I grabbed Heath’s arm and tugged. “Come on! We’ve got to go help him!”
Heath nodded and we surged forward, running and slipping as we went, and all the while, ahead of us the voice cried the name Alex over and over. “Hello!” I shouted at some point when we’d gone at least a hundred yards and still there was no sign of the owner of the voice.
A sob drifted out of the cool night air. “Alex! Oh, Alex!”
“Hello!” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Sir! Where are you?” My heart was thundering in my chest as I thought about who this man was and wondered if perhaps he was looking for his son, Alex.
But then my feet began to splash, and squinting into the darkness and fog, I could see that the tide was really coming up now, and at the pace Heath and I were racing along, we were sure to slip if we continued. Grabbing his arm again, I pulled us to a stop. We both stood still for a minute, the silence broken only by our winded breathing. “Hello?” Heath called after several seconds passed, and we heard no more from the desperate man lost somewhere out in the fog.
“Where’d he go?”
Heath shook his head. “I don’t know, but we need to really consider turning back, because we’re about to be in serious trouble.” For emphasis he pointed his flashlight down. My toes were now almost completely submerged.
“Damn!” I swore. “This tide comes in quick!”
“M. J.!” we heard behind us. “Heath!”
“We’re here!” I called to Gopher’s shouts.
“We’ve got to get off the causeway!”
With one last look to the north, I said to Heath, “Let’s go. We can alert the authorities back onshore, and they can send someone out to help him.”
Heath nodded and we picked our way quickly through the deepening water. We found Gopher just a bit later and he seemed frantic. “Where’re Kim and John?” I demanded.
“I sent them back. And we’ve got to hurry before we lose sight of the causeway and get swept into the channel. I’ve read that the currents here are deadly.”
“Not to mention that the water’s freezing,” I added, shivering again with cold as the frigid water now encased my feet from the ankle down.
“Come on,” Heath urged. “Let’s move.”
Hurrying along as quickly as we could, we finally slogged our way back to the beach, and it was without a moment to spare, as by the time we reached terra firma again, the water had moved all the way up to my calves and we could barely keep our footing or make out the causeway under our feet.
John and Kim were shivering on the beach and waved at us when we finally emerged from the fog. “We were about to send for help,” said Kim.
“Wish you had,” I told her. “We need to send someone to see about that man looking for Alex.”
“Why would anyone be out on the causeway this late and given these weather conditions?” Gopher asked.
The four of us looked at him pointedly.
“Besides us,” he said. “I mean, at least we have a legitimate reason.”
I turned away from Gopher with a bit of disgust and waved everyone to the van. “Come on, guys. We’ve got to send help.”
With the aid of a local man out walking his dog, we finally found a coast guard station, and alerted the authorities, who took down every detail we had to offer before sending out a skiff. More than once they’d asked us what we were thinking by going for a late-night stroll along a dangerous path during midtide. “Everyone knows you don’t go walkin’ round the causeway after dark,” said the coast guard officer taking our report.
This elicited several more pointed looks in Gopher’s direction, but he ignored us and focused on getting help for the stranger.
Once we were sure help was on the way, there was nothing left for us to do but head back to the B&B.
This was a good thing because it was late and I was shivering so hard my teeth were rattling. My pants, shoes, and socks were all soaked and I couldn’t wait to get out of them.
No one said much on the ride back. Once we were there, we all mumbled our good-nights and turned in. When I entered the room I shared with Gilley, I was a little surprised to find him awake and munching on a late-night cheeseburger and fries. “Hey!” he said when he saw me. “Your pants are wet.”
I looked down in mock surprise. “They are?”
He gave me a smart smile and popped another fry into his mouth. “What’d I miss?”
Before answering him, I walked over to my suitcase and unzipped the lid. After fishing around for my pj’s, I held up a finger and headed for the bathroom. Once I’d changed and draped my jeans and socks over the shower curtain, I came back out and filled Gilley in. “Whoa,” he said when I’d finished. “Who’d be crazy enough to go out on the causeway in the dark and dense fog?”
