Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown

by Jason Hawes

  Then it all stopped. The window shades and doors were still. The wind died. The flames in the fireplace shrank to a red glow.

  Lyssa stayed on the footstool. She gripped the picture frame so tightly, she could no longer feel her fingers.

  “Angie! Angie, are you okay?” she yelled.

  Silence.

  Then she heard a thump from upstairs, followed by the sound of running footsteps. A moment later, Angie appeared in the entrance to the living room. Her eyes were two wide pools of fear. Her hands were at her throat.

  “Are you okay?” Lyssa asked.

  “Okay,” Angie managed to gasp out.

  “Here’s the deal,” Lyssa said. “I promised I would put the portrait back and that we would leave—if she let you go. But we have to go tonight. How fast can you pack your things?”

  “Already on it.” Angie whirled around. Lyssa heard her footsteps again, pounding up the stairs this time.

  Lyssa’s knees began to shake. Slowly, she turned around and hung the portrait back on the wall. Then she climbed down from the footstool and sat on the couch. She stayed there, staring up into Eloise Cavanaugh’s icy blue eyes, until Angie came back downstairs to say she was ready to leave.

  “You got a postcard, Lyssa,” Jen said a couple of weeks later as she brought in the TAPS mail. It was a bright summer day. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. Everything seemed so bright and alive.

  “A postcard,” Lyssa echoed. “Who sent it?”

  “See for yourself,” Jen answered with a smile. She handed Lyssa the postcard. There was a beach scene on the front. Lyssa turned the card over.

  “Hey,” she said. “It’s from Angie Larson.”

  Jason looked up from his desk. “What does she say?”

  Quickly, Lyssa scanned the few sentences on the postcard’s back. “She says she’s doing well. No more dreams.”

  “That’s a relief, I’ll bet,” Grant commented.

  “And she’s never going back to that house?” Jason guessed.

  “Angie says she’s moving to a new house next week.”

  “I’m glad things are working out for her, but I still think what you did was pretty risky,” Grant said.

  “I know it was risky,” Lyssa agreed. “But it was the only thing that I could think of.”

  “You know what I always say,” Jason said with a smile. “Working for TAPS is a dream come true.”

  “Yeah, it’s a real nightmare,” Grant said, and the whole team laughed.

  GHOST TOWN

  Layne Stevens took off his black flat-brimmed hat and fanned himself. The sun was setting, but here in Tombstone, Arizona, it was still sizzling hot. Layne watched as dust swirled around the last group of visitors leaving the O.K. Corral. Nearly everyone has heard of the historic gunfight at the O.K. Corral. There have been books and movies about the famous shoot-out between Wyatt Earp and the Clanton gang in the old Wild West. But Layne got to watch it happen every day, up close and personal.

  Layne played Wyatt Earp in a show about the gunfight. Hundreds of visitors came each week to see it. Layne and a crew of other actors would stand across from each other with fake guns in their holsters, waiting for the right moment to draw them. Then Layne would look left and right and see the actors playing Wyatt Earp’s two brothers, Virgil and Morgan. He felt as if he were in a real standoff. His eyes would focus on the outlaws facing him, and his fingers would twitch, ready for bullets to fly at any second. And then pop pop pop! He would hear the guns. As the smoke cleared, some of it would get in his eyes, making them tear. The whole fight lasted only thirty seconds.

  After the show the visitors were free to walk around the little town. They took pictures and went into the stores, which, like the rest of the O.K. Corral, looked the way they did on October 26, 1881, the day of the gunfight.

  When five o’clock rolled around, Layne would round up everybody and send them on their way home. After that, he would go into each building, making sure no one had been left behind. He took his time going in and out of each building as the sun dipped behind the mountains. He never found anybody hanging around after the tourists had left.

  At least, not anybody alive.

  Lately Layne had been seeing things around the O.K. Corral after everyone had left. Movements in the corner of his eye, shadows behind windows, bright flashes of light in back of buildings… things he couldn’t explain.

