Spookshow: Book 3: The Women in the walls

by Tim McGregor

  “Buy something anyway.”

  “Wait a second,” the woman cautioned. “I think I got something.”

  “More fashion blogs? Great.”

  Leah’s eyes were glued to the screen. Then her mouth popped open in surprise. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Napier rushed back and looked over the woman’s shoulder as he read the screen. “Paranormal Trackers? What the hell is that?”

  Leah pointed at the type on the screen. “According to this, she’s aiding the police. Turns out our mystery woman is a psychic.”

  Aaron Napier blinked twice before his laughter boomed through the spacious office.

  ~

  “So that’s it, huh?”

  “That’s it,” Owen said. “The Murder House.”

  Kaitlin stood before the iron fence and looked out across the overgrown lawns to the abandoned building in the distance. It was barely visible in the darkness of the mountain behind it but a few of the broken windows caught the moonlight.

  Justin lifted the chain wrapped around the gates. Heavy gauge, with a rusty padlock. “I don’t know if our bolt-cutters can cut through this.”

  Owen looked up at the pointed spikes topping the gates. “Scaling it looks tricky. One slip and you lose your nards.” Whenever possible, Owen would quote from an old movie called Monster Squad. A childhood favourite but he did it more to annoy his fellow Paranormal Tracker.

  “Don’t start with that shit,” Justin said, reaching into the back of the vehicle for their gear. “Let’s check the equipment.”

  Kaitlin watched the two men fire up their odd-looking devices. They lit up and beeped and one squealed like a metal detector. “What is all that?”

  “Electromagnetic reader,” Justin said, showing her the devices. “E.V.P. recorder, spirit box.”

  Owen held a small videocamera. “Full spectrum GoPro camera. This baby will catch everything.”

  “Wow,” Kaitlin said. “Lots of toys. What about me?”

  “Take an EMF reader.” Justin handed her one of the compact devices and then reached into the back for something else. “And then the most important piece of equipment. Voila.”

  He pulled out something wrapped in a dark cloth. Unfurling the material, he revealed a board with letters and numbers in fancy script. “The spirit board.”

  Kaitlin looked at it. “Seems so low-tech.”

  “Take it,” he said, offering it to her.

  Kaitlin chewed her lip, as if unsure it was safe to touch. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Just take it. But be gentle with it. It’s an antique.”

  “Antique?” Kaitlin pointed to the logo at the bottom edge of the board. “It’s says Parker Brothers on it.”

  “Still cost me forty bucks so don’t break it. Here, take it.”

  He thrust it into her hands. Kaitlin wasn’t sure but her fingertips sparked faintly touching the board. The piece was wood, not plastic as she expected. The varnish had worn off the surface and some of the letters were faded.

  Looping a bag over one shoulder, Owen looked out over the fence surrounding the property. “Maybe if we walk the perimeter we can find a better spot to climb over.”

  A squealing sound erupted from the device in Justin’s hand. The lights flared momentarily before dimming again.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Did you see that?”

  “That was one hell of a blip.” Owen checked his EMF reader. “I got nothing on mine.”

  Kaitlin looked down at the device. “What was that?”

  “Energy surge. Something just strafed us.”

  “Something?”

  “A ghost or an entity.”

  “Shit!” Owen cursed. “Car.”

  Headlights twinkled in the distance, a car approaching fast on the dark road. It slowed as it came over the next rise and pulled parallel to Justin’s parked vehicle.

  “Damn it,” Justin grumbled.

  The passenger window of the car rolled down. The driver, a grey-haired man with a beard, leaned over to peer at the trio before the gates of the old property. “Hi there,” he said. “Car trouble?”

  “Something like that,” said Justin.

  The driver looked at each of them in turn, pausing to scrutinize their bags and odd equipment. “You wouldn’t be thinking of breaking into that place, would you?”

  “What’s it to you, pops?” Owen grunted.

