Love ever after - Chpt 2

Chapter 2

 

       Our little town of Redlands has more turn of the century homes than the rest of Southern California combined. The Wilson house was the crowning gem of them all.

The two story Victorian, built in 1893 by the citrus king Carl Wilson, was the bench mark for all that followed for the next fifty years.

       Unfortunately, its pristine beauty faded with each new owner until the mid-sixties when, at last, it was marred beyond recovery.

       Someone, a transient, a young woman, had been murdered in the house, her killer never found.

       Stories swirled around school for years that it was a girl from a rival high school... a run away. No one knew for sure but the stories came and went with each new group of seniors.

       What had pushed it over the line for us... what made it real, was Brooke.

In an effort to make cheerleader, she had been hazed in this very house. All she had to do was spend the night on the front porch... that's all... just sit there until daybreak.

According to her, as she sat, cold, alone, apprehensive in the dark... a small, faint, orb of light appeared, passing through the wall of the house to follow along the fence line for almost three minutes before disappearing.

        The expression spread across her face while relating the events of that evening held us in awe and Ghost Getters was born.

        Our first couple of outings meant nothing more than an opportunity to drink a little beer and play slap and tickle for the evening. The girls were always afraid, or at least pretended to be, clinging to us for dear life.

       At that time, Jenn and I were a couple... Brooke was dating a football player, Carla was seeing some guy from a band, Ron was the perpetual third wheel and Paul didn't come along until college.

       I can't say I saw anything on the nights we explored one old house after another, but it was fun to have Jenn press herself against me as I pretended to see ghost and monster alike, week after week. I was rewarded generously in kisses for my bravery.

Then, after awhile, our attention was pulled in another direction and the gang spent less and less time together. With the advent of college, Jenn and I went our separate ways.

       She was bound and determined to become a oceanographer and went away to study at Scripts in La Jolla and we lost touch.

        Ron, however, followed her, working as a mechanic near her apartment. Driven as he was, it was only a matter of time until he moved up. Now, some fifteen years later, he owned his own car dealership... one of the top five in the Inland Empire.

        I was working in Arizona at the time and had to admit I was a little hurt when I got their wedding invitation but once I saw them together, I knew it was the right thing.

What made it nice, was everyone from the old crowd came as well. Carla brought Paul home from college and during the reception Brooke and I reconnected.

Within eight months everyone was married and the gang was together once more.

        Now, once a month or so we all got together to look for ghost in any old house or cemetery we could find, just to spend time together. The Wilson house was our best bet for definitive proof of life after death.

       On the out skirts of our little town, on a hill where the last of the once massive orange groves grew, stands the spookiest house in the state.

       It hadn't seen electric service in nearly twenty years, giving the enormous two story Victorian a look like something out of a horror flick... dark and very foreboding.

Set at the top of a large circle driveway the building showed its age far more desperately than I had thought. Now, its dilapidated state had become more apparent, more dramatic in the growing darkness as we came up the drive.

       Twenty foot tall Italian cypress lined the driveway on both sides, rising out of the ground like enormous fingers about to reach out a capture our van.

       Giant, ancient, overgrown trees loomed over the house itself, almost hiding it from view. Their thick limbs swaying in the night breeze, filling the air with the rustle of dry leafs.

       Palm trees punctuated the sky above them, anchored... shrouded somewhere in the thick brush hugging a wrought iron and stone fence that circled the property.

On its face, a total of ten windows... six upstairs... four down... two to each side of its front door, set dead center of the building. Each trimmed by a narrow board, standing out from the clapboard siding, giving each opening the appearance of sunken eye sockets in an empty skull.

       A wide, covered porch stretched across the front of the building, turning the corner to continue down the full length of its west side.

       "Dreadful looking place," Carla said, twisting around to take it all in.

       "Well, if we don't get something here, we won't stand a chance anywhere else," Paul assured, turning the wheel, steering the vehicle up the drive.

       "It looks like its falling apart. Is it safe?" Scott asked.