“You mean other than us?”
“Yes. Other than you fools.”
I chuckled, and reached over to pick at some fries. “I’ve no idea, but he wasn’t a local.”
“Well, duh,” Gil said. “I doubt anyone who lives around here would do something that dumb.”
“No,” I told him, “you’re not getting it. What I mean is that the guy sounded Australian or South African.”
“Ah,” Gil said. “You knew by the accent.”
“Yep. We should ask Anya in the morning if she knows of any other foreigners staying in town. In a village this small, I’ve gotta believe that the locals keep track of outsiders.”
“Do you think they’ll find the guy on the causeway?”
“God, Gil, I really hope so. You should’ve heard him crying out for Alex. It was heartbreaking.”
“I wonder who Alex was to him.”
“Might be his son.”
“Might be his lover,” said Gil, and when I looked at him in surprise, he added, “Hey, you mention one guy looking for another and I immediately think gay.”
I rolled my eyes at him and he gave me a winning smile. “By the way,” he added, “Teeko sent you an e-mail.”
Gilley routinely went through my e-mail, even though I routinely changed the password. “Did she get Wendell off the plane okay?”
On our last bust I’d adopted a homeless black pug. As most of our ghost investigations tend to be in locations that aren’t exactly pet friendly, I’d thought it best to send him home and place him in the care of my best girlfriend. “She got him all right, and he’s safe and sound and already making doggy friends in Teeko’s neighborhood.”
I felt my shoulders relax. I’d been worried about such a long journey for a little puppy. “Any word on Doc?” I also had a parrot back home, being looked after by another dear friend of mine.
“You mean the other e-mail you got from Mama Dell?”
I couldn’t help smiling. Gilley really didn’t understand the meaning of the word “privacy.” “Yep,” I told him. “How’s my little guy doing?”
“According to Mama Dell, he’s swearing like a sailor at all her customers, chewing on all her wood furniture, and throwing beakfuls of food around his cage.”
My eyebrows rose. “He’s in good spirits, then.”
Gilley nodded. “I really miss him, M. J.”
I sighed heavily. “I know, buddy. Me too.”
Turning to climb into bed, I fluffed my pillow and lay back to watch television without commenting. But for the few hours before I fell asleep, I was acutely aware of how much I missed my pets, and my home. The only other thing my thoughts could focus on was the man from the causeway, and for a long time that evening, the sound of his desperate voice haunted me.
Chapter 2
The next morning was cold, wet, and drizzly and perfectly matched the mood of the team. “Ireland sucks,” said Gilley.
“You’ve been here for less than a day, Mr. Judgmental,” I replied.
“Fine,” he told me. “Today, Ireland sucks. Tomorrow might be different.”
“At least it’s good ghost-hunting weather,” Heath reminded him.
Gilley shivered.
“Yippee,” he said woodenly. I should mention here that Gilley’s mood often shifts with the weather, choice of menu, day of the week, and even—I’m convinced—time of the month.
“Well, let’s not stand around in the rain,” I suggested while we huddled under the three umbrellas we were sharing between the seven of us. “Let’s go ask about that man on the causeway, then find some grub.”
Anya had offered to serve us breakfast, but as we’d gotten such an early start, we’d told her that we’d grab some coffee and a roll on the road. She’d looked decidedly disappointed, and we understood that tomorrow we’d make sure to eat at her table.
I realized when we’d all piled into one van (Gopher wanted us to save on gas) that I’d forgotten to ask if she knew of any other foreigners who might have been staying in town.
Once we were under way, we made our way back to the coast guard station and waited while Heath and John went in to ask about the lost man on the causeway. They came back grim-faced. “There was no sign of either the man on the causeway or the mysterious Alex,” said Heath, shaking off the rain and scooting in next to me.
