A Brady Paranormal Investigations Box Set

by Harper Crowley

  I hurry over to the other three and grab George’s arm. “Hey, do you see that?”

  He peers in the direction I’m pointing. “Holy shit, it worked!” he crows.

  “What’s going on?” Russ asks.

  I point at the slowly approaching shape, struggling to keep equal parts fear and excitement from bubbling up within me. “Look.”

  Jess gasps. “What is that thing?” She tries to zoom in on her phone, but the dim light makes it impossible. She gets frustrated and stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “I can’t tell what it is.”

  “Are you sure it’s a Bigfoot? What if it’s a pissed-off bear or something?”

  George shakes off my concern. “Too small for a bear, unless it’s a little one.” He scratches his head. “Or a baby Bigfoot. What’d you call one of those? A little foot? Is that what you’d call a baby one of them?”

  God. I am not getting into this discussion right now. I stand up, alternating glances between George and the approaching creature. “I don’t know, but shouldn’t we be... you know, doing something about this? What if it’s going to try to kill us?” Something tells me we shouldn’t be standing here waiting for whatever it is to reach us. That’s a great way to get eaten.

  George pulls a small handgun from his pocket. “Don’t you worry none. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  The creature stumbles, disappearing into the grass.

  “I’m with Mer.” Jess’s ducks behind me.

  “Yeah, me too,” Russ says.

  The figure bobs up. It’s closer now, about thirty feet away. “Help!” A voice, hoarse and way too human, calls out from the field. “Don’t leave me here!”

  “Holy shit. That ain’t a Bigfoot, it’s a person,” George says.

  “Oh God.” Russ sprints out into the field. Jess and I follow him and George crashes through the brush and grass behind us.

  Right as we get to the man, he collapses, and we drop down at his side. Dirty brown hair hangs in strings around his gaunt, dirt-streaked face, and a stained and ripped denim shirt envelopes his frame. “Help,” he groans.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Russ helps him sit up, and the man leans on him, unable to sit on his own for more than a few seconds.

  “I... I can’t believe you found me.” He clutches Russ’s arm for support. “My brother. You’ve got to help my brother.”

  I scan the rest of the field as George reaches us. There’s no one out here but us. “What’s your name?”

  “Greg,” he says, and he coughs, hunching his too-thin shoulders as it racks his lungs. “Greg Burrows.” His eyes meet mine. His are pale blue with yellow around the pupils. “You’ve got to find Fred. He’s back there and he’s hurt, bad.” Greg points back the way he came.

  My heart leaps into my throat. Greg and Fred, the missing hikers Ceri’s dad said might not even be missing since they liked to take off. We found them.

  I grab Jess’s arm. “Can you get him some water?”

  “Sure.” She jogs back to where we left our supplies.

  I follow the direction he’s pointing but still don’t see anyone.

  “Please. He’s hurt. You’ve got to help him.”

  “Where is he?” I ask him.

  “A house. There’s a house. Please, hurry.”

  “Didn’t you say there was a house out here, George?” Russ asks George. “Where is it?” Russ asks. I can feel his intensity. If Greg is this bad, then Fred must be in awful condition.

  “It’s on the other side of those trees,” George says. “You guys were hiding in there?”

  “Uh huh,” Fred says. “We got lost after we were attacked.”

  “When was that?” George asks.

  Jess returns with the water and hands it to Greg, who sucks it down so quickly that the water streams down the sides of his mouth. He closes his eyes in relief. “I don’t know. We’ve been out here for so long. The phones died first, and then... We’ve just survived until someone could find us.” He polishes off the rest of the water and hands the bottle back to Jess. “You’ve got to find my brother. Help him. Please.”

  I stand up and brush off my jeans. “I’ll go. Russ, you stay with Greg. Jess, you and George head back to the ATVs. Is there someplace that might have phone reception?”

  “Yeah,” George says. “But it’ll take us a while to get there.”

