Chapter Two #3
I click on an image of the house and the back of my neck instantly prickles.
There’s something oddly familiar about it.
The heavy gate and iron fence, the silhouette of the building hunkering down behind it.
I feel as if I’ve seen it before. But I’m sure I’ve never been there.
I can’t remember a trip out to Long Island while Mom was alive, and there’s no way Dad would have taken me and my sister out there after her death.
Family vacations went to the grave with Mom.
I click on another photo, then another. The house is two storeys with a rambling wraparound porch and a widow’s walk that rings the pitch of the shingled roof.
The windows are shuttered, and the garden beds surrounding the house have been left to go wild. The photo is dated 2019.
‘Have you gone out there to look at it yet?’ I ask.
‘Nope. You can’t see much from the street, and I couldn’t see the point of peering through the fence at the place if there was no chance of getting in there.’
I nod. ‘When was it built?’
‘The Westerns have maintained a house on that parcel of land for close to four hundred years. The original house burnt down. The one you’re looking at now was built in 1872.’
I click on another photo. This one looks to be older. The shutters on the windows are wide open and the garden beds are in full flower. This time the hairs on my arms stand up.
‘Brendin Western passed away seven years ago,’ Callum continues.
‘Died in the house. He was ninety-five. No one’s lived there since.
I spoke to Ola Hutchings at the East Mill Historical Society.
She said she’s happy to help, and that we’re welcome to go through their collection.
Unfortunately, they’re not online yet, though the process is underway.
We’re going to have to go old school, head out there and dig through their files, Mulder and Scully style. ’ He elbows me playfully.
‘Except we both believe,’ I say.
I’m studying an old grainy newspaper photo when something in the open attic window catches my eye.
I zoom in, squinting to see what it is. Suddenly it’s like the air is being squeezed from my lungs.
My throat tightens, and fear bubbles inside me as if I’m recalling a memory that isn’t mine. I press at my chest anxiously.
‘What’s happening?’ Callum moves in closer, his breath tickling my cheek. ‘Are you okay? What is it? Are you sensing something?’
The strange feeling vanishes as quickly as it began. I draw in a deep, easy breath.
‘Nothing,’ I say, dropping my hand to my lap.
‘That didn’t look like nothing. You sensed something.’ He grabs the mouse and zooms further into the photo.
‘I don’t sense things from photos. I’m not that kind of psychic.’ I snatch the mouse back and quickly close the image of the house.
I can feel him studying me, his eyes roaming my profile. I turn and face him, hoping he’ll look away. But he holds my gaze steady, his startling green eyes full of suspicion. Then he gives me a small shrug and rocks back in his chair, his focus finally off me.
I blow out a quiet breath. I’m not sure which was more disorientating, the weird sensation from the photo or the intensity of Callum’s stare.
‘Ghost photography is a real thing,’ he says.
‘Not that I’ve ever caught much on camera.
But I’ve seen photos that I believe are the real deal.
If the photo was taken when the spirit was present, could that be what you were sensing?
’ He folds his hands behind his head, his jacket falling open and his T-shirt riding up.
I blink at the glimpse of flat, pale stomach and the thin line of dark hair that runs from his belly button down beneath the waistband of his black jeans. I quickly turn away as my heart starts an annoying tap dance routine in my chest.
‘I said I didn’t sense anything. And… you can move now.’ I point across the desk.
‘Right. Sorry.’ He picks up his chair and plonks it, and himself, back opposite me. ‘So? What do you think?’
I scramble to gather my thoughts, which are split between the sensation I got from the photo and how annoyed I am at these stupid Callum feelings.
‘I think we should wait until Edward Western gets back to town and talk to him in person before we commit to anything.’
‘You said we. Does that mean you’re in?’
‘I never accept a job or even go to the property until I’ve met with the client.’
‘But this isn’t your job, it’s mine.’ He tilts his head.
‘Then why ask me the question? What is it you want from me?’
He stares, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I suddenly realise how that sounded. That’s not what I meant – or maybe it is. What is he hoping for here? Why, after nearly two years, has he reached out to me? Is it just this job, or is it…
Callum takes a deep breath, letting it go with a heavy sigh.
‘I… ah…’ He stops and clears his throat.