       "Please, what fun would that be?" Ron returned.

Scott was right. He only said what everyone was thinking.

       "Aahh f**k. Look, he's here already. So help me God if we've lost this opportunity..." Paul began to rant.

       Parked in front of the building ahead of us was an old, beat up, pick up truck.

On the porch, an old man paced back and forth.

Dressed in blue jeans, a plaid shirt and a faded lather jacket, he appeared to be agitated.

       "It will be fine. You'll see," Carla soothed.

       "You're late," the old man standing on the porch grumbled.

       "Sorry Mister Cox. We had a little trouble with traffic," Paul lied, shaking the man's hand.

       "You got the money?" the old man asked, eyeing each of us in turn as we made our way to the porch.

       "Sure do... three hundred dollars, just like we agreed," Paul answered, retrieving the money from his shirt pocket.

       "Hold on there, not so fast. Three hundred is just a deposit. I done sold the place... every stick of it, right down to the pins in the hinges and the glass doorknobs. So if anything comes up missing I'll be looking for more," Mr. Cox intoned.

        "Like I said before... we're just looking for ghosts, not for doorknobs," Paul returned firmly.

        "That's what you say now but once I leave... who's to say?"

        "We're not vandals Mr. Cox," Jenn added firmly.

        "Well, missy, Virgil Cox ain't no fool. Done had the whole place photographed, top to bottom with one of those digital things. Going to do the same in the morning when you go. If it's broke or missing you got to pay. Got me?"

        "We understand. Let me give you my card. If there's any problems at all, just call my office and I'll make it good," Scott said stepping forward, removing a business card from his wallet, handing it to the man.

        "Then it's a deal. Give me the money," Virgil said sternly, holding out his hand.

Reluctantly, Paul handed it over.

       "Ghost... damn fool kids," Virgil Cox muttered to himself, counting his money as he made his way down the steps to his truck.

       "Come on. Everybody grab a box... let's get this stuff inside before its to dark to see," Paul ordered.

       The huge door creaked as Paul pushed it open.

       Everyone stood for a moment, peering inside before entering.

       "Ron, Mat... lets set the command table up over here," Paul instructed, pointing toward the dining room.

       "Got it," we said in unison.

       It took nearly forty five minutes to set out motion sensitive, infra red cameras and digital recorders to capture pictures and unheard voices from the other side. We had two miles of wire strung in every direction possible, into every room of the old building, each terminating at the command table. Paul always did the tech hook ups... connecting the wire, dividing it between three separate computers, four Dvr's and two audio recorders. It never took him very long and then we waited for dark.

        "Who's got the wine?" Jenn asked, sitting on the floor against the wall of the old dining room.

         "That would be me," Scott answered with a smile, filling a paper cup for her.       "Anyone else?" He asked lifting the bottle.

         "Oh me, me," Carla chimed in, twisting her cup back and forth to get his attention. She sat down next to Jenn, each tapping the rim of their cups together before drinking it down.

         "It'll be sunset soon, ten or fifteen minutes tops," Paul said, sitting down as well. "Ron, you set the static readers on the stairs?"

        "Aye captain," Ron said with a salute. "Just like you planned."

        "Okay... who's at the command table first?" Paul asked, holding his clipboard, intently checking off item by item.

       "Carla and I will take the first watch," Jenn offered.

       "Great, keep an eye on the wireless digital recorders," Paul instructed. "They've were giving us trouble the last time."

       "Have a cup of wine and relax will you? Damn Paul, this is suppose to be fun. Not everything runs on a schedule," Carla chided.

        "Just trying to be ready... We have a lot of money riding on this one," Paul countered.

        "You sound just like our Mr. Virgil Cox. Money, money, money. More wine please," Carla prodded.

        "At your service my lady," Scott said with a bow.

        "Don't forget me," Jenn added, twisting her cup back and forth.

        "I'll take a beer," I said, still trying to get my head into the game.

        "Good call, Mat, toss one to me," Ron asked, sitting next to Jenn, joining us from one of the outer rooms.

