The Keeper (Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper Book 8)

by JL Bryan

  Outside, I stood next to Stacey and looked up at the main house, illuminated by spotlights under the night sky, as if it were a product on display, meant to dazzle potential buyers. I suppose the point was to impress visitors. It probably worked—the old keeper's cottage had been expanded into a sizable mansion.

  “You think we'll see anything tonight?” Stacey asked.

  “I hope so,” I said. “It sounds like the apparition is clear but doesn't last long, when it shows up at all.”

  “What if it doesn't come?”

  “If all the gear we put out doesn't catch anything, we could be here a long, long time.” I shook my head and walked toward the front door. The rain clouds had passed, and the night above was clear, glowing with stars.

  Chapter Ten

  Stacey and I took up positions in the caretaker's bungalow. She was in the sitting room, lights off except for the glow of her tablet, which enabled her to look through the cameras all over the property.

  I lay in the bedroom, also with the lights out, just as Zoe had been when she'd first encountered the ghost. I left the window curtain open in case the entity decided to walk past it again.

  Sadly, I had to wear my headset to stay in touch with the others, which meant I was subjected to Hayden's chatter. There's no need to recount it all. Here are samples:

  “....checking about those new tweeters, but what would really set my system apart would be this subwoofer...”

  “...and I was like, I would totally go cave diving if I wasn't so busy with my work, you know, setting up this new location...well, you two know all about that...”

  “....girl had a serious tat, we're talking a monkey with a snake for a tail...”

  “....you gotta understand that rollerblading isn't the same thing as roller skating....”

  “....and I know I could totally handle one of those NASCAR machines, but my mom said...”

  And so on.

  “Hayden,” I said, more than once. “Do you understand that observation means watching and listening?”

  “Oh, yeah. I learned all about that during like the first three weeks of my job,” he'd say, or something else along those lines, before launching into his next long, dull story.

  “Hayden,” I finally said, “How did you end up working for Paranormal Solutions, Inc.?” I hoped to pry open the mystery box that was PSI, maybe get a glimpse of some inner workings. The origins and true ownership of the company remained unknown to me, despite some research attempts.

  “That's an interesting question, yo,” he said, which was not a response that surprised me. “Back in Balty, I was a top-notch—”

  “Balty?” Stacey interrupted over my headset.

  “Balty MD,” he said. “You know. The More?”

  “Are you talking about Baltimore?” I asked.

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” he said, and I immediately wanted to punch him right through the headset. I can't say whether his word choice or tone was more responsible for that. “Haven't you ever been to the Big Dirty?”

  “Admit you invented all those nicknames yourself,” Stacey said.

  “What did you do back in, uh, Balty?” I asked.

  “Man, I was the number one install technician at Galactic Home Theater Systems,” he said. “I could go into any kind of space—basement, attic, wherever—I mean rooms with even the most pathetic existing electricals—and turn that baby into an audio-video palace, man! Projection screen, total surround, whatever you need.”

  “Somehow this doesn't surprise—” Stacey began.

  “You know my favorite part of the job, though? When the system was all set up and I ran that first test. I'd pop in a Blu-Ray, and then that Dolby logo would come up with that sound...'Bwaaaaaah!' You know that Dolby sound? It would rattle the walls, man, and the floor, too. Even the ceiling would shake, and sometimes plaster would come trickling down. 'Bwaaaaaaah!' I love that Dolby sound. 'Bwaaaaah!' But I could do car stereos, too. I just didn't bother unless it was a serious, super-premium system going in—”

  “That's really interesting,” I said. “How did you go from there to ghost work?”

  “That's a crazy story, too. I got sent on this huge-mongous install job,” he said. “We did security installs, too. We didn't monitor the cameras or burglar alarms or any of that, but the installation was subbed out to us.”

  “This is starting to make more and more sense,” Stacey said.

  “Heck yeah! So we're working in this mansion, an old, old place, I mean they could've filmed a Scooby-Doo episode there. If Scooby-Doo wasn't, you know, a cartoon. It was up in Roland Park, on the north side of the More, a ritzy old part of town.

