by Terri Grimes
“Are you sure I can’t help you carry some of that?” I implored as I watched his muscles flexing under the heavy load.
“No, but if you’ll be so kind as to hold the door open while I carry in my equipment, we can get down to business.”
I was suddenly apprehensive. “Do you really think you can help me, Sam?”
His gaze was gentle and warm. “That’s what I do, Gertie,” he said. “I’m a ghost hunter and I always get my ghost.”
“Oh God, I hope so.” I held the screen door open as he entered. He was so close as he brushed past, I could smell his aftershave. I took a deep, appreciative sniff. Umm, light and woodsy with a clean fresh scent. There was nothing I disliked more on a man than a heavy, cloying scent.
I wasn’t sure if he caught me sniffing him or not, but I’d seen his mouth quirk to the side like he had a secret he wasn’t letting anyone else in on. Then, as he glanced at my nose, I had the distinct impression he wanted to reach out and tweak it. Strange, very strange.
He set the black cases at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. “I’ll start setting up in the hallway upstairs, if that’s okay with you.”
I nodded. “Will you be all right up there by yourself?” I knew what was up there. For his sake, I hoped my ghost wasn’t bisexual. Maybe I should have cautioned him to have worn his iron panties just in case. I knew from firsthand experience that getting pinched on the butt by something or someone you can’t see was no laughing matter.
“I’ll be fine,” he said confidently with a sexy grin as he turned the charm up to full wattage. “I eat these things for breakfast.”
“Yeah, but it’s past dinner time.”
He smiled wider. “All the better.”
With that, he carried the cases up the stairs almost as if they weighed nothing. I tried to force myself to behave, I really did, but I couldn’t help myself. I watched him climb, his buttocks firm and muscular. That further proved my point, that some things in life were just meant to be ogled. When the Michelangelo of buttocks walked up my staircase, I had no choice but to ogle. I’m pretty sure it’s the number one rule in the horny single girls handbook, or if not it should be.
While he set up his equipment, I went in the kitchen, making us both glasses of fresh brewed iced tea—sweet tea to be exact. Although this was the Midwest, my ancestors hailed from the Deep South, well below the Mason-Dixon line. I was proud that my tea reflected my Southern roots.
Several minutes later, as I set the tray down on the coffee table, Sam returned to the living room. I handed him a glass of iced tea.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the icy cold beverage.
“My pleasure.”
He tilted the glass back, taking gulp after gulp of the cold tea, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as he drank. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’ll be going dark soon. I’ve got everything set up on the second floor for a preliminary walkthrough so I can take baseline readings. Just to warn you, I’m going to turn the lights off on both floors in a couple of minutes.”
“What?” My voice squeaked in a high, unnatural pitch. “You
mean we have to turn out all the lights? All the lights in the entire house?” I didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. I’d need to hike up my big girl panties on this one.
I took a delicate sip of my iced tea in an attempt to hide my shaking hands.
“Yes, Gertie, I’m afraid all the lights will have to be doused.”
“We can’t leave just a little light on in the living room, maybe?”
He shook his head. “No can do.”
“Are you sure about that? Not even a teeny, tiny one?”
He shook his head again. “Sorry, they’ll interfere with my EMF readings. You wouldn’t want that would you?”
I gave a deep gulp. “Um, no, I guess not.” Really, what choice did I have?
I watched him gaze around the room, getting a feel for its configuration. No doubt things would have an altogether different look and feel when we went lights out in a few minutes. He would be smart to get his bearings now. But, I had a feeling Sam Valentine knew what he was doing. No, this wasn’t his first rodeo by far.
We stepped back into the front foyer and stood at the foot of the staircase.
“Would you mind showing me around the first floor?”
“No, not at all. There isn’t any activity there though. The ghost seems to stay on the second floor. That’s why I’ve been sleeping down here, on the sofa.” I waved a hand towards the pink and brown settee he had recently sat on. I guess that meant I could technically say he had been in my bed now. I fought the blush heating my cheeks as I thought about Sam and beds.
Focus Gertie, focus.
I gave him a brief tour, skipping the foyer and living room since he’d already seen them. When we walked in the room that I used for my office, my voice choked with emotion. “This was the master bedroom when my grandparents lived in the house. The love they shared resonated so strongly in this room, I knew this was where I wanted to spend my days working.”
Our tour of the downstairs complete, Sam and I walked back into the living room. He set his empty glass on the tray and reaching to the floor next to his briefcase, he picked up a black knapsack, unzipping it just enough to pull out a black rectangular object that looked like a pocket-sized transistor radio before slinging the bag over his shoulder.
I set my half-filled glass next to his empty one and nodded toward the radio in his hand. “In case you get bored?”
“Pardon me?” Confusion marred his rugged handsome features.
“The radio. You plan on listening to the sports scores in case you get bored?”
He grinned, his brilliant white teeth gleaming. “Actually, I checked the sports scores on the way over here. And this isn’t a radio, it’s an electrostatic meter.” Taking the few steps from the living room into the foyer, he held his arm out and waved the gadget in a small circle, around the entranceway.