  He hadn’t told the other employees about it. He was worried no one would believe him. He thought they would make fun of him, because they all knew how wrapped up he got playing Wyatt Earp. But he knew what he saw.

  So now, on evenings like this one, after the visitors had all left, Layne felt strange. He wondered what he might see.

  Or what might be seeing him.

  Layne watched the last car filled with tourists drive off and started his nightly rounds. He looked in the alleys between the buildings, filled with long shadows and lizards scurrying for cover. Then he went into the hat store, the telegraph station, and the jailhouse, searching all over and calling to anyone who might have been left behind. There was nothing out of the ordinary in any of those places, but Layne couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It was like his senses were extra-sensitive. Little birds chirping in the brush seemed as loud as a car horn. The dust in the air clung to his skin, making it feel rough as sandpaper.

  The last place in that part of town he had to check was the stables. On the side facing the street, there was a tall brick wall with a rickety gate that surrounded a corral. In the center of the corral was a shack with old, dusty windows.

  Layne opened the gate and stepped inside the corral. The ground was very dry from being baked by the sun. He could feel the hard dirt through his boots. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

  Layne walked around the corral and then made his way to the shack. He put his hand on the hot metal doorknob and was about to open the door when he stopped. He heard a faint noise. Then it got louder. A gloomy howling sound was carried on the wind. After a minute it went away.

  Probably just a coyote out there, he thought.

  Layne stuck his head into the shack and looked around. A long cobweb fluttered in the corner of the room. Nothing else.

  He left the shack and walked toward the gate. Out of nowhere he heard that sad coyote cry rise again. It was much closer this time and even louder. It sounded as if it was right behind him.

  “Anybody here?” he called out.

  He spun around, and suddenly his pulse throbbed in his neck and his throat choked up. A twisting pain shot through his stomach. Squinting at him through the window of the shack was an old man in a flat-brimmed hat, just like his.

  The man snarled.

  Immediately Layne ran to the door and threw it open. The floorboards squeaked under his feet. The gust from the door caused the big cobweb to break free from the wall and drift down to the floor. As it fell, the cobweb reflected light from the window. It looked like a cloud floating through the sky. Layne felt dizzy. His eyes darted to each corner of the room. He looked to his left and right. But he was alone. There was no one there.

  Layne took a deep breath and stepped back out of the shack. He inched toward the window, getting so close his nose almost touched the glass. He raised an arm and clinked his fingernail on the dusty window. It made a flat pinging sound.

  It must have been my reflection, he thought. It’s just too hot out. I need to get some water.

  He slowly backed out of the gate and made it to Camillus Fly’s photography shop. In the back there was a gift shop, which was very popular with visitors. There were also vending machines with bottled water. He walked to the back of the shop, passing the cap guns and pictures of Native Americans in tribal clothing. He liked looking at all the historical things at the O.K. Corral.

  But sometimes the old pictures gave him a funny feeling—especially the black-and-white picture of Camillus Fly’s wife, Mary, that hung behind the cash register. She had a broad smile and thick curl
y hair. Even for such an old picture, Mary’s face was very clear. On the way out, Layne stared at it for a minute. He thought that if it weren’t for the ruffly dress, Mary would look like someone he would like. She was pretty. The idea that people were much the same one hundred or two hundred years ago was strange in a way. They had the same brains and probably thought about the same things. Layne imagined himself going back in time and talking with them. That would be awesome.

  Layne got his water and then went to the door. He had an itch in his nose. A second later he sneezed. He took a big breath in through his nose. He smelled a strong aroma of flowers, like fancy perfume. It obviously hadn’t come from outside. There were no flowers there. He stood by the door and gave the room another look.

  “Hello?”

  No answer. The smell grew stronger. He turned his head and looked at the picture of Mary. The smile on her face was so wide, it was as if the picture had been taken in the middle of a funny joke. Her eyes were so shiny, they seemed real. He felt as if she was looking right at him.

