Scene Seventeen

A storm has rolled in this evening. Light raindrops hiss against the windows in the breakfast room. The Summit Team and I make final preparations for another hunt. The Bensons and Donna huddle around the table examining the gear.

Dougie checks over his instruments and the laptop one more time. "Looks good." He nods to Dylan. "You got everything you need?"

Dylan bobs his balding head of hair. "Cams are set in the billiard room and the hunting room. Night vision, EMR sensors, and thermals are in place."

Benson taps Dylan on a flabby shoulder. "Why don't you go up with them? We can babysit the computers."

Dylan: "I don't know--"

Donna crosses her arms in a huff. "Go on. It's not like we can't click on the record icon or anything."

The tubby techie and Doug exchange glances.

Doug: "Works for me if it works for you, big guy."

Dylan nods and picks up a little rectangular box. Its face reads: Air Ion Counter, and below that, Polarity. "All right. I'll take the EVP and go, too."

Doug: "Nice. I'm taking Sean up with us."

Dylan turns his concerned blue stare back to the trio. "If anything happens, use the two-way radio to make contact."

The doc nods and holds up the little black radio. "We will."

He, Jake, and Em secure the headbands on their personal cameras while I stand idle.

Doug: "Jake?"

Jake tucks in the tail of his Metallica shirt. "Yo."

Doug: "You're on the night vision cam tonight."

"Roger, boss." His burly freckled arms scoop up a small camera and its power supply.

Doug: "Em, I need you on the Spirit Box. If any of them says a thing, we're gonna hear it."

She slips an extra battery pack in her back pocket. "I'm on it."

Doug taps me on my shoulder as he blows past. "Let's roll." I grab the flashlight from him and fall in.

Low rumbles of thunder from a distant source. I sweep the beam of my light on the stairs ahead of us. One stair after the other groans underfoot.

Doug: "Any word from the electrician?"

Jake: "I got word, but he ain't comin' either."

The big guy's breaths come in labored bursts as we reach the second floor.

Doug glances to the back left corner of this level. "Why not?"

Jake (gasping): "H-he knows this place. Won't even come on the property, man. None of the will."

Em: "Can you blame him? There's more than campfire stories here."

Doug creeps forward into another glancing flash of light. "No one for miles will come near you. Quite the reputation, old gal."

A deep eruption rattles the window panes and my nerves.

Dylan senses my unrest and pats my back. "Weather site said that it's a passing line of storms. It should be over in an hour or two."

Deeps breaths and a nod. "So, what got you into this sort of work, if you don't mind me asking?"

Dylan's round belly jiggles as he laughs. "Not at all. It will do me some good to get my mind off this for a minute." He hobbles along beside me as I follow the group deeper into the shadowy corner near the billiard room. "I'm a historian by trade. Love the old architecture, the railroads, and their stories. This family was a grand slam for me!"

Laughing again feels great. Has it been that long?

Dylan: "After my wife, Bertie, passed – well, it was the only love in my life that I had left."

Doug halts our party just outside the billiard room. His tiny headlamp pops on. "Light 'em up." He pulls the two-way from his jacket pocket.

(squelch)

Doug: "Comms check. Doc, can you hear me?"

(squelch)

Benson: "I hear you loud and clear, Doug."

He locks eyes with everyone around the semicircle. "Stay focused." His face registers resolve and fear. "I don't know what we're going to encounter in here, if anything. Ready?"

I nod along with the others. Another bright burst lights up the long pool table behind our leader. Heebie-jeebies don't even begin to describe it.

"It's now or never," Dylan says, pulling out his EVP recorder.

My cone of light passes over old elegant rugs as we tread lightly into the long space. Four deep leather chairs along the far wall. A wooden cabinet and wall rack for pool cues to my left. Yet, another marble fireplace set into the wall at the back of the room. The low white noise from Em's Spirit Box drones on under the thunder.

Doug: "I address my questions to whatever spirits haunt this property."

