by Terri Reid
Stanley shrugged and nodded. “I s’pose so.”
“Good,” she immediately replied. “Because I don’t want you to do anything that would endanger your life. You don’t need to be a hero; you just need to stay safe.”
Stanley walked away from her and started to pace across the room. “The way I see it,” he began, “is that maybe someone oughta face that whippersnapper down. It ain’t nothing but a kid ghost. All it needs is a firm hand, some discipline, that’s all.”
“No, Stanley,” Rosie said firmly. “It’s not just a kid ghost. It’s as old as we are, and it’s powerful enough to have frightened Mary.”
He shook his head. “Awww, she was just scared ‘cause of her condition,” he countered. “Iffen she wasn’t carrying a baby, she would have taken it out the first time.”
“We don’t know that,” Rosie said. “We can’t see it or feel it like she does. We need to take her word for it.”
Stanley stopped pacing and looked down at Rosie. “Fine,” he said. “Is that what you want me to say? Okay, I said it. Fine.”
She stood up, walked over to him and slipped her hands around his waist, laying her head against his shoulder. “No, I want you to say that you will not do anything that will endanger the love of my life,” she whispered. “Because if something were to happen to you, I don’t think I could survive it.”
He sighed, and she could feel the anger and frustration leave his body. Then he wrapped his arms around her and just held her. “I s’pose I feel the same way about you,” he said. “That’s why it’s so goldurn frustrating to think something might be threatening you and I can’t do a dang thing about it.”
“Something is threatening both of us,” she reminded him. “And we are doing something. We are protecting ourselves.”
“We’re hiding like cowards,” he grumbled.
She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “Stanley,” she said sharply.
“I ain’t saying I’m gonna do anything else,” he quickly countered. “I’m just saying I’m feeling like a wimp.”
“He that fights and runs away lives to fight another day,” Rosie quoted to him.
“Well, I ain’t running away,” Stanley exclaimed. “That’s for sure.”
“I didn’t mean that you are running away,” she replied, exasperated. “I only meant that it is sometimes wiser to wait for the right opportunity to fight, rather than rush in without knowledge or defenses.”
“Well, and how’s we gonna get knowledge unless we face it?” he argued.
“We wait until Ian…” she began.
Stanley quickly put a hand over her mouth and glanced around the room. “You ‘member what Bradley told us tonight?” he asked, nodding meaningfully at her.
Her eyes wide, she nodded back, and he removed his hand.
“I mean, isn’t it nice that Mary’s at home,” she said loudly. “Safe and sound in her bedroom.”
Stanley glanced slowly around the room. “Speaking of bedroom,” he said, “I’m thinking it’s time to retire for the night. You go wash up and I’ll lock up.”
Rosie nodded. “Okay,” she replied, her voice a little shaky. “I’ll go wash up.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Stanley sat at the edge of the bed in the guestroom, waiting in the darkness, watching the flashing display lights reflecting on the hallway wall. His iPhone in his hand, he looked down at the time. It had been thirty minutes since Rosie had kissed him goodnight and headed to their bedroom. She had to be asleep. He stood up and walked to the doorway, listening intently until he heard the soft, rhythmic breathing of his sweetheart.
“‘Bout time she fell asleep,” he muttered.
He walked back, sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through the pages of apps he had. Finally he came to the one he wanted. It was a ghost detector. The description said that it guaranteed that he would be able to communicate with ghosts in his house.
“Don’t need none of them fancy electronics,” he said, engaging the app. “I’ll show them what I can do.”
The screen glowed as a neon-green radar appeared on the black background. An indicator arm circulated around the interior of the radar screen, searching for paranormal phenomena. “Come on,” Stanley whispered. “I paid good money for you. You better work.”
Suddenly an electronic voice read out, “Robert.”
“Robert?” Stanley asked his phone. “Is that your name?”
The voice replied again. “Texas.”
“Texas?” Stanley asked. “I thought you were from Wisconsin. Were you born in Texas?”
“Pancakes.”
Stanley moved the phone away from him and stared. “What the hell does pancakes have to do with this?” he asked. “You hungry, boy?”
Stanley waited for another response, but minutes went by with the last response, pancakes, still displayed at the top of the screen.
“Ain’t you talking to me until I make you pancakes?” he asked quietly.
“Applause.”
“Does that mean I’m right?” Stanley asked. “Does that mean you’re clapping ‘cause I figgered it out?”
The radar screen was still searching, but nothing else was happening. He stared down at the phone. “The description had over one thousand five-star reviews,” he whispered. “Can’t all those folks be lying.”
He stared at the screen for a few more moments.
“Feed,” it exclaimed.
“Fine,” Stanley huffed. “I’ll make you pancakes.”
He pulled his robe on over his pajamas and carefully snuck out of the guest room. The display lights were still gently flickering, indicating that they weren’t picking up any paranormal activity. Stanley scoffed in their direction. “Highfalutin, fancy-schmancy instruments,” he whispered. “You ain’t got nothing on my ghost detector.”
