Southern Haunts (3 page)

Sandra didn’t bother to move her head. “There are many ghosts in here. Public places often have quite a few.”

“Yes, but this one is connected to me.”

With a slight shift, Sandra let her eyes roam across the dining area. “There’s only one Japanese ghost in here. Would that be who you are looking for?”

“Any fraud would take one look at me and guess that the ghost should be Japanese. You’ll have to do better.”

“He’s wearing slacks and a straw hat — like a porkpie — and when we entered he was swirling around the kitchen. Since then, he’s taken notice of you and comes back every so often to watch you.”

Max could tell Sandra had passed the test with her details, but he wanted Libby to know that he wasn’t a fraud either — not because of ego, but because they needed to establish some trust in order to work together. “Drummond, do me a favor and ask this Japanese gentleman for his name.”

“You got it,” Drummond said.

A moment later, Max told Libby the ghost was her Uncle Yosh. Libby dashed a tear from her eye. “That’s him. He loved the food here — not just this restaurant but all Southern food. Okay, you both are legit. Let’s get started on the case.”

Her audio man nudged the stuffed folder back in front of her. She opened it, turned a few pages, flipped a few photos, and stopped on a typed paper with the clear heading CASE REPORT.

“The client came to us three weeks ago complaining of unusual experiences in their house. Dreams that often repeated. Shadows moving just out of sight. And noises. Music playing where it couldn’t be.” Libby went on to cover their interviews with the Darians which matched the information Max and Sandra had received.

“We already know this,” Max said.

Libby gripped her files tight and held her mouth even tighter. “Continuing on, I have a detailed list of questions we prepared for the presence in the house based on our hypothesis.”

“Excuse me,” Max said. Sandra put a hand on his arm, but he bolstered on. “What exactly is your hypothesis?”

Libby glared at Max. “I’m not about to give you everything we’ve worked hard to achieve. You are here to help us, not the other way around.”

“Well, if you think we’re going to be filling out reports for your file, you’re crazy.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking for you to behave professionally.”

“Hey, we’re plenty professional. But we’re not ghost hunters playing at finding out about the supernatural and hoping to get picked up for some reality TV show. This world goes so far beyond ghosts, you have no idea.”

“We care about our clients. We’re not trying to get a TV deal or anything like that.”

“You’re poking a stick at a lion and you think all this paperwork and
professionalism
is going to shield you, but you’re wrong. So, instead of testing us, maybe you should take the backseat and let us lead.”

Sandra waved her hand between them. “That’s enough.”

“Aw,” Drummond said. “Don’t stop them. That was fun to watch.”

“Max, it doesn’t matter who is in charge. We’ve been hired to come in and use our unique skills to save a pregnant woman, and that’s what we will do.” Sandra lowered her voice and spoke in a sharp, deliberate pace. “You, too, Libby — the Darians hired us to come in and use our unique skills to help them, and that’s what we will do. Understand?”

Libby bristled as she packed away her papers. “Fine. But you should know that I take this very seriously. If you do the slightest thing to jeopardize what we have accomplished to this point, I won’t hesitate to do all I can to pull you off this case.”

“Fair enough.”

With a sheepish grin, Jack Deere flicked some earbuds across the table. “Man, you guys are so intense; you’re going to go nuts over this. Check out what we recorded last night.”

Max and Sandra tentatively picked up the earbuds and listened in. Jack tapped on his smartphone for a moment. “What you’re about to hear was an EVP recorded around two-in-the-morning.”

“EVP?”

Libby subtly rolled her eyes. “Electronic Voice Phenomenon. The best is Class A which requires no editing or enhancement.”

“Very rare,” Jack said growing more excited as he spoke. “Class B has some enhancements and might include discrepancies that are open to interpretation. Class C means heavier editing and thus, more discrepancy.”

“Anything beyond that is too questionable for our standards.”

“This recording we made last night needed only one gentle filter pass to take out some of the extraneous noise. This is Class B bordering on Class A. It’s freaking incredible.”

Max felt a nervous edge cross his skin as he covered his ears in order to hear better. He had fought witches — both dead and alive — knew a ghost and had dealt with magic on numerous occasions. Yet eavesdropping on the dead triggered an uneasiness in his stomach.

It was as if he was a kid watching a horror movie late at night, and somehow he both knew and was oblivious to the approaching steps of his mother. If she dared to utter a sound, he would hit the ceiling with a churlish scream. But she wouldn’t. This existed in his head, and she would forever be approaching.

Finally, Jack pressed his phone’s screen, and Max could hear the sound of Libby’s recorded voice.

LIBBY (tired): What is it?

JACK: Camera 2 is picking up something.

LIBBY: Carl? You got anything?”

CARL: Nothing.

JACK: Shh. Everybody shut up.

The group became still. Max could hear soft breathing. He pressed his ears tighter. He thought he heard a ticking clock.

The music that blared full-volume caused him to jump out of his seat. Sandra startled, too. A roaring blast of trumpets and trombones. A rowdy, big number that screamed of the 1920s. As Max’s heart settled back down his throat, he could practically hear the flappers doing the Charleston.

The song lasted no more than ten seconds. After that, silence.

Stunned, Max and Sandra removed their earbuds. Libby flicked back her hair with a bit of triumph. “You see? This is serious.”

Wide-eyed, Jack continued, “We’ve never recorded something like that before. I mean we have voices, but they’re barely audible. This — man, you would’ve thought the band was right in that room.”

“And that means that whatever is attacking Mrs. Darian, it is strong and determined. A moment ago, Mr. Porter, you asked for my hypothesis. I’ve changed my mind. I will tell you because I want you to grasp how dangerous this situation is.”

Max did his best to hold back any sarcasm from his voice. “Please do.”

