Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown

by Jason Hawes

  “Um, Jason,” Jen said.

  “What?”

  “I think you’d better look behind you.”

  Both TAPS founders turned. The entire team stood silently for several moments. At the edge of the water, a band of white fog was slowly creeping forward. It looked to Lyssa like long fingers reaching out for the land.

  “Looks like Mother Nature’s going to provide her own version of going dark,” Grant said. “Okay, team. Let’s get started.”

  Lyssa staggered her way across the rocks. They were big and jagged and hard to climb. Her feet kept slipping. Jason clambered along beside her. Even with his long legs, he was struggling. Jen and Mike had turned off to the right, Grant and Mark to the left. Lyssa and Jason were going straight down the middle to the ocean.

  How much farther? Lyssa wondered. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky beach filled her ears. But Lyssa couldn’t see the water through the thick fog.

  “This is Jason,” she heard him say for the benefit of the audio recorder. “I’m with Lyssa. We’re walking toward the water. The fog is coming in pretty good now. It should reach us any minute.”

  He turned his head to look at Lyssa. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” Lyssa said. “Absolutely.” She took a few more steps, her eyes on the white wall of mist ahead of them. Reaching, grasping, inching ever closer and closer. Once the moisture surrounded her, it would feel like being stuck in a cloud—but with no way out.

  Lyssa shuddered. She hated the feeling of being trapped. She knew Jason did, too.

  “Okay,” she admitted. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m not looking forward to being in the fog.”

  “Just stay focused,” Jason advised. “Remember, fog can’t actually hurt you, no matter how creepy it is in the movies. When in doubt, just listen for the sound of the water.”

  “Okay,” Lyssa agreed. She felt a breath of cool, damp air move past her face. And then the fog surrounded them. Lyssa and Jason struggled through it. The mist made the rocks even more slippery and dangerous.

  Oof! Without warning, Lyssa pitched forward. Her hands hit against the stones.

  “Are you all right?” Jason asked at once.

  “Fine,” Lyssa said as she tried to catch her breath. “I think my shoe’s untied. I must have tripped over the laces. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You’re sure?” Jason said.

  “Sure,” Lyssa replied.

  Jason continued toward the water. He vanished into the mist after just a few steps. Lyssa balanced as best she could, trying to get her shoe tied. Her fingers were clumsy with cold. The laces were wet. Finally, Lyssa gave up bending over. She turned around and sat gingerly on one of the stones. It took three tries before she could get the laces tied.

  Finally! Lyssa thought. She stood up.

  The fog was all she could see. Lyssa was all alone. She could feel the panic rising in her chest. Remember what Jason said, she told herself. When in doubt, listen for the water.

  But which way was it? It seemed to Lyssa that the sound of the ocean was all around her now. Think! she told herself. What had she done? I went to tie my shoelace. I sat down.

  Lyssa swung around. Back in the direction she thought the ocean was. She strained to hear… Was the sound of the waves louder that way? She honestly couldn’t tell.

  “This is Lyssa,” she gasped for the recorder she was wearing. “I’m alone in the fog. I’ve lost Jason. I can’t see anybody else. I don’t know where they are. I’m going to try calling for help.”

  Lyssa pulled in a breath to shout. Before she could, she heard a cry.

  “Help us!” a voice cried out. “Somebody, please save us! Help. Help! HELP!”

  “Jason, where are you? I can’t see you!” Lyssa shouted out.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought the other voice was coming from the water. Lyssa staggered toward the sound. Her foot slipped. Lyssa lost her balance and went down, hard.

  She lay on her side, trying to steady her breathing. Trying to beat back the pain and fear that she felt. Slowly, carefully, Lyssa got to her feet.

  But she was in a nightmare world now. The sounds of fear and panic were all around her. She could hear voices screaming for help. Lyssa heard what sounded like a bell ringing wildly. Something groaned, like an enormous animal in pain.

  “This is Lyssa,” she said once more for the recorder. “There are all these sounds. I can’t tell what’s making them. I can’t—”

  Crrraaaacckk! Booooommm!

