The Awakening

by Marley Gibson

  "Are we ready, Celia?"

  She wipes sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. "This place is wired. If anything's here, we'll get it."

  "Excellent." I reach into my pocket and pull out the pendulum that Mom saw fit to return to me, for whatever reasons. I clutch the silver chain and feel the coolness of the stones under my fingers. The slick texture of the quartz is heavy in my palm. I squeeze its sturdiness and take a deep breath. Since this is my first time doing this, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

  Becca steps up, holding a crude drawing of the floor plan of the first and second floors of city hall. "While y'all were outside, Celia and I did a quick sweep of the building with the EMF meters to pick up on the hot spots."

  "Hot spots?" Jason asks.

  "Yeah, like power sources, wires, circuits, stuff like that which would set the meters off," Celia explains. "Meaning that if the meters go off in areas that aren't marked as energy sources, the likelihood is that it's a spirit trying to manifest it self through another energy source that's not connected to the building. Like the batteries in our cameras, or even us."

  Jason's eyes narrow. "You really believe that?"

  Celia spreads her hands wide. "There are literally thousands of ghost-hunting groups throughout the world who do it this way and swear by it. This isn't just some new fad. People are pros at this. If it ain't broke, why fix it?"

  "Just because other people do it, doesn't mean it's legit," he says. "I still say it's all a bunch of bullshit."

  "Skeptic," she mutters.

  "Damn right."

  I step away from the group and am pulled toward the bottom of the staircase. After several seconds, I know for a fact that despite what Jason thinks, we're not alone here. There's an immense, thick wall of energy directly in front of me. Is it Charles Stogdon? I don't see anything. Not yet.

  Turning back to the group, I say, "Everyone's had some of the holy water?"

  Taylor holds out her equipment. "Here, bless my camera and my mini-recorder."

  Jason rolls his eyes, but sprays the water on himself to make me happy.

  Everyone gathers around and I nod to Celia that I'm going to begin. "Now, before we start, let's stand in a circle and hold hands." I want to feel their energy before going into this battle.

  Jason takes my hand and then reaches for Taylor's. She nabs Becca's and then she and Celia make the circle complete. A cohesive front. A single unit. A sole purpose: to find what's lingering here and stop it from hurting anyone again, particularly my dad. Celia squeezes my hand for reassurance, even though I sense a small tremor in hers. I guess it's nerve-racking to be doing this for the first time.

  "Let's all take some deep breaths." A few moments of silence later, I repeat what Loreen instructed me to say. "I want everyone to imagine a soothing light surrounding you. To yourself, say, 'I am protected by a warm circle of light. God's light that protects me from harm and evil and keeps me safe.'"

  "Amen," Taylor says.

  "She's not a minister, Taylor," Jason says with a snicker.

  "Shhhh," I say.

  Celia clicks on the flashlight and points her EMF meter my way. "Are we ready?"

  I pack away my qualms into the bottom of my stomach and grasp my crystal pendulum. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  "Okay, Becca," Celia instructs. "Hit the lights. We're going dark."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I LOOK AT MY WATCH; the second hand is barely moving, it seems. "Are you as freaking bored as I am?"

  "It takes time," Celia says, playing with the EMF meter, trying to make it register anything.

  I stretch my legs out in front of me to get the circulation flowing again. We've been at the base of the staircase waiting, and it seems like a monumental waste of time. "Should we go to another location?"

  Celia shines the flashlight on her face in an eerie "telling spooky stories at camp" way. "You said you were feeling something here."

  "Dude, that was two hours ago."

  She ignores me for the most part and fiddles with the temperature gauge.

  "I think I'm going to fall asleep," I say. Nothing. No psychic headache. No tingles. No sensation of broken bones, nauseated stomach, or old-age heart problems. "Either that or I'm going to start doing jumping jacks to get some exercise."

  Celia squints her eyes at me. "Did you know that it's a documented fact that you burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television?"

  "So?"

  "I'm just saying."

  I sigh hard. "I'd rather be doing either right now."