Tip-toeing across the room, he went to the cupboard where Rosie kept the pancake mix. Placing his phone on the counter, he poured about two cups of dry mix into a bowl and then turned to get the eggs from the refrigerator. As he turned, the phone exclaimed, “newspaper.”
“Whatcha want in the newspaper?” he asked.
“Height.”
“What?” Stanley asked, walking back.
“Grandmother.”
“I ain’t no one’s grandmother,” Stanley said. “Now do you want pancakes or dontcha?”
“Hamburger.”
“Why can’t you make up your mind?” Stanley exclaimed.
“Stanley, what’s wrong?” Rosie asked, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. “Why are you in the kitchen? And who were you talking to?”
Stanley slid a kitchen towel over the phone and smiled at Rosie. “Well, I was a mite hungry,” he said. “And I was thinking about making myself a little late-night snack. But then I disremembered I get terrible heartburn when I do that.”
Rosie nodded. “Yes, you do,” she said. “You shouldn’t eat after ten.”
He came around the counter and put his hand over her shoulders, guiding her back towards her bedroom. “I’m so sorry I woke you,” he said gently. “Let me tuck you back in.”
Once they were out of hearing distance, the app responded again.
“Fire.”
“Death.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Adeline glided through the room and perched herself on the edge of the other occasional chair in the room. “You know, I was always a great fan of mysteries,” she said. “But one of my most annoying traits was that I always solved them before the end of the book.”
Mary smiled at her. “I wouldn’t call that annoying,” she said. “I would call that genius.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say,” Adeline replied. “But as someone who always had to finish a book once she started it, it really made for a very tedious ending.”
“It would seem you have a natural talent for mystery solving,” Ian said. “And, I must admit, there are things about this Tony Lancaster case that have me quite at wits en
d. You seem to have researched him more than most. What did you discover?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Adeline admitted, scooting back in the chair and relaxing, “for I have wanted to share my suppositions with others to see whether or not they were viable.”
Ian nodded. “First supposition?” he asked.
“Well, in one file you will find that I collected clippings from all of the deaths at the asylum from the year Tony was imprisoned to the year they closed the asylum,” she said.
“Why didn’t you stop once Tony died?” Mary asked.
Adeline smiled at her. “Now, see, that’s where the first supposition comes in,” she said. “Many of the deaths were natural causes, but a handful were because of spontaneous fires.”
“Including Dr. Mark Buus,” Ian inserted.
“Exactly so,” Adeline agreed. “Isn’t it odd that a building built out of brick and cinder block would have so many strange and unexplained fires?”
Mary nodded. “I suppose it is,” she agreed.
“And, furthermore,” Adeline continued, “isn’t it odd that everyone who died from a fire in the asylum had a connection of some sort to Tony Lancaster?”
Mary sat up. “Really?” she asked.
Adeline nodded slowly. “Yes, I did as much collaborative fact checking as I could,” she said. “But there is definitely a connection between Tony and at least most of the fires.”
“And, now that we have Mark’s files,” Ian said, “perhaps we can even ascertain a more solid link.” He looked over at Mary. “Do you have the file about the deaths?”
Mary flipped through the files in her lap and finally pulled one free. “Here it is,” she said with a smile in Adeline’s direction, “in perfect chronological order.”
“Of course,” Adeline said. “Much easier to find that way.”
“Okay,” Ian said, looking through Dr. Buus’s files. “Give me the first name on the list.”
Mary pulled out the first paperclipped item. It contained an obituary and several articles from the local paper, as well as an article from the Madison paper. “Frank Marnette.”
Ian glanced down the paperwork. “Okay, we have a match,” he said. “Tony complained that Frank Marnette, the resident whose room was next door to his, annoyed him. Frank would constantly call over to Tony’s room and want to speak with him.”
“That’s annoying?” Mary asked.
“To Tony it was,” Ian replied. “Tony told Mark that someday he was going to kill Frank because someone that annoying had no place on earth.”
“Well, that’s disturbing,” Mary said.
“And even more interesting is this,” Ian added. “Tony said the best way to kill people was with fire because it was like the pastor at his church once said, from dust you came and to dust you will return.”
“He listened to the words of his pastor?” Adeline asked. “Is that unusual? He didn’t seem to be the religious type at all.”
“He might not have been religious,” Mary mused thoughtfully, “only worshipful.”
Ian glanced over at her. “Okay, interesting premise,” he said. “Explain.”
She nodded. “So, psychopaths are all about placing themselves in the best positions of, for lack of a better word, power,” Mary explained. “They are looking out for themselves, and they like feeling in control over others.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Ian said.
“Picture a young boy going to a church with his family,” Mary said. “There in the front of the church, telling everyone what to do, putting, excuse the pun, the fear of God in everyone, is the pastor. He is the guy in control. He is the one with the power. He is the one that gets to call the shots. A burgeoning psychopath could look upon a person like that and want to model himself after him.”