  “We’re lost!” Lyssa heard a voice cry out. “We’re going down.”

  “No,” Lyssa cried out. “No!”

  The walkie-talkie in Lyssa’s jacket pocket suddenly crackled. “Lyssa, this is Jason. Can you hear me? Come back.” In all the confusion, the pain of her fall, she’d forgotten all about the walkie-talkie.

  She fished it out with trembling fingers. “Jason,” Lyssa said. “Where are you? Can you hear the voices?”

  “I hear them,” Jason replied. His voice sounded grim even over the walkie-talkie. “Hold on, Lyssa. I’m heading your way. Keep talking into the walkie-talkie so I can find you.”

  “Okay,” Lyssa said. The bell was ringing nonstop now. Lyssa could still hear many different voices, all crying out together. “This is Lyssa. I’m waiting for Jason. I’m hearing all these sounds. I can’t see what’s going on. If only this fog would clear, just a little.”

  All of a sudden, Lyssa saw a light coming toward her. “I think I see you, Jason,” she cried. “Is that your flashlight?”

  A moment later, he was at her side.

  “What’s going on out there?” Lyssa gasped. “Could you see it?”

  “No,” Jason said. “I’m hoping the fog breaks up at the water. It does that sometimes. I want to get down there to see if we can see anything. Can you walk?”

  “Yes,” she said. Jason took Lyssa firmly by the arm to help her along. Together, they slid across the rocks.

  “There!” she cried suddenly. “A break in the fog! Did you see it?”

  “I saw,” Jason said. “I think we’re getting close. The rocks are getting smaller.”

  A moment later, the big rocks ended. Lyssa felt large, smooth pebbles under her shoes. The sound of the waves crashing onshore was very loud now.

  “Jay! Lyssa! Is that you?” she heard Grant’s voice cry.

  “We’re here!” Jason called back. “Can you see anything?”

  “Nothing,” Grant said. He and Mark appeared farther down the beach. “There was a big break in the fog a couple minutes ago. We got a clear view out to sea. There’s nothing there, Jay.”

  “But I heard it,” Lyssa protested. “I heard somebody say, ‘We’re going down.’ There has to be a ship of some kind.”

  “I guess now we know why the Coast Guard had trouble believing Tom and his grandfather’s story,” Jason said.

  “Maybe there is a ship,” Mark said quietly. “Or was.”

  Ghost ship, Lyssa thought.

  “Come on,” Grant said. “Let’s get back to the house.”

  “That ought to do it,” Jen said an hour or so later. She finished wrapping a bandage around Lyssa’s knee. “I bet you’ll be sore for a few days. You really took a tumble.”

  “I did, but it’s okay,” Lyssa said. She stood up, doing her best to ignore the sharp stabs of pain. “Come on. Let’s go join the others.”

  “It all sounded so close,” Jason was saying as Jen and Lyssa walked into the living room.

  “That’s a good way of describing it.” Grandpa George nodded. “It never occurred to me there weren’t really people out there who needed help.” He spotted Lyssa and got up to make room for her on the sofa. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’ll be just fine,” Lyssa told him. “Please don’t get up, Mr. Kelly.”

  “Nonsense,” Grandpa George answered. “You sit right down. Tom.”

  “On it,” Tom Kelly said. He shot to his feet, grinning at Lyssa. “Gra
ndpa made hot chocolate. His hot chocolate is the best, even better than my mom’s.”

  “Hot chocolate is my absolute favorite,” Lyssa said. She took a seat on the sofa. Tom vanished into the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a mug of steaming hot chocolate. He handed it to Lyssa. Then he went to stand beside his grandfather.

  “So,” he said, “you believe us, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely, we believe you,” Jason said.

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “Not for certain,” Jason answered.

  “What do you think it is, Tom?” Lyssa asked.

  “I think it’s a shipwreck,” Tom said. “It has to be, right?”

  “It sounded that way to me,” Lyssa said. “I’m sure I heard a bell. And there was this big cracking sound. Like something breaking. Something big.”

  “Ship’s mast, maybe?” Grant suggested.