  "The new owner wanted the works for his security system. I mean we're talking Soviet-level surveillance of the property. NSA-level, even. He even wanted cameras in his kids' rooms. The downstairs bathroom, the guest bedroom. All controlled from his upstairs office. I was like, okay, it's your checkbook. Personally, if I had heaps of dough like this cat, I'd spend it on Waverunners instead. Like a fleet of Waverunners."

  "I have no trouble believing that," Stacey said.

  “One time, I spent a summer at my cousin's. He had this sweet Waverunner, I used to drive it all the time--”

  “Can we get back to the original story?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. So, dude has us setting all this up, but it keeps going wrong," Hayden continued. "The cameras flip out. The monitor app crashes. I mean, I'm good at setting up electronic systems. Maybe the best in Balty. Maybe the best anywhere in the mid-Atlantic."

  "And humble about it," I said.

  "Yeah, exactly! So anyway, this is just the worst install ever. You can imagine me saying it in Comic Book Guy's voice. Actually you don't have to imagine, because here you go: Worst. Install. Ever."

  "Worst. Simpsons imitation. Ever," Stacey replied.

  "Anyhow, it turns into a drawn-out thing. Every day I think it's fixed. Every night, it fritzes right out again. I get calls. I get calls on my side piece at 2 a.m. telling me to go over to Mr. Stasiborg's house because his cameras are blacking out...or full of interference...or showing things that aren't actually there. The microphones are picking up voices at night, when nobody's out and around, everybody's asleep. He thinks it's cell phones, radio, something like that."

  "Hold up," I said. "The guy's name was Stasiborg?"

  "I don't remember his name. That's what we called him. His name was something German, and then he was also kind of robotic when he talked. Anyway, I figure out there's nothing really wrong with the gear, which makes it hard to fix the problem. I look at what the cameras have picked up, and there are shadowy people in his basement. I listen to the audio and hear weird, distorted voices, like invisible people are having conversations, but the words aren't clear. I knew it wasn't interference. It was something else."

  "Like dead people?" Stacey said.

  "Well, eventually, but I'm not to that part of the story yet. I spent a lot of time trying to figure that out. I would stay over at dude's house, monitoring dude's gear, trying to calm dude down before he started asking for a refund. You don't want things to reach that point. That's a good way to get fired.

  "So I'm all by my lonesome down in his basement—which always felt cold, down under that old house. It's late. I'm checking the cameras, and I feel a cold hand on my back. Just yikes. I'm not a ghost guy at this point, never even thought of being a ghost guy. But I knew something was in the room with me. I could feel that hand groping around on my lower back, every finger of it, like it was searching for a tramp stamp down there. Or drawing one. Later I found scratches from my lower spine all the way down across my right cheek. And I don't mean my face. You know?"

  "I know," I said quickly, hoping to avert any further elaboration. "So what happened after he touched you?"

  "Well, I felt violated," Hayden said. "And scared. I'll admit it. I was scared. Of a ghost."

  "Color me shocked," Stacey said.

  "Strong men also cry,"
I added, wondering if he would get the Lebowski reference. I checked the time. It wasn't quite ten yet, and I was a little hungry for more intel on Paranormal Solutions. "So how did you end up with PSI from there?"

  "I was getting to that, yo," Hayden said. "I wanted to refuse to ever go back to that guy's house, but I for sure didn't want to get fired. Nobody believed me, but I knew that basement was haunted. So I poked around on the interwebz and found the Paranormal Solutions office in Baltimore. They also have like three or eight Higher Self centers around Balty, maybe more, but I didn't know they were connected businesses at the time. So I call the place, tell them the sitch. I have to work with this ghost and the homeowner isn't interested in calling in paranormal investigators. What do I do?

