by J. R. Rain
Ethan’s got shotgun, so I climb in the middle bench seat next to Melodie. A couple bags of gear are in the back, all the stuff Noah buys: electromagnetic sensors, mp3 recorders, this white-noise box that sometimes picks up voices, and a pair of night-vision video cameras. Oh, he’s got a still camera too, Melodie’s favorite. She loves running around snapping picture after picture of empty rooms.
“Hey Sol.” Melodie pounce-hugs me as soon as my butt hits the seat. “You look great!”
“You too. Mint shampoo?”
“Ugh.” She fake-fumes. “Last patient on my shift got a sneezing fit right in the middle of cleaning his teeth. He swatted a cup of mouthwash all over my hair.”
Ethan and Noah laugh.
“They have these magical devices called showers, Mel.”
She smirks at me. “Tell that to Captain Banks up there. We’re behind schedule.”
“You didn’t tell me you needed to hop in the shower,” says Noah. “I would’ve waited.”
“Whatever.” Melodie laughs. “We’re already here, and now I can double as your air freshener.”
The ride to Pennhurst is plotted out at about two and a half hours according to Navigator Ethan. Our route brings us south into New Jersey, a bend past Trenton and west into PA. Somewhere in Jersey, Noah exits the highway and we roll up to a diner. It feels random, but he probably planned it and didn’t bother saying anything. Typical for these outings, but he always treats for the food on the night of the ‘hunt,’ so no one (usually) complains about wherever he stops. Melodie still hasn’t forgiven him for that one chicken place. Can’t say I blame her after she exploded from both ends for three days. Of course, it didn’t make her feel better that both Ethan and Noah had the same thing. Somehow, it didn’t hit me anywhere near as hard, although I hadn’t escaped its fury entirely. I spent an hour or two (a blur I’ve selectively forgotten) throwing up so hard I expected vital organs to come out, after which I went back to normal, save a lingering dull ache in my gut.
The sight of that place’s sign still makes Mel sick to her stomach.
Yeah, probably not a great time in our history to think about on the way into a place to eat.
Anyway, we get a table along a row of booth seats opposite a counter with stools. Mel and I order chicken parm subs. Ethan opts for meatloaf, triggering an argument with Noah about ordering something so mundane when ‘eating out.’ Noah picks a ‘fat cat,’ some obscenity of a sandwich with random junk: mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, French fries, and prosciutto, under a blanket of cheese.
I can’t even imagine eating that. I say as much. “How can you pick on him for getting meatloaf when you’ve ordered that caloric monstrosity?”
Noah looks at me, shakes his head, and grins. “You wouldn’t appreciate it. It’s a Jersey thing.”
“It’s a blocked arteries thing,” says Mel.
“You don’t understand fat cats, or pork roll. It’s a Jersey delicacy. Same way I’m clueless on that Scrapple stuff you Pennsylvanians eat.” Noah wags a finger at me.
“Never heard of it.” I shrug. “Sounds nasty.”
“You are from Pennsylvania, right?” Noah quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah. New Hope, but I didn’t get out much as a kid. And I sure as hell didn’t eat pork rolls or scraps. Solstice Winters, girl in a bubble.”
Mel pokes me in the side. “That’s why you ran straight to NYC when you hit eighteen?”
“A little older than that, but yeah. Only I’m not trying to make it big in show biz.” I grin. “It’s hard to get in the door of a major news outlet while living in the sticks.”
“Solstice Winters.” Ethan gazes into space. “Even your name is magical.”
Melodie giggles. “Oh, it’s even better. She was born on December 22, ‘83.”
I sigh. Why did I tell her that?
Noah raises an eyebrow. “So what?”
“Winter solstice of ‘83. That’s when she was born.” Melodie leans back so the waiter can put our drinks down, and chirps an over-excited, “Thank you!” at him.
“Is that why you can do stuff? ‘Cause you were born right on the solstice?” Ethan pulls down his little, round sunglasses and stares at me.
“Beats me. Dad thought it would be amusing to name me after the day I was born. Mom went along with it.” I sigh again. “Of all the names to give a kid with the last name Winters…”
Melodie hugs me. “Sol thinks it’s cheesy.”
