Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown

by Jason Hawes

  He and Jason were talking in low tones in the entry hall. Mrs. McGrath was already in bed. Except for the hall light above Grant’s and Jason’s heads, the rest of the house was dark. Mrs. McGrath promised not to come out of her room unless she felt she was in danger.

  “We don’t have a camera with us, so it’s audio only. There’s a voice recorder on the kitchen counter and one in the living room, as well.”

  “But we’ll each be wearing our own recorders,” Jason put in. “I’ll have an EMF detector. You’ll have a flashlight. That way, each of us will have one hand free.”

  “Right.” Grant nodded. “I’m thinking maybe we should start in the living room, then work our way to the kitchen. There have been occurrences in both places, according to Mrs. McGrath.”

  “Right there with you,” Jason said. “Let’s make it happen.”

  “Okay,” Grant said. “And we’re going dark in five, four, three, two, one.”

  He hit the hallway light switch. The light went out, and the house was plunged into total darkness.

  “This is Grant,” Grant said several moments later. He was marking a level for the voice recorder. “Jason is with me. We’re heading to the living room now.”

  He switched on the flashlight. A thin white beam sliced through the dark.

  “Entering the living room,” Grant continued.

  “EMF readings low and steady,” Jason reported.

  “Roger that.”

  Grant walked slowly into the room. He shone the flashlight around. To the right was a giant stone fireplace with built-in bookcases on both sides. All the books were right where they belonged.

  “I’m going to try to make contact,” Grant said.

  “Go for it.”

  Grant cleared his throat. “Hello? My name is Grant, and with me is Jason. Is there anybody else here with us?”

  Grant paused. He and Jason stood back to back in the middle of the living room. Grant faced toward the street now. He swept his flashlight beam slowly back and forth. He knew Jason was doing the same with the EMF meter right behind him.

  “Reading is coming up a little,” Jason said. “I’ve got four lights now.”

  “If you’re here, we’d really like to meet you,” Grant continued. “We’re trying to understand what’s going on in this house. If there is someone here with us, can you give us a sign?”

  “Whoa,” Jason suddenly said. He pivoted quickly so he and Grant were standing side by side. “Super-big spike.” He held out the EMF meter so Grant could see it. The EMF meter was reading eight lights, almost as high as things got.

  “Well, that rocks.”

  “What now?”

  “Well, I’m thinking we should—”

  All of a sudden, Grant felt Jason’s hand squeeze his arm. Hard.

  “What’s that?” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Over by the window. Do you see what I’m seeing?”

  Grant looked. He felt a cold shiver slide down his spine.

  In front of the house was a big streetlight. It made a glow through the curtains even when they were closed. In the center of the window, directly in front of Jason and Grant, was a big black mass. An enormous shadow.

  “I’m going to try something,” Grant said quietly.

  “Right with you, bro. Go for it,” Jason replied.

  Grant stepped left. Jason moved also. The dark shadow shifted so that it stayed right in front of them. The two men stepped back to their original locations, and the shadow moved, too.

  “That answers that,” Grant said. “I’d say we’re definitely dealing with something intelligent. I’m going to try to make contact again.”

  He opened his mouth to speak. Before Grant could so much as make a sound, the shadow swooped toward him.

  “Look out!” Jason cried.

  Jason and Grant dove in opposite directions. The shadow kept on coming. It went straight to Grant. He tripped over a footstool and fell over backward.

  And then the shadow was on top of him.

  Icy cold swept over Grant. It seemed to him that he could feel two strong hands on his chest, pushing and pushing. It pinned him down on the floor!

  Grant couldn’t see. A dark mist covered his eyes. He thought he could hear Jason calling his name, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Then, just like that, it was over. The shadow was gone. Grant could see and breathe once more. Instantly, Jason was at his side. He helped him sit up.

  “Grant,” Jason said. “Talk to me, buddy. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. I’m okay,” Grant said. He took a couple deep breaths. “But I need a minute here. That was pretty wild.”