        I tossed one to Ron and then to Paul before getting one for myself.

"Scott? You?" I asked, offering him a bottle.

        "I'm good... vino for me," he returned, raising his paper cup in response.

        I could never figure this guy out. He always seemed to hang with the women, preferring their company to that of men. I was fairly certain he wasn't gay but still, he was far to good looking and finicky not to be on some level.

        "Brooke would have liked this one," Jenn said, giving me an odd look.

        "I think so too," I answered quietly, trying to determine her true meaning.

        "Scott, you're her boss... what's the deal? Are you that much of a hard a*s at work?" Carla prodded.

        "Oh, not me. Brooke has a mind of her own. Hiring her was the best thing I ever did. My business always did well but after Brooke, let me tell you," he said, nodding repeatedly to emphasize her fervor.

         "How much money do you have Scott?" Ron asked bluntly.

         "Ron... what's the matter with you? You can't ask that," Jenn said, slapping at him.

         "No, no it's okay. I did okay... lower six figures a year... year in, year out. Then, I hired Brooke... in the three years she's been with me... well, lets just say I have a real chance to break into the upper eight figures this year," he said with pride, lifting his cup again.

         "I hope she gets some of that," I joked, finishing my beer.

Everyone laughed and then it fell silent.

         "Alright kids... its time," Paul said, looking at his watch before standing. "Let's go. Grab you're flashlights... grab your camera's... check your batteries, make sure you're carrying spares."

         "It's not our first time Paul," I said, flipping on my camera.

         "You're so anal," Ron added lightly, pushing his camera into Paul's face.

         "Let's go, let's go," Paul said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Girls... you're up."

         Each of us, Ron, Paul, Scott and me... took off in a different direction, exploring the house by flashlight... one room at a time.

        Once outside the range of the others, it became truly dark. The small cone of light pushed out, illuminating little more than the floor in front of me.

       "Paul," I whispered into my walkie-talkie.

       "Go ahead Mat. You see something?" he asked eagerly.

       "No, nothing yet. I wanted to ask why we spent big bucks on computers and all the digital crap and we're still carrying the same flashlights we used under the covers to read comic books?"

        "Next time... top of the line... I promise," he reassured.

        "Yeah, yeah," I returned.

        "Didn't he say that the last time? You know, after that house over on Piedmont?" Ron chimed in.

        "Alright, alright, that's enough chit chat. New flashlights all around in the morning. Noses to the grind stone, please," Paul voiced over the walkie-talkie.

        "Aye captain," Ron answered glibly and the radios fell silent.

        I pushed against a double swing door, making my way through what, at one time, was the kitchen. The floor was covered in torn scraps of wallpaper, leaves, dirt and broken glass, adding to the fear of hidden termite damage under the linoleum.

On two of the walls the broken, painted remains of cabinets. Rusted pipes jutted out of the wall under the window.

        I shone my light between the slats covering the window, trying to peer into the darkness of the backyard.

        Nothing.

        "Command..."

        "Go command," Paul whispered.

        "Who's in the hall up stairs?" Jenn asked, her voice quivering.

        "Mat?" Paul's voice came quickly.

        "Kitchen," I returned.

        "Ron?"

        "Parlor," he said.

       "Scott?"

       "Bath," he called.

       "Well, boys, something tripped the static sensors and its coming and its coming fast," Jenn said excited.

       We all ran as fast as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that was coming down the stairs.

       "To your right, to your right," Paul whispered frantically, throwing his back against the wall opposite me, pointing wildly to the outer room. His face shifted repeatedly between terror and excitement. His eyes were so wide they threaten to fall out, only to be caught in his open mouth.

       "Oh, my God," Jenn said faintly, pressing against my back as I crouched at the doorway between the living room and entry. "Do you see it?"

        "Yeah, I do," I whispered in return, trying my best to hold my camera in position.

        "Who's got it? Anyone? Come on people... anyone getting this on film?" Paul's voice buzzed urgently in my walkie-talkie, along with everyone else... all at the same time.