  “I’ve had it with you fucking kids,” the driver barked. He brought up his cell phone and started dialling. “I’m calling the police. Stay put.”

  “Easy, man. We weren’t doing nothing!”

  “Too late, dumbass. Cops are on their way.”

  “What an asshole.” Justin tossed his bag back into the trunk. “Get in the car.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Kaitlin said.

  “I’m not taking the chance. Let’s go.”

  Owen stowed his gear and the spirit board was plucked from Kaitlin’s hand and wrapped back up in the dark cloth.

  They climbed back into the car and Justin gunned the engine, spitting gravel from the back tires.

  Kaitlin shivered suddenly, as if a cold wind had whispered into her ear. She turned around to look out the back window, her eyes fixed on the Murder House until it disappeared behind the tree line.

  A word slipped from her lips. “Evelyn.”

  “What?” Justin said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

  “Nothing.”

  27

  LATE AFTERNOON, THE sun angling low over the western rim of the city. Mockler looked up from his notes and squinted against the light. Early autumn and the days already getting shorter. He patted his pockets for his sunglasses only to remember that he’d left them on the dashboard. He was about to fetch them when Odinbeck banged out the door of the low-rise tenement they were parked in front of.

  “Any luck?” he said.

  Odinbeck huffed it down the pathway to the sidewalk, his face mottled red. “Nope. Same story. What did you make of the place?”

  “I didn’t see any signs he’d been there,” Mockler said.

  The investigation into the deceased women was put on hold for the afternoon as the two detectives made a few follow-up visits on an older case. A person of interest in a homicide investigation had skipped town three months ago. The tenement Odinbeck had just exited was the home of the missing man’s old girlfriend. They paid her an unexpected visit to see if the boyfriend had returned. Although hostile to the intrusion, the woman appeared to be telling the truth when she said she hadn’t seen her former beau.

  “She ain’t holding any torch for that guy,” Odinbeck wheezed. “I don’t think she’d lie for him.”

  “That’s the feeling I got,” Mockler said. He consulted his notes. “There’s that friend of his out on Villiers. We can check on him.”

  “Yeah. We may as well be thorough.”

  They were walking back to the car when Odinbeck looked up and said, “What the hell’s all this?”

  A white van had screeched to a halt up ahead, the doors sliding open before the vehicle had even stopped. Two people hustled out and were rushing their way. The woman scurried up in little steps on high heels, a microphone in hand. Behind her was a man with a big video camera slung over one shoulder.

  “Detective?” the woman said, flagging them down.

  “This is bad news,” Odinbeck grumbled, “whatever it is.”

  “Detective Mockler?” the woman said, her cheeks flushing.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Amanda Troy from Hamilton Bay News. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “We have a press officer back at Division One,” Mockler replied. “They’ll be happy to talk to you.”

  “You are the detective investigating the bodies discovered in the Essex warehouse, correct?”

  The woman’s colleague aimed his camera at the detective. Mockler reached for the car door. “Again, you’ll have to direct your questions to—”<
br />
  “Is it true,” the reporter interrupted, “that the police have employed a psychic in their investigation?”

  Caught off guard, he startled at the question and then growled at the fact that the cameraman had caught his reaction.

  Odinbeck broke in. “You heard the man, miss. Talk to the press officer.”

  Amanda Troy pressed in further, almost jamming the microphone into Mockler’s face. The cameraman zoomed in. “Is it also true that the investigation is so difficult that the Hamilton Police have turned to this psychic out of desperation?”

  “No.” Mockler fought the urge to slap the microphone away from him. “It is not.”

  “Get in the car, buddy,” Odinbeck barked. “Now.”

  Mockler climbed into the car and slammed the door. The reporter kept firing questions through the glass of the window. The tiny red light of the camera glowed as the man pressed in with the lens.

  “Christ.” Odinbeck spat and pulled the car away. “Do you believe those people? You tell ‘em no and they just push harder.”

