Southern Haunts (7 page)

Libby and Sandra leaned back against the crib and waited. Jack sipped from his spiked mug. “See that? It’s going to be a very long night.”

Max nodded. “It’s entirely possible nothing will happen, right?”

“Oh, sure. Plenty of times — heck most of the times — nothing ever happens. But when it does, oh, man does it ever happen. I’ve seen some crazy, crazy shit. Stuff moving by itself. Flickering lights and closing doors where there ain’t anybody around.”

“Sounds frightening.”

Jack pointed at Max. “Oh, I must sound like an idiot. I mean I only really ever hear them and see stuff on the monitors. Most of the time what I get to hear ain’t all that clear. But you actually see them, don’t you?”

“Just one.”

“Is he in here?”

“No. We’re alone.”

Jack sipped more of his coffee as his eyes roved about the kitchen. “That’s real creepy.”

“Why would that be creepy to you? Don’t you do this all the time?”

“Yeah, but it’s different knowing you can see one, see it all pale and stuck in the time it died.”

Max looked away from the monitor. “How do you know what they look like?”

Jack paused, then chuckled with a guilty smile. “I must’ve drunk a little too fast. I wanted to say that ghosts are supposed to look like that, but I couldn’t get it out. Truth is I’ve seen one once. Not on a case. Long time ago. That’s what got me doing this.”

As Jack continued talking, Max focused back on the monitor. He watched Sandra’s image, trying to will away anything evil.

“See, it was back when I was in college,” Jack said. “I had some friends who lived in this old, renovated house, and on Halloween they’d throw this wicked party. Do the whole place up in skeletons and stuff. Real big blast.”

Max thought about the things Sandra had said in the alley. It had been hanging between them for years now, and he hadn’t even known. Except this wasn’t like the secrets they had kept from each other in the past. They had learned from those mistakes. They had done well at keeping things honest.

“So, one time at this Halloween party — I think it was my junior year — I got really plastered. I mean I’d never been that drunk before and certainly never since. I remember this cute girl just fell into my lap and we laughed and talked and she invited me back to her place. I remember she went to get her coat. And you know what happened after that?” Jack snorted. “I ain’t got a clue.”

Max tried to understand Sandra’s view. The remnants of being possessed by a dead witch clung to her. They were strands of marionette string hung into the air but held by nobody. They left Sandra in a weird predicament — feeling like she wasn’t completely her own.

“When I finally woke up, I was in the attic of that house. It was so dark. I had reached that stage where everything spun, and I totally blew chunks. Felt a little better, so I tried sitting up. And that’s when I saw her. This pale figure floating a good foot in the air. She wore this ratty dress, looked like something from the 1800s. And she stared at me. Freaked me out. I ran downstairs and out of that house screaming. I can still hear my friends laughing. So, I thought the whole thing was a joke.”

This case, this chance to help Shawnee, must have hit Sandra hard. Max could see it now. This case was about coping with trauma.

“But my buddy denied any kind of set up. Next night, I went and did a bunch of research, and I found her. Died in 1872 when an oil lamp hung on the attic beam fell on her head. Lit her up fast, but with all those layers of clothes they wore back then, it took her a while to die. Well, after that I started hanging with the paranormal people and that led a long, winding road to me sitting right here with you.”

Max thought back over Sandra’s recent behavior. Sleepless nights, strange mood swings, and her odd, undefined excursions — all added up to her struggling to make sense of what had happened.
And I have to be here for her.
That was one of many changes Max had tried to make of late. He didn’t have to fix her problems, but he did have to be there for her when she needed him. Even if that meant nothing more than sitting in the kitchen watching her on the monitors.

“Dude,” Jack said, refilling Max’s mug with coffee. “You better drink up if you’re going to be that intense. I’m not kidding when I say these nights can go real long.”

DAY TWO

The hours drifted by. Despite the coffee, both Max and Jack nodded off a few times. Never for long, but guilt coursed through Max each time.

While awake, he glued himself to the monitors. Libby paced the baby’s room, then stared out the window, then checked out the crib, then poked around the closet, then sat, then stood, then started all over again. Sandra hardly moved. Max had never known her to meditate, but she appeared to be an expert at it — sitting still, eyes closed, breathing deep, hyper-aware yet calm.

Jack passed gas as he typed on his keyboard. “Excuse me,” he muttered.

The noise snapped Max’s attention off of Sandra. “Didn’t know you were awake.”

“When I’m on the job, I’m always awake. Even when I’m asleep, I’m awake.”

Max glanced at the clock — 2:32 a.m. “Is there a cut-off point? A time when you guys call it quits for the night?”

“Yup. It’s called sunrise.”

As his eyes roved across all the monitors, Max froze. “Where’s Carl?”

“I don’t know. I think he went out to find some hot food. Not much of anything open at this hour. Just a few diners, but he always manages to come back with something good for everybody.”

“In that case, I hope he brings —”

Whomp!

The sudden blow to the house came from all sides. One solid hit that shook the walls and floors and rattled the windows. It carried a dark sound like tombstones falling on a wooden platform.

Jack shot forward, his fingers furious on the keyboard. Max watched the monitors. He saw Sandra and Libby standing in the baby’s room, their heads slowly moving as they scanned the room.

“I can’t hear anything from there,” Max said.

“Hold on.” Jack flipped switches and typed more on the keyboard. “Whatever that was popped a few mics. It’s not like they’re the highest end, y’know.”

Max jumped to his feet, leaning closer to the monitor. “We’ve got to be able to hear in there. We’ve got to know what’s going on.”

“Relax. There’s a reason I’m good at what I do.” He tapped two more keys and the sound ignited around them. “I always put in backups.”

