Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Oscar led the way down to the second floor. The uneasiness he’d felt about moving Robin along by force had grown to outright revulsion. Ethan was definitely up to something—the only question was whether or not he’d been following Montague’s orders.
For now, though, maybe they could at least usher Gloria along. With her hated father out of the house, they might have an easier time of it now.
The darker squares on the walls, including in the bedrooms, lent the house a more sinister cast now that he could picture the paintings that once hung there.
On the one hand, Montague was probably right, the decor had been typical of a place where a bunch of straight men congregated away from their wives.
But that didn’t make it feel less disturbing.
And Ullman had summoned his daughter into this atmosphere…
“That tickles!” the PolterPal squealed from one of the guest bedrooms.
“Um, didn’t we leave it out in the hall?” Chris asked. “You know, to let us know if Gloria was sneaking up on us while we were out on the veranda?”
Nigel swore.
The walkie-talkie at Oscar’s waist squawked with static, before Tina’s voice came over it. “Something just set off the PolterPal.”
He unclipped it and answered, “We heard it. Check the footage of the static cam on the second floor, because it’s moved from where we left it.”
“Damn it, Chris was right about that thing.”
“Vindication,” Chris said, but they didn’t seem happy about it.
A stiff breeze poured through the window of the bedroom where the PolterPal waited. It had fallen silent again; Oscar hoped that didn’t mean Gloria had left when they approached.
“How do you want to do this?” Nigel asked.
“Let’s put the EMF rope in a circle around the room. I’ll sit in front of the PolterPal and use the spirit box to try and communicate. Chris films, and you wait with salt ready to go if she turns violent.”
“And if she doesn’t want to leave?”
“Then we’ll try the Faraday tent.”
Nigel didn’t reply. Oscar understood his uncertainty—it felt as if things had gone badly sidewise tonight. Robin, Ethan, Montague and Lawson…
Oscar settled onto the floor once the EMF rope was in place. He took a deep breath and centered himself, then made sure his wards were firmly in place before speaking. “Gloria? Are you here? We’d like to talk to you.”
A creak came from the hall outside.
The hair on the back of his neck tried to stand up, and he took another calming breath. “Could you come in here? You can talk to us with this box. You did that before, remember?”
He turned on the spirit box, wincing at the burst of static. Nothing happened for a few seconds—then the EMF rope lit up near the door, its sensors adding their beeping to the dull roar of the box.
“Thank you, Gloria,” he said. “Is there anything you’d like to tell us? Just talk into the device in my hand like you did before.”
The air grew steadily colder, from the balmy warmth of a summer night to the crisp chill of late fall. “That tickles!” yelled the PolterPal, followed by “Will you be my friend?”
Gloria was close enough to set off the EMF reader in the PolterPal, then. “Your father is gone,” Oscar said, as gently as he could. He pictured a portal to the next world beside the PolterPal. “Your time here is done. Pass through the portal, and be at peace.”
“But you haven’t found the treasure,” said the spirit box. “I can tell you where to look.”
Damn it—not this again. “People have already looked. There is no treasure.”
“You have to look!”
A flicker caught his eye—the impression of a girl with blonde curls and a frilly dress, red ribbons in her hair. She stamped her foot, a child refusing to accept what she’s been told.
She might be a ghost, but she was still a kid. Maybe if he had some parenting experience, he’d know what to do. “Go through the portal, Gloria,” he said, putting as much firmness into the command as he could. As though he were sending her to her room.
The spirit box fell abruptly silent, the light on it winking out as its batteries were instantly drained. “No,” the PolterPal growled in a deep voice utterly unlike its normal recording. “You’re a bad man. You’re all bad!”
The doll’s eyes, which should have been affixed in its head, swiveled to look straight at him.
Chris yelped. Salt arced through the air as Nigel flung it, pelting the PolterPal and its surroundings.
That should have been the end of it. Instead, the PolterPal let out a deep, horrible laugh.
“THAT WON’T WORK ON ME.”