“I think a woman died in that house during a party in the 1920s. I think that woman was pregnant. And I think she’s angered and confused by Shawnee Darian’s pregnancy. If we can get this ghost to realize she’s dead and that it’s okay for Shawnee to have a baby in the house, we might be able to get the dead woman to move on and stop haunting our client.”

“We understand,” Sandra said.

“I don’t think you really do. A case like this could take quite some time to finish. That’s the final part of the commitment I’m looking for from you two. I don’t want you promising Shawnee your help, dropping in the house, talking with the spirits for a little, and then leave declaring everything fixed. None of this will be done until Shawnee’s baby is born. Even after that, we might need to do regular follow-ups to make sure nothing starts up again. Are you prepared to help the Darians through this whole ordeal? Until the very end of it?”

“You have my word,” Sandra said.

Drummond shrugged. “Why not? I ain’t going anywhere.”

Libby looked to Jack for a moment. If they communicated anything in that look, Max couldn’t tell. But then Libby turned back. “Okay. The house is close by. Elizabeth Street — just up the road and off Academy. You can follow us. Carl, our videographer on the team, he’s already there.” From beneath the table, she pulled out a briefcase and stuffed her files inside. “We’ll show you everything. Let’s go.”

Chapter 4

When Max had turned ten years old,
he learned to roll with whatever the day brought. His special day began with the death of the family collie, Blondie, followed up with three hours caught in traffic, and ended with him being a half-hour late to his own party. As miserable as he felt at that moment, all his friends were waiting, and the party was a blast. Particularly because it ended with his first kiss — Sarah Wain.

The current day had started bad and only grew worse by the minute. He would push on, though. Perhaps the day would end on a better note. As they drove along Elizabeth Street, however, Max didn’t feel so confident.

It was a quiet neighborhood lined with old houses pressed in close. The road traveled up and down short, steep hills, and the pavement needed work. Old maples stretched their branches overhead.

Everything about the area pointed to a lovely place to settle down. It chilled Max’s skin to think about what really went on behind the closed doors. He had seen enough of the city’s underbelly — the witches alone could cause nightmares. But here he would have to deal with a haunting. Despite how nonchalant he had felt when the Darians presented themselves at the office, approaching the house awakened his nerves.

Max saw Libby’s car pull into the drive of an aqua-blue home with white trim and an American flag posted from the porch. He parked across the street. They were near the bottom of a downward slope which staggered the homes on a series of landings like steps. Cracks lined the concrete sidewalks.

Drummond stood by the car and stared at the house. “This is the big, scary house? We’ve seen far worse.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Maybe that’s what bothers me.”

Libby and Jack met them on the porch and ushered them in. The door opened to a living room with stairs on the left leading to the second floor. The walls were baby blue. A tattered sofa had been parked beneath the window and faced a large, wall-mounted flatscreen. A chipped coffee table sat between them, covered in newspapers as well as a shoebox. The air smelled of dog.

“Charming,” Drummond said as if could still smell.

In one corner, a video camera sat on a tripod. Behind the camera, a man waved. Jack lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he cruised by on his way to the kitchen.

Libby placed a hand on her hip. “Carl. I didn’t notice any holes outside. Did you bury the stones like I asked?”

Carl stepped from behind the camera. Max saw right away that Carl was a man at odds with himself. His thick, bottom lip protruded in a permanent pout and his clothing — ratty jeans and an orange t-shirt half-tucked-in — made him seem like a petulant fool. However, his face and hair were groomed with impeccable care. He spoke with a thick, wet voice that sounded dull-witted, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence.

“Sorry, Ms. Broward. I haven’t got to it yet.” Carl did not look sorry at all. “I figured it was more important that I maintain the equipment. Right? What’s the point, if we fail to capture any evidence because the cameras don’t work properly when we need them to?”

“Your main focus is the cameras, but your job is to help us in our investigations. That means in every way.” Libby clamped down any further words before throwing her briefcase on the sofa. “Fine. I’ll take care of the stones. You come meet Max and Sandra Porter. They’re consultants. Give them a tour of the house.”

“Be happy to do so.” Carl smiled broadly.

Libby picked up the box on the coffee table and checked its contents. Max gave a quizzical look. With an annoyed huff, she showed him the box. “Four stones. Rose Quartz attracts loving things. Black Tourmaline fights off negative energy. Hematite acts like a shield and citrine clears the negative and attracts the positive. I’m not a big proponent of stones, but I’m also not taking chances in this case.”

“You bury these?”

“One in each corner of the property. If there’s any truth to it all, the stones will help protect the house.”

Max frowned. “I thought we were protecting the Darians.”

Sandra slapped his shoulder hard. “I apologize for my husband. Sometimes his mouth gets the better of him. Go take care of the stones; we’ll be fine in here. We’ll take the tour with Carl.”

Libby shot holes into Max with her glare as she walked outside.

“I’m gonna like you,” Carl said. “Follow me.”

He led the way through a small, modern kitchen and down a narrow staircase to a dusty basement. Wooden shelves lined the tiled floor as well as the walls. Moldy cardboard boxes filled every shelf. Old clothes and empty bottles and rusting cans filled with rustier screws crammed every available space. A new washer and dryer sat on bricks in the back with a hose running to an open drain in the floor.

Scratching his nose, Carl gestured with his elbow. “Here’s the basement, if you couldn’t guess. Any spookiness going on down here?”

Sandra ignored Carl as she walked up and down the two aisles. Drummond swept through the area and shook his head at Max.

“Y’know, I thought this job was going to be a bit more interesting,” Carl went on. “Not that I believe in any of this, but I mean, come on. You’d think there’d be a creaking door or a thump or something.”