Libby had her hands clutched against her chest. After a few moments passed without the noise returning, she gave a thumbs-up sign to the camera.

Max looked to Jack. “What’s that about? What’s so good?”

“She’s feeling a presence. She’s going to try to make contact.”

Sandra stood firm next to Libby, but Max caught the tremors in her hands. “I should go up there,” he said. “My wife is —”

“You should stay here. You go in there and you’ll interrupt whatever is going on. Breaking in on an established moment like this, it’s like cockroaches running when the lights are flicked on. Get me?”

Libby closed her eyes, and Max swore she was offering a prayer. Then she looked up at the ceiling and said, “Who are you?”

No answer.

“Why are you here?”

No answer.

“Can you make a noise for me?”

Jack frowned. “Huh.”

“What?” Max snapped.

“Those are all standard questions — the kind of thing that any ghost hunting group would ask.”

“So?”

“Not Libby’s style. She prefers the methods of John Sabol — to ask questions based on the history of the house, the land, the people involved, anything that’s more personal and specific to the entity. But she’s starting out with the basic stuff. That’s not usual.”

“And? What about it?”

Jack shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say she was a little scared and was reverting back to the basics as a way to regain her composure.”

“Wait — you’re saying that the woman who is up there to protect my wife is freaking out?”

“What I’m saying is —”

Whomp! Whomp!

Max grabbed the edge of the wooden table, a splinter digging into his palm. Dust fell from the hanging ceiling lamp and two glasses toppled over in the sink.

Libby said, “We heard the music you played. The music from the twenties. Is that when you’re from? Did you die in the twenties?”

The banging grew louder and continued to shake the house. On the monitor, Max watched as a lamp next to the crib shattered. Sandra leaped out of the way as Libby yelped.

Jack typed furiously, his eyes wide and lips quivering. “This is off the charts. I’ve never seen anything remotely close.”

The shaking eased back. Max steadied his legs as he strode toward the stairs.

Looking up from his work, Jack said, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“You’re nuts if you think I’m staying here while my wife is being threatened.”

Max hopped up the stairs and rushed down the hall. As he burst into the baby’s room, he saw Sandra kneeling on the floor while Libby raised her arms toward the ceiling.

“Please,” Libby said. “We’re here to listen. Tell us what you want.”

The house thumped like a massive heart pulsing around them. Cracks traveled up the walls and across the ceiling. All the lights flicked on and off. The floor lurched to the right. A loud creaking filled the air like the whine of tearing metal as a boat sinks beneath the ocean.

But the house did not sink. In fact, Max caught a glimpse of two people passing on the sidewalk outside — neither appeared to take notice of the house. Could this all be some sort of illusion? A hallucination?

“We’re not here to harm you,” Libby shouted above the constant banging. “We offer help. We offer peace.”

Max stumbled across and took hold of Sandra. She buried her face in the crook of his arm. He could feel her shivering. He had never heard the previous attack, and that one had hurt her badly. How much worse would this be since he could hear it all now?

A surge of electricity snaked from the wall outlets up to the ceiling, breaking apart drywall as it moved. The room brightened in stark light and the banging reached a fevered rhythm.

Then all went dark.

An odd clunk hit near the door.

Max kissed the back of Sandra’s head. They were both covered in drywall dust and breathing hard. A new thumping — Jack coming up the stairs.

“Everyone okay?” he called.

“We’re fine,” Libby said. “You get all that?”

“I hope so. As far as I can tell, everything's recording perfectly. Y’all just stay still. I’ll go downstairs and reset the circuit breakers.”

“Thank you. And thanks for recording it all.” Max could hear Libby’s smile. “This may turn out to be the greatest documented case ever.”

A few minutes went by, and soon the hall lights clicked back on. Sitting in the doorway, Max saw a blue bottle. As Libby moved closer towards it, Max straightened. A second later, Sandra stood by his side.

Libby lifted the bottle — about the size of a wine bottle and clear blue all around. “Is this what made that last sound?”

Max put out his hand. “May I?”

She held out the bottle but was slow to let go. Max examined it. “Looks like your ghost has a sense of humor.”

“Oh?”

He pointed to the name printed into the blue glass — CASPER.

Chapter 9

The morning sun still had to wait
a few hours as Max pulled into the driveway of their new home. Neither he nor Sandra had ever owned a newly constructed home before — one that no other person had ever slept in, ate in, lived in. The all-brick house stood on a third of an acre like a castle nestled amongst numerous other castles in a neighborhood where all the street names were related to Robin Hood (Sherwood Drive, Nottingham Road, and the most obvious, Robin Hood Road). Clicking the remote to open the garage, Max took a moment to marvel at the idea that this all belonged to him.

His bones crackled as he climbed out of the car. He cradled the blue bottle marked CASPER like a delicate newborn. Libby had put up a fuss when he took it, and only backed off when Sandra promised they would return it while also emphasizing Max’s excellent researching skills. Libby acquiesced but not without scowling and grumbling.

Sandra had slept the entire drive home and now stirred from her slumber like a drunken co-ed paying for a long night out. Only, in Sandra’s case, she didn’t get to have any fun. She poured out of the passenger side and uttered a non-committal sound as she headed toward Max.

As the garage door rumbled down, he stared at the alarm keypad by the kitchen entrance. Ten seconds clicked by before he could recall the code. Sandra pressed her head against his back while she waited.

When they finally stepped inside the kitchen, Sandra mumbled a few indecipherable words and staggered upstairs to bed. Max threw his coat on the marble counter, set the blue bottle down, and threw on a pot of coffee. As tired as he felt, he knew he had gone past the point of falling asleep. Wired on adrenaline and caffeine, he figured he would focus on the case until he either discovered something important or passed out.