  “The EMF meter was lit up all the way to the top!” Jason said. “Something major definitely just went down.”

  “Tell me about it,” Grant said with a short laugh. He got to his feet. He took a few more deep breaths. “Okay. Better now. Well, I think that answers the first question. There’s definitely an entity inside this house.”

  “Next stop, the kitchen,” Jason said. “Come on. Let’s go check it out.”

  Quickly yet carefully, Grant and Jason walked toward the kitchen. They paused in the doorway. Grant flicked the flashlight around the room. Everything was right where it belonged. Pale moonlight shone in through the windows, giving the room an eerie glow.

  Grant moved the flashlight beam so that it lit up the top of the refrigerator. The knife block was in its usual place. It just didn’t have any knives. Grant and Jason took them out earlier in the day. The two wanted the scene to be as close to the night of Mrs. McGrath’s attack as it could be, but knives were nothing to mess around with.

  Better safe than sorry, Grant thought.

  “We’re entering the kitchen,” Grant heard Jason whisper behind him.

  Grant stepped across the threshold.

  One… two… three… four…

  Grant realized he was counting his steps silently as he walked across the room. So far, everything was quiet. But the air felt funny, like it was filled with static electricity. Grant could feel the back of his neck prickle. The hair stood up all along his arms.

  “What’s the EMF reading?” he asked Jason.

  “High,” Jason said. “But that could just be the appliances. The kitchen’s full of them.”

  “Let’s head toward the fridge,” Grant said. “Let me know if the reading changes.”

  “Will do,” Jason said. “Whoa… Ouch!”

  Totally without warning, Jason stumbled back. Grant felt a blast of cold air sweep by him. He spun around.

  The dark shadow hung in the air between him and Jason, cutting the two friends off from each other. Grant couldn’t even see Jason, the shadow was so dense and dark.

  “Jay!” Grant cried. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay,” Jason answered at once. “Something pushed me back, and I think I just got slapped.”

  “Oh, man,” Grant said. “That is absolutely wild!”

  “My name is Jason,” Jason said. “Grant is with me. We don’t mean you any harm. We just want to understand who you are. Did you once live here? Was this house your home? If the answer is yes, open the cupboard above the sink.”

  Jason paused. All of a sudden, Grant realized he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly, without a sound. The shadow continued to hang in the air between them. The kitchen was intensely cold.

  “We want to understand why you’re here,” Grant spoke up. “We want to help. Are you angry or upset about something? Is that why you’re in this house?”

  The shadow moved. Once again, Grant felt strong hands push against him, hard. He fell back several steps, then got his balance. Then he was pushed back again.

  Wham!

  Grant smacked into the refrigerator. The back of his head whacked against the freezer door. Running totally on instinct, he raised his arms to protect the top of his head, just as the knife block came hurtling down.

  Crash! Thunk!

  The heavy wood
en knife block banged against the floor.

  “Grant!” Jason cried.

  But Grant couldn’t reply. He was too busy trying to catch his breath.

  The dark shadow hung in the air in front of him. Then, very slowly, it began to fade out. It grew thinner and thinner until Grant could see Jason through it. Then, like fog disappearing when the sun comes out, the shadow was gone.

  Grant looked down. The knife block was right in front of him. He shone the flashlight on it. Where it landed, there was a big dent in the floor.

  “Wow,” Jason said as he walked over. “Would you take a look at that? I’m glad that dent’s not in your head, buddy.”

  “Yeah,” Grant said. “You and me both.” He blew out a breath. “Okay, so. What we both experienced has convinced me. There is definitely an entity in this house. The question is, did it intentionally injure Mrs. McGrath?”

  Jason thought for a moment.

  “You just had an experience that was almost identical to hers,” he finally said. “You both got pushed back against the fridge. Hard. That’s what made the knife block fall off: the impact of a body hitting the fridge. You didn’t get cut, because we’d removed the knives ahead of time.”