  Mockler watched the buildings pass by the window, too angry and flustered to speak. How the hell did that reporter know?

  “I mean, psychics?” Odinbeck turned on to Roxborough Avenue, barely slowing for the stop sign. “Where would she get such a stupid idea?”

  The detective in the passenger seat clenched his jaw.

  Odinbeck turned to look at Mockler and deciphered the hard set of the man’s face. “Mockler…tell me you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “It was quiet. Off the books.”

  “Jesus Christ. You been eating retard sandwiches again?” The older detective sputtered and then shook his head slowly. “Brother, I would not want to be you when the people upstairs hear this.”

  ~

  Billie wanted her bike back. Marching the thirteen blocks to Jen’s shop was no big deal. It was just a lot faster with the bicycle. She hated the thought of it abandoned outside the shelter where she had locked it to the pole. She’d had too many bikes stolen in her life to think it was safe for a few days. Twilight was burning the edges of the day and a glowing orange haze rimmed the cityscape as the sun went down. Billie checked the time on her phone and realized she was going to be late for the usual Tuesday meet-up with the ladies. The footwear wasn’t helping either, new ankle boots she had just bought but had yet to wear beyond trying them on in the store. They felt tight and, without socks, they were already chafing her feet raw.

  By the time she got to James Street, the new boots were clenched in one hand and the soles of her feet slapped against the concrete. A blister had already formed and popped and she tried not to think about how infected it might get from the grimy pavement. Pushing open the door to Jen’s shop, the vintage bell clanging overhead, she was more than ready to flop onto the bench near the cash.

  The new boots slipped from her hand and thumped against the floor. Her eyes dished wide, disbelieving what she was seeing.

  The ladies were all there, as expected. Drinks in hand, Jen, Kaitlin and Tammy were talking and laughing while music played over the sound system. What was different was the stranger in the room. Chatting up the ladies, making them laugh as he tilted a bottle to refresh their drinks. More astonishing than that was the fact that he was smoking inside the shop and Jen was laughing and chatting like this happened all the time.

  “Billie!” Jen exclaimed, rushing to the door. “A friend of your’s stopped in.”

  “Hello sunshine,” said the man. “We were wondering if you got lost.”

  John Gantry raised his glass at her in a mock cheer, the cigarette in his teeth angling up with his smile.

  Billie picked her boots back up from the floor but remained where she stood. What she saw simply didn’t compute. John Gantry, the son of a bitch who had messed up her head with crazy notions of the supernatural, was in Jen’s shop.

  “Where the hell,” she sputtered, “did you come from?”

  “Miserable old England,” Gantry said, beaming a grin at her. “Get yourself a glass, luv.”

  Tammy crossed the floor to her friend. “Billie, you all right? Why are you barefoot?”

  “What is he doing here?” Billie hissed, pulling Tammy close.

  “He was looking for you. We told him he could wait.” Tammy elbowed Billie in the ribs. “How come you never told us about this guy? He’s hilarious.”

  “Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

  “Really?” Tammy whispered, her interest in the stranger doubling. “Dangerous how?”

  “Just keep your distance.” Billie rolled her eyes at her friend and approached the newcomer. It had been three months since the wily Englishman had parachuted into her life just as it went all to hell before vanishing again. John Gantry had been the one to tell her that she could communicate with the dead. He was also, she reminded herself, a known murder suspect being actively pursued by Detective Mockler. His sudden return could only mean trouble. And here he was sitting in Jen’s shop, charming her three closest friends.

  “You better sit down,” Gantry said. “You look a wee piqued.”

  Billie plunked down to the church pew. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just got back. Wanted to meet your friends.” He turned to Jen. “I was just telling Jen how much I like her shop. I predict a bright future.”

  Jen tittered like a schoolgirl, an immense smile brightening her features. Billie gaped in disbelief. What had Gantry done to them? Had he worked some charm spell?