‘I believe in what I do. I believe the sounds on a spirit box and EMF readings can indicate a haunting. But they’re never going to be one hundred per cent.
You will be one hundred per cent, and you’ll be able to identify the ghost. This job is a big deal, and it’s been entrusted to me.
I need you there. I have to be sure, and you’ll know for sure.
If there really are ghosts there, you’ll see them.
’ He sighs again. ‘Look, I understand this is not your usual kind of gig, and it’s not how you usually work.
I also realise you might not want to team up with me again.
If that’s how you feel, that’s cool, just tell me and I’ll be on my way.
’ He pauses, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip, his gaze locked to mine. I stay silent.
‘How about this then,’ he says. ‘East Mill is only a few hours’ drive away.
Let’s go out there, interview the locals, check out the historical society and get eyes on the house.
Maybe you’ll see a ghost standing in the front yard and we can come straight back home again.
’ He shrugs, then adds, ‘I should probably mention the job is good money.’
I lean in. ‘Define good.’
He laughs. ‘I’m thinking maybe we see if we can get… 20k.’
‘So 10k each?’
‘Plus expenses covered.’
I’m sure my eyes go so wide they’re the size of my head. ‘Are you serious? That’s a lot of money.’
‘We’re worth it don’t you think? It could go towards paying off your condo. Get you closer to making that apartment your own.’ His brows lift. ‘What do you say, Holly? Aren’t you even a little tempted?’
I’ve never really done my job for the money; it’s more an unwanted calling.
That’s not to say I’m not paid and paid well.
I offer a specialist service, and my fee reflects that.
But that fee also depends on who’s being haunted.
I’m never going to turn someone away because they can’t afford me.
Pro bono ghost work happens more often than I’d like.
$10,000 is a lot of money for me, and it sure would help put a dent in what I owe Maggie.
I turn back to my laptop. Then there’s the Western house.
I study the photo again. Something tickles at the edges of my senses.
Something I shouldn’t be feeling. I see ghosts and I exorcise ghosts, which is weird enough.
But I don’t get strange vibes from photos, and I don’t have dreams with disembodied voices whispering my name, and I don’t know why, but I feel like those two things are connected.
With a slow breath out, I seek the feeling again.
It comes quickly – energy rippling across my skin, the sense that I know this house.
I must have seen it before; there’s no other answer.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m tired and stressed and the guy sitting opposite me is still giving me feels that are just plain irritating and I can’t get my bearings.
It’s like I’m being ganged up on by the universe. Am I tempted?
‘I tell you what,’ Callum says, not waiting for my answer. ‘How about we go get some breakfast right now? My treat. As I recall, you like to eat.’ I scowl and he laughs. ‘We can discuss the case some more and then hopefully with a full stomach, you’ll decide to come on board.’
‘Callum, are you bribing me with money and food?’
‘Maybe, or maybe I’m hoping you won’t be able to resist the lure of a spooky getaway with me.’ He grins.
I splutter out an incredulous laugh. ‘Spooky getaway? Really? In your dreams, Jefferies.’
‘My dreams aren’t usually that good, Daniels.’
He unfolds himself from his chair and shakes out his long legs. ‘I remember how surprised I was when Celeste first introduced us. You were nothing like I thought you’d be.’
I prickle. ‘Why, what did you think I’d be like?’
‘I dunno. More like the psychic from Poltergeist , and less—’
‘The eighties Poltergeist ? You thought I was going to be a four-foot, fifty-year-old woman?’
‘Possibly.’ His eyes tease. ‘But I was glad you weren’t. Though, I still think you should finish every job with…’ He throws out his arms and says, ‘This is house is clean,’ then grins. ‘You should do that.’
‘I doubt my traumatised clients would appreciate it.’
He shrugs and opens the door for me. ‘I’m glad I reached out to you about this job, and I’m glad you decided to answer. I wasn’t sure you would… after Celeste, and well, everything…’
‘I wasn’t sure I would either,’ I say. ‘To be honest, I’m still not sure why I did.’
He stares down at me, eyes narrowed, teeth jagging his bottom lip. Then he softens, and grins again. ‘Is it because you remembered I was irresistibly charming?’
I don’t answer. I just slip under his arm and out the door.