A Brady Paranormal Investigations Box Set

by Harper Crowley

  He waves his arm at Shelley. “She keeps going on and on about something she saw, but I haven’t seen it.”

  “You might want to,” I say, venturing out a little bit more. “It’s short and, well, it might help you understand why we’re here.”

  He steps back, mulling over my words. “Have you seen it?” he asks Graham.

  Graham shakes his head. “I don’t want to, either.”

  “What are you complaining about, then?” his dad asks. “Turn on the damn video, Shell, and let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

  I stand by the door, making a mental note to finish yelling at Graham for his hypocrisy while Shelley opens the video and plays it for them. I want to be here while they watch the video, partly to catch their reactions and partly to have an easy escape route if everything goes sideways and Graham once again accuses us of somehow telepathically faking the footage. It’s surprising. As soon as the apparition begins gliding down the stars, Graham’s dad puts his hand on the back of Shelley’s chair, as if leaning on it for support. Graham leans forward to study the film, but his uncle glances at me, suspicion rife in his gaze. He must be of the mind that I’m responsible for the video somehow. After it ends, Shelley turns it off and says something quietly to her dad in a voice so low I can’t hear it.

  He scrubs his hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what to think. Play it again.”

  Graham glances at me, his face pale and his eyes troubled. “Can we have a minute?” he asks.

  I nod. “Of course. I’ll be outside.” I probably should have waited outside in the beginning, but I’m tired of being left out. I step onto the front porch, and Graham’s uncle joins me, shutting the door firmly behind us.

  “I don’t know what in the hell kind of game you’re playing,” he says, his voice rich with anger. “But you need to stop filling our girl’s head with lies. There is no ghost in that house.” He gestures through the barren trees at the abandoned house. “And you taking advantage of a lonely child’s grief in order to make some money is despicable.”

  My spine stiffens. How dare he accuse me of doing something to hurt Shelley. “She came to me.” My fingers clench into fists. I’m sick of being blamed for everything that’s gone wrong in this investigation. I probably shouldn’t take it out on Graham’s uncle, but the guy obviously doesn’t like me, so I don’t feel too badly. “She sent me the video. She asked us to come. She lied about getting permission for us to investigate. That’s not my fault.”

  “No,” he agrees, “but if she hadn’t been obsessed with your stupid online show, she wouldn’t have decided to take a video in the first place.”

  The door opens behind him, and Graham joins us. I try to read his face, but other than looking shaken, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m so used to seeing thinly veiled disdain and annoyance that anything other than that throws me off.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, and then he glances at his uncle. “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

  His uncle pauses as if debating whether or not to stay before nodding curtly and returning to the house.

  Graham waits until his uncle closes the door behind him before continuing. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

  That’s an understatement. I decide to cut him some slack on his personal issues and focus on the reason I’m here. “How about you tell me why you treated us like crap, yet you hired paranormal investigators in the past?” I fold my arms across my chest for good measure.

  He shifts from side to side, unable to meet my gaze. Is he feeling guilty or embarrassed? Good, he should be feeling both. “You found out about that.”

  I nod.

  “I can explain.”

  “Oh yeah?” I quirk one eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

  Graham takes my elbow and leads me away from the front door.

  He’s afraid they’ll hear him. This ought to be good.

  “It was, I don’t know, five, six, seven years ago. I’m not sure.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And I didn’t hire anyone. My friends and I, well, we were all into weird stuff and decided to pretend to be ghost hunters. We broke into the house. I was terrified of my dad, you know”—his lips twitch—“and we used Aaron’s crappy camcorder and Matt’s dad’s high-powered flashlights and tried to see if there was anything there.”

  “And was there?”

  He barks out a laugh. “My dad called the cops. He thought someone was vandalizing the place. Matt convinced Beau to put the video on the internet, and all of a sudden, we had people from all over the country emailing us, telling us they were big-name producers and wanted to make a movie out of our story. It was nuts. All we had to do was send them money. We were just stupid kids.”

