The rushing sound of wind through a tunnel returned and moved like a tornado, breaking the muted pause that filled Sidney’s ears--and then an exploding sound...
POW!
The sound reverberated, bouncing off the walls. The figure disappeared, gone with the blinding brilliance that radiated from it.
No one spoke. They heeded the static, the only sound to remain. Leah closed her eyes and opened them again. There was nothing, not the strange figure, not the brilliant force of light that showcased it, not the icy wind inside the room, only the static.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, twitching her nose. They whiffed as an invisible rancidity wisped through the room, invading their nostrils. The freeze dried smell of rotten meat lightly singed had lingered, forcing them into choking gasps and futile attempts to close their airways.
Brett’s response was one of recognition.
“Residual smell---often left behind by—”
“Poltergeists,” Leah said, and the sound of the word struck a chord of fear in Tracy’s heart.
Dylan glanced down at the dial of the EMF meter still in his hand; now the needle was being pulled back and forth in a magnetic fit far beyond the white notch pointing to seven.
“The EMF reading has surpassed seven, a confirmation of poltergeist activity with six witnesses to the manifestation.” He spoke for the main audio recorders and the reset video cameras that were taping the entire episode, unimpaired by the force that had toppled the tripods.
Tracy stared around the room, her quivering breath in synchronicity to the shakes that ravaged her body.
“But where is David?”
They glanced back at the screen, awaiting an answer from the static that droned on as normal. Then, the incessant inertia stopped. Seconds of a solemn silence wrapped the room in a soft cotton blanket of quiet.
They waited with eyes unblinking, hearts pounding, sweat breaking, as the TV set said nothing. Then the audio returned, blaring from the volume level that had climbed in the chaos. The day’s news was heralding, shouting out from reality which had begun again. Brett turned the raging volume down.
“I think it’s over,” he said.
“For now,” Sidney said. “It’s over for now.”
* * * *
Tracy was the first to walk away, and as she strode off to the kitchen, they followed and watched her open the cabinet and reach for the bottle she’d failed to finish the night before.
“Anyone else want a drink?” She asked, twisting the cap from the bottle. “Because, I sure as hell need one.”
“No, wait, Tracy,” Dylan said. “That is something I wanted to address to you.”
Tracy uttered a soft laugh under her breath.
“What? Are you going to tell me not to drink in my own house?”
“It’s not that--”
“Now is not the time, Dylan,” Leah said. “I could use a drink myself, right about now.” Though Leah’s life had been spellbound and plagued by visions, poltergeists, and hauntings, she had yet to be granted immunity from the preternatural. The clearly manifested appearance, the contrived face that stared back at her with those menacing black orbs, the malevolent intent, the gale force wind and flying objects, all of it made so much knowledge and experience seem callow in the space of only seconds. It was then that the memories of the Cedar Drive house seemed to occur all over again.
“Make that three,” Brett said.
“Oh, great.” Dylan had no recourse but to explain why. “It’s said that poltergeists are often triggered by something or mainly, someone. That is, someone who may be exuding a certain amount of trauma or mental anxiety in the course of such events.”
“Okay, so you think it’s Tracy that was responsible for that thing that just blew in here from Hell?” Leah’s voice climbed in protest. “Dylan, Sidney and I have a history of being surrounded by this type of activity. These things are attracted to people like us. So, don’t you think that whatever that thing was could have been generated by one of us?”
There was a silence.
“Well?” She demanded.
“It’s possible, but unlikely” he said, reluctant, but truthful. “You know as well as anyone that the exertion of high-level, mental stress in certain people often causes a telekinetic response. Tracy’s recent stress is a prime example.”
“And, it is known that grief, and especially guilt, can trigger the mental mechanism known as ‘psycho kinesis,’ which can lead to poltergeist manifestations.” Susan broke into the debate, no longer the silent spectator, but the psychiatrist who had just witnessed everything. Her trembling hands shook along with her voice. “Tracy’s struggle with survivor’s guilt could be that trigger.”
“Well, someone’s done their homework. I take it this is the first time you’ve actually seen this?” Sidney directed his comment at her quivering attempts at composure. She said nothing.
“No,” Leah said. “Something was different. You saw the way it looked at all of us. If you were right, you would be saying that she projected that thing from her mind. Did that thing or person, look familiar to you, Tracy?”
Tracy shook her head.
“I think you’re right,” Sidney said. “It spoke to me.”
“What did it say to you, Sidney?” Leah’s voice issued an urgent demand, implying that her old pal might forget or fail to reveal everything. “What did it say?!”
“It said something about time slipping through the hourglass.” Sidney closed his eyes for a second, recalled the words, then repeated them verbatim.
“So, it’s got us on a time schedule, for what?” Dylan said. “That doesn’t make any sense. David was definitely here, Tracy; you heard him. Whatever that thing was that intervened had taken over. Yes, sometimes another spirit is present, but these interruptions are often caused unintentionally by human emotions. Either way, I wasn’t judging you about your drinking.”
Tracy nodded in dismissal and Dylan turned to face everyone.
