บท 6: Chapter 6
Amir and Terrance seemed to be in their own zone, trying to debunk the various paranormal claims in the house. Ava was once again impressed by the care they took with her home. It was truly fascinating watching them work, almost like they went into an investigation trying to disprove a haunting rather than getting proof of one. The ideas and theories they came up with to explain away some of the incidents were downright brilliant.
A door slammed upstairs, causing Terrance to jump. His radio crackled to life.
Kerry's voice emerged from the walkie. "That was us testing the bedroom door. Just ignore it."
Finished on the first floor, they went upstairs to check on Sammy and Kerry.
According to Sammy, they'd tried the windows open and closed, and had attempted the suction effect. Nothing had gotten the doors to shut on their own without assistance. Neither had walking by them, jumping, or cranking the heat to get a draft from the vents.
"They're solid wood," Ava supplied. "Original to the house." Thus, it would be rather difficult for elements to affect their movement.
While Tom was upstairs with a camera, the ladies reenacted a few of the door experiments and then moved into the central hall. They did several more tests, trying to get the paintings to move, but they proved unsuccessful.
The crew decided to break up after that. Kerry and Amir went downstairs into the dining room to play back tapes of the teacup moving overnight, while Terrance and Sammy did an EMF sweep.
Ava followed Terrance and Sammy, since that sounded more interesting. Once they'd gathered a small yellow box from the dining room, she asked, "What's an EMF?"
"Electro Magnetic Field," Sammy said.
They walked into the living room, where Terrance perused the perimeter holding the yellow box.
"Everything emits electromagnetic waves," Sammy explained, eyes on the tech. "Appliances and electronics give high readings. When ghosts are present, the readings fluctuate, so we have to get a base reading in each room, so we know if something is present later on."
"One-point-five in here," Terrance said.
"Which is pretty basic." Sammy shrugged. "Especially with the TV and stereo."
The library was a one-point-five also because of the computer, and the kitchen a two because of the appliances. When they made it to the parlor, Terrance came up short.
"What the..." He looked at Ava with wide eyes. "You were right here with me. We left those open."
The drapes were now closed. In honesty, that hadn't happened since Aunt Lois died, but this wasn't unusual either.
Terrance grabbed his walkie, still staring at the window. "Kerry, Amir, did you guys come in the parlor at all?"
"Nope." Amir's answer was definitive through the speaker.
"Look through the video feed in the parlor from an hour ago up until now." He paused. "The drapes are closed, man."
Ava opened them again while Terrance got a base reading of one for the parlor.
They moved on to the second floor where the readings fluctuated between point-five and one-point-five, depending on the room. Upstairs in her suite, the reading was a steady two.
When they returned to the dining room, Kerry's green eyes bulged. "You guys have got to see this."
They sat in front of the screens as Amir pushed a bunch of buttons on the keyboard and readied the spot.
"This is time-stamped at 1:53 a.m."
The screen showed Ava's dim kitchen. After a few seconds, the feed jumped, like an old VHS tape might have done, then went to white static.
She frowned. "Is something wrong with the camera?"
"No." Amir shook his head. "Kerry and I checked it out. Watch this."
The shot of her kitchen returned, this time with the cabinet above the coffeepot partially open and her favorite teacup sitting where she found it upon waking.
"Crazy, right?" Enthusiasm laced Kerry's tone.
"But there's nothing there," Ava argued.
"That's just it, there is," Kerry exclaimed. "Sometimes when a ghost is present, cameras and equipment act up. The theory is they draw power from electronics to manifest. I think that's what happened."
"To rule out human interference," Amir cut in, "I checked the other cameras dated for that time. You never came downstairs, so you're not a sleepwalker, in case you were wondering, and our bedroom doors didn't budge. None of us left our rooms."
"Great. My spirits are shy. Perhaps they think they're not photogenic."
Amir laughed and leaned back in his seat. "You've got some place here, Ava."
Yeah, and if the spirits didn't cooperate soon, it wouldn't be her place for long. A sliver of relief slid through her, knowing the crew was catching stuff, though.
"Now, the parlor is interesting." Amir started punching keys anew.
They watched the feed through the camera in the parlor. About three seconds into film, the drapes closed with a decisive snap.
No one was in there.
Sammy shivered. "This is awesome. We haven't even really begun to investigate and we're getting activity."
*~*~*
Jackson faced Paul in the town library, where they'd found nothing useful. "Why don't we knock out the interviews and head back."
Paul closed the ledger. "Agreed. I think what we really need to do is research the Kerricks. I can do that back in New York."
Paul's flight was at five, which meant they needed to get going. They headed for Ava's mom's craft store across the street.
Upon walking in, the place smelled like glue and cinnamon potpourri. Florescent lights and white flooring tiles. Nothing out of the ordinary by way of stores, barring little personal touches such as hand-painted signs with southern-isms accompanied by an image of flip-flops or a cross.
Bless your heart.
Sweet tea for this busy bee.
Hey, y'all.
Shelves lining both the left and right side walls, floor to ceiling, were crammed with hobby supplies, and in the center of the room, several women of varying ages were seated around an oak table, crocheting.
Jackson knew immediately which one was Ava's mum by the auburn hair, cut much shorter than her daughter's, and by her willowy frame. The woman rose from her seat, and Jackson grinned. Ava must've gotten her height from her dad. And her eyes.
"I'm Jackson Granger, from the TV show, Phantoms." He offered his hand. When she took it, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles and bowed.
Her eyes rounded in glee as she nervously laughed, pressing a palm to her chest. Ava had definitely gotten that from her mum. Glorious sound, indeed.