  Pangs of sympathy rise inside me, but I quell the urge to reach out to him. Remember how he acted. “How much did you lose?”

  His eyes meet mine, startled. Maybe he forgot I was there. “I was an idiot. I gave them my dad’s credit-card number.”

  “Crap. That sucks.” I can definitely relate to doing stupid things like that.

  Graham leans against the wooden railing, looking out into the trees. “Oh yeah. When Dad found out, I thought he was going to have a stroke or kick me out, maybe even disown me, but he didn’t. He made me work it off, which ended up helping me in the long run, but I guess I’ve had a hard time trusting people ever since.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” I join him and settle my arms on the wood railing, smooth from years of use.

  “Your turn,” he says, slanting a look at me. “What’s your deep, dark secret?”

  “Which one?” I force out a laugh, but I’m not prepared for this. I had planned on chewing him out, calling him out on all of his lies, then walking away vindicated. I didn’t intend on feeling sorry for him.

  I sigh. Maybe I owe him a little bit, but nothing he couldn’t find out if he Googled me. “Three years ago, my parents died.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and even though I hate it when people apologize, because it feels so empty, I simply nod in acceptance. He waits for me to continue, but I don’t. Graham and I were never on firm ground to begin with, so this tenuous explanation doesn’t mean I have to completely trust him and bare all. No, I’m not going to get into the weeks of waiting, the reporters, the psychics, or the day the cops finally showed up at the house to tell us they found Mom and Dad’s car. Graham doesn’t get that much of me or my history.

  The silence stretches between us, but I’m in no rush to fill it. Other people generally do that themselves in a rush of words they didn’t rehearse, and I learn more that way.

  “So, um, I... I asked my dad if you could finish your investigation.”

  “What?” That was definitely not what I thought he would say. “I thought you hated us.”

  His gaze travels from me down to his hands. “I don’t hate you. I just... I guess I jumped to conclusions. But anyway, he said you could investigate if I was there with you.”

  “Really?” My mind whirls at the thought of getting another crack at the house. We’ve gotten some amazing footage there so far, and who knows what else we could get. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  He gives me a pained smile. “I’ll figure something out.” He holds his hand out to shake mine. “Deal?”

  I eye his hand gingerly before taking it. If I’m being honest, I want to finish the investigation, and I don’t feel like breaking in, as Finn suggested. Here goes nothing. “Deal.”

  But in my pocket, I cross my fingers, glad I hadn’t turned the recorder off. I’ll have to listen to this later. I can’t shake this feeling that I missed something important.

  Chapter 8

  “Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I can do this,” I mutter as Graham drops one of our totes on the ground on top of another, precariously. The top pops off as it tips over, spilling the contents of Russ’s snack stash. Cans of Mountain Dew roll away into the dirt.

  “Hey,” Russ yell
s. “Be a little more careful next time. Now they’re all going to explode when I open them.” Yup, and create a sticky mess all over the van.

  “Sorry about that,” Graham says, retrieving the cans. “Who keeps Mountain Dew and Cheetos in a tote anyway?”

  “Sane people. Intelligent people. People who have to put up with two sisters biting each other’s heads off all the time.”

  “Hey,” Jess yells. “We’re right here.”

  “See what I mean?” Russ says, shaking his head dramatically.

  Jess jerks her head toward Graham. “If they kill each other, it’ll be your fault. You invited him.”

  “I did not.” I glare at her. “He invited himself.”

  She scoffs. “Right.” She shoulders the duffel bag containing the majority of our electronics, and I grab Bear’s leash. Ignoring the guys bickering behind us about how best to organize our supplies, we escape into the relative quiet of the house.

  “You know, I almost prefer the ghost,” Jess says.

  “You and me both.”

  Five minutes later, Graham and Russ join us just as we’ve finished setting out the equipment and checking the batteries.

  “You with me?” Russ asks Jess.

  Wide-eyed, she glances from him to me before nodding. “Oh yeah.” I was going to make her work with Graham, and she probably knows it. Now I’m stuck with him.