  “I don’t care. Just call 911 and get them on their way, then come back. We can’t wait for them to come to check on Fred.” I glance at Greg. “If Fred’s in worse shape than his brother...”

  George nods. “You’re right. Let’s go, girl.” He turns away, but Jess gives me one last worried look.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asks.

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. Please hurry.” Part of me doesn’t want them to go, but if Greg’s brother is in worse shape than he is, we’ve got to move quickly.

  The long grass whips at my legs as I hurry toward the house. Bear struggles in my arms. He wants to run too, but I can’t risk losing him out here. There’s too much forest, too many predators, and too many unknowns for me to chance it.

  At the edge of the field, tucked behind a clump of smaller trees, is a dilapidated farmhouse. About two stories high, its roof sags, and the weathered, gray wooden siding saw better days half a century ago. All of the windows are empty abyss’s with jagged, glassy edges reflecting in the early evening sun. The front door hangs open, half off of its hinges, and there’s a small tree growing through the boards on the front porch. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years.

  I pause in front of the house, filled with foreboding. This is the perfect place for a serial killer to store their victims. “Hello?” No answer.

  Biting my lip, I slowly approach the house. At the base of the stairs, I unclip Bear’s leash. Unlikely as it may be, if there is an ax murderer in there, I want Bear to be free so he can run away. Not that he would. He’d to protect me instead, but I can only do so much.

  The sagging boards on the stairs creak beneath my feet. Holding my breath and hoping that the whole porch doesn’t collapse under me, I tiptoe to the front door.

  “Is anyone there?” Still no answer. Shit. I was hoping that Fred’s brother would hear me or come to the door so I wouldn’t have to go inside. No such luck.

  Bear darts ahead of me, and I gently move the front door just enough to slide inside. I don’t need the thing falling on top of me.

  It’s dark in here. Crap. I forgot that there wouldn’t be any lights. I turn my phone flashlight on and scan the room. It’s a living room, but it’s filled with leaves and branches and garbage and the musty, decaying smell of animals that have also been living here. I wonder if the Bigfoots are using the abandoned house as a den. I bet George would know. Yeah, but wouldn’t he have said something? The brief thought flits across my mind that maybe the Bigfoot creatures are using this as a den. No, they can’t be. Greg would’ve told us about his huge, hairy neighbors if they were here.

  “Fred Burrows?” I call out. No answer. I quickly search the bottom floor but find nothing but dirt and garbage and the faint smell of decay. At the base of the stairs, I take a deep breath and shine my light as far as it will go, but it doesn’t reach the top of the stairs. The top of the stairs is cloaked in darkness, and it waits like an open, ominous mouth to swallow me whole.

  Bear hops up the first couple of steps then pauses, whining. He looks back at me as if to ask, “Do I have to?”

  “You’re not helping, dog,” I mutter. I have to go up there. I know I do. There isn’t anyone else who can, at least until the police and EMTs get here. If Fred is as badly off as his brother, then we don’t have any time to waste. I’m all he’s got, not that that makes it any better. I’m not exactly well-versed in anything more than the barest of first aid care.

  Slowly, step by step, I creep up the stairs. I don’t bother calling Fred’s name anymore—if he had been able, he would’ve answered me by now. About ha
lfway up the stairs, the smell grows stronger. I wrinkle my nose at the rotting, acrid, decaying scent and force myself the rest of the way up the stairs. My stomach churns, and every step feels like it takes a million years. I don’t want to do this. God, I know that scent. Please don’t let it be what I think it is.

  A fly buzzes around my face, and I swat it away. Then another one joins it, and another. Buzzing around my face and my hair and my clothes, landing on me and flitting away. I’m not what they’re looking for. The rotting smell grows thicker, filling my nose and my mouth. I’m drowning in it. Bile surges up my throat, but I gulp it back. I can do this. I have to. I need to see if Fred is okay. Maybe Greg killed some sort of animal and that’s what I smell. Yeah, that must be it.