“This baby measures variances in electrostatic energy. While most electromagnetic fields encountered in everyday situations are generated by household or industrial appliances, the theory is that ghosts radiate their own electromagnetic field. Therefore, we find that in active locations, even those without electricity, we’re able to record higher than normal electromagnetic fields.”
I nodded as he spoke. He was so passionate about his equipment that I didn’t have the heart to tell him every word coming out of his mouth was flying over my head like a Boeing 747.
He stopped to stare at the device as the needle jumped, bouncing back and forth across the gauge on the face of the small piece of equipment while a low humming sound resonated with each jerk of the needle. The needle gave another jolt as he swung the meter by the bottom of the staircase.
“Interesting.”
“What? What’s interesting?” My voice squeaked as I teetered on the edge of hysteria. If I was this freaked out before he’d even started, what was I going to be like when the lights were turned off? I took deep, even breaths and tried not to think about it.
“I was doing an electromagnetic lunar sweep and the baseline EMF on the data logger was at a 1.1, which is what I would expect from an ambient atmosphere.” The needle bounced again, its low hum intensifying. Sam made a quick observation of the dials, pressed a few buttons, then shoved the instrument into his back jeans’ pocket. “I thought you said the activity was only upstairs.”
“It is. Remember I said that’s why I’ve been sleeping down here most of the time since it started? It’s all been upstairs. Every bit of it.”
Digging into the knapsack he wore so effortlessly slung over one muscular shoulder, this time he pulled out an instrument, which looked to be a small, handheld cassette recorder. “Not anymore. Looks like your resident entity likes your living room too.”
Oh dear God! Shit, meet fan.
The hysteria I’d been on the edge of moments before gave way to full-fledged pa
nic. “No, that’s not possible. I told you, Sam, I’ve been sleeping down here. No, I won’t have it. I just won’t.”
“Please, Gertie. It’s all right, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I already told you, ghosts were once people too. Just keep trying think of it like that.” He bent his head as he fumbled with the dials on the device.
“I don’t want to think of it at all. I want it gone.” My heart beat at what had to be a million beats a minute.
He trailed his finger down my cheek as he fixed his gaze on mine. “Everything will be all right. Take a deep breath and calm down, Gertie.”
I pressed my hands on my diaphragm, closed my eyes and focused on letting the air slowly in and out of my lungs. I was relieved it seemed to be working. After a minute of even breathing, I opened my eyes.
“Better now?”
I nodded. And though I could scarcely believe it, I was okay. I tried to keep my mind on the fact that after tonight, that pesky, rude ghost would be gone and my house would be my own again.
“Good, I’m glad you’re okay. Now, let’s get back to work.” Suddenly all business again, he flicked the light switches off at the bottom of the stairs, leaving us encased in darkness. Our only light was the faint stream of porch light coming through the lace-covered windows on the front door.
He pressed the record button on his digital voice recorder and held it as far from his body as his arm would allow. He spoke in a clear tone. “Sugarbaker residence. Sam and Gertie in the downstairs foyer.”
“I can take notes,” I said. I was nothing if not a team player.
He clicked the recorder off. “Pardon me?”
“Notes,” I repeated. “If you’d rather, I can take notes so you don’t have to dictate to a tape recorder. I know what a pain they can be to transcribe.” I smiled brightly.
He rubbed his temple with one hand, as if he had a headache. “It’s a voice recorder. I am attempting to capture the ghost’s voice on the recorder. It’s not dictation.”
I could feel a blush blossoming. I’d watched an episode of a popular ghost hunter show on television and I’d seen them capturing the whispery voices. I should have realized that’s what he was doing. “Sorry, I should have known that. I saw an episode of TAPS once where they caught ghost whispers on a tape recorder.”
“EVPs.”
“Yeah, I think they did that too.”
“Ahem, yes. Now, if we could continue?”
“What? Oh, okay.” I held both hands up in the air in a halting motion.
“You’ll need to be quiet so we can hear the entity’s voice when we review the evidence later.”
“Sure, not a problem.” I mimed a zipping motion across my lips. While I refrained from telling him the investigators on the TAPS episode I’d watched got to chat while they walked through darkened buildings so I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be afforded the same courtesy, I sure thought it.
Sam stepped into the living room and turned the voice recorder to the on position again. “Sugarbaker residence. Sam and Gertie in the living room.” Once again, he held the recorder outstretched in front of him, far from his body as he spoke firm and clear. “Is anyone here with us tonight?”
We waited for a response.
After two minutes of silence, I whispered, “I don’t hear anything. Why aren’t the ghosts talking to us?”
He sighed and pressed the off button. “So much for that zipper.”
“What zipper?”
“Never mind. In answer to your question, its not often we
hear the entities’ voices with our ears.”
“What do we hear them with, then? Our noses? Maybe our feet?” I laughed so hard I snorted.
His brow knitted together in a scowl as a look of disapproval crossed his face. “Entities speak at such a high frequency that we can’t hear them. The voice recorder can pick up the sound, however. And with high tech software programs, we are able to hear what the entity is saying. Provided the investigator isn’t talking over the ghost’s voice, that is.”
