by Jason Hawes
“Whoa,” Grant whispered. “Big energy spike. I think you’re reaching him!”
A chill ran down Lyssa’s back. The room was definitely colder.
“Oh, yeah,” Grant said. “And we’ve got six lights now.”
Grant stepped away from the fireplace, toward the center of the room. He held the EMF detector out in front of him. He was trying to see where the surge in energy was coming from.
Lyssa knelt to pick up the flashlight.
The second she touched it—the flashlight went out!
Lyssa gasped and straightened up. Was this the ghost’s sign Lyssa had asked for earlier? Was the man about to appear?
“Lyssa,” Grant whispered. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
She froze.
Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
“Footsteps,” Lyssa choked out. She fought back her fear. “Like someone limping. Dragging one leg. Where is it coming from? Can you tell?”
The room felt so cold now, goose bumps tingled up and down her arms.
“From the entrance to the room,” Grant said. “Just like in the boys’ drawing.”
Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
“That means he’s probably heading for the fireplace!” Lyssa cried. “Better move, Grant! Get out of the way!”
Lyssa darted toward Grant. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward her, behind the couch. Away from the fireplace.
Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
The scraping footsteps kept coming.
Lyssa whacked the flashlight against the palm of one hand, desperately trying to get it to come back on.
“I just wish we could see something,” she said.
Step, drag. Step, drag.
Then silence.
“They’ve stopped,” she breathed. “The footsteps have stopped.”
“At the corner of the fireplace,” Grant whispered. “Right where they did before.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Well, we were trying to reach out to him,” Grant said. “I’d say we got a pretty big response, so let’s keep it up. How about if I try?”
“Go for it,” Lyssa said.
“Hello, my name is Grant,” Grant said in a low, firm voice. “We heard your footsteps just now. It sounds as if you’re having trouble walking. Are you injured?”
Lyssa wrapped her fingers around Grant’s arm.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered.
“I hear it,” Grant replied.
A sigh. One long sigh of weariness and pain.
Suddenly, Lyssa realized she was crying. Huge, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. No investigation she’d ever been a part of had made her feel this way.
She was in motion almost before she realized what she was doing. She moved around the far end of the couch to the coffee table. There was a straight-backed chair on the other side of the table. Lyssa remembered it because that’s where she’d sat when she first met the Sandstrom family.
Lyssa walked to the chair and lifted it off the floor. Then she turned and carried it to the fireplace.
“Here,” she whispered. “Won’t you please sit down?”
“The flashlight went out,” Grant told the TAPS team. “And the room got icy cold.”
A hush fell over the long conference table. The team members leaned forward, eager to hear every detail. It was the next day at a nearby hotel. Time to review what had happened.
“We didn’t see anything,” Grant continued. “But there was energy all over the place.”
“As soon as I put the chair down, the energy changed,” Lyssa said. “The levels dropped back down. Not like the entity disappeared, but like he… relaxed somehow. I wondered if maybe he lived in the house at one time. If maybe that spot by the fireplace was his favorite corner.”
“We couldn’t see him,” Grant said. “But we knew he sat down in the chair when Lyssa brought it over. Somehow, we could just tell. It was really pretty remarkable.”
“All the action was clearly in the living room,” Mike said. “Compared to you guys, Jay and I had a totally quiet night.”
“Maybe the recorders picked up something,” Lyssa suggested.
All eyes turned to Jen. She had her laptop all set up, ready to play back any evidence the cameras and voice recorders picked up the night before.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” she said. “The video cams didn’t pick up a thing. Except for all you guys, of course. Not so much as a shadow.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Mark commented.
“Yes. That’s the bad news. But here’s the good news,” Jen said. “Listen.”
She pressed a key on the laptop and the audio began to play back. Lyssa leaned forward. She could hear what had to be Grant’s footsteps and her own. Then came Grant’s voice saying their names, setting a base reading for the audio recorders. She heard the conversation she and Grant had while investigating the room.
Then:
Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
Lyssa jerked straight up in her chair. The footsteps had been captured on the audio recorder!
No one said a word.
And then they all heard a whispery voice from the laptop:
“My leg… so tired.”
Lyssa felt her whole body begin to tingle.
“Man, oh, man,” Jason said softly. “That’s him. The ghost! We caught it on audio!”
Grant added, “I think he just explained the scraping footsteps, Lyssa.”
“Unbelievable,” Lyssa murmured. “Do you think he was walking all that time just looking for a place to sit down? He just wanted to rest?”
In silence, the team listened to the rest of the playback. Then Jen punched off the sound.
“You know, Lyssa, for somebody who didn’t hear what that guy said, you did a pretty great job of coming up with just what he needed,” Jen observed.
“I just wish we knew who he was,” Lyssa replied.
“Actually,” Mark Hammond chimed in, “I might have a little information. I think there’s a pretty good chance he was a soldier during the Revolutionary War.”