  I quickly scan each room on the second floor, but aside from leftover garbage and leaves, there’s nothing in any of them. It’s only when I open the door to the last room on the left and see the body splayed out on the floor, bloated and streaked with an opaque dried brown mud and the air thick with a buzzing, swirling mass of flies, that I realize my inner voice, that insidious, nagging angel on my shoulder, was correct. Greg hadn’t killed an animal to survive. His brother, Fred, was dead.

  Chapter 17

  “Explain to me again how you ended up out here?” Sheriff Sinclair glares at me under the rim of his hat. Spotlights illuminate the abandoned house, and he’s standing in front of one, so I have to shade my eyes every time I look at him. He’s probably doing it on purpose, the jerk.

  “I told you, Sheriff, Greg said his brother was injured in the house, and we needed to help him.”

  He jots something down on a mini notepad. “And you found Greg while you were out hunting Bigfoot, right?”

  My cheeks burn. “That’s right.” I glance at Russ and Jess, who are both talking to another deputy about ten feet away. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m sure it mirrors my conversation with the sheriff. This divide-and-conquer routine to get the truth won’t work with us. We don’t have anything to hide.

  “I hope you understand my position here, Ms. Brady. Atopka is a quiet town. Things like this don’t happen in small towns.”

  I’ve heard that one before. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  “I’m not your enemy here, Ms. Brady.” He scratches the skin under the brim of his hat. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You guys show up, and all hell breaks loose.”

  I bark out a harsh laugh before I can stop myself. “I hardly think finding some missing person’s camping gear, covered in blood, mind you, and locating a missing person count as hell breaking loose. Those were all here before we showed up. Maybe we’re just that good.”

  “Uh huh,” he says. “Is that what happened in Georgia?”

  I school my face into a blank expression. “Coincidence. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “Uh huh. I called down there and tried to find out how a bunch of kids and a dog managed to crack not one, but two cold cases in a week. That shouldn’t be possible.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “And yet here we are.”

  “Aren’t I lucky,” he mutters. “So tell me again, one more time, how you got out here and found both Mr. Burrows and the dead body.”

  “But I already told you, twice. Why you weren’t looking harder for them? You might have found Fred in time before...” I know it’s gutsy of me to ask that, but the words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  A muscle ticks in the sheriff’s jaw. “I will not discuss an open case with you, Ms. Brady. Again, please tell me the sequence of events that led you to find Mr. Burrows and his brother?”

  I glare at him. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously,” he says.

  About half an hour later, the sheriff and his minions release us to the care of George, but we don’t leave. They haven’t removed the body yet, so we decide unanimously to linger until they do.

  “This is the most fun I’ve had in years,” George says, rubbing his hands together. “Besides, I ain’t got nothing better to do, anyway.”

  I glance at the stars rising higher and higher in the sky. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get us out of here?” After my endearing conversation with Sheriff Sinclair, I’m not convinced he wouldn’t leave us out here. Then again, he’d have to come out and find us, so he’d probably help us leave just so we don’t cause him any more trouble. A smile tweaks my lips at the thought. Little does he know that we’re not giving up until we solve this case.

  “Do you think that’s Greg’s brother?” Jess asks in a hushed voice as the crime-scene techs wheel the body out of the house. Because of the location, they had to bring everything they could in on ATVs, since they don’t have access to a helicopter.

  “I don’t know who else it could be,” I say.

  She gives me a look suggesting I’m an idiot. “But he said his brother was hurt.” She gestures at the bagged body. “That’s beyond hurt.”

  “Maybe the stress got to be too much,” Russ says. He’d taken the GoPro off before the police got here but holds it surreptitiously at his side, recording the scene.

  Jess’s eyes widen when she notices the camera. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks in a fierce whisper. “You’re going to get arrested.”

  He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but I saw him after he got out of jail back home, and it wasn’t pretty. He must really want to see this through. “I can handle it.”

  We scoot closer to the scene, hoping to eavesdrop on the two deputies talking off to the side. They glare at us and move farther away. Russ turns and aims the camera in their direction.

