that,” Sarah said.

  “That would make me feel more comfortable.”

  Joe then simply turned and walked out of the room. George and Sarah exchanged glances.

  “Let me know when you’re finished,” she called from the hallway. “I’ll stay out of your way until then.

  “We’ll be as quick as possible,” George said and smiled warmly.

  Sarah and George stared at each other after Joe left and shook their heads.

  “I’ve never felt this uncomfortable before,” he said.

  Sarah nodded, “It is different than all the others. You think it might be a real haunt?”

  “Did you not see that shit downstairs?”

  “Good point.”

  They set a high definition surveillance camera in the master bedroom and one in the hallway looking past the stairs toward the spare bedrooms. Everything was wired into their computer downstairs. The next step was to set up surveillance downstairs but as they exited the master bedroom, they were interrupted by a deafening thud that rocked the entire house. It was followed by a scream.

  “Jesus, what the hell was that?” George said, stumbling to get downstairs.

  “Joe?” Sarah yelled. “Joe, are you ok?”

  The question was rhetorical. Obviously she wasn’t ok.

  The investigators thundered down the stairs to the entry and then into the kitchen to find the small table where they had just sipped coffee obliterated to splinters. That shocking sight was nothing compared to what they saw next to it.

  Sarah and George both stood and watched Joe as she rose up the wall, held there by vaporous hands that were attached to a vaporous body.

  “Stop it,” Joe screamed.

  “Let her go,” George demanded.

  The being spun in a dusty twirl. Its glowing form swirled and boiled like steam from a pot of bubbling hot water. Its only recognizable features were two pitch black holes where its eyes should have been. Those black pits leered at George as it floated and rolled in his direction.

  “I will kill you and I will kill Joe,” it croaked.

  “Fuck you, Casper. I’m not too gay to kick your spooky ass,” he said, shaking like he was the epicenter of an earthquake.

  “Don’t provoke it,” Sarah said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, don’t provoke. I have no quarrel with you… only her,” it hissed and turned its attention back to Joe who huddled, crying, on the floor.

  “What do you want with her?” Sarah said.

  “What do you want with her?” it answered, spinning to face Sarah and causing her to take a step back.

  “She asked for our help. She wants you to leave,” Sarah said.

  “I can’t leave,” it chuckled.

  “Something funny, asshole?” George asked, no longer shaking with fear, but anger.

  The entity grunted in response and turned back to Sarah.

  “You’ve been lied to,” it said.

  Joe stood up and protested.

  “Don’t listen to him!”

  She approached the spirit with angry strides and raised a hand to strike. It dodged to one side and
dealt a powerful blow to Joe’s back. She stumbled across the floor and fell not into, but through George.

  “What the fuck just happened?” he said.

  Sarah couldn’t speak, her expression dumbfounded.

  “You’ve been lied to,” the spook repeated. “You see, Joe is every bit as dead as I am.”

  Joe turned to look at them and immediately began to decay. Her pale but still attractive face turned gray and wrinkled as they watched. Her solid form wavered and became translucent.

  “She killed our children with a kitchen knife and then stabbed me. Seven times, she stabbed me,” the spirit said.

  The more he spoke, the more Joe’s ghost faded, her hair now stringy and white, her eyes sunken and black.

  “She was trying to leave…trying to escape that night…but I caught her and I pushed her down the steps,” it said. “She’s been trying to escape ever since.”

  “Is that what’s holding you here?” George asked.

  “Yes,” it sighed. “I couldn’t let her leave. This is her hell and she deserves it.”

  Joe’s spirit began to cry. She faded out and disappeared.

  “Thank you,” said the ghost of her dead husband. “The more who know the truth, the weaker she gets. Eventually, she will admit her sins. Only then can she pass on. As long as she lives this lie…I will be here.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  SARAH TURNED OFF the camera that looked at the kitchen from the living room. They gathered their gear and packed it in the van. She would come back and question the neighbors about Josephine…and she would research the case, bringing the truth to light.

  The spirit of the man was telling the truth. Josephine had murdered her children three years prior. She had stabbed her husband, Edward, seven times with a large knife. With the last of his strength, he tripped her on the staircase and she had broken her neck, not her wrist. The case file called him abusive, said he killed the children and she stabbed him in self-defense. George and Sarah asked the case be reopened. Asked that the truth be found and that small bit of history be rewritten.

  The current owners were on vacation when Saranormal Investigations received that call for help. The video evidence was remarkable and is still in Sarah’s possession. They have video and audio of human interaction with actual spirits, but it will never see the light of day. They have since retired and neither she nor George will relive it.

  ..ooOOoo..

  THE WAGER

  “OH, HOW I loathe them. The staggering size of the pile of worthless mouth-breathers that exist in this damnable world make me want to vomit. My wish…my joy would be to tear them all open with my bare hands and watch them die howling in slow agony. If I was able to end my own life, I’d have done so a century ago, but I cannot. You see, it’s no longer in my hands to control, a thing I would give anything to have back. I wagered my life once for the love of a woman. I wagered and lost. Now…I am death.”

  --Jacob Kane

  PROLOGUE

  Sometime in the past…

  THE COLD WIND shrieked as an obvious stranger entered the tavern from the muddied street. It was unusual weather. His calloused hands were frozen as was the prominent nose on his unshaven face. He looked around and he recognized no one, which was a good thing. In fact, it was excellent. He wanted nothing more than to rid himself of all familiar things and every person he knew.

  He ran his fingers through coal black hair and coughed the evening’s chill into one fist. Then he breathed in a lung full of the dust, smoke and stink from the pub. Some thirty miles north of home, he was left to drink…to forget amongst strangers. He could leave behind his disgusting life, his self-pity and his weakness. Those qualities that made him want to kill—would surely have driven him to kill had he stayed. Kill others or kill himself. Here, he could disappear.

  That particular rat-infested pub was the perfect spot to pull off such hocus-pocus. There was plenty of ale or whiskey being slung and he didn’t care which landed in front of him. It looked like home. A hundred years’ worth of sadness, of lost loves and the stretched truths of virility oozed from the woodwork.

  That evening’s crowd was comprised of local villains and of whores. No doubt each was there to get their fill of hot sweaty sin while the good people, the judgmental ones back in their homes had their merry family time with hot food and easy laughter.

  She was one of them, sweet Caitlin. And he had loved her from the first time he saw her.