Two familiar bicycles rounded the corner, and Dylan pulled up to a halt in front of them.
“Hey!” he grinned. “You guys ready to go haunted house hunting?”
His round face was pink with exertion and his brown curls were plastered down with sweat. On his back was a large, heavy looking backpack. His iPod sat precariously in his pocket with the ear bud cords dangling down his legs.
Katy pulled up, wearing a tank top and cut off jean shorts and her hair pulled up into a pony tail. She wasn’t carrying a backpack, and Ron thought she looked as fresh as if she had just stepped out of the house.
Dana ran up to Dylan. “Are we going to do it now?” she asked eagerly.
“You bet,” Dylan said. “Got my cameras and equipment and everything. Are you ready to go, Ron, or are you just going to sit there with your book?”
“Oh, boy!” Amelia squealed, clapping her hands. “Ghost hunting! This is going to be awesome!”
Ron tossed his book on to the chair and came down off the porch, saying, “How are we going to do this? It’s private property, and people will get suspicious if they see us there.”
“There’s a covered side entrance that can’t be seen from the streets,” Dylan explained patiently. “We’re not going to do anything illegal. We’re just going to snoop around and take pictures and see if there’s any dip in the temperature. If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them it’s a school project.”
Katy laughed. “Science?”
“What about Aunt Julia?” Dana asked.
Dylan snorted. “She doesn’t need to know as long as you’re back in time for supper, right?”
Ron felt a flash of annoyance. “We’re not supposed to go further than the Wildes’ house without permission.”
“It’s not that far. You can still see the house from here.”
“Want me to ask?” Dana asked Ron.
“If she finds out what we’re doing, it’ll blow the secrecy of the project!” Dylan protested. “She’ll freak out and say no. Come on, Ron. I really want to find this thing.”
“Just tell her that we’re going for a walk,” Amelia said. “She’ll be fine if we’re just going for a walk.”
Ron shook his head. “I’m not going to lie to Aunt Julia.”
Dana interrupted, “I’ll talk to her, Ron. Just hang on a second.”
She ran into the house. They could hear her excited chatter through the open windows, then she came running back out, her eyes shining.
“Aunt Julia said we can go all the way to the end, but we have to stay together and be in sight of the house the whole time.”
“Sweet,” Dylan said. “Let’s go.”
The ghost hunt was on.
26
Up close, the haunted house was much more intimidating. It towered two and a half stories high, and the dark sockets of the windows seemed to beckon, daring them to get lost looking into their endless darkness. The oversized front door, dark and scuffed by time, looked like the entry to a dungeon. The front porch wrapped around the front of the building, slumping with age and decay. Even the steps were crooked. The front path was overgrown with the same weeds that camouflaged the old iron gateway which surrounded the property.
Today was the first day that Ron noticed the iron fence. It was maybe five feet high, less in some places where the ground had settled, and the black paint had peeled off where rust had taken over. Each bar in the fence ended in a sharp spike, and Ron winced at the idea of falling on one of them. He hoped that the hidden entrance that Dylan had spoken of didn’t include climbing over the fence.
He saw only two entrances, the front door and a side door, buried under the jungle that engulfed the driveway. Both were visible from the street.
They assembled in front of the house and parked their bikes against the fence, silently studying the house. Overhead, the sun’s rays fell as warmly as before, but it felt dark and there was a cold chill where they stood. It was as though the house produced its own climate.
It occurred to Ron that if he stayed near the house for too long, the house would enter his soul and bind him to it - holding him there until he was as old, cold, and rundown as it was.
It was a foolish thought. Houses were bricks and wood, not soul-snatching demons; but once in his head, the idea took root. He shivered and tore his gaze away.
He looked down the line at the others. Except for Katy, who was looking at her phone as usual, he could tell from their pale faces and wide eyes that they felt like he did. Dana was ready to bolt, Jack was clutching the chalk he’d brought so tight his knuckles were white, and even Dylan looked nervous.
Ron drew up his shoulders, and there was a visible sense of relief when he spoke in a normal tone.
“So,” he said, “what do we do first?”
Dylan dropped to his knees on the sidewalk and opened his backpack. Working quickly to get the cameras up and running, he said, “The first thing we do is get our cameras ready, then we take a scout around the house. You can use the digital – I want the camcorder to start with, and Katy can use the Kodak.”
“Oh, joy,” Katy grumbled.
“We’re going to go all the way around the house?” Amelia asked nervously.
“Ron, I don’t want to,” Jack whimpered. “It’s spooky.”
“We can’t do that anyway,” Dana said. “We’ll lose sight of our house, and Aunt Julia said we weren’t supposed to.”
“You guys stay out in front on the sidewalk with the chalk and pretend like you’re just decorating the place,” Dylan said. “Stay in sight of your house and we’ll stay in sight of you and we’ll be totally safe.”
“Except that you’re trespassing,” Katy said.
“If it isn’t posted, it isn’t a crime,” Dylan said. “That’s what Dad says. It’s legal.”