“It is cheesy.” I throw my arm around her, but she wriggles free before I can dig my knuckles into her head.
“I think it’s cool.” Ethan smiles. “She’s our magical luck charm.”
Yeah. Right.
Our food arrives, and we focus more on that than making me feel conspicuous.
A familiar face flashes in the corner of my eye. I glance past Melodie at a TV hanging over the counter showing CNN. Dr. Pushpa Kumar is front and center on the screen, talking. They have the volume super low but I can make out her talking about an experiment they’re planning tomorrow night at the Large Hadron Collider. Text at the bottom of the screen indicates the feed is coming from Geneva.
Huh. Odd. Guess she did get away from whatever nasty critter showed up to say hi. Since Jade hasn’t called me, I assume the FBI came to the same conclusion.
“That’s not magic; it’s science,” says Noah. “What are they colliding?”
“Particles,” coos Mel in a spacey voice while crossing her eyes.
“Sufficiently advanced science is magic to the uneducated.” Ethan pushes his little glasses up his nose with one finger.
“So, what’s got you staring at the tube?” Noah manages to take a bite of his ridiculous sandwich.
Over dinner, I tell them about the hotel room and the creature in the window. You’d think I had an audience of tweens around a campfire. Of course, Noah pitches a fit that I didn’t get a picture of it. He’d have put that on our website and Facebook page. I rarely look at either one, but the guys maintain it for the whole ghost hunting thing. He’s got feelers out to other paranormal groups hoping to do a prolonged joint hunt at a major site one of these days. You know, four or five days straight in a haunted location.
Right. Ugh.
Questions about the shadow monster in the window take up the rest of the ride. We arrive at the outskirts of Pennhurst with maybe forty minutes of daylight left. Noah’s pulled a switch on us and supposedly gotten permission for us to go in unescorted.
“Wait, so we’re not trespassing this time?” asks Melodie.
“Well… yes and no.” Noah parks and twists around in the seat to look at us. “I made an arrangement with the property manager. We got the go-ahead to explore, but if anything happens, we’re technically not supposed to be here. So, don’t get hurt.”
“So, we get in trouble if we get hurt?” I ask.
“Not really. More like we can’t sue them.” Noah faces forward again to fiddle with the GPS.
A few minutes later, we’re rolling again, and before long, we arrive at a gate. I’d call the place creepy, but that wouldn’t do it justice. I suppose having a connection to actual magic has opened senses in me that most people lack, but I don’t claim to be ‘psychic’ or whatever. I’ve never seen ghosts that didn’t want me to see them, never saw the future, never had a clairvoyant flash or anything of the sort. But as soon as we roll up to the complex, and mind you, it might be only nerves and lack of sleep, but it feels like it’s watching me. The sprawl of blocky, gothic buildings off to our right, many covered in ivy, sits in the midst of a huge swath of grassy field. A dark forest runs along behind the school, far enough away to make my legs hurt. Pennhurst is massive… and foreboding.
Noah drives to the end of the approach road and parks at the far side of a traffic oval in front of what I imagine is the main building.
Melodie whips out a tablet and swipes at the screen. “We should focus on the Quaker building, since it’s got the most reports of activity that I can
find. There’s supposed to be a little kid apparition, people have been pushed and scratched. One guy got shoved down the stairs. Also, objects get tossed.”
“Sounds perfect.” I roll my eyes. She sounds a little too excited for my taste. “Noah said we’re supposed to avoid getting hurt.”
Ethan laughs. “Half those people probably throw themselves down the stairs on purpose to make video. And after Quaker, we should check the Mayflower building. It’s supposed to have a bunch of shadow people.”
His mention of shadow people gets me wondering about what sort of entity grabbed Dr. Kumar. It looked like a shadow, but the apparitions he’s talking about are usually only clouds of darkness. No real form, and they definitely don’t have carpet-shredding talons. The thing in the window had a physical body, and evident eyes. I stifle a yawn. My brain is far too foggy to worry about that now. Pennhurst’s decaying buildings are physically dangerous, so I need to keep my head in the now.
“This place is charged. Can you feel it, Sol?” Melodie elbows me in the side playfully.