“Excuse me?” Lyssa exclaimed. “How on earth could you figure a thing like that out?”
“It’s all in the research,” Mark answered with a smile. He opened a folder and pulled out a map. On it, he’d drawn several yellow lines.
“A couple of the biggest battles of the Revolutionary War were fought in this area of New York. In 1776, not long after the Declaration of Independence was signed.”
“I didn’t know that,” Jen said.
“Things didn’t go so well for the colonial troops,” Mark went on. “They had to make a run for it.”
“Did any of this happen near the Sandstrom house?” Lyssa asked.
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Mark nodded. “My research shows that the Sandstrom house was once the biggest farmhouse in the area. There wasn’t really a town. The farmhouse would have been the only building for miles around.”
“Which would have made it an ideal place to shelter wounded soldiers,” Lyssa added. She sat back. “Wow.”
“Don’t forget the drawing that Dave did,” Mark said. “It was pretty rough, but those clothes are right for the time period.”
Lyssa’s cell phone rang. She checked the number.
“That’s the Sandstroms,” she said. As chief interviewer, Lyssa often gave clients her number. She took the call.
“Hello? Oh, hi, Joyce.” Lyssa listened intently for several moments. “Yes, yes, I understand that must be disturbing. Hang on just a minute. I’ll find out.”
Lyssa covered the phone. “It’s Joyce Sandstrom,” she said in a low voice. “She’s been hearing the footsteps going back and forth between the door and the living room all day. She sounds very upset. She’s almost crying.”
“Tell her we’re on our way,” Jason said.
“Joyce?” Lyssa said into the phone. “Hang on. We’re comi
ng right over.”
Lyssa walked into the Sandstrom living room and gasped. “The chair—it’s gone!”
“What chair?” Joyce Sandstrom asked. Her face was pale and set. She appeared to be fighting back tears. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Sandstrom,” Grant said. “Lyssa’s talking about something that happened during our investigation last night. How about if the whole family comes into the living room? We can talk about what we found.”
“Let’s all listen to the audio evidence from the living room,” Jason said. He set Jen’s laptop down on the coffee table and powered it up. “I think that will help to clear things up.”
Once again, Lyssa listened to the events in the living room. She watched the Sandstrom family as they listened, too.
“Wow!” Dave said when the audio was over. “That was awesome!”
“We totally agree,” Jason told him.
“Do you think the guy actually sat down?” Ron asked.
“What do you think?” Lyssa asked.
“I say yes,” Ron answered. “Because, when Mom moved the chair this morning…”
“He had to walk around all day!” Dave shouted. “He didn’t have anyplace to sit down.”
“So that’s what you meant when you said the chair was gone,” Joyce Sandstrom said. “I never even thought about it. I just put it back where it always goes when I straightened up the room.”
“I’m sorry,” Lyssa said. “I probably should have told you what I’d done. But even we had no idea how important it was.”
“So,” Grant said. “We think we gathered some pretty interesting information. The question is, what happens now?”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Dave Sandstrom raised his hand.
“Go ahead, Dave,” Jason said. “Tell us what you think.”
“I think somebody should put the chair back,” Dave said. “That way, the ghost will have a place to sit down.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Grant replied. “Who do you think those somebodies should be?”
Dave and Ron looked at each other. And smiled.
“Hey, check this out, you guys,” Lyssa said.
She waved a large envelope in the air. It was several weeks later, after the TAPS team went to the Sandstroms’ home.
“It’s from the Sandstrom brothers. They sent a final case report.”
The team gathered around. Ron and Dave had put their findings in a folder, the same way the TAPS team did. There was a label on the front of the report.
THE SANDSTROM INVESTIGATION:
CONCLUSIONS
Lyssa flipped open the folder. Right on top was a sketch of the living room. The drawing clearly showed a chair, sitting to one side of the fireplace. It was circled in red. Underneath it was the report itself.
TO: JASON, GRANT, MIKE, MARK, LYSSA, AND JEN
FROM: RON AND DAVE SANDSTROM
RE: INVESTIGATION FOLLOW-UP
“Ever since we put the chair by the fireplace, the footsteps have stopped,” Lyssa read aloud. “We don’t see or hear the limping man anymore.
“We all talked it over and decided to leave the chair right where it is for as long as we live in the house. And if we move out, we’ll leave a note for the new people, explaining that the ghost needs a place to rest his leg.”
“Oh, man,” Mike said. “That is so cool.”
“Thank you very much for helping us figure out what was going on. If you come to New York State, we hope you will visit us. This ends our report.”
Lyssa smiled. “It’s signed Ron and Dave Sandstrom.”
“Wait a minute,” Jen suddenly said. “I think there’s some writing on the other side of the page.”
Lyssa turned the page over.
“P.S.,” she read. “We’re sorry you never got to see the ghost.”
“So am I,” Grant said. “So am I.”
