by Terri Grimes
“And if the answer is no?”
“Easy. The entity stands back so no lights, or maybe just one light illuminates.”
“Oh, I get it,” I said shaking my head. “So, you’ll be the one carrying the K2 meter tonight, right?”
Sam’s brow wrinkled. “You don’t want to operate the K2?”
I snorted a laugh. “You think I want to be holding that thing and have the ghost come up right next to me when the answer to the question is a yes? Think again, Cowboy.”
The sound of laughter rumbled low in his throat, causing delightful shivers to run up and down my spine all the way to my tingling girlie bits. Oh, what the man did to me and with only a mere chuckle. I willed my hormones to behave as I walked to the foyer, ready to begin tonight’s investigation.
After clicking on the walkie-talkie to notify Timmy that we were starting, Sam joined me in the foyer. Cautious, we made our way up the darkened stairway to the second floor. We were heading in the direction of the attic door. Not my favorite place, but I had no one to blame since I was the one who chose it in the first place.
As we stepped onto the landing of the second floor a sudden whoosh of air rushed past, lifting my hair in its wake. If I didn’t know better, I would say that someone had run past me at a high rate of speed. That was impossible though because except for Sam and I, the hallway was empty.
“Did you feel a breeze?” I asked, turning to Sam.
“Yes, I felt it,” he said with a pleased smile. “I think we’re going to be in for one hell of a good investigation tonight, Gertie my girl.”
I just shook my head in dismay. I was opting for a quiet, eventless investigation. To each his own, I supposed.
As we continued to walk down the second floor hallway, I’d gone no more than three feet when I stopped short. My chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath.
“Omph.” Sam bumped hard into my back.
“Did you see that?” Every hair on my body stood on end.
“See what?” Unlike mine, his voice was calm.
I grabbed his arm. “I saw a dark figure walk in front of the window at the other end of the hallway. I’d swear to it!”
“Hmmm, a shadow person. Kind of early in the evening for something like that.”
“Shadow person? What does that mean?” My voice bordered on hysteria.
“It means we’re in for a doozy of a night. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I stopped. Was he kidding me? What kind of a pantywaist did he take me for? I leveled a cool gaze at him. “Of course I’m up for this. I’ve been living with this for the last two months. I don’t have much of a choice but to be up for this, now do I?”
He patted my arm. “Calm down Gertie, it wasn’t a personal attack. I was just making sure you were okay. There was no underlying meaning behind the question.”
I focused on slowing my breathing to a less ragged rate. “Apology accepted, if that’s what that was.”
“Sure,” he said with a shrug of one shoulder, his attitude far less cocky now.
We finished walking to the end of the hall, coming to a stop in front of the attic door. I stepped back, allowing Sam to open the door and go first. Two things hit me instantaneously as he opened the door—the odor and the chill.
“Do you smell that?”
I nodded, even though I doubted he could see my gesture in the dark, narrow stairwell. I flicked on the small LED flashlight.
After he opened the attic door wider, he stepped through the doorway onto the first step. “You haven’t been grilling with charcoal today, have you? Maybe a grilled burger for lunch?”
“No. Why?”
“I just thought I caught a faint odor of charcoal burning is all.”
“I don’t do charcoal, I’m strictly a gas grill gal. Charcoal gets under your fingernails and does nothing for the manicure, I’ve got to say.”
He shook his head. And I couldn’t be sure in the ambient light, but I thought I saw him do a roll of the eyes as well before he turned to look up the stairs. “Maybe one of your neighbors is grilling hamburgers or something,” he said.
“This late at night? I doubt it.”
He swung around to face me and in the dim beam of light, I could see him fighting not to laugh. I’m glad he found the thought of my manicure being ruined so funny. He wouldn’t think it so funny if he were a girl. In fact, I knew a few guys that would be horrified at the thought of their manicure being ruined, beginning with Timmy.
“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?” I said with alarm.
“My cross just broke.”
“What?”
“The cross I wear on a chain around my neck,” he explained. “It’s gone. The chain is still here, but the cross must have broken and fallen off the chain.”
I panned the small flashlight on the wooden floorboards, finding it lying next to the attic doorway.
“Wow,” I exclaimed as I bent down to pick up the small golden cross. “You must have stepped on it. It broke clean in half.”
He took the pieces from me, turning them over in his hand several times. “Yeah,” he said, his tone flat. “I must have stepped on it.” He didn’t sound very convinced. “Damn it, I’ve had this cross for eight years. My father gave it to me two months before he died.” His face darkened with anger. “This just pisses me off.”
Shaking his head in obvious disgust, he pocketed the pieces and motioned to me to turn the flashlight off again. Then he ascended the stairs. I followed closely behind. The smell grew stronger in the stairwell.
“Maybe I’ve got a plumbing problem,” I tried to reason. All I could think was maybe the bialys pipe had failed, spilling raw sewage into the attic. It was that strong.
“No, I don’t think it’s a plumbing problem, Gertie. Certain types of spirits give off particular odors when they’re present. For instance, if your grandfather smoked a pipe, the smell of his tobacco might waft through the air when his energy is around.”