  She turned to Jen. “Why are you letting him smoke in here?”

  “Just one, Johnny,” Jen wagged a finger at the man before looking back to her friend. “What’s the harm?”

  Her friend was bewitched, Billie decided. There could be no other explanation for someone who detested smokers.

  “John said you two met in the summer,” Kaitlin added. “How come you didn’t tell us?”

  “Because he’s wanted for murder.”

  Dead silence. Then they burst into laughter. Someone handed Billie a glass and she looked at what was in it. She took a sip. Champagne for God’s sakes.

  “Can I talk to you?” she said to Gantry. “Alone.”

  Tammy mocked a shocked face, as if the two of them were having a lover’s spat. Billie limped to the front of the shop, nodding at Gantry to follow and leaving the ladies to huddle. God only knew what they were whispering about now.

  “Alright, Billie?” Gantry said. “You look a bit thin to me.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He squinted at her, like he needed glasses to see. “That’s a bit dramatic with the eye-liner, isn’t it? Not sure it suits you.”

  “Shut up,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I came to check up on you. You dealing with the dead people better? Mastered the art of speaking to the other side and all that?”

  She wasn’t in the mood for riddles or his useless charm. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Did you get chased out of the U.K.?”

  “He held up both hands in a mock surrender. “Honest Pete, I was worried about you. I’ve been getting smoke signals from across the pond for two weeks now.”

  “Would you speak English, please? Smoke signals?”

  “Warning signs. Trouble.” He sipped his drink. “About you and this town. What’s happened?”

  Billie shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t dicker me about. Something dodgy has been going on and you of all people should have sensed it.”

  “I haven’t sensed anything,” she said. “In fact, it’s been quiet. Your radar must be off.”

  “The dead arseholes are minding their manners around you?”

  “Not really. I keep them shut out.”

  He clicked his teeth. “That’s not a good idea, sweetheart.”

  Billie shifted her weight to favour the sore foot. “Everything is fine. But I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay away
from my friends. I need to keep these two things separate.”

  “Separate?”

  “This,” she said, pointing to the ladies at the other end of the shop. “This world. The everyday world and the few friends I have. I need to keep it separate from you and the rest of the weirdness.”

  “I see. I’m not good enough for your friends, am I? You know, that really hurts my feelings.”

  “Good.” She nodded at the door. “See you around, Gantry.”

  “Hang about,” he said. “I was serious about the smoke signals. You haven’t run into any spooky stuff? No evil shadow wraiths with flies coming out of their gobs or bizarro cult people trying to raise the devil?”

  “Nope. Nothing. Like I said, your radar’s off.”

  Gantry pursed his lips in odd way, mulling it over. “My radar’s never off. Say, you ever heard of a place called the Murder House?”

  “No,” she shrugged. “I dunno. Why?”

  “Not sure. The name keeps coming to me. Dunno why. You ever see this place?”

  “I don’t even know where it is.”

  He gruffed, like something wasn’t making sense. His cigarette was finished but with no ashtrays around, he was about to drop it to the floor.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Got an ashtray?”

  “You’re useless.” Billie took the butt from him and stepped out the door to fling it outside. She didn’t see the news reporter until the woman all but jumped her.

  “Are you Billie Culpepper?” the woman asked.

  Billie startled back in confusion. The well-dressed woman crowded into her with a microphone while a cameraman behind her angled his heavy videocamera at her. “What? Who are you?”

  “Amanda Troy, HBC news,” the woman replied in rapidfire speech. “Is it true you’re a psychic medium? How long have you been assisting the Hamilton Police force with your services?”

  Billie seized up. The woman spoke so fast it sounded like Italian to her. It took a second to decipher exactly what the woman had asked. “What?”

  “Did you find any new evidence in the Essex building where the bodies were discovered?” The woman pressed in even closer with the microphone. “How many bodies were uncovered? Is it true all the victims were women?”