“Well, why don’t we ask the ghost to speak louder, then?” It sounded reasonable to me. Judging from the look on Sam’s face it didn’t sound quite as reasonable to him. I could sense he was beginning to get a little pissed off. I’m not sure why I thought that. Maybe it was the scowl on his face?
“If we may continue,” he said curtly.
I shrugged and held up my hands in a surrender motion. “Fine by me, I’m not the one who keeps turning the tape recorder off.”
“Voice recorder,” he said between clenched teeth as he turned his flashlight on, making adjustment to the device in his hand.
“Okay, okay. Sheesh, dude, don’t get your panties in a wad.”
I had the distinct impression that if his panties were to wad, he would shove them in my mouth and plaster a strip of duct tape across the works. I fought the sudden rush of giggles threatening to bubble up as I realized how kinky that was. I drew the line at imagining handcuffs.
“Are you all right, Gertie?” he asked as his flashlight panned, catching me in its beam.
“Um, yeah, why?”
“You looked a little odd there for a second. Is the walk through too much for you?” he asked with genuine concern, pressing a hand against my forehead as if I were a feverish child.
“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. I’m fine. Let’s just continue with, uh… well, with whatever it is we’re doing.”
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Sam said, his tone leery. He turned the recorder on for the third time that night then clicked the small flashlight off before speaking. “Sam Valentine and Gertie Sugarbaker in the living room of the Sugarbaker residence.” He
emphasized each word. “Can you tell us your name?”
A tapping sound reverberated through the living room. I gasped. “Did you hear that?” I whispered, my emotions on high alert in a combination of awe and fright.
“Yes, Gertie, I heard that,” Sam said as he clicked the voice recorder off again.
“Is that sound the ghost trying to make contact with us? What is it, Sam?” My voice wavered as I tried to contain my fear.
He sighed and shook his head a couple of times. “That’s the sound of someone knocking on your front door.”
Oops.
Eight
My entire body shook as I went to the door, flicking the lights switches to the on position as I went. My embarrassment turned to delight when I opened the door and found Timmy standing there, tapping a foot impatiently.
“Timmy, it’s good to see you,” I said, giving him a big hug as I discreetly attempted to whisper in his ear.
“Gawd, Gert, I saw you this morning when you invited me to come here tonight. You act like you haven’t—”
“Yeah, seems like I haven’t seen you in awhile, doesn’t it,” I said, talking over him while cutting him the universal ‘shut up’ look with my eyes.
“But—,”
“Let’s go in the kitchen and get you that bottle of water.” He allowed himself to be led toward the kitchen until he saw Sam standing in the middle of the living room. Then he dug his heels in the carpet and wouldn’t budge.
I crossed my arms and watched in disgust as Timmy pranced into the living room, chortling with delight. The look of awe on his face was apparent as he eyed Sam up and down, licking his lips.
“Hello, I’m Timmy,” he said, extending a hand.
Sam grasped his hand, shaking it heartily. “Sam Valentine from UGH. Pleased to meet you.”
“Oohhh…” Timmy squealed. “UGH as in Urban Ghost Hunters?”
“Yes, the one and only,” Sam said with apparent pride.
My friend clapped his hands together. “This is soooo exciting!”
“Timmy, didn’t you say you wanted some water?” I looked pointedly toward the kitchen, hoping he would take the hint and go in there with me so I could talk to him privately.
“No, I’m okay,” he said, turning back to address Sam. “Are you the big, str
ong hero that’s going to get rid of Gertie’s resident boogeyman?” He batted his eyelashes.
My stomach rolled at the sight.
Sam sniggered. “That’s the plan.”
“Timmy,” I said with force. “Can you help me in the kitchen? Now!”
Both men turned to look at me, their expressions part questioning, part fearful. Then, with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders directed towards Sam, Timmy followed me out of the room.
“Gertie, that guy is gorgeous.” He gushed his approval the second we set foot in the kitchen.
“Told you,” I said, rummaging through the refrigerator for a cold bottle of water. “Didn’t I say he looked like a cross between Colin Firth and Cary Grant?”
“No, you never told me he was hot. You were talking about the guy who picked you up in the bar last night when you made the Colin and Cary refer—.” His eyes widened. “Gertie,” he gasped. “That’s the man from the bar!”
“Yeah, Timmy, I know.”
“How? What?”
“It would seem that Mister Valentine and I frequented the same bar for some liquid comfort last night.” I twisted the plastic cap off the bottle of water and handed it to Timmy.
He took a draught of the icy water before speaking. His face was plastered with a look of confusion. “Did he know who you were when you two did the horizontal mumbo?”
I shrugged. “Who’s to say? I’m not about to ask him.”
“No. I can spot a cad a mile off and that handsome hunk of man flesh that’s lounging in your living room, very attractively I might, is no cad.”
“Who died and made you a good judge of human nature?”
Timmy ignored me, barreling on. “Last night in the bar, or more aptly, in the bed, did you know it was him?”
“No,” I protested. “Of course not!”
“Eww, how delicious and skanky.” His eyebrows rose in delight, and his lips curved in a smirk.