“Well, I don’t know of any relatives that worked in the sewers, but that seems to be what I smell. So I’m guessing that this ghost is a stranger,” I whispered.
Sam chuckled low. “Maybe a relative with a flatulence problem?”
I giggled. “You just described half of my relations.”
“And a few of mine too.”
Our bantering stopped in mid laugh when I saw our breath hanging in the air, in front of our faces. There was an unmistakable dip in temperature in the narrow stairway. I crossed my arms over myself and shivered, the icy coolness penetrating my clothing, seeping into my skin, chilling my bones to the marrow. This was no ordinary chill.
We finished the short walk up the remaining attic steps in silence.
As we reached the top step, to our right was a thumping sound. I whipped my head around, looking in the direction of where the noise had come from, but only bare wall stared back.
“So, that’s how we’re going to play it, huh?” Sam shouted to the darkness encompassing us. His voice echoed in the vastness of the old attic. He took a couple more steps into the room. “Come on out and show yourself, you miserable puke.”
“Don’t,” I whispered. “He might do just that.”
“I want him to, Gertie. I’m provoking so he’ll stop hiding and face me. He’s too much of a coward to show himself. He doesn’t have the balls to stand up to a real man. He hides in the shadows, preying on defenseless women.”
Part of me wanted to correct him about the defenseless woman part, but the stronger part of me was content to stay right where I was, hiding behind Sam. “You told me provoking was bad and not to do it anymore. Why is it okay for you to provoke and not me?”
“I’m a professional Gertie. You have to trust me on this one. If I provoke enough, he might appear. If he appears, I should be able to tell who or what we’re dealing with. Armed with that knowledge, I’ll be able to determine the best way to get rid of the pest.”
I whimpered as a snarling sound
reverberated around us sending shivers through my veins.
“Sam, did you hear that?”
“Shit!”
“What is it? What’s wrong? Did another piece of jewelry break?” For someone like Sam, who hunted ghosts for a living, to be freaked out, something must be horribly wrong. Adrenaline raced through my body as my fear heightened.
“Do me a favor and turn the mag light on and look at my back.” He lifted the back of his cotton shirt.
I panned the small flashlight until it illuminated the left flank of his back. “Oh my God,” I gasped.
“How many?”
“Three. Sam, I’m scared.” I couldn’t tear my vision away from the three deep scratches raked across the left side of Sam’s back. Pinpoints of bright blood already dotted the angry red slashes. If a ghost could do this with little to no effort, what else could it do to us?
“Damn it,” Sam spat. It was apparent he was none too pleased. “Let’s go. You walk in front of me, Gertie.”
“That’s okay, I don’t mind bringing up the rear. You can lead.”
“No, Gertie. You don’t understand. You need to walk in front of me.”
I was taken aback by the hardness in his tone. I attributed it to the pain of the scratches.
“Why do you want me to walk in front of you?”
“I don’t want you to get scratched as well. And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”
He pegged that one right!
As we made our way down to the first floor, I focused on putting one foot after the other. Sam walked so close to me as we descended the stairs that I could feel his manhood pressed against my buttocks. It was the worst possible time for my girlie bits to get excited, but ever since Sam Valentine darkened my door, my girlie bits seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.
It might have been my imagination, but I would almost swear Sam breathed a sigh of relief when our feet hit the first floor.
Moments after I flicked the kitchen light on, my walkie-talkie crackled to life.
“Gert, not to alarm you but a light just went on in the kitchen.”
“No shit, Timmy. Sam and I just turned it on. We’re in the kitchen taking a quick break.”
“A break already? But you just started the…”
Timmy’s voice was cut off as I turned the device off. I’m sure I’d hear about that later, but right now I had more important things to attend to. Namely the angry red scratches on Sam’s back.
“Do you have a hand mirror?” Sam was unsuccessful in his attempts to twist around to see the scratches, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.
“Let’s go in the bathroom. I think I have one in there.” We headed to the small downstairs bathroom, just off the dining room as Timmy came barreling in the front door.
“One of you should have told me it was break time,” he said all in a tizzy. “I’ve been sitting out there doing the pee-pee dance for the last ten minutes.”
“You’ve only been out there for ten or fifteen minutes,” I retorted.
“I know,” he said with a wide smile.
I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw me do it.
“You know how the cold makes me have to pee,” Timmy whined in protest.
I glared at him. “Well, you’ll have to use the upstairs bathroom because Sam is using this one,” I said over my shoulder as I directed Sam into the small bathroom under the stairs.
The sound of Timmy flouncing up the stairs pounded in my ears as I reached under the sink for the handheld mirror.
I raised his shirt, as Sam held the small mirror tilted near his back while he looked at his reflection in the larger wall mirror. The entire left side near the base of his spine was crimson. The scratches were raised in three large welts on his skin as red droplets of blood beaded on the scratches.
“Shit, shit and shit,” he snarled vehemently as he stared at the vicious wounds.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s not a picnic, but it’s not decapitation either, so I guess I’ll live.”