  Celia shines the flashlight on me. "We have to be patient, Kendall. Ghosts aren't just standing over there in the corner waiting for us to wave at them and point a camera and say, 'Hey, Mr. Ghost, pose and say cheese!'"

  I block the light with my forearm. "All right already."

  Five minutes later, I break the silence again when I hear a thud. "What was that?"

  Celia cranes her neck to the left, but dismisses the noise. "It came from the courtroom. Jason and Taylor are trying to replicate the time-lapse pictures we got the other night. They're running from different sections of the courtroom to see if they can stop and pose between frames."

  "Oh." Disappointed, I try to concentrate on my surroundings, tuning in my alleged psychic antenna to anything that might be out there. "Are there any spirits here who have something to say?" After a moment, I hear, "It's not going to work."

  "It's not?" I ask.

  Celia quirks her mouth. "Huh?"

  "What? Didn't you say it wasn't going to work?"

  "No. That wasn't me."

  "Was that a spirit?" I ask. Deafening silence reverbs at me. I did hear that, didn't I? "Never mind." Maybe Mom's right and I am going insane.

  Something pinches my arm and I let out a yelp. I smack my hand down and feel something gooey under my fingers. Did a ghost do that?

  "What happened?" Celia swings the flashlight my way again.

  "A mosquito. Bleck!" I wipe the bloody mess onto my jeans and try not to be skeeved out. "If I'd known there were bugs in here, I would have put on some Deep Woods Off."

  "Mosquito repellents don't repel," Celia informs me. "They simply block the mosquitoes' sensors so they don't know you're even there."

  "Thank you, Mr. Science." I snicker. "You're a plethora of fun facts this evening, aren't you?"

  Celia leans in. "Why, yes, I am. Did you know that Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise? Apples have more caffeine than coffee. Oh, and the plastic things on your shoelaces? They're called aglets. Bet you didn't know that. On top of that, most of the dust in your house is from dead skin—seriously dead, in your case—and I bet you didn't know this, but it was rumored that Marilyn Monroe had six toes on one of her feet."

  I jump to my feet. "Oh. My. God. I can't take this anymore. You're killing me, Celia."

  "I'm just saying."

  I shout at the top of my lungs, "This is the most boring ghost hunt in the history of ghost hunting. It's embarrassing. Thank God we're not on television or anything. The TAPS guys on Ghost Hunters don't have these problems."

  Celia stands next to me. "It's 'cause they edit out all of the tedious parts of the show. This is reality, kids."

  Just then Taylor pops out of the courtroom. "What's all the yelling?"

  Blinding her with the flashlight, Celia says, "Just Kendall venting her frustration."

  "Do you blame me?"

  To Taylor, Celia asks, "Are y'all getting anything in there?"

  Taylor motions us forward. "You should come in here. This is pretty fascinating, what's going on."

  I perk up. "Evidence?"

  Taylor turns, easing into a smile. "Well, something."

  I nearly start to run. "Jackpot, baby!"

  "Yo, Asiaf." Celia calls upstairs to where Becca's been doing some EVP work. "We're all meeting in the courtroom."

  "I'll be right there."

  As we walk toward the courtroom, my head begins to hurt
in a crazy mixture of fear and anxiety. I must squash the emotions. Loreen says a spirit can pick up on things like that. Especially if it's an entity with an ax to grind. Even if I am dealing with Charles Stogdon, I know nothing about how he was in life. All the research shows that if a person was an asshole in life, they're one on the other side as well. Is that what's causing my head to want to explode? 'Cause it does. A searing hot burn coupled with a tribal pounding. I smell the pungent odor of alcohol in the air. I slide my fingers to my forehead and massage my skull. This must be what it's like to have a wicked-bad hangover. My temples vibrate under the skin and it seems like my eyes are going to cross from the pain. "Someone associated with this room liked his liquor," I say. "A lot."

  "Are you getting Charles?"

  "I don't know. My head really hurts, though."

  Becca pipes up. "I read there was a judge back in the 1870s who was known around the area for selling moonshine from his home stills."

  "That's got to be what I'm picking up," I surmise.

  "What does that have to do with Charles, though?" Taylor asks.