  “Hey, what do you have there?” Sheriff Sinclair appears out of nowhere and grabs Russ’s camera. He glares at us. “Are you videotaping the crime scene?”

  “I told him to do it.” I rush to Russ’s defense. “We have an online TV show, as you know, and our fans are probably wondering what’s going on. We have a pretty rabid audience, so if we don’t share what we have, they’ll start blowing up our phones, and if we don’t answer, they’ll figure out where we are and start calling you.” Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the sheriff probably doesn’t know the difference.

  His eyes spark with anger. “Did you broadcast anything from earlier today?” His hands tighten around Russ’s camera, and I wonder if he imagines strangling me or slapping on a set of handcuffs.

  I take a deep breath. “It all uploads itself. We don’t have to do anything.” Okay, it’s another semi-lie. We do upload everything, but it doesn’t post automatically. We have to click a button for that, but that’s yet another thing I’m not going to tell him.

  A string of curse words that would make my aunt blush spews from the sheriff’s lips. He stuffs Russ’s camera in his pocket and points a finger at me. “Take it down. Take it all down. Now.”

  I straighten my shoulders. “Do you have a warrant?” I’m not sure if he needs one, but it sounds good. I’ve watched a few police procedural shows.

  “Damn it, Ms. Brady, are you trying to get this case thrown out of court before we even solve it? When we catch whoever did this, and we will, we need to keep the evidence from leaking out, and your little video tapes could get it all dismissed.”

  I seize that part of his statement and pretend I didn’t hear the rest. “So it was murder, then?”

  “Jesus.” He whips his hat off and runs his hand through his hair. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, technically, you did.”

  “Go home, Ms. Brady, or back to your hotel or your van or wherever the hell you’re staying right now. Get off of my crime scene, and please, I’m begging you, take that footage down.”

  The desperation in his voice is almost gets me to stop, but I have to see just how far I can push this. “Just one more question, Sheriff, and then we’ll leave.”

  He grunts and glares at me. I don’t know if it means he agrees or that he’s ready to arrest
me, but I’ll try anyway. “Was that Greg Burrow’s brother, Fred, in the house, or was that another of the missing hikers?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny anything at this point, Ms. Brady,” he growls. “Now get out.” Hands stuffed in his pockets, the sheriff watches us walk toward George, who is talking to another of the deputies, before he turns on his heel and storms away.

  “That was awesome,” Jess murmurs, her eyes wide. “I thought he was going to arrest you.”

  “Me, too,” I say, feeling a little bit of excitement swell in my chest. “But he didn’t, so let’s follow the good sheriff’s advice and get out of here and figure out what we’re going to do next.”

  Chapter 18

  The ride back to George’s is terrifying, especially because it’s dark outside, but thankfully, it’s uneventful until my phone rings right after we say goodbye to George.

  “Can you meet me at home?” Ceri asks breathlessly.

  “Now?” My wave Jess and Russ over to me and put her on speaker phone.

  “Yeah, now. I know it’s late, but you’ve got to come. We have to talk about what happened.”

  I glance at Russ and Jess. They shrug. “Are you sure your house is safe? We’re not exactly on your dad’s good side right now. I’m pretty sure he’d shoot us for trespassing if he caught us.”

  She snorts. “You don’t need to worry about that. He’ll be gone for hours. Whenever he’s at a crime scene, he’s there all night.” Her voice has a wry tone that tells me he’s been like this most of her life.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Russ asks after I hang up the phone. “If she’s wrong, and her dad does come home, then we’re all in trouble.”

  “Yeah, but if she’s got something really good, this might be the best time to get it. What if her dad gets to her first and convinces her not to talk? That would really suck.”

  “I’m with Mer,” Jess says.

  “Of course you are,” Russ mutters.

  “Besides,” I say, “I thought you didn’t care if you got arrested. I mean, you were videotaping a crime scene illegally.”