I dabbed at the dripping blood with gauze I’d taken out of the first aid kit, trying to ignore his flinches of pain. I wouldn’t make a good nurse, I empathized with the patient too much, taking their pain on as my own. My grandma always said it was the maternal instinct in me looking for an outlet. I think that was her gentle way of telling me to hurry up and find a good man to settle down with so I could start having tons of babies.
“Thanks, Gertie,” Sam said. His eyes, full of genuine appreciation, met mine in the mirror above the bathroom sink.
“Not a problem, Sam. I’m glad I could help.”
I winced as a loud racket ensued over our heads. It seemed to be coming from the second floor. Our gazes met again in the mirror.
“What the hell?” I rushed to the bottom of the stairs and looked up to see what the commotion was.
Timmy stumbled out of the upstairs bathroom, then ran—full speed—down the steps and out the front door.
I followed him outside to the front porch. He took huge gulps of air. I stood next to him, my arms folded across my chest, waiting until he was able to speak. This just figured. With Sam wounded in the downstairs bathroom, all I needed was Timmy in one of his drama modes. He needed to take his act somewhere else, because I just wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight.
I planted my hands on my hips, ready to deliver some verbal rough justice, Indiana style. “Want to tell me what that was all about, dude?”
He shook like a leaf as he clung to the railing for support. His eyes were open wide and filled with terror.
Shit. This was no act. As I saw his face clearly frozen with fear, there was no way I could read him the riot act. I opened my mouth but then shut it just as quickly. What could I say? I wasn’t blind. As much as I tried to deny over the past two months, I knew something unspeakable was in my house. I also knew without a doubt that he’d just met it head-on.
“What do you think that was about, Gertie?” he hissed.
“There’s no need to get pissy, Timmy. I’m just trying to help.”
He groaned.
I strode to the end of the porch and perched on the railing, nibbling on my fingernail as I surveyed the side yard. I stared at the calming familiarity of my grandmother’s prize rose bushes, regal in their stillness, now that the winds had died down and the air was once again calm. Pinpoints of light illuminated the early evening darkness. It was too soon in the season for lightning bugs but I was grateful to see them. Their normalcy helped to calm my frazzled nerves.
Timmy walked over to where I sat on the railing. When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm.
“Something was in that bathroom with me, Gertie. I’m not stupid, I can tell when I’m in danger. I was in danger in that bathroom.”
His eyes got a wild sheen to them and it looked like he was close to passing out.
“Stay with me, Timmy,” I said, waving my hand in front of his face. “You are safe out here. Try to calm down and take deep breaths.”
He closed his eyes, concentrating on his deep breathing.
“Okay, pal, tell me what you witnessed.”
He grabbed my hands, grasping them tightly in his own. I could feel the poor guy still shaking and that scared me more than anything.
“I was in the bathroom, looking through your medicine cabinet.”
“You were what?” I screeched. “Why were you looking in there?”
“Oh stop,” he admonished. “You do it too and we both know it, so don’t even try to deny it.”
He had me there. There was some deeply engrained curiosity in me that made it impossible to turn away from a person’s medicine cabinet. I could no more turn away from taking a peek than Timmy could. And if they had cupboards and drawers to investigate, all the better. Just one of the many traits he and I had in common. I rubbed my temple with my forefinger.
“All right, so you took a peek in my medicine chest.”
He giggled, momentarily the Timmy I knew and l
oved. “You might want to hide your itchy cream before a certain someone sees it and thinks you have some sort of personal problem.”
“I get poison ivy some times. I keep it stocked just in case!”
He shrugged a shaking shoulder. “Methinks thou doth protest too much.”
“Oh, whatever.”
I was encouraged to see him attempt a smile, albeit his lips took on more of a grimace than a look of amusement.
“I shut the cabinet and as I closed it, there in the mirror, I saw it.” At this point he was shaking so uncontrollably, I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him tight.
“What did you see, Timmy? It’s okay, nothing can hurt you out here.”
“It was a man creature,” he sobbed. “Complete with spiky horns on the top of his head and a goat-like face. And it was standing behind me!” He took a deep breath. “It was horrible,” he cried, breaking down in a heaving sob.
Sam had come outside, at which point I wasn’t even sure of. He put an arm around Timmy’s thin, quaking shoulder. “Don’t let them sense your fear, buddy. They feed off of your fear, you know. That is what empowers them. Don’t give them the power and they can’t hurt you.”
That was rich, coming from Sam. My vision roved down to the left side of his back. So much for the “they can’t hurt you” theory.
It took us a good twenty minutes before we were able to calm Timmy enough so he could drive home. It came as no surprise to either Sam or myself that Timmy refused to set foot back in my house. I wasn’t so anxious about going back inside myself.
“Are you returning for tomorrow’s version of let’s scare ourselves silly?” I asked Timmy as I walked him to the curb where his car sat. “It’s okay if you want to bow out. Sam and I both understand and won’t think any less of you for it.”
He looked at me, his face lined with tension. “I may be a lot of things, Gertie, but the one thing I am not is a quitter. You just try to keep me away.”
I smiled.
“Maybe you shouldn’t stay in the house until Sam is able to
get rid of that…that thing. You can camp out on my sofa any time you want. You know that, right?”