“Major weird vibes, yeah.” I slip out to stand in the crook of the Suburban’s door, taking in the scale of the campus. “I think you’re right about this spot being active. Maybe I’ll get a decent photo for Fenton.”
Melodie hops out and runs around to the rear. After pulling the back doors open, she attacks the pile of gear. “This old school has some serious dark energy. Used to hold mentally disabled kids. Treated them horribly, too. Like back in the sixties, they had this whole big undercover report on the news. Frigging awful.”
“Yeah.” I make a non-committal sound. Whatever went on in the past isn’t what I’m feeling. Bleh. Someone with a little talent probably made it onto the grounds hoping for a power boost and did something that left an arcane residue. Places with dark history always draw dime-store ritualists.
We grab our gear and head off on foot, Melodie leading the way like a kid heading for the gate of an amusement park with her parents plodding behind. Noah’s got his nose in his phone checking out a map.
I probably shouldn’t be using the EOS IV… My parents wanted to get me a camera a couple Yules ago. I said I liked Canon, and they wound up handing me this $3300 machine. Great, guys. Give me something I can barely use, and leave me in a perpetual state of terrified I’m going to break it. That gargoyle almost crushed it. Yay lucky reflexes. Did I mention they hate being startled by bright flashes?
Noah leads us across the street into the grounds, but we run into a chain-link fence dotted with no trespassing signs and danger notices. Our group bunches up on a gate secured with a padlock. Ethan tugs at it before giving me an expectant look.
Whenever a person can come up with a reasonable explanation for a magical event, the brain tends to seize on it. People innately refuse to accept what they see when it’s so far out of the world they expect. Not that I’ve tried with any effort to keep them in the dark, but only Melodie knows about my extra-special skill set. Open is one of the first spells I learned since my parents don’t believe in keys. The nice thing about magic is that it seldom cares about technology. Take keypad locks, for instance. There’s still a mechanism inside, and the spell moves it regardless of whether a key or an electrical current triggers it. I haven’t tried it on one of those electromagnetic doors. I bet that wouldn’t work since there’s no mechanical lock to move. But Static would do nicely. Anyway, to help Ethan and Noah along with their disbelief, I take a pen out of my bag and fiddle it at the padlock while hitting it with the Open spell. They think I pick locks, which gives me a giggle.
“Excellent.” Noah makes a point to look away. “But I didn’t see you do that.”
I frown playfully at him while tucking the pen away. “You’re already trespassing. And are you sure this place still runs tours? It looks ready to collapse.”
Melodie gasps. “Crap. We’re really trespassing.”
“It’s partly true. On a technicality.” Noah winks.
“So long as we don’t get hurt. Got it.” Ethan goes in first. “They were thinking of tours, but the place is so dilapidated, it would cost too much to make the structures safe. Last I heard, they’re about to raze it.”
Noah ducks in next. “Heh. If they wait another year or two, they won’t even need to hire a demolition crew.”
Wonderful. If I don’t fall through a hole in the floor, a chunk of ceiling might drop on me and smash the camera. I’d almost rather it hit me. Cameras don’t have healthcare. Not that my dinky plan is all that great but… whatevs.
We make our way to the face of a rundown brick structure. Half a bright red sign over the boarded-up double doors reads ‘Quaker’ in white letters; the part where ‘Hall’ should be is long gone. Looks like the building has two stories, but there’s a single window at the third floor, probably the attic. Noah and Ethan get the door open, and we file inside.
Peeling paint covers the walls, along with more graffiti than a subway car. The whole place smells like an old shoe that’s been left in the rain. A lone chair here, a broken bed there, little remains but decay. Ethan and Noah dart off down the ground floor while Melodie goes to the stairs. Since the guys are together, I follow Mel. Safety in pairs.
The eerie feeling I’ve been getting from the grounds hasn’t let up, nor has it gotten worse inside. I’ve seen enough odd things in my day to accept ghosts as real, but they don’t give off the kind of energy that’s presently saturating Quaker Hall. Melodie stumbles over a board and lets out a yelp of surprise. She has a habit of getting ‘camera-eye’ and losing track of her surroundings.
“Careful! Watch where you’re going.”