It didn’t sound legal to Ron. It sounded downright fishy, but Katy was nodding and both of them knew more about this whole house and murder thing than he did. Surely, just walking around the house would be all right. It wasn’t like they were going to break in or anything.
Dylan started off and Ron trotted after him, fiddling with the little blue digital camera. He was toying with the settings when he ran into Dylan’s broad back.
Dylan stumbled. “Watch it! My camera!” He recovered without dropping anything and turned to scowl at him. “Dude, seriously?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s my dad’s camera. You can’t drop it. I don’t want to have to explain it to him.”
“Sure. Sorry.”
They came to the edge of the property, where the old mansion gave way to a spot of thin woods. The fence ran down into the woods, amid jumbled knee-high weeds. It was dark and moist under the trees. They swatted at mosquitoes and horseflies and kept moving until Ron, keeping a constant eye out, stopped Dylan.
“We can’t see the kids,” he said.
“It’s just a little further. Come on.”
“No.”
“Are you scared?”
“I don’t break promises,” Ron snapped.
Dylan rolled his eyes. “You didn’t make one.”
“I did through Dana.”
Dylan sighed and pulled out his phone. He sent a text and a few seconds later, Katy appeared at the corner of the fencing. She waved languidly and turned back to her phone. Now they were in sight of her, she was in sight of Dana, and Dana was in sight of the house. It was a stretch, but Ron’s conscience was eased.
He followed Dylan further into the woods until they came to a spot where the fence sank to waist height. Dylan hoisted himself over and Ron followed.
Now they were inside the yard, and the ground was a little drier under their feet. A small breeze moved the trees around, making it difficult to hear either the distant road or the footsteps of anyone who might be approaching them. It felt cut
off from the outside world, and Ron’s heart pounded at the idea.
“Take pictures,” Dylan ordered. He was still adjusting his camcorder.
Ron began to take pictures at random, and his tension eased. Things were not so overwhelming when viewed through a lens.
They were right beside a rickety old shed, which looked ready to fall at the slightest touch. A rusted wheelbarrow was propped up next to the wall and, near it, a rake had fallen and was almost buried beneath years of neglected leaves. All that was visible were the prongs, looking like the teeth of some ancient monster.
The leaves covered most of the spacious backyard. A section had once been devoted to a garden, indicated by overgrown bushes, dying roses, and tangled weeds. All that remained were abundant lilies and one white rose that grew toward the weak sunlight. It looked, amid all that death and destruction, like the solitary ghost of former roses.
Across the way there was a pool and a patio with one old table and a pole without an umbrella. Ron stepped over to look inside the pool. It had turned into a disgusting mess of a pond, with blackened water, rotting vegetation, croaking toads, and a dancing group of insects that rose with every breath of wind. Green slime crawled up the walls, and the old ladder in the deep end was encrusted with growth. Taking it all in, Ron was glad that the kids had stayed behind.
He was avoiding the house. It loomed over everything, enhancing the eeriness. He was glad that they weren’t going inside - just being in the backyard was enough to make him jumpy.
Still, he knew he couldn’t ignore it forever. He was supposed to be gathering evidence, so he took a few shots of the house, zooming in on some of the windows. There was little to see. It was so dark inside that only the occasional curtain was visible.
He stepped around to the patio to take a closer look at the table. There was nothing, except for a crumbled McDonald’s bag tumbling about on the ground. He wondered how old it was, and then it occurred to him that it was dry and fresh. It had been left there after the rain last week.
His blood ran cold. He stared at the bag, knowing he was being silly. It had probably been tossed out of a car and rolled by the wind until it rested here. There was no other indication that anyone else had been here recently.
Nevertheless, he went to stand by Dylan.
Dylan was struggling with his camera and starting to swear. A horsefly and several mosquitoes danced about his head and he swiped at them angrily.
“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.
“Stupid battery! It’s run down and I forgot to bring the other one. Shoot!”
“Just leave it. We can take stills.”
“I didn’t want to take stills – I wanted to film it. Oh, for crying out loud! Give me your camera.”
Dylan snatched it out of Ron’s palm and examined it carefully. “Okay, this has some film time left on it. It’s not good resolution, though – in fact, it’s pretty awful, but we can at least get some exterior and placement shots with it.”
They spent some time doing that, trading off the camera to get different shots and angles. Dylan went back over the fence, and then hopped back into the yard so that Ron could get it on camera. He couldn’t resist dropping to the ground in a Hollywood-special-ops pose. They got shots of Dylan contemplating the nearly-empty pool, looking up at the shed, walking around the garage, and examining some of the decomposing leaves with an inquisitive expression.
Ron decided that Dylan was more interested in becoming the star of his own video than he was in finding an actual ghost. They’d been in the yard for a long time now, and not once had the older boy looked around for signs of ghostly activity.
Finally, Dylan said, “Okay, now for the house.”
“Dylan!” Katy shouted. The acoustics of the yard made her sound further away than she was. “Hurry up!”
“Hang on!” he yelled. “We’re just getting started.”
“Well, make it snappy,” she responded. “Grandma’s calling and she wants us home.”