  "It all blends together." I concentrate hard on steadying my erratic pulse. "The judge ... and Charles ... they're connected." A calendar page flashes in my mind. "It has something to do with the month of September."

  "No shit!" Becca shouts out. "Are you kidding me? Man, you're good, Moorehead."

  "Why's that?"

  Flipping through a small notepad, Becca says, "That's the judge. His name was Nathaniel P. September, and he presided over the court in the 1870s."

  Taylor looks at me with smug delight. "So it's his name?"

  "I don't believe it," Jason adds.

  I block him out, though. I block them all out. Something is here with us. I snap my fingers and point in front of me to alert Celia. She follows alongside of me with her EMF meter as I slowly move through the courtroom. Immediately, her temperature measurer begins registering in the low sixties. "Fifty-nine, fifty-six, the temp's dropping," she says.

  Even though the musty room is quite dark, I can make out the outline of the judge's bench, the witness stand, and the tables where the lawyers make their cases.

  "And it's back up to sixty-nine," Celia says.

  My stomach moans, half in frustration and half in continued anticipation.

  "We've been trying to recreate those still shots I got," Taylor says. "You know, where we saw the man in the coat?"

  I squelch my aggravation at missing whatever was just here and then quickly moved along. "Any luck?"

  Jason approaches from one of the rows of benches. "None. There's no possible way anyone could run from any point in this room, pause in front of that table, and then run back out of the picture in the time the camera took the pictures. Unless it was tampered with. You know, someone messed with the timer."

  "Who would have done that, Jason?" Taylor asks, her lips flat.

  "Come on. It's the only answer. Either that, or the photo isn't real," he qualifies.

  Taylor stabs her fists to her waist. "How else do you explain it, Mr. Smarty-Pants? You think I Photoshopped it or something?"

  He raises his voice at her. "I didn't say that, Taylor. Quit putting words in my mouth."

  Becca stops next to me. "They're at it again."

  "Guys, it's okay," I say, trying to stop the sibling bickering.

  Celia stretches her hand out in front of her. "Y'all, I'm definitely feeling a cold spot again. Here. Try it."

  Jason puts his hand forward and then pulls it back. "Whoa! That's just weird. The air conditioner must be on."

  "Nuh-uh," Becca says. "We had the custodian turn off the system for the weekend while we're here."

  "It must have come on by itself then," our skeptic says.

  I shake my head, sure that again we're not alone. It's the same sensation I felt when we had the misty images in my bedroom and made contact with Emily. Poor, forgotten Emily. I guess I owe her an apology for thinking she was the one who was going to hurt my dad. First things first. We have to cleanse this building and make it safe for Dad and his coworkers. "There's no A/C on, Jason. Deal with it."

  He opens his mouth to counter, but then stops.

  Taylor clicks her digital camera several times and begins looking through the photos on the readout. "There are some orbs here, but they could just be bugs."

  The EMF meter flashes orangey red and is registering up to eight, which is, like, really high for an energy field.

  Coinciding with that, my hand starts trembling, a bit spaz-like. My hands feel aged and itchy. I breathe in a few quick, shallow gulps of air.

  "Something's here," Celia says as she watches me.

  I center my thoughts on the area in front of us—the cold spot. I definitely sense not only what I think is Charles Stogdon, but also the former judge who worked here and had a massive drinking problem, although I don't think he has any interest in our ghost hunt. My head throbs and my throat seems to be tightly knotted.

  "What's going on with you, Kendall?" Celia asks.

  Words don't come easily. I force them out. "My head hurts."

  "You've already said that."

  Irritated, I say, "I know, but it still hurts."

  She blows her hair out of her eyes. "Can't you think of anything else to say?"

  I shake my head and bend over at the waist, hoping to alleviate the considerable ache. "No, because that's what's going on. My head hurts."

  "Isn't there another way to describe it?" she asks.

  "My friggin' head hurts?"

  Jason pulls her away from me. "Come on, Celia. Give her a break."

  Just as he touches me, I hear that whispered voice in my ear again.

  "Off my land!"