LOST IN THE LAKE
“Mom, I don’t need a babysitter! I’m almost old enough to be a babysitter. Why can’t I just stay by myself?” Charlie Hazelton glared at her mother. “I’m twelve,” she said. “I mean, come on.”
“Charlie, this is a new place. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone,” Charlie’s mother said.
From the way she said it, Charlie could tell that her mother hadn’t made up her mind. Charlie still had a chance if she could talk fast enough.
“All you’re going to do is run some errands, right? It’s not like you’ll be gone all that long.”
“Most of the afternoon,” Mrs. Hazelton said. “Which is long enough. I have to buy all the food for the housewarming party on Sunday. And it takes a while to get into town.” Mrs. Hazelton sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what your father and I were thinking, moving way out into the country like this.”
All of a sudden, her expression brightened. “Hey, maybe you should come along. You know, a shopping trip. Just you and me. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Mom,” Charlie said. “You’re going to the grocery store, not the mall.”
“Oh, all right.” Her mother abruptly gave in. “I guess you can stay here by yourself. On one condition: stay away from the lake.”
Charlie rolled her eyes.
“I really mean it, Charlie,” her mother said. “You’ve lived in apartments your whole life. You didn’t even learn to swim until last year. And we don’t know how deep the lake is. I’m just not comfortable with you going down there on your own.”
“I got my junior lifesaving certificate,” Charlie reminded her. “Mom, I’m twelve. You know—almost a teenager.” How many times did she have to say it before her mother got the point?
“There are stories about that lake,” Mrs. Hazelton went on. Clearly, she wasn’t really listening to Charlie at all.
“What kind of stories?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know,” her mother said impatiently. “I’ve just heard that no one swims there. It’s not safe. Now, either you promise not to go near the lake or you come with me.”
“Oh, all right,” Charlie said. “Honestly.”
If I ever have kids, I won’t treat them like babies, she thought. It’s embarrassing sometimes.
Forget that. It’s embarrassing all the time.
“Promise me,” her mother said.
“Mom.”
“Promise me,” her mother insisted.
Charlie sighed. “I promise not to go near the lake,” she said. “There! Okay?”
She meant to keep her promise. She honestly did. But her mom never said she had to stay inside. Right?
Right, Charlie thought. She stepped onto the front porch and closed the door behind her. She had lived here for exactly one week. Her parents dragged her away from her friends, her school… everything! So Charlie figured that she had a right to go exploring.
She walked down the porch steps and turned left. Her sneakers made soft swooshing sounds as she crossed the lawn. It was smooth and green, like a carpet. Charlie thought it was fake the first time she saw it.
She went around the corner of the house and headed for the orchard. It was pretty—if you liked rows and rows of apple trees. After the orchard came the meadow. It was on a hill, sloping down. At the bottom of the meadow was the lake.
The one that she was supposed to stay away from.
“I don’t know what Mom’s so worried about,” Charlie muttered to herself. She stomped through the orchard. “It’s not even a real lake. More like a pond. It’s probably not even deep.”
Still, to play it safe, Charlie stopped at the top of the hill. She could see the lake from there. Which was definitely not the same as breaking her promise. Mom never said that Charlie couldn’t look at the lake.
The water looked quiet and peaceful in the summer sunshine.
Okay. It probably is big enough to be called a lake, Charlie thought. It even looked deep. But it didn’t look dangerous.
The lake curved around in a funny shape, like an enormous kidn
ey bean. The water was green and clear. The biggest willow tree Charlie had ever seen stood on the far shore. The tree’s long, skinny branches draped down like a pale green curtain. Some of the tree’s roots were actually underwater.
Charlie couldn’t see the roots from where she stood. But her dad had told her about them.
A breeze came up. It ruffled the surface of the water, making it sparkle in the sun. Then there was a quick, blinding flash of light. Charlie cried out in surprise and covered her eyes.
When she uncovered them, she saw the little boy.
He looked as if he was about five years old. He wore a red T-shirt and baggy jeans. He was standing about halfway down the hill, staring at the lake.
Who is he? What’s he doing out here all by himself? Charlie wondered. Does he live around here?
No, she answered her own question. No one lived around here. The nearest neighbors lived over a mile away. And they didn’t have kids.
“Hey!” she called.
The boy turned his head to look at her.
“What’s your name?” Charlie yelled. “What are you doing around here?”
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he began to run.
He ran down the slope, toward the water.
“Wait up!” Charlie called. “I didn’t mean to sound mad. I just…”
For such a little kid, he was running really fast. He ran down a steep, skinny path. He nearly tripped. But he kept running.
“Hey, watch out!” Charlie called. “Watch where you’re going—or at least slow down!”
But the boy didn’t slow down. He ran even faster, straight toward the lake. It was almost as if something was chasing him—or as if he couldn’t stop.
Charlie didn’t know why exactly, but something felt bad. The boy was so little. What if he couldn’t swim? What if the lake was seriously deep? What if it really was dangerous?
What if he was being chased—by something she couldn’t see?