  "Next thing you know, they're inviting me into the office, giving me coffee, a doughnut...it was just a plain glazed, and usually I prefer some kind of stuffing, you know, like jelly or chocolate, or whatever that stuff is in the middle of a Boston creme...but it was a good doughnut anyway. Turns out it was from Diablo Donuts, which I never tried before. Right near the waterfront. My life changed that day. They have a maple and bacon doughnut, which probably sounds over the top, but I'm telling you guys...it was like a whole new world. Artisan doughnuts. I'd always been a Dunkin' man like my dad, but—"

  "Is there anything significant beyond the doughnuts?" I asked.

  "Well, yeah, it was also the beginning of my new life as a paranormal investigator. But, man, these doughnuts. If there's one thing I miss about B'more, it's the doughnuts. Nothing here compares, bro."

  "Are you kidding?" Stacey asked. "Baker's Pride? Over by St. Joseph's?"

  "I haven't heard of it," Hayden's voice replied.

  "Oooooh you're kidding! They have the best of everything. I once had the cheesecake from there on my birthday, whatever guy I was dating at the time brought it for me. I've been an addict ever since. I only let myself go there like three times a year, though—"

  I sat alone in the dark bedroom of the bungalow, waiting for this conversation to play out over my headset. I was tempted to remove the headset and take my chances alone with the ghost. At least it wasn't so chatty.

  I settled for turning down the volume to a dull mumble and taking a look out the window where Zoe had seen the dark shadow walk past. Nothing loomed out there but a row of palm trees. Plenty of stars were visible past them.

  The caretaker's bungalow didn't have the greatest view, but I could see the pale sand, seeming to glow faintly in the moonlight. The lighthouse was a black tower now, blotting out stars, its dark granite bricks soaking up light the way desert sand drinks in water and makes it disappear. It was almost ironic, how the towering structure now blocked the light rather than radiating it. Instead of piercing the shadows and darkness of the night, it was now adding to them.

  I looked toward the top, where the railing and walkway encircled the lighthouse. The white figure had stood there, looking down on me as I struggled to emerge from the water. I had mostly blocked out that whole memory long ago. I couldn't even remember what I had thought of it at the time. I'd been a child, and I'd had more pressing things on my mind, like breathing again.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to conjure again what I'd seen that day. Overcast sky. Rain. White cloth blowing in the wind—no, not blowing. Drifting. Slowly.

  Had there been a face? Or had there only been a blank oval of white looking back at me from up there, watching me drown? Maybe it had even been almost angelic, the white clothlike material pushed back into trailing shapes behind it.

  Behind her. At least, I'd had the impression it was a woman. Maybe she wore a wedding veil or a death shroud. Then again, maybe it was a male ghost who liked to dress as a female. It doesn't pay to jump to conclusions too early.

  The eerie blankness of its face was what stood out in my memories. I shivered. No wonder five-year-old me had pushed that one down.

  I opened my eyes, looking out at the dark form of the lighthouse. Nobody seemed to stand at the railing tonight, ghostly or otherwise. It was a quiet night after days of rain, the ocean calm. The tide was in. The stairs on the outside of the lighthouse would be partially underwater now, spiraling into the black sea and out of sight.

  A shadowy silhouette appeared in the window. It was only inches from my face, separated by a pane of glass and a window screen. I could only see the edges of it, but it was definitely a male figure, backlit by weak moonlight.

  I gasped and drew back. "It's here!" I announced, quickly turning up the volume on my headset.

  "Copy that," Stacey said. "You need backup?"

  Outside my window, the silhouette raised its hand. Light flared there, and a bright beam shone into my room.

  "Hey!" I shouted, squinting. I moved back to the window and raised it. "D-Train? Why are you looking into my window?"

  "It's not your window. I saw a face over here. I didn't know if that was your face in the window...or, the other thing. His."

  "So you decide to come look into the bedroom?"

  "You aren't here to sleep," he said. "I thought you were working."

  "I'm trying."

  "You got scared by D-Train?" Stacey asked, having entered the room behind me.

  "He prefers Delavius," I said. "I freaked out for a second. I couldn't see anything but his outline at first...and that fit the shadow person description...forget it. False alarm."

  "You sure are jumpy," Hayden said over my headset. "I mean, for a professional ghost hunter. Who just saw something that definitely wasn't a ghost."