  “All these things are possibilities,” Jason admitted. “But I think we shouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves. We need to review the evidence and do some research. Mark can visit the historical society tomorrow. See if there’s anything there that could help explain what we all heard.”

  “Can you think of anything, Mr. Kelly?” Lyssa asked.

  “Well”—Grandpa George scratched his chin—“there have been shipwrecks over the years, of course. There’s a big sandbar just offshore.”

  “Why isn’t there a lighthouse?” Mark asked.

  “The big ships never put in here,” Grandpa George said. “It’s just not deep enough. But if a storm came up, it could blow a ship off course. That could be very dangerous.”

  “I was just wondering,” Tom said, “how come you have to wait for morning? Why can’t we listen to the evidence now?”

  “Because it’s late, Tom,” Grandpa George said with quiet authority. “These folks drove all day to get here. They’re cold and tired. And Lyssa is hurt.”

  “I’m just as curious as Tom is,” Lyssa spoke up. She looked at her fellow team members. “Let’s just listen to the audio, okay?” she said.

  “Cool,” Jen answered. “I just need a few minutes to get set up.”

  “We’ve lost the mast!” the voice on the audio shouted. “We’re doomed! We’re going down!”

  “That’s the last of it,” Jen said. She punched off the playback and the room fell silent. One by one, she had played back the evidence from the audio recorders that the team had worn that night. They all painted the same picture: a ship going down, full of desperate people fighting for their lives.

  “Those poor people,” Lyssa said.

  “There’s something about the voices,” Grant said. “I can’t quite put my finger on what I mean. Did anybody else notice it?”

  “They sound like they’re in a movie,” Tom said excitedly. “You know, like Pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “That’s it!” Lyssa said. “All those voices have English accents.”

  “That might give Mark a place to start at the historical society,” Grant said. “Lots of ships sailed from England, I know, but not all of them.”

  “Sure,” Jason agreed. “Still cuts down the number of ships we have to investigate.”

  “Let us do it!” Tom burst out. “Me and Grandpa George. I like investigating stuff. Ask Grandpa. He’ll tell you.”

  “It’s true,” Grandpa George said slowly. Lyssa thought she could almost see the older man thinking over his grandson’s suggestion. “Tom’s like me that way. I’ve spent a fair amount of time over at the historical society, and I’m familiar with the collection. Maybe we could help. If you tell us what we’re looking for.”

  “I’ve got a theory,” Mark said. “This whole thing started the year Tom turned nine, right? Why don’t you try looking for a ship with a nine-year-old on board? Ship records should show things like that.”

  “Why would somebody that young be on a ship?” Jen asked.

  “Several reasons.” It was Grandpa George who replied. “He could have been a cabin boy or even a stowaway. Or maybe the captain’s son. Perhaps the ship was carrying settlers, like the Mayflower. Whole families came on ships like that. A baby was even born on the Mayflower.”

  “Oh, man, this is going to be totally awesome!” Tom exclaimed.

  Grant smiled. “Sounds like you two are the perfect pair to take this on.”

  “Hey, check this out,” Lyssa said a couple of weeks later. “It’s a letter from George and Tom Kelly. I wonder what they discovered, if anything.”

  Grant grinned. “Only one way to find out. Go ahead.”

  Lyssa opened the letter. There was Tom’s big, neat handwriting, just like before.

  “Read it, Lyssa,” Jason said.

  “Dear TAPS,” Lyssa read aloud.

  This is Tom and George Kelly. You remember us, right? LOL Anyhow, we’ve been going to the historical society almost every day since you left. It took a while, but we think we may have found something really cool.

  “This sounds good,” Mark commented.

  Lyssa looked up at Mark with a smile and continued to read the letter.

  There were lots of ships. And some of them had better records than others. But just yesterday, we think we found her. (Grandpa George says you always talk about ships as if they were girls. Do you know why?)

  Anyway, there was a ship called the Amelia Rose. She was heading for Boston in 1801. There were lots of families on board. One of them, the Pattersons, had a son who was nine. His name was Jeremiah.