She turns around to face me, creeping backward. “Thank you, Magellan. I can’t see anything. It’s so dark in here.”
“It’s not that dark, and― Watch out! You’re about to trip again.”
Melodie stops. “You’re saying you can see right now?”
It’s far from bright, but there’s enough moonlight for me to notice the junk she almost stepped on. “Moonlight. There’s a smashed wheelchair about ten inches away from your foot.”
She fumbles at her pocket for her mini flashlight. I turn away before she flicks it on so it doesn’t leave me blind. “Oh wow. There is. Are you using like night vision magic?”
“No. There’s moonlight.”
“Umm, Sol, there isn’t. It’s pitch black here.”
I chuckle. “You spend all day in a dentist office brighter than the surface of the sun. Your night eyes are shot.”
“Uh huh, right. Or, maybe, you got magic eyes or something. You always seem to be able to see in places like this, and I keep walking into walls and tripping on crap.” She starts to laugh, but goes statue still. A split second after her voice cuts off, a click comes from behind her like a rock striking the concrete floor. “Something hit me.”
Camera up, I aim her way and start snapping. “You said stuff throws rocks in here, right?”
“Ooh!” She squeals and spins around with her IR still-image camera. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. I only want to take your picture. Can you come out to play?”
The sugar in her voice makes me sigh. I hope the ghost in here isn’t a little kid. How terrible would that be? The mere thought of it gets me down and I want to run to my parents’ place to hug Eva.
Melodie’s camera makes electric chirps, but the flash is invisible to the human eye. Or at least it’s supposed to be, infra-red and all. It’s giving off a weak flicker every time she shoots, like a standard flash on almost-dead batteries. I’m about to tease her for getting a cheap IR unit when I find myself staring at the viewscreen on the back of my camera. The last image I took has a blurry, charcoal-toned shadow racing at Melodie, its inhuman face warped with rage.
“Mel! Look―”
She screams and goes down. Instinctively, I mash the button and capture a barrage of stills as this vaguely-man-sized creature tackles her and proceeds to drag her off toward the hallway. Mel abandons
her camera to grab at the floor, but can’t get a grip on the wet, slimy concrete.
I’m fascinated, overcome by the awesomeness of great pictures for The Spiritualist, and it doesn’t occur to me that I should do anything more than take more photos (hey, it’s just a ghost, right?) until Mel’s panicky screams change to shrieks of pain.
“Sol! It’s got me! Help!” Mel’s voice goes ragged.
Shit! I look up from the camera; it’s biting her calf and emitting a growl so deep, it sounds like a huge―and pissed off―bear. This thing isn’t harmless. The pair of them go sliding into the dark faster than a person can run. Raw fear in Mel’s eyes triggers a primal emotional response. Dropping the camera on its strap around my neck, I thrust both hands forward while letting a surge of protectiveness mix with anger. Arcane energy wells up inside me, streaming down my arms. A violet flare forms between my fingers and streaks off in a smear of light.
A brief growling wail cuts off to a splat like a Hefty bag full of pudding fell from the ninth story to the sidewalk. Melodie’s screams quiet to a repetitious mutter of, “Holy shit.”
When my eyes recover from the intense flash, I can’t find any trace of the spirit. On second thought, it didn’t look at all like a ghost―far too solid. Charcoal-grey bits cling to the ceiling and lie strewn about the floor. Black ichor has splattered all over Melodie. She stares up at me from about thirty feet away where the thing had dragged her, mouth agape. Near her boots, a trail of smoke rises from a scrap of flesh, next to a bone fragment burning with amethyst flame.
“Whoa.” I examine my hands, clenching and relaxing my fingers. “I had no idea I could do that.”
“You pasted it, Sol. That was awesome.” Melodie coughs. “Oh God, it stinks so bad…”
“Hmm.” I point my hand at the wall and try to concentrate on the same magical nudge. Without the boost of needing to protect Mel, the purple bolt is smaller and dimmer, but enough to knock a baseball-sized chunk of plaster to dust. “Wow… that’s pretty damn cool. I never even thought of trying that before.”
A whiff of horror reaches my nostrils. Like someone threw rotten carrion in a diaper pail and lit the whole thing on fire.