  "Thanks for your feedback, Hayden."

  "Say, are you on any medication?"

  "Very funny, Hayden. Okay, everybody back in position."

  "I never left my position," Hayden said over the headset.

  "Yeah, we noticed," Stacey backed out and closed the door. "Good to know you're somewhat there for us, Hayden."

  "You got it, girl," Hayden said.

  "Do not call me—"

  "Yeah, yeah, sorry, lady."

  I heard a distinct snorting sound from Stacey.

  "I meant to warn you he was coming, actually," Hayden said. "Saw him making the rounds. But it slipped my mind. I was trying to get the cellophane off this Pink Fairy Oatmeal Marshmallow Pie. You ever had one of these? Anyway, yeah. Just the bodyguard dude."

  "His name is D-Train," Stacey said.

  "Hayden, what happened with that ghost at your old job?" I asked.

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. Like I said, I went into the PSI, had some coffee and doughnuts, met Nicholas and a couple of other people. I showed them what I had, the weird shadows, the voices, told them about the videos blanking out, the cameras malfunctioning.

  "Nicholas was all, 'oh yeah, that's ghosts, bro,'" Hayden continued. I seriously doubted that Nicholas, who at least affected a polished accent, had used the word 'bro' when speaking. “He was like, 'you gotta let us nab this thing out of that house. We can trap it.' And I was all, heck, yeah, but I don't think old rich dude who owns the house is gonna go for it.

  “But Nicholas, you know, he decides he really wants this ghost. Later I'd figure out it was for research, he's always trying to collect ghosts to like dissect or examine or whatever. So he ends up whipping up this idea to sneak in a couple of ghost pros by disguising them as electricians. I could say they were with me, from my company, and hopefully the old dude wouldn't ask too many questions.

  “So they came in plain coveralls, you know, and set up some remote-controlled traps. Nicholas captured that sucker by night three. No more problems with the security cams after that. Not that anybody appreciated how I solved the problem. The old man, and my boss, everybody just hassled me about how long it had taken to get everything working. But I told them to bite me backwards, because Nicholas already offered me a better job for more cash.”

  “Nobody hassles the Hoff,” Stacey said.

  A long moment of radio silence followed.

  “I have feelings, you know,” Hayden finally replied.

&nbs
p; "Let's cut the chatter, anyway," I told them. "We sound like a bunch of gossipy old women hopped up on coffee cake. Ghosts like it dark and quiet."

  "Actually, one time there was this ghost—" Hayden began.

  "There are sometimes exceptions,” I said. “But this one has only been seen at night.”

  “Okay,” Hayden said. “I had a great story about a daytime ghost, though, who haunted a Chuck E. Cheese—”

  “You should write it down,” I said. “The Journal of Psychical Studies might be interested.”

  “Oh, good idea,” he said. “But I don't like writing. Or reading. It takes so much concentration, and then you have to sit there quietly, not talking—”

  “Holy cow, do Kara and Nicholas let you ramble on all night at their observations?” Stacey asked.

  Hayden was silent for a moment, then quietly mumbled, “I thought you guys were different.”

  Quiet finally ensued. I remained in the dark bedroom. Stacey got antsy and whispered over the headset that she was going out to patrol the outside hallway with her flashlight off. Hayden whispered that he'd be watching her over the cameras. Stacey whispered that it didn't make her feel any safer.

  The night went on, though not very eventfully, unfortunately. No footsteps sounded outside my window, no strange shadowy figures were seen anywhere around the house or grounds.

  At about two in the morning, I walked outside and followed a thin crushed-pebble paved path through the gardens and trees. This took me to the beach without having to pass the big black van in the driveway, where Hayden might have popped out to see me.

  “Checking out the jetty where Delavius saw the ghost,” I said as the row of boulders came into sight. The ones farther out, closer to the lighthouse, were completely underwater. The lighthouse rose from darkness below, where sea water swirled around its base, into the relatively brighter world of the starlit sky above.

  “Be careful,” Stacey said. I turned to see the glass hallway where she stood at one of the walls, watching me. I waved.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” I told her.