  So we think Mark was right. Maybe what happened has something to do with my turning nine. We never heard the ship before I was nine. Maybe Jeremiah wanted to tell me something because I’m his age. I know we’ll never know for sure. Still, Grandpa and I keep thinking about Jeremiah and all the other people on the Amelia Rose.

  We decided we want to do something to remember them. We haven’t figured out what yet. But we’ve got almost a whole year to come up with something. Grandpa George and I want to invite all you guys to come back. We want you to be a part of whatever we finally decide.

  “Oh, man,” Mark said. “Can I just say this? I really like these guys.”

  “I think we all feel the same way,” Jason said. “Is that all?”

  “Pretty much,” Lyssa said.

  “Great! We could all use a little rest,” Grant said.

  RING RING RING…

  Mark picked up the phone, and Lyssa heard him say, “TAPS, how can we help you?” She watched as he then frantically grabbed a pen and starting writing.

  “Hey, guys, you gotta hear this,” Mark said as he hung up the phone.

  “I know that expression,” Grant said. “It looks like we’re not getting a rest after all.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Jason said. “It looks like it’s all hands on deck right now!”

  PLAY DEAD

  Squeak.

  The strange, high-pitched sound wormed its way into Joe Hensick’s brain. He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head to block out the sound. Joe didn’t want to wake up. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  Squeak.

  Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeak.

  Joe rolled over.

  Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

  SQUEAK. SQUEEEEEEEAK!

  “Ralph!” Joe bellowed. “For crying out loud!”

  The dog didn’t answer, but the squeaking stopped.

  Joe rolled over once again—and fell off the couch with a thump. He landed flat on his face, right onto the hardwood floor. Joe was definitely wide awake now. He sat up, the blanket tangled around his legs.

  I can’t believe this is happening, he thought. For the third time in one week, he’d fallen asleep on the couch. Too much studying. That’s what it was. He’d been sitting on the couch, reading his history book. And the next thing he knew, that squeaking was wrecking his sleep. Again!

  “Ralph!” he called out. “Where are you, you lazy mutt? C’mere, boy.”

  Joe heard the click of nails on the wood floor. A moment
later, his dog, Ralph, trotted into the room.

  Ralph was some crazy, mixed-up combination of all sorts of different breeds. The Hensick family always had mutts when Joe was growing up. Ralph was just the latest in a long line, but he was the first dog Joe had ever had on his own.

  He’d picked out Ralph at the animal shelter right before heading off to college. It made finding a place to live a little tougher, but Joe didn’t mind. When it came to Ralph, it was love at first sight.

  But the truth was that Ralph was the homeliest dog Joe had seen in his entire life. And he knew some seriously funny-looking dogs. Ralph was black and white, with a black head, tail, and back. He had a white belly and legs, and four gigantic black paws. One of his ears stood straight up; the other flopped over sideways. His tongue lolled out when he panted and drooled. He did that a lot.

  “Hey, Ralph,” Joe said. The dog had stopped halfway across the living room. He sat down, his black tail thumping. There was something in his mouth. “I’m not mad, I promise,” Joe went on. “Come on, boy. Come show me what you’ve got.”

  Click. Click. Click. Ralph padded over to the couch and sat down. Joe squinted at the thing in Ralph’s mouth and sighed. Not again, he thought.

  “Okay, Ralph,” Joe said. “Show me what you’ve got. Drop it. Drop it, boy.”

  Ralph dropped it right in Joe’s lap.

  Joe picked up the object by one ear. It was a plush bunny toy. And it was soaked with dog slobber. Ew.

  “Gee, thanks,” Joe said. He scratched Ralph behind his ears. “I guess I asked for it.”

  Joe stared at the bunny. When you squeezed—or bit—its middle, it squeaked.

  Ralph loved squeaky toys. He couldn’t get enough of them. And his favorite time to chomp on them was in the middle of the night, so Joe put the toys away when he went to sleep. He put them in the hall closet with the door shut tight.

  That was the idea, anyhow. But for the third time this week, Ralph had somehow gotten the toys back out of the closet. Joe had no idea how the dog did it.