        Floating just above the floor on the landing at the top of the stairs, a faint, small ball of light, no bigger than a softball. A pale yellow in color, it behaved erratically, moving quickly in repetitive circles, hovering inches above the floor, diving into walls to disappear briefly, only to reappear from a different part of the structure altogether.

To our surprise the orb darted for the stairs, flying down their length at an unnatural speed. Once at the bottom, it turned, gyrating wildly to the left, leaping into the air, slamming into the wall and was gone.

         We held our breath and waited.

         Time slowed to a stop. Seconds hung in the air, feeling more like an hour.

         Nothing.

         We waited on pins and needles for what seemed like forever.

         "Holy s**t," Ron shouted and we all burst into tumultuous gales of laughter.   Everyone spoke excitedly at the same time, telling each other our point of view to the sighting over and over... and then the unthinkable.

         From the command table, the soft, almost unnoticed sound of an alarm.

         Slowly, we grew quite, turning, one by one toward the computers.

Jenn and Paul almost knocked one another down trying to get to the table first.

         "Its back," he shouted abruptly, pumping his fist up and down.

         Everyone's head snapped toward the top of the stairs, expecting to see... God only knew what.

        I inched closer hoping to... I have no idea.

        "It's on the move," Jenn added loudly.

        I ran to the top of the stairs, half expecting to find the orb darting in and out of the walls once again, but nothing was there.

        I turned around repeatedly, thinking whatever might be there was standing behind me and I would miss it.

        I tapped the walls several times with my foot for good measure, hoping to prod a response.

        "Nothing here," I said into my walkie-talkie, openly disappointed.

        Then, suddenly, my skin tingled, the air began to feel cold and the hair on my arms as well as the back of my neck stood up on end.

        Right in front of me, as I turned to make my way back down the stairs... hovering in mid air, a small, white cloud of mist began to manifest out of thin air.

I watched in amazement as it began to take form. I was struck dumb as it shifted, becoming human in shape and manner.

         My heart pounded so hard I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as the shape of the mist swirled like cigarette smoke caught in a fan, shifting, changing colors to become the transparent image of a young woman.

Visible only from the waist up, her arm slowly rose as she pointed an ethereal finger in my direction.

        I saw nothing, heard nothing other than her, certain the hair on top of my head was surely standing on end.

       "...eck out," her voice came in little more than a whisper.

       At that instant, my head filled with an explosion of shocking pain and I realized I was falling, tumbling down the stairs, coming to rest at last at the bottom.

Incredible pain shot through every fiber of my body, my head pounded wildly with each new beat of my heart. Standing in a loose circle above me, Ron, Carla, Scott, Jenn, and Paul.

        Jenn sank to the floor, holding me in her arms, tears running down her face in torrents, rocking relentlessly, sobbing. Their voices were muddled, blurred, running together in a river of unrelenting noise.

        For a moment my vision grew dark and the noise softly went away. When it returned the noise roared to life in my brain once more. Along with it a new person stood over me... someone I had seen before... a young woman... the ghost at the top of the stairs.

         "Let go... you'll only make it worse," she shouted.

         Unbelievably, the pain grew more powerful, more intense and I began to scream. I couldn't believe I could make such a sound, that such agony could have a voice.

         "Just let go. It'll be alright, I promise," the stranger pleaded.

         I struggled, fighting to speak, but could not.

         The voices of my friends softly filtered into my consciousness but all I could hear was Jenn.

        "He's dead," she wailed, her tears falling on my face and slowly the sound of their voices faded as I was absorbed by the growing darkness.

Reviews

[Will Neill]

Tegon - excellent, a wee bit of editing may help to improve it but a sound 2nd chapter.
Will

[Avanthika]

oh my god , is he dead , i dnt think so

[Ray]

Very captivating, I enjoyed reading this !! Great sentences. However, be careful about repeating the same words : like 'chimed in'. Find an alternative for it such as 'burst in' or 'errupted'