"I'm Marjorie Trumble. I own the store. You must be the people my daughter called to...investigate the mansion?" Holy southern accent, Batman. She had the "Belle" routine down pat also.
"Yes." He gestured beside him. "This is Paul."
"Nice to meet you. What can I do for you fine gentlemen?"
"Well, we'd like an interview, if you don't mind." He looked around. The rest of the women were staring at them, some with boredom, others with vague curiosity. "All of you, actually. Is that all right?"
Marjorie patted her hair. "Um...sure."
He waved two fingers at Earl, indicating the okay to head closer near the circle.
Paul eased aside and stood with his arms crossed, letting Jackson take the lead.
"So, ladies. Any of you watch the show?"
A few went back to their crocheting. However, everyone shook their heads.
No one? Two of the women were in their seventies, a couple in their fifties, and one girl was about twenty. "Not even you?"
The girl shrugged, causing her brown hair to fall over her shoulders. She had an impressive-sized nose ring and charcoal lining her eyes. Her lips were painted a deep blood red. "I caught one or two episodes. Scared me too much to keep watching."
He huffed a laugh. Goth girl scared by a paranormal investigation show. A Goth girl who crocheted. "Right, then. Understood."
He glanced around the circle, amazed the women were unimpressed and unaffected by his celebrity status or the cameras. This was a first.
One of the eldest females, wearing a matching navy shirt and pants ensemble with a puff of white cotton hair, spoke without glancing up from her hook. "Lois Trumble was a dear friend of mine for more than sixty years. I spent one hour in that house in all that time. The place is haunted."
The collective whole nodded in agreement.
"You can't have that much grief and sadness in one spot and not have ghosts," another said.
This got them all going at once, deep in a discussion that didn't involve him or Paul. Jackson had been doing the show for five years now. Over sixty cases and cities. Never, not once, had he interviewed people so clearly not interested in their five minutes of fame.
Something indiscernible settled in his chest. Comforting, almost. Warm. For the first time in a long while, he felt...normal. Ordinary. Common. And he really liked it.
He pulled up a chair and parked his butt. "So, is it the spirits that frighten you or the many deaths in the house? I mean, ghosts don't kill people. There's never been a reported case where a ghost has caused the death of a person."
One of the women in her fifties, who wore a neon pink sweat suit and unnatural blonde hair, rolled her eyes. "Not that they can prove, anyway. What would they put on the police report? Scared to death? Pushed down the stairs by spirit unknown?"
Touché.
The ladies laughed.
"I, for one, will be happy when that house goes to the society," another said. "Sorry, Marjorie."
Ava's mum waved her off. "Oh, me, too, Sally. Me, too."
Jackson frowned. "Why is that?"
Marjorie set down her hook with great precision and nailed him with a look of tedium. "Mr. Granger, my daughter has had an...obsession with that house since she was a girl. Every female heir in my husband's family has, in fact. Something you won't find in the history books, I'm sure. The women are drawn to it, like the house feeds off their youth and hope. Before long, they're trapped and can't get out. They can't escape or don't want to. Those that do marry are widowed or divorced soon after." She let out a ragged breath, tears welling. "I want better for my daughter. If the Historical Society takes it over, maybe the cycle will break."
He slumped in his seat, leveled. Not much surprised him anymore. He'd seen just about everything, heard just about everything. But this case, this town, and this family's history was one shocking blow after another.
Her response wasn't a lack of support for Ava, but deep-rooted concern. He'd seen possession cases. Houses so dark a person could get swallowed inside hate. The Trumble mansion didn't give off that vibe. Anger, yes. Sorrow, yes. Ava seemed like a woman who could take care of herself. But what if what these ladies said was true? Would Ava wind up like her ancestors if she stayed?
For some reason, his chest ached at the thought of her never marrying. Never having kids. Spending her days and nights alone in a big, empty house. But she'd sought out Phantoms. She knew her family history and still wanted the mansion. So, he and his crew would do everything they could to help her keep it.
He rose. "Well, ladies, this has been a genuine pleasure. Your insight has helped out a great deal. Thank you."
Earl turned off the camera and stepped outside.
Marjorie walked Paul and Jackson to the door. "Mr. Granger-"
"Jackson, please."
She nodded. "Jackson. If you find something to help Ava..." She paused and shook her head. "Please don't tell her. The best thing she can do is walk away from that place. Her great-aunt even thought so by sending her on this wild goose chase."
He looked at this more subdued, shorter, elder version of Ava, and was met with only concern. He wanted to tell her there was nothing to worry about, that her daughter would be fine. Or maybe that she was right, and his team shouldn't find something in their investigation. He wouldn't show Ava the proof she needed.
In other words, lie.
He couldn't do that. Even when he should, he never had it in him to lie. "We'll look out for Ava, Mrs. Trumble."
"Marjorie, please. What about when your crew leaves? Who will look out for her then?"
He swallowed his response before it could escape. For a second, a split fraction of a moment, he'd almost said he would.
Two days in Kerrick, Maine, and he was thinking of making promises he couldn't hope to keep. Thinking about a woman he'd just met and didn't really know. Feeling like he was...well, hell. Feeling like he was home.
Even as a young lad, the phrase "I promise" had not ever passed his lips. And he'd gone his entire existence without having a sense or place he considered home. Shelter, pieces of family, a house, absolutely. Not home, though.
There was something very, very wrong here. Not just with the Trumble mansion, but the whole town. From the moment they'd crossed the city limits, he'd felt affected. Unnatural. Out of sorts. The sensation only amplified the closer he was to the mansion.
Or Ava.
By the end of this investigation, he might be the one needing looking after.
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