  “Mary?” he whispered.

  For a moment he thought the picture was going to answer him. He stared at it, his eyes making out the grainy details. Were her lips moving maybe just a little? The longer he stared, the thicker the silence in the room became. Soon it felt like water was clogging his ears. He shook his head quickly. Snap out of it, Layne, he told himself. He stepped out the door and moved on.

  Layne was almost done for the night, and then he could go home. All he had to do was make sure no one was in the saloon.

  There was a change in the air. The temperature had dropped just a little. And there was something else different. A faint sound. But not like before. He recognized this one.

  As he approached the saloon, it became even clearer. Piano notes rang through the air. A lively, jangly tune was coming out of the saloon. It was so loud and fast, Layne thought whoever was playing must have been really hitting the keys hard.

  Layne was cautious walking up the steps to the swinging doors. Whoever decided to hang around the town after hours was in for a surprise. Layne wanted to make sure they didn’t hear him sneak up on them.

  Layne pushed the doors open wide and was about to head straight to the piano when he froze. He stared at the instrument in shock. He saw an old piano and an empty piano bench. No one was playing, but the piano kept banging out the tune, louder and faster.

  The music pounded in Layne’s ears. He couldn’t escape it. He felt dizzy, as if he were falling down a well.

  Layne turned back toward the door. He wanted to get out of there, but what he saw next stopped him.

  There at the bar was a man with a long, pointy beard. The man was calmly sipping from a glass. He turned his head and looked straight at Layne. Then, as if he had never been there at all, the man disappeared like a puff of smoke. A second later the last note from the piano still rang in the air.

  Then the only sound was Layne’s scream.

  Lyssa sat in the front seat of the TAPS van as Jason drove through the Arizona desert. Living in Rhode Island, she was used to seeing water. The scrubby brush and mountains were new to her, but she liked the change of scenery. The air was crisp and clean. But she didn’t like the extreme heat. The air-conditioning in the van wasn’t working, so they all had opened their windows. With the wind blowing in her face, she could barely hear Mark talking to her over the walkie-talkie from the other van.

  “Can you refresh my memory on what happened at the O.K. Corral?” she asked. “Everyone knows there was a gunfight, but…”

  “Sure,” Mark said. “Back in the old West, there really was no law. Well, there was law. But there weren’t that many police officers to make sure people followed it. It was a very wild and violent time. Tombstone was the wildest town of all. That’s where Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday settled and became peace officers—what we now call the police.

  “Back then, Tombstone was a boomtown. A lot of people came out there to try to make their fortune mining silver. And there was also lots of money to be made selling cattle. Unfortunately, plenty of dishonest people came to Tombstone, too. Gambling cheats, train robbers, bank robbers. But the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral was about cattle thieves. People would drive other people’s cattle away from pastures and then sell them for a lot of money. The worst of these cattle thieves was the Clanton gang, run by a man named Ike Clanton. The cattle-robbing problem was so bad that ranchers had to hire watchmen to try to protect their cattle. But even that didn’t stop the Clanton gang. They were tough. Few people could stand up to them.”

  “Get to the exciting stuff!” Jen chimed in. “Why did the shoot-out happen?”

  “Oh, right… the shoot-out. Well, one day Ike Clanton rode into town with his gang. Wyatt Earp, his brothers, and Doc Holliday ordered them to give up their guns. They lined up across from each other. Much closer than you would think. They were only a handful of feet apart. But the gang refused to give up their weapons. And that’s when the shoot-out happened. The whole fight lasted under a minute, and at the end, three members of the gang were dead. Three of the lawmen were shot, but not badly hurt.”