  "What did you say?" I ask him.

  There's enough light to see that his blue eyes are dilated in the dark room. "I didn't say anything."

  "But I just heard—"

  "Off. My. Land!"

  It's like someone's standing an inch away from me speaking low in my ear. Excitement surges through me. I stand and then spin to each side. "Charles? Is that you?"

  "I just got something on the recorder," Becca pipes up.

  She rewinds and hits Play." You can hear us talking, and then in the background, there's a garbledy whooshing sound. Like clothing moving.

  "Uuuuuuuuuuuffffffff muhhhhhhhhhhhh lahhhhhnnnnnd."

  Becca's eyes meet mine. "'Off my land'? Is that what it says?"

  "That's what I heard," I agree, my heart slamming away in excitement.

  "No way," Jason says. "I didn't hear anything. Where did that come from?"

  I unfurl my pendulum from my fist and look over at Celia. "I can't believe we wasted so much time at the staircase when we should have been in here."

  She motions me over with her hands. "Sorry, but maybe you were where you needed to be, for some reason. Should we try and make contact?"

  "Yeah, I'm going to dowse to back up all of the sensations going on inside of me."

  Jason touches my back. "Are you okay to do this?"

  I drown for a moment in those clear eyes of his. "I have to do this, Jason."

  His eyes carry concern. "You don't have to do anything that's gonna hurt you just to prove yourself."

  "I'm not trying to," I say with a smile. "Just watch. We'll make a believer out of you yet."

  He winks. "I highly doubt that. But I am here for you, Kendall."

  Lump. In. Throat. Not the time to swoon.

  We gather in a circle where the frigid air surrounds us. It feels as if some sort of cloud or weather system engulfs me, passes through me. I'm chilled, but not like a normal cold. Like the air has substance to it.

  I secure my pendulum the way Loreen taught me that day in her shop. "Are there any spirits here?" I ask, already knowing the response. We all watch as the chain and stone begin moving.

  "That's a yes for her," Celia says, beaming. "May I ask the questions?"

  I nod slightly.

  Celia clears her
throat and then says, "Are you Charles Stogdon?"

  "Yes," I say, watching the pendulum.

  "Can you make a sound for us, Charles, to let us know you're here?"

  Taylor shifts and her shoe scuffs on the floor. "Sorry. That was me."

  Celia continues, "Can you make a noise, Charles?"

  Suddenly, in the balcony of the courtroom, there's a knock.

  Jason jumps. "What the hell was that?"

  "I'm on it!" Becca turns and heads up the stairs leading to the balcony.

  Celia winks at me. "That girl is fearless."

  Still dowsing, I agree. "We all have to be."

  "Can you please knock twice, Charles?" Celia asks politely.

  Knock. Knock.

  "I don't believe this," Jason hisses.

  "Shhh" comes from Taylor.

  Adrenaline is flowing through my body like an intravenous drug. This is a high like I've never experienced—not that I've ever done drugs or anything, but you know what I mean. "Can you show yourself to me, Charles?"

  The pendulum changes directions, swinging from left to right.

  "No," Celia notes.

  "I feel him," I say. "He's here. I know it."

  Taylor snaps several pictures, nearly blinding me with the horrendously intense flash.

  "Anything up there, Becca?" Celia shouts.

  Becca hangs over the railing. "The recorder's picking things up, but I don't see anything. I definitely heard that friggin' knocking."

  "Look," Taylor exclaims. She passes her digital camera over and points to the screen. "Right there. On the left."

  Sure enough, there's a bit of a mist, like the pictures of Emily in my bedroom. And something of a shadow.

  "Holy shit," Jason mutters.

  I nearly cry in relief. "It's him." To the room, I say, "I know it's you, Charles. Please come talk to us. We mean you no harm or disrespect. We're here to help. To lend a hand with whatever's keeping you here. To stop you from scaring the workers here and hurting them. And we can help you find peace if you'll just let us."

  A window bangs in the balcony, followed by a cold breeze that whooshes by my arms.

  My pendulum is spinning like crazy.

  "Are you pleased that we're here?" Celia asks.