“Cleansed by fire,” Ian said slowly.
“To lay your life down for a greater cause,” Adeline added.
“I will come again in glory to rule the world,” Mary added softly.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Bradley slowly crept down the stairs, keeping his weight against the wall, so the steps didn’t creak. He scanned the room, noting the flickering lights of all the devices Katie had helped him set up. They were all still in normal mode. Nothing paranormal had disturbed them. He should feel relaxed, at ease, but there was something…
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs he waited as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. There was something else in the house, something just on the edge of consciousness. It was something that pulled at him. The air was heavier. The atmosphere tingled. And he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment to shut out all of the distractions, and listened. Listened with his ears and with his intuition. He turned slowly and opened his eyes. The kitchen, he decided. Whatever it was, it came from the kitchen.
He thought for a moment about contacting Mike. He had actually stepped back towards the staircase when he saw it move. He countered, moving quickly across the living room floor to the edge of the kitchen. Back pressed against the wall, he had a quick flashback to the first night he’d stayed in Mary’s house, the first night he’d actually encountered a ghost, the first night he realized there was much more to this life than what you could see and feel. But this was not Earl, the loud and clumsy, headless soldier looking for his final resting spot. No, this was something far more deft and evasive.
He slid around the corner into the kitchen and, at the edge of his sight, caught movement in the far corner of the kitchen. Wasn’t that where Mary had first seen the shadowed entity?
All pretense of concealment gone, Bradley flew through the kitchen towards the back door. But when he reached the wall, nothing was there.
“Of course nothing’s here,” he muttered, leaning against the wall and running his hand through his hair. “It was a ghost.”
“Where was a ghost?” Mike asked, appearing in the middle of the kitchen.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Bradley sent Mike a look of disgust. “Great help you are,” he muttered, walking past the guardian angel.
“What?” Mike exclaimed, following after him. “What?”
“I just came down here and saw a shadow in the kitchen,” Bradley said accusingly.
“Are you sure?” Mike asked angrily.
Bradley turned around and went nose to nose with Mike. “Am I sure?” he demanded. “I’m a trained professional. I know what I saw, and I saw a shadow lurking in the kitchen.”
“Oh, so now it was lurking,” Mike replied. “Did any of the monitors go off?”
Bradley shook his head. “No, they didn’t,” he said. “But they’re machines, not angels.”
He turned from Mike, marched to the couch, and began tossing the throw pillows over to one corner.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
Bradley sat down on the couch and pulled the throw over his shoulder. “Well, since I can’t trust your abilities to protect my family, I guess I’m going to stay on the couch tonight.”
“Listen to me, Mr. Trained Professional.” Mike countered. “Nothing evil, malignant or threatening entered this house tonight. I would have known.”
Bradley started to speak, then stopped and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?” he asked.
“I’m an angel,” Mike snapped. “I can’t smell things anymore, or didn’t they explain that in trained professional school?”
Bradley smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said and took another deep breath of the air. “That was totally uncalled for. Boy, I wish you could smell it. It’s like…”
“What?” Mike asked, suddenly suspicious.
Bradley yawned widely and smiled. “So. Nothing evil was in the house?” he asked.
Mike shook his head. “No, nothing evil,” he said. “But there could have been another random spirit just wandering through.”
Nodding, Bradley sat down and leaned back
against the couch. “Okay, well, that makes total sense,” he said. “It was probably someone looking for Mary for help. I’m really sorry, Mike. I was a total jerk.”
Mike looked down on Bradley. “What does it smell like?” he asked.
Bradley inhaled deeply, his face relaxing and his smile widening. “Like gingerbread cookies and…” He sniffed again. “Pine trees.”
“Isn’t that what Mary smelled last night?” Mike asked.
Bradley yawned again, got up and started to walk towards the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Mike demanded.
Bradley looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “To bed,” he said. “Suddenly, I’m really tired.”
“But I thought you were going to sleep down here because you were worried,” Mike replied.
Bradley yawned again. “No,” he said. “I’m good. If it was anything bad, you would have known.”
His mouth opened in astonishment, Mike watched Bradley casually walk back up the stairs. Finally, when he heard the bedroom door close, he shook his head in disbelief. “I so don’t understand what just happened,” he said, slowly scanning the room. “And I don’t like it one bit. Not one little bit.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Stanley’s head slipped forward, and with a start, he shook himself, trying once again to evade the sleep that had been trying to take him over for hours. He was seated on the couch, facing the Christmas tree, trying to keep a vigilant watch over his home and, most importantly, his dear wife.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 4:00 am. He wondered vaguely about how late ghosts stay up haunting a house. His eyes started to close again, and he fought the exhaustion. “I gotta stay up,” he said aloud. “Gotta protect the house.”
Suddenly an overpowering scent seemed to surround him. He inhaled it and, feeling revitalized, inhaled it again. It smelled like someone had opened a window to a pine forest on a cold winter’s day. The sharpness of the pine needles and the coolness of the air pushed the exhaustion away.