  “But the violence didn’t stop there,” Mike added. “A few weeks after the gunfight, Virgil Earp was attacked by a hidden shooter. He lost his arm because of it. And then, three months later, Morgan Earp was shot in the back by men hiding out in an alley. And within a year, two of the surviving Clanton gang members were also shot dead—one in another gunfight and one while stealing cattle. Those old cowboy movies don’t exaggerate all that much. It really was a very violent period of history.”

  Lyssa looked ahead of her. At first she thought she was seeing a mirage. Wavy, dark shadows moved on top of the road in the distance. But after a minute she realized they were approaching a town. She turned to Jason.

  “Is that Tombstone?”

  “That’s it. That’s where we’re headed,” Jason said. Then he added, “The town of Tombstone has a nickname. They call it ‘the town too tough to die.’ ”

  Lyssa laughed. “I guess we’re going to find out all about that!”

  They parked and entered the town. Lyssa saw wagon wheels and wooden barrels along the old street. Horses were tied up to railings. Donkeys were braying underneath trees with twisted branches. Most of the buildings had long balconies that looked out into the street. Lyssa felt as if she had just stepped back in time. People were even walking around in long duster coats and big cowboy hats. One man with a bushy mustache caught sight of them and walked over.

  “You must be from TAPS,” he said.

  Jason and Grant stepped forward.

  “Layne?”

  He stuck his arm out and shook their hands.

  “Around here folks call me Wyatt Earp. At least during the day. That’s who I play for the visitors. But yes, you can call me Layne.”

  The team introduced themselves. Lyssa was impressed with how realistic the town was. Everything down to Layne’s sheriff’s badge seemed to fit. She made a comment about it, and Layne took it off his chest and handed it to her. It was heavy in her palm.

  “That’s a real badge from the eighteen eighties,” he said. “Of course, it’s not Wyatt Earp’s. But we try to keep this place as authentic as possible. Unfortunately, you just missed the performance. We act out the gunfight every day.”

  “That’s too bad. This place is amazing,” Jen said.

  “Normally the shoot-out is the most exciting part of the day. But lately things have been getting more interesting after the park closes up.”

  Lyssa handed back the badge.

  “What are some of the reports people have been making?”

  “Well, I haven’t heard a whole lot from the visitors. Once in a while someone will come up to me and say they heard a weird noise, or smelled pipe smoke in an area with no one else around. Lately, though, I’ve been experiencing some things that I have trouble explaining. You don’t know how happy I am that you all agreed to come. I really thought I was losing it
. Follow me. I’ll show you the town.”

  Layne took them on a tour of the little town, pointing out where all the strange things he’d seen had happened. When they got to the saloon, Layne showed them where he saw the man sitting and pointed to the piano across the room.

  “Are there any trapdoors, or anything like that someone could have used to escape?” Lyssa asked.

  “Nothing like that. I saw both the man here and a man in the shed just vanish into thin air.”

  “Was it the same man?”

  Layne shook his head.

  “They wore similar clothes but were different people. And they had different expressions on their faces. It’s strange—I only saw them for a few seconds, but I got a real sense about what those people were like.”

  “How so?”

  “The one in the corral was angry. He had beady eyes, and he was scowling at me through the window of that old shack. But the one in the saloon seemed to be more mellow. He had this calm expression on his face.”

  “I see. Did either of the men say anything or interact with you in any way?”

  “No. They were just sort of there. And then they just faded out.”

  Lyssa kept her cool, but Layne’s claims were very exciting. “And did you recognize them at all?”

  Layne seemed shocked.

  “I don’t think anyone here would be trying to play a trick on me…”

  “No. I mean from a picture. There are photos hanging all over Tombstone from that time period. Maybe one of them seems familiar. Do you think you would recognize the real Wyatt Earp if he were standing in front of you?” she asked.

  Layne thought about that for a minute. “Yes, I think I would. But I didn’t recognize either of those men.” Layne straightened his shoulders and took a step back. “Well, everything will be closing up soon, and I have to get back to the visitors. Why don’t you have a look around and explore? Once everyone has left, I’ll meet you back here.”