  “But if we hadn’t done that,” Grant filled in, “chances are very good I would have been cut, too. Which means we can debunk a deliberate stabbing, but not an attack. I was pushed. I could feel hands on my shoulders.”

  “So the questions are who pushed you and Mrs. McGrath, and why?”

  “I’d say some research is in order,” Grant said. “The entity in this house is one angry spirit. We need to find out why.”

  “So, let’s review what we’ve got on the McGrath case,” Grant said. “I want to get this wrapped up so Mrs. McGrath can go back home.”

  Grant and Jason were back in the TAPS office. Neither of the TAPS founders felt good about leaving Mrs. McGrath alone. Her niece lived in a nearby town, and she’d been meaning to visit, so Jason and Grant encouraged her to go. She was there now, waiting for the results of the TAPS investigation. Jason, Grant, and Mark were going over evidence in the conference room.

  “Why don’t you go first, Mark?” Grant suggested.

  “There’s not a lot to go on,” Mark reported. “I found records for the house, of course. But aside from when it was built and who built it, there’s not much there. No reports of unusual incidents over the years. No deaths, violent or otherwise. The only thing that seemed at all like it might tie in is that the house was built by a man named Silas Bryant.”

  “Bryant,” Grant said. “How come that sounds familiar?”

  “That’s the interesting part,” Mark replied. “In the early nineteen hundreds, Silas Bryant founded a school for what we’d now call troubled youths. Specifically, boys.”

  “Bryant House!” Jason exclaimed. He turned to Grant. “Mrs. McGrath mentioned that, didn’t she?”

  “She did,” Grant agreed. “She said they were tearing the old place down.”

  “I did some research about Bryant House itself,” Mark continued. “Apparently, old Silas Bryant was a pretty strict guy. His nickname was Tyrant Bryant. Several old newspaper articles I read mentioned boys trying to run away. One of them actually died trying.”

  “That is interesting,” Jason said. “Did you find out anything about him?”

  Mark checked his notes.

  “His name was Frank Thompson,” he said. “Apparently, he had some bad news the afternoon before he tried to break out. His mother was seriously ill. So Frank tried to bust out. That night, there was a big rainstorm. The newspaper mentions it because the storm went on to cause flooding in the town. Anyhow, what they think happened is that Frank climbed out an attic window, slipped on the steep slate roof, and fell off. He died that same night.”

  “That could explain why he’s so angry. I guess he wants to get back at Bryant—or anyone living in his house,” Jason commented.

  “Okay,” Grant said slowly. “But why wait until now? Mrs. McGrath said she’d lived in that house for fifty years. Things only started happening recently.”

  “Maybe it’s connected to Bryant House itself being torn down,” Mark proposed. “Did you guys pick up anything that might help explain things on the voice recorders?”

  “You know, I think we just might have.” Grant nodded. “A couple of words came through pretty clearly. They didn’t make too much sense on their own. When you put them together with Frank Thompson’s story, maybe they do make sense.”

  He tapped a few keys on the laptop to cue up the sound. “Let’s listen to it again. This is from when we were in the kitchen. Right before the block came flying.”

  Grant hit a key, and Jason’s voice filled the room.

  “We don’t mean you any harm. We just want to understand who you are,” Jason’s voice said.

  There was a strange sound, like something scratching against the microphone. Then a hushed voice.

  “… no more…”

  “Did you once live here?” Jason’s voice continued. “Was this house your home?”

  Again, they heard that strange sound of static, followed by the voice. This time, the voice was more insistent. It sounded as if it was frustrated that no one understood it.

  “… no more… NO MORE!”

  And then there was a sound of footsteps, followed by two big thumps and a heavy crash. Grant turned off the playback.

  “That sound is me… smacking into the fridge and then the knife block falling down.”

  “Wow!” Mark said. His eyes were wide. “All of that is totally wild. Those words are really clear. And for the record, I’m glad you’re in one piece, boss.”