  “Traitor,” I mutter.

  They grab their gear and hurry away before I call them out, but Graham doesn’t seem to notice.

  He picks up a GoPro harness and runs his hands through the straps. “What’s this for?”

  I snatch it away, scowling. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “Look,” he says, in a patronizing voice that makes me want to kill him. “I know you’re not happy that I’m here. I’m not a pro, but I can help you. I’m not an idiot. Just tell me what you need me to do.” He gestures at our equipment. “This can’t be that difficult.”

  I arch an eyebrow at his dismissive tone. “Yeah, no. You’ll just screw things up, and I’ll have to redo them. Again. This case has been enough of a disaster without you messing things up even more.”

  His eyes flash with equal parts hurt and anger. “Fine, then.” He snarls. “I’ll stay out of your way then.”

  “Fine.” He skirts around Bear, who’s sniffing around the chair legs, and stalks out of the kitchen. Guilt floods through me, but it vanishes quickly as I remember what an ass he was earlier. Yeah, I don’t feel too sorry for him.

  I set up one of the cameras on a tripod in the kitchen, facing the spot where we saw the apparition earlier. A movement out the window catches my eye. An old man, too solid to be a ghost, hunches over a cracked wooden arbor, pruning tangled rose bushes.

  “Hey, Graham,” I call, hoping he hasn’t left the house. Not that I would blame him.

  He stomps back into the kitchen. “What, need someone to yell at some more?” he snaps.

  I ignore his barb. “Who’s that?”

  He follows my pointed finger. “Oh, that’s Mr. Rasputin. He used to be the gardener before my mom disappeared. I didn’t know he still came around.” He scratches his head as we watch the old man putter around to the other side of the arbor. “He lives next door, always has. Even after his wife died.”

  “Can I talk to him?” Graham glances at me in surprise, so I rush to continue. “He might know more about the house and the strange things that happened here than you or Shelley.”

  “Um, sure, I guess,” Graham says.

  “Great.” I grab Bear’s leash and hurry out the door. Graham swears softly as he follows me.

  The old man stooped over the rose bushes turns his head slightly when I call out his name. His face, weathered and deeply lined with age, creases into a wide, toothless grin.

  “Graham, my boy.” He leans the pruning shears against the trellis and envelops Graham in an enthusiastic hug. “It’s been years.”

  “Yeah, I’ve, uh, been away at college,” Graham says, his voice muffled by the old man’s shoulder.

  Mr. Rasputin releases him and wipes his hands off on his stained jeans before holding one out to shake my hand. “Where are my manners? Who is your pretty young lady?”

  “I’m not—”

  “She’s not—”

  Mr. Rasputin chuckles, a twinkle in his eye. I have to steer this conversation back before it gets too far off course. “I’m Meredith Brady.” I firmly shake his hand. There is no room for weakness, either real or implied, in my life. “I’m investigating the MacIver house.”

  His bushy gray eyebrows climb higher on his forehead like woolly caterpillars. “Investigating, you say? Are you a police officer?” He studies me up and down. “You can’t be a day over twenty.”

  “Twenty-one, actually.” I don’t know why I feel the need to clarify that with him. Maybe it’s for Graham. Maybe it’s because I hate not being taken seriously. “And I’m not a cop. I study paranormal activity, like the one that reportedly, um, haunts the house here.”

  “The ghost?” When I nod, his sun-weathered face goes pale. “What kind of nonsense have you and your sister gotten yourself into?” He directs his second question at Graham. “You know that place is cursed, and not just because of your mama disappearing. Your grandpa was a mean man. Drank a lot. Your mama used to sneak out to escape, but it wasn’t easy.” Mr. Rasputin’s faded blue eyes grow distant. I wonder if he’s thinking about another time, swamped with memories both pleasant and unwelcome.

  “I bet it wasn’t,” Graham muses.