The lead investigator searches the area as he begins his inquisition.

Doug: "How many of you are trapped in this place?"

Emily holds the small speaker up in her hand. A faint reply breaks its static. Many.

Doug: "Many? How many?"

Jake sweeps his hand-sized cam around. "No movement."

Dylan's counter gives off rhythmic ticks. "Picking up higher ion saturation."

Doug nods. "How many?"

Spirit Box: Dozens.

Doug: "Now, we're getting somewhere. Henry McAllister, are you one of them?"

The static and the deluge outside are almost indistinguishable.

Doug: "Henry! Are you--"

Yes.

Doug stops in front of the tall window and turns his headlamp off. "Why can't you pass over, Henry?"

A male voice mutters in reply.

Doug turns to Em. "What was that?"

Em: "It sounded like he said, old one."

Doug: "Henry, can you repeat that for us, please?"

The ion counter's meter clicks in rapid succession.

Spirit Box: "Darkness (static… squelch) Old one."

Doug flips his lamp back on and strides toward the fireplace. "Why do they keep you here? What does he want from you?"

Souls.

Doug: "Did it just say?"

Emily bobs her blonde curls.

Doug: "The catacombs, Henry. Do they exist?"

We all take cautious steps around the perimeter of the billiard room.

Doug: "Henry? Are there catacombs under your home?"

Emily's box spins through its static-filled frequencies.

Doug: "Dr. McAllister?"

After a few moments of silence, he leads us back out into the second floor hallway.

Most of the color has run from Dougie's face. "That was pretty intense." He rests a hand on either knee, taking in short breaths. "Let's move this search into the hunting room."

Jake: "You doin' all right, bro? You look like shit."

His pal nods.

I feel it, too, Dougie. A crushing presence that wants to force you to the floor.

Doug: "I'm fine. Over there. Come on."

Gusts of wind whistle around the window panes as I cross over its threshold.

"Nice." Jake tilts his lens up and sweeps the collection of mounted animal heads on the walls. "A ten pointer? Elk, Bear, antelope. What didn't this guy bag?"

Excellent question. The two-way's squelch startles everyone.

Benson: "Doug? You there?"

Doug: "Here, doc. What's going on?"

Benson: "A figure – shadow of some sort – just passed by your camera set up in second floor hallway."

Dylan and share in an apprehensive glance.

Doug: "Which way was it headed?"

Another clap of thunder and some more fireworks outside.

Benson: "It passed from right to left in front of the end table and vase."

Doug pauses in thought in front of a fireplace. "Henry? Are you trying to follow me?"

Nothing but showers and whipping winds.

Doug: "Dr. McAllister? If it's you, can you tell me so?"

Static.

Something small and wet drips into my hair. The telltale patter of other raindrops impact the wood floor.

"Great." I slap my dim light against my right thigh. Its beam flickers back to life.

Dylan: "You fellas getting rained on, too?"

Jake pans his camera up to the vaulted ceiling. "Yeah. Looks like we sprung a leak from the storm."

I sweep my white cone to the nearest wall. Streamers of water run down from every stuffed head.

Emily groans. "My face? Really? This is not what I need right now."

I pan my beam over to her. The light trembles in my fingers.

Em: "Sean. What is it?"

I can't find the words. She wipes the drips from her cheek with an index finger and holds it up for inspection. The wires on her Spirit Box snap as she screams.

Blood. Thin rivers of it pouring out of the lifeless fake eyes of every dead animal.

Doug's headlamp snaps up. "Good god."

Drips from the ceiling turn into thin waterfalls. The crimson wash pours in a sheet from multiple points on the towering walls. My hair, shoulders, and back – covered in it.

The broken Spirit Box hisses in Emily's white-knuckled fist. On your hands.

I shine my cone down on the frayed remains of the box's wire.

Warned you all.

I corral Emily and Dylan toward the doorway. Jake and Doug's sneakers patter on our heels.

Spirit box: Their blood – your hands.