  “Me too,” Grant replied.

  “What do you suppose the words mean?” Mark asked. “No more what? No more being shut up in Bryant House?”

  “Or maybe, if this is the spirit of Frank Thompson, he’s ready to pass on. Maybe he means no more being among the living,” Grant suggested.

  “So what do we tell Mrs. McGrath?” Jason wanted to know.

  “I think I have an idea about that,” Grant said. He stood up. “First, let’s call Mrs. McGrath and have her meet us at the house. Then we can talk about a plan on the drive.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mrs. McGrath,” Grant said.

  It was late that afternoon. Grant, Jason, and Mrs. McGrath were once more seated in her sunny kitchen. Mrs. McGrath’s niece, Jackie, was there, as well. Jay and Grant told Mrs. McGrath about their plan.

  “You really think this will work?” Jackie asked now.

  “To be quite honest, we have no idea,” Grant admitted. “Sometimes, we just have to do what makes the most sense to us and hope for the best. Now is one of those times.”

  “But if the entity in this house is a restless spirit that actually wants to be at peace, we think this is a good approach,” Jason added.

  “I agree,” Mrs. McGrath said in a firm voice. She patted her niece’s arm. “And besides, I have to do something. This is my home. I have no intention of leaving it.”

  “Okay, then,” Grant said. He stood up. “Let’s give this a try. But I suggest we try to make contact in the living room.” He smiled at Mrs. McGrath. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be as far away as possible from that knife block.”

  A few minutes later, they were all settled in the other room. “Okay, Mrs. McGrath. Ready?” Jason asked.

  Mrs. McGrath nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  She and Grant sat side by side on the couch. Jason and Jackie sat just opposite.

  “Go ahead, then,” Grant said.

  Mrs. McGrath cleared her throat. “My name is Abigail McGrath,” she said in her calm, quiet voice. “I am speaking to the spirit in this house. I think your name might be Frank Thompson. There’s something that I want to tell you, Frank.”

  “Keep it up,” Grant murmured. “You’re doing fine.”

  “This is my house,” Mrs. McGrath went on. “It doesn’t belong
to Silas Bryant anymore. He can’t hurt you. He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. He can’t keep you a prisoner anymore.

  “I don’t know what you did to get locked up in Bryant House, and I don’t care. I’m sure that, in your heart, you’re a good boy. I know your mother was ill, Frank. I’m sure you wanted to help take care of her. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.

  “But if you decide to stay, we have to get along. This has been my home for more than fifty years. I’m not going to be scared away from it now.

  “I think that’s all I have to say. I hope you are listening. I hope you understand.”

  “Great,” Grant said quietly after Mrs. McGrath had finished. “You did that really well.”

  “But how will we know whether it’s done any good?” Mrs. McGrath asked.

  “Well,” Jason began.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! POP!

  At that moment, all the lightbulbs in the house began to explode. The sound of the shattering glass echoed throughout the house. Mrs. McGrath cried out and clapped her hands to her ears.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! POP! POP! POP!

  With a shower of sparks, the overhead light in the living room burst. Pieces of jagged glass rained down.

  “Look out!” Grant cried. He dove toward Mrs. McGrath, trying to protect her. “Keep your head covered!” he cried. “Keep down!”

  “It’s all right,” Mrs. McGrath panted. “I’m not hurt.” She took her hands down from her ears as the house fell silent. “I’m fine. But let’s hope that’s the last trick Frank Thompson ever plays.”

  “Let’s hope so!” Grant said. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  A few hours later, Jason and Grant prepared to leave. They were happy to say that the house had been quiet.

  “Are you sure you feel okay staying here?” Jason asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Mrs. McGrath reassured him. “This is my house. I’m staying.”

  “We’ll keep in touch,” Jason said. “Please let us know if anything else happens.”

  “And be careful,” Grant added.

  “I will. I promise.”