“The spirit world has been opened to us all. We need to be extremely cautious of our emotions and reactions. I don’t need to tell anyone here of what an extremely rare occurrence we just experienced. We faced it, but I don’t think this is the end of it.”
“I don’t understand the message of time,” Sidney said. “It spoke with no emotion, but somehow, it was taunting me.”
“Perhaps it’s pressing of you for time was a projection from your mind, Sidney?” Susan had settled into a kitchen chair. “It could also be that your inner anxiousness is what manifested itself into what we saw, your subconscious quest for perfection in a timely manner that was fueling that thing. Leah is right; Tracy is not the only possible source. If it realized that someone who could hear it was present, then why can’t you be the host that invited it in? And although this is my first time as an actual eyewitness, yes, I have done my homework. Somewhat like you, Sidney, I listened.”
No one spoke, and the only sound now was the clinking of broken glass in the living room, as Brett had begun clearing away the pieces that were once Tracy’s lamps and crystal vases. Tracy looked in on the disaster area she had ignored moments earlier and gave a heavy sigh.
“Don’t worry,” Leah said, patting her on the shoulder. “We’re all in this together.”
Her voice sounded less confident than before.
Chapter Eleven
The October dusk fell early, spreading a rust colored sunset over a rural Pennsylvania backdrop. The team remained at the house, clearing the catastrophe that had trashed Tracy’s living room. Every eye swept the floor, removing minuscule shards of glass embedded in the carpet, and Tracy straightened a painting that now hung awry on the wall.
Dylan and Brett worked fast, examining what the cameras had caught—the sooner the playback, the better.
Susan had left and returned with take-out, which they ate in the kitchen. Now, the late evening hours brought them to the paneled underground of the basement: a comfortable, dual-purpose lair tha
t served as both a study and a TV room, with bookshelves aligning the walls, another computer, a desk and table, and several chairs surrounding a large lounge sofa. They kindled a fire in the stone hearth of the den’s fireplace, and a discussion of the day’s events ensued.
“Tracy, what happened here today is this,” Dylan said. “When someone has most recently died, especially young and tragically the way that David did, that spirit is often of the weakest form. The more powerful and capable spirits have been dead for years, decades, even centuries, and are far more likely to interact with the human world, but we believe that David managed enough strength to establish a pipeline connection; how and why is the question.
“Unfortunately, something far more powerful in the spirit world had interrupted David’s efforts: a greater, malignant force that overwhelmed the lesser one. That violent interruption displayed all the classic signs of a poltergeist occurrence, and I was able to confirm that from the EMF reading.”
“And,” Brett said, “We don’t know whether the pipeline connection had attracted the poltergeist, drawing it forward like a magnet, or if the poltergeist manifestation had already been hiding here, allowing the pipeline connection to take place. The first theory is most likely.”
Tracy was beginning to understand all of the jargon now, and that alone was frightening, but the inconceivable thought of David being tormented in the afterlife was worse. It filled her heart with a cold dread, and a nervous sweat drenched her forehead.
“So, what about David? What does he want?”
“We can’t know that, Tracy,” Sidney said, “at least not yet, but I assure you that I am going to do my best to communicate with him.”
He took her trembling hands in his and wondered whether or not those shakes were altogether from fright and not the effects of alcohol. He said nothing. They had all downed a few beers with dinner, and though this wasn’t common, neither were the day’s events that seemed to strike ethics and procedure from the instruction manuals. After all, a cesspool of paranormal activity was swelling so greatly around this young woman they’d met only a day earlier that they were now camping out in her house to protect her. All bets on protocol were off.
They sat surrounding the stone hearth where the crackling, orange flames were catching quickly, and they basked in the baking warmth it radiated.
“Is there anything that you remember before the night you were awakened in front of the TV—anything unusual?” Leah asked.
Tracy thought back for a few seconds and shook her head--nothing.
“Then, I agree with Brett,” she said. “The pipeline connection that David made is what invited the poltergeist in. And I also have to agree with Dr. Logan, Sidney. Either you, I, or Tracy, could have been the attraction for this thing.”
“Then it’s bound to return,” Sidney said. “Our job is to help David. He is communicating for a reason, a reason unknown to us. But it is possible that once we help David, this thing may cease along with the pipeline connection.”
“And it may not,” Leah said. “Let’s be honest, once that thing is through, it could stay. It could remain right here and linger for years. I should know.”
“But, we are going to make damn sure that doesn’t happen.” Sidney’s voice was adamant; he wouldn’t be deterred by riddles and timetables dictated to him by a ghostly menace whose existence seemed dependent.
“Tracy, have you ever noticed any other activity in the house, specifically down here in the den?” Dylan asked.
“No,” she said, taking another swig from her beer. Dylan and Susan eyed her, thankful that the bottle of bourbon remained upstairs.
“Then you should know,” he said, “that activity, especially poltergeist activity, is not limited to any one area. It could occur at any time or any place it chooses.” His words caused them all to glance around the room in wonder. Nothing stirred except the fire that popped piping hot embers up the chimney. They sat back, taking advantage of the peaceful calm that descended over the abode, but their silent, secret thoughts knew it would be brief.