My heart sank. “Those poor people.”
“Maybe they both made it to the island,” Gopher suggested, putting the van in gear and backing out of the parking slot.
I said nothing, feeling such a sense of guilt over leaving the stranger and his companion on the causeway while Heath and I sloshed our way to safety. I could only hope that we’d be able to find both of them safe and sound on the island whenever we managed to get to it.
“When does the tide roll out?” I asked Gopher.
“Gil?” he said in turn, and I watched as Gilley retrieved his iPhone from his backpack, to flip through his apps.
“Low tide is at six twenty-four a.m., or in about an hour and fifteen minutes, so we’ll have a little over three hours before it comes in again deep enough to cover over the causeway.”
I glanced at my watch. “Damn. No time for a decent breakfast, then.”
“We’ll have to grab something to go,” Gopher said, already pointing to a small café.
We each got coffee and a muffin and arrived at the mouth of the causeway shortly after as the first hints of dawn began to emerge. Still, it was pretty dark out and the drizzle made it really depressing.
“At least we’ll be able to see our way across the causeway,” Heath said when we had piled out of the van and were standing at the mouth of the cobblestones in front of us.
I followed the path with my eyes and marveled that the stones hadn’t eroded too much over the last four hundred or so years.
“Shall we?” Heath asked, offering his arm and a place for me under his umbrella.
I couldn’t resist a smile and lifted the strap of my messenger bag over my head before taking his arm and moving forward with him onto the causeway.
We walked for a way in silence, and pretty soon out of the dim light and drizzle we could begin to see the mammoth hunk of granite that Castle Dunlow sat upon. I felt mesmerized by the massive scale of it, and as we neared the shore, a wave of something unpleasant rustled along my energy.
“That rock gives me the creeps,” Heath whispered.
I shivered again, but this time not with cold. “Something bad lives there,” I confirmed.
Heath nodded. “You brought the grenades with you, right?”
“Yep.”
“Good, I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”
Part of the equipment we were sure to never go without these days was the ten-inch-long metallic spikes we purposely magnetized and kept in lead-lined rubber-capped tubes. We called these canisters grenades, because when we popped open the cap and tipped out the spike, it could have a rather explosive effect on any angry spook trying to get too close for comfort.
The magnetism of the exposed spikes alters the electromagnetic energy of ghosts, making it extremely difficult for them to stay within a ten-foot radius of anyone holding an open grenade. Spooks hate the effect. What’s more, the spikes themselves can come in particularly handy when driven directly into the portals. Some of the more powerful spirits create and use portals like a doorway to come and go from our plane to the lower realms, where nothing good lives.
If we manage to get a spike directly into one of these portals, it will keep the ghost either locked in or locked out—depending on which side of it the spook is on. Either scenario works for us, as the lower planes are typically a source of power for these nastier poltergeists, and once they’re cut off from that power source, they’re far less aggressive and more manageable.
For the most part, the spikes work great—but I’ve learned to respect the sheer power of some of the unnatural forces out there, because I’ve encountered spooks who could cut right through our magnetic force field and cause me physical harm twice before. As we moved ever closer to Dunlow Castle, I could only hope we weren’t in for a charming third.
“Wow,” Heath muttered next to me as we stared at what lay ahead. I knew what he was reacting to. The massive rock the castle was perched upon was far higher than I’d expected. “It’s got to be a hundred feet tall.”
I squinted into the gray morning light. “At least.”
“How do we get up to the top again?”
I pointed to a crude set of stairs carved into the side of the rock face. “We hoof it.”
Heath shifted his backpack. “We need to keep track of how long it’ll take us to climb those stairs. We’ll have to figure that into the time it’ll take us to get down and get back across the causeway. The last thing I want to do is get stuck here until tonight when the tide rolls back out again.”
“I’m with ya.”
“M. J.?” Gilley asked from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“What’s that?”