“Come on, Ron. We still need to examine the house.”
Up close, the house looked worse. Dirt encrusted shutters, mud spattered siding, cracked windows, and filthy gutters were the least of it: thorny weeds scratched at their legs as they crept along the side of the house. The first floor windows were too high for them to look into, and the basement windows were pitch black. Nothing could be seen there.
“Let’s go up on the back porch,” Dylan said.
Up on the porch, they looked in each window. The sun started to sink behind the trees and was casting long shadows over the yard. The air was starting to cool. Strange creaking and occasional bangs came from inside as the house settled in for the night, and Ron asked Dylan about the noises as they took pictures.
“That’s nothing,” he said. He added, “We’ll see lots more if we go inside, like proper ghost hunters do.”
“That’s breaking and entering.”
“If we don’t get caught, who cares?”
“Dylan, I’m not helping you to break in a house.” Ron insisted.
“Yeesh! You know, if you don’t want to help, all you have to do is say so. Oh, forget it. Let’s snoop around the other side.”
They made out better there. The ground was firmer, and there was an old stone path running along the house, suppressing the weeds and making it much more pleasant to walk on. The basement windows were still black and yielded little in the way of the supernatural; but they were out of sight of the awful pool, and Ron was able to breathe a little easier.
“This would be a good place to start the narration,” Dylan said with satisfaction. “Come on, Ron, cameraman time.”
Ron took the camera and the backpack. Dylan ran his hands through his hair and fussed over his clothes a bit. He didn’t mind the patches of mud on his shorts, but he did mind those on his legs and Ron could hear him muttering and complaining as he brushed at them.
“Oh, man!” he moaned. He held up the culprit between thumb and forefinger, more annoyed than concerned. “I had a tick on my leg! Jeez.” Before Ron could react, the older boy had flicked the tick into the bushes and went back to examining his limbs. “I hope there aren’t anymore.”
Ron, who hadn’t much experience with ticks, was impressed with the blasé attitude that his friend adopted.
“All right,” Dylan said, having checked everything that he could check without stripping off clothing. “Let’s get to it, then. Ready with the camera?”
Ron was and started filming on Dylan’s mark.
“We’re here at the site of the infamous Lang murder, in the heart of beautiful Franklin, New Hampshire,” said Dylan. He spoke in a hushed and awed tone and began to walk along the side of the house just like the hosts in reality TV shows. “In this spot – house, in this house about ten – no, twenty years - oh, man, stop the camera.”
Ron did. “You were doing really well.”
“I’ll have to edit that bit out,” Dylan grumbled, ignoring him. “Hand me my backpack, will you? I need to check my notes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for the first shot to be in front of the house?” asked Ron. “That’s what most people do, I think.”
“I just don’t want to be seen. People might call the cops if they saw us on the porch.”
“Good point.”
Dylan flipped through a well-thumbed stack of printed website pages. Ron was starting to get impatient. After all, he hadn’t come on this expedition just to be a camera lackey and bag holder. He wanted to look at the house himself. Although Dylan had a point about the police, the porch was pretty well shaded and sheltered from the road by the bushes and trees. Judging from where the sun was in the sky, there was a good chance that the interior would be lit well enough to make something out.
He started for the front porch, camera in hand. Dylan, still fumbling with the pages, grabbed his stuff and followed
after him.
“Wait,” he said. “We’ll be seen.”
“The trees are blocking us. Come on.”
There was a second set of porch stairs on the side of the house, made of rotting wood ready to give at any second. Ron tested the first step gingerly. It creaked and felt slippery, but did not break.
He was about to step up on it when Dylan, finally catching up with him, said, “Wait! Wait, let’s film it!”
They walked up the steps. Ron followed Dylan, keeping the shot close to the older boy’s flip flops, as instructed.
“The porch of the old murder mansion,” Dylan said, in that same hushed whisper, “is old and decrepit. You have to watch your step carefully or you’ll break through the old rotting wood. Cut. Did you get that?”
“I think so,” Ron said. “I just ran out of memory. Your feet are really dirty.”
“Shows that I’m rugged,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s take a look through the windows.”
It was then that Ron heard it. A clattering sound came first, followed by a long, low moan. It vibrated through the air and sent a chill shivering up his spine. He was frozen for a moment, unable to make a sound. As the moan faded, he locked eyes with Dylan and knew he hadn’t been the only one who heard it.
Dylan had jumped off the porch to the grass, bouncing on his toes, one leg bloody with the scratch he’d received leaping over the railing. He was pale, and Ron thought he looked like he was going to have a heart attack.
“What was that?” he asked.
Ron looked back to the house. He thought it odd that he was more curious than frightened. He tried the door handle, but it was firmly locked, and the sign on the door warned against entering these “dangerous premises”.
“What are you doing?” Dylan squeaked.
Ron looked over his shoulder. “Don’t you want to see where it came from?”
Dylan swallowed hard. “Well, sure,” he said shakily. “Why not? I mean, that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Right.”
“You know, it’s too bad the camera wasn’t on. I could have used it in the video.”
Summer Shadows Page 23