* * * *
Somewhere between the cleaning and the dine-in take-out, Brett did some research and fact checking. Everything that Tracy had experienced prior to the team’s involvement had to be examined with full, microscopic attention. Every minute detail that led to the pipeline connection had to be recorded, examined, and scrutinized. Tracy Kimball would be a first for the society’s archives, and the fact that the whole team and a psychiatrist were immersed in the investigation, would add a concrete credulity to their findings.
Tracy’s consent and his university credentials equipped him for his first order of business: to enlist the aid of the phone company and zero in on the strange calls that had registered no caller identification.
“Since the times of the calls are approximate, with the exception of the last one,” he said, “the operator could only narrow down two calls that came from an unknown source, one mostly likely not automated.” This revelation was met with a stunned silence, even though the time for surprise seemed over. “So, the caller wasn’t calling from a computer or even a land or cell line. The term NO DATA SENT showed on the display, which is sometimes explainable, but the origin of the caller was untraceable, and now the phone company is baffled by it.”
Brett spoke into the voice recorder that Leah used in documenting cases, but that didn’t relieve her of copying his words exactly on paper. Transcriptions were mandatory incase of a damaged tape, so she scribbled furiously.
“I’d also like to address this e-mail.” He retrieved a printed copy of the e-mail that contained the continuous, ghostly typing of her name. “We now consider this proof of an outside, physical manifestation. In other words, Tracy, whatever typed this did so from outside the computer. This wasn’t a ‘ghost in the machine’ type of occurrence. Some metaphysical entity exerted a physical force upon the keyboard to type the letters of your name over and over. This was most likely the best that it could accomplish. The same type of precision was used upon the radio.”
Tracy couldn’t help but be amazed at how the soft, sleepy drawl of Brett Taylor had now projected the full embodiment of a seasoned, scientific scholar. She recognized the flashing red lights of the video cameras he and Dylan had set up in the den.
“Are those things recording, now?” She asked.
“Yes,” he said. “We are going to keep them rolling for the duration in any room that we are all assembled in. Remember, activity can recur at any moment.”
“And keeping that in mind, it’s time we watched this,” Dylan said, pointing to the laptop that would playback the live action feed recorded in the living room earlier. “It’s best that we all be reminded of what we’re up against, and it’s also procedure.”
They gathered around the laptop, where a déjà vu of the day’s events filled each corner of the flat, black screen. They saw themselves watching the static and inching closer toward the infected television, hearing the sounds and voices. They saw the fear, the confusion, Leah comforting Tracy and then stepping forward.
Then they watched as the forceful gust of wind toppled the cameras over, redirecting the rolling video upward to capture a shaky view of the ceiling. Seconds passed before the cameras were reassembled and the right aspect returned. They could still see Sidney and Leah in front of the TV.
The entire episode was played out again, including the odd, sea of light that surrounded the specter. But there was one thing the camera didn’t record: the specter itself. The brilliant halo of light shone down upon nothing except Leah, whose voice was confronting something just underneath it.
“Where is it?! That thing...spirit...whatever it was—we saw it!” Susan gasped.
They neared the end, and Dylan paused the playback.
“Sometimes apparitions are picked up on video, but sometimes not,” he said. “There could be a few reasons why that person or thing isn’t seen on the playback. It could be because that thing wasn’t what we know as a spiri
t, but in fact, a poltergeist entity. Maybe the apparition wasn’t directly affecting the camera and therefore, it remains unseen. The voices however, were affecting the TV, and so we heard them. Now, I want you all to notice how the light is blinding in the video.”
He pointed and released the pause button on the screen. The tremendous light they’d experienced earlier engulfed the entire view of the flat screen, usurping human shapes and objects to where only outlines could be seen. Toward the end, the playback became nothing but a display of shimmering whiteness. Dylan stopped it and continued.
“The apparition that we saw could have been a human at one time, but it could also have been a projection of the poltergeist as we discussed earlier. As I’m sure you all witnessed, that thing looked human, but it also looked inhuman. A poltergeist can take any form it wants to whether human, or otherwise. The blackness of those eyes could have been inhabiting human form.”
“They were large, black pits of nothing,” Leah said, transfixed in thought, her eyes unblinking, trying her best to describe them. “Like rounded windows into the dark void of space.”
A few silent, thought filled moments passed.
“So, is this thing preventing David from speaking to me? Why?” Tracy repeated the word why like a tolling bell, the growing confusion in her voice knelling a plea of rescue from this incessant nightmare. A deep, dark voice told her that she’d opened Pandora’s Box.
“We don’t know that,” Sidney said. “It could be that subconsciously you are afraid of communicating with David, either out of fear, or the survivor’s guilt.” He took both of her hands in his. “Tracy, do you trust me?”
He knew this was an odd question, considering she’d only known him for almost two days, but she nodded her head with the conviction of a customer marked as sold.
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