I saw that Gil was pointing up and over to my left. I turned to look and noticed movement along the top of the cliff. It was still a bit too dim to see clearly, but I swore I saw a tall dark shape moving along the outer edge. “I have no idea. But whatever it is, I think it could be trouble.”
There was a squeak behind me and the sound of a zipper. I looked again over my shoulder and saw Gil rummaging through his backpack until he located his magic sweatshirt.
Several months earlier—before Gil and I had begun working on the TV show—I’d realized that Gilley was one of those rather unlucky people who is super attractive to spooks. For whatever reason, they love to haunt him and invariably, as he’s actually terrified of spooks, they end up torturing him. To keep him safe, I’d glued about a dozen refrigerator magnets to the inside of one of his old sweatshirts, and as long as he wore it, he would be far less appealing to mischievous or malevolent spirits.
That first sweatshirt had had a few different versions since then, and the one he was currently shrugging into had triple the number of magnets, thus tripling its power and range of protection. Gilley, by nature, was never too careful when protecting what he treasured most in this world ... himself.
“Need some help?” I asked him when I saw how he was struggling to take off his jacket, hold his backpack, and put on the sweatshirt all at the same time.
“I got it,” he insisted, just as he dropped his backpack. Something crunched when it struck the cobblestones, and all three of us stopped to stare at the pack.
“Uh-oh,” Heath said.
“What was in there?” I asked as Gilley stared at his backpack in horror.
“The meters,” he said weakly.
I reached down and picked up the pack carefully. Glass tinkled inside. After unzipping it and moving aside a few items, I said, “Aww, Gil! You broke all three of them!”
“It was an accident!”
“Well, of course it was an accident,” I snapped. “But did you have to put the meters at the bottom of the pack where they were the most vulnerable?”
Our electrostatic meters, which we use to isolate ghostly hot spots at all our haunted locales, were pretty
fragile gadgets and we often lost one or two due to wear and tear on our investigations, but we hadn’t even made it to the island yet and a major piece of our ghost-hunting equipment wasn’t just gone; it was likely irreplaceable for the rest of the hunt.
“I can get us some new ones,” Gil vowed.
I scowled at him. “From where? The local hardware store?”
“I can buy one or two online and have it shipped to us.”
I sighed and handed him the pack, thoroughly irritated that he’d been so careless and stubborn when all he’d had to do was accept my offer to help. Still, as I looked into his guilty face, I softened. “Okay, buddy. We’ll work without them for now.”
We got moving again and I was really relieved when the thin drizzle stopped and the clouds began to clear. At least we’d soon be dry. Not long after that, we were standing at the base of the cliff on the rocky shore of the island. I tilted my chin up while Heath, Gilley, and I waited for the rest of the crew to catch up to us. Heath shrugged uncomfortably. “You sensing that?”
I nodded. “Feels thick as molasses.”
“What feels thick as molasses?” Gopher asked, stepping up next to us.
“The air,” I said. “It’s thick with spooks.”
“Should make for some great footage, then,” Gopher said happily. Leave it to Gopher to always think about the ratings. Our show, Ghoul Getters, hadn’t even aired its first episode yet, but Gopher wasn’t about to pull back on the throttle. He wanted footage of majorly creepy stuff. Period.
When John, Meg, and Kim joined us, I pointed to the stairs. “Better get on with it,” I said.
We climbed the steep rock staircase for maybe ten minutes and had gone only about halfway to the top when I heard a call coming from somewhere above us. Grabbing Heath’s shoulder in front of me to stop him, I asked, “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Something faint reached my ears again and I turned my head in the direction, which was up and over to my left. “That.”
Heath cocked his head. “All I can hear is Gilley.”
I looked over my shoulder as Gil clutched the old iron railing while he hacked and wheezed like he was running a marathon. “I’ll ... never ... make ... it ...,” he gasped.
Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls: A Ghost Hunter Mystery Page 3