  The old gardener shakes himself free of the past. “But that don’t matter now,” he says. “What matters is that you stay away from this place and from this house.” He juts his jaw out mulishly. “Ain’t nothing but evil will come from this. I can tell you that.”

  Wait, what? No. Not a chance. “We can’t. We’re already here. We’ve seen things.”

  “That don’t mean you can’t leave,” he says. “Go back to wherever you came from. It’ll be better for you, Graham, Shelley, and everybody else if you let the dead stay dead.”

  “Do you believe there are ghosts in the house?” Graham asks, stubbornly stuck on the paranormal and not on the more important fact that ghosts don’t hurt people. Only the living do that.

  “Course I do, son.” Mr. Rasputin’s eyes fill with sympathy. “There’s more going on in this world than we can ever see. The Lord wants it that way.”

  “But what about you?” I ask. “You’re here. If you wanted to leave the dead alone, why do you still come here?”

  Mr. Rasputin reaches down, and with a gnarled, sun-browned finger, he strokes one of the leaves of the rose bushes. “Graham’s mama loved this garden. My son did too. Best way I have to remember them.”

  Hyped up by the influx of new information that might help our case, I flash Graham a saucy smile after we leave Mr. Rasputin. “Ready to keep going, country boy? We’re not done yet.”

  “Oh yeah. This is getting interesting. I think I’m kind of getting the hang of this.”

  I snort. “Right. One interview and now you’re an expert. Come on. Let’s see how you roll.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.

  “Let’s just say investigating isn’t all fun and games. It’s hard work, too.”

  “Uh huh, sure.” Graham’s phone beeps. “It’s my sister,” he says, after reading the text message on the screen. “She wants to come help.”

  I groan. My slightly better mood quickly takes a nosedive. “Tell her she’s on Russ’s team. I can only handle one MacIver at a time.”

  He puts his hand on his chest. “You wound me, woman.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

  “See? I knew I’d start to grow on you.”

  Back at the house, Russ is less than enthused at the news that Shelley’s coming to help.

  “Seriously?” Russ swears under his breath. “Why do I have to babysit her? She won’t be able
to do anything.”

  I glance at Graham, who’s fiddling with one of the cameras. “Because I have her brother, that’s why. I can only handle one MacIver at a time.”

  He scowls. “Fine. You owe me, big time.”

  We look outside as Shelley’s little black car pulls into the driveway. She certainly didn’t waste any time. She hurries over to us, nearly skipping in excitement.

  “Thank you so much for letting me come help,” she says.

  I paste a smile on my face. It probably looks as fake as anything, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “No problem. Russ said he could really use the help.”

  I direct her to Russ, and her eyes brighten even more. Over Shelley’s shoulder, he gives me the middle finger. Ha. That’s what he gets for giving me a hard time.

  “So what’s next?” Graham asks after they leave.

  “The fun part.” I pick up the GoPro harness and snap the camera into it and slip it on. Then I pull a waiver out of the duffel bag and hand it to him. It’s a little wrinkled, but still legible. “First, you need to sign this.” I hand him a pen.

  “What’s this?” He holds the waiver up so he can read it more clearly.

  “Just our standard waiver. You’re going to be a star tonight.”

  He grimaces and hands the paper back to me. “I’m not signing this.”

  I hold it back out to him, this time with a pen. “You are if you want to tag along.”

  He points at the GoPro. “Why can’t I wear the camera?”

  “Because I know how to use it and you don’t,” I say, as if using the camera is some sort of technological feat and not something anyone could do. “Besides, my investigation, my rules.”

  “My house,” he says.

  “Technically, it’s your dad’s house.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he grabs the pen and signs the waiver. Good boy.

  After I put the form back in the duffel bag, I connect the cameras to the YouTube channel and film a quick introduction.

  Night falls quickly down here in Georgia. Up north, it seems like darkness settles more slowly, almost like a cloak on the landscape and so softly I almost don’t notice it until it’s done. But in the South, it’s a lot more sudden and a lot more final, and I look around and can’t see a dozen feet in front of me without a flashlight.