Chapter 1
one
. . .
Present Day
“Is there anyone here with me right now?”
I sit alone on a cold and creaky hardwood floor with an unlit flashlight placed before me. My video camera is set up on a tripod in a corner of the pitch-dark room, lens pointing in my direction. Multiple devices surround me on the ground, recording the quiet.
Silence answers, but I don’t let this deter me.
If I expected a response to every question, I would have given up this gig years ago.
I’m alone in an abandoned house—that I’m technically trespassing in—on the edge of town.
It’s fine. I’ve been doing this for years, and my 150k subscriber count is proof I’m good at it.
“It,” of course, is ghost hunting and not getting caught.
I try again. “How rude of me, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Lacy. I’d like to chat. Is there anyone here right now?”
Still nothing, but I keep talking.
“I brought this flashlight with me to help us communicate. If you tap it like this”—I reach forward and tap the head of the silver flashlight with my pointer finger, and light shoots out before quickly extinguishing—“you can turn it on. So, if I ask a question, you can hit it once for yes, twice for no.” I tap the light twice to demonstrate.
The light flashes with each tap. “Understand? So, now that we know how to chat, I’m going to ask my question again.
Remember, once for yes, twice for no. Is there someone here with me right now? ”
I wait for a beat. Then two. I stare at the unlit flashlight, holding my breath, my body inching toward it subconsciously.
A loud buzzing interrupts the stillness, sending my heart shooting straight from my chest. I snip a silent swear as I decline the phone call that is interrupting my recording.
Good thing I have my EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) recorder going as well.
As I press ignore, I note the caller was my older sister, Meggie. Dammit.
As expected, she immediately phones back. I should have guessed this late-night caller was her. She sleeps approximately never.
With a groan, I bend forward so that my forehead nearly touches the ground, then pop back up to a normal crossed-legged seat. It’s not like I was getting anything from the ghosts, anyway.
I answer flatly, “Yes?”
“Where the hell are you?” Meggie shoots back.
“Trumbull.”
I can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are you ghost hunting again?”
She knows the answer is yes. I’ve been doing this as a solo act for four years, filming myself communicating with spirits who are stuck in our world and posting the videos online.
This originally was something I did with my best friend August back in high school.
She no longer participates, but I kept our screenname: ParanormalAugust.
My flat tone stays intact. “I’m investigating paranormal activity, yes.”
“There are better things you could do online for clout. Dance to some trend or start an OnlyFans. Something not illegal. Breaking and entering is illegal.”
She’s technically not wrong, but I never specify my location in the videos beyond the state if I’m there without permission.
Also, if I’m inside a building, I make it hard to guess where it is by never showing the outside.
And people have started inviting me to investigate their homes and businesses and such totally legally, which could make me a bit more legit.
I don’t explain any of this to Meggie, however.
Instead, I exhale an offended huff. “I’m not doing this for ‘clout.’ I’m giving lonely ghosts someone to talk to for the night. I’m helping them.”
“Helping them?” she repeats skeptically—like we haven’t had this exact conversation before.
“Yeah, like, I’m being friendly, showing them the world hasn’t abandoned them and knows that they’re stuck here. That someone cares about them. I’m not trying to exploit the spirits for my own ego like those TV shows do.”
“Were Jason and Grant Ghost Adventurers or Ghost Hunters?”
“Ghost Hunters.”
“I always liked Ghost Hunters. It didn’t feel exploit-y, at least in the beginning. Jason was my favorite.”
I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time. “Megs, it’s two a.m. Why are you calling me, besides to chat about paranormal reality shows while I’m clearly busy?”
“Because I checked your location and saw you were in Trumbull. Are you allowed to be in whatever space you’re investigating?”
And we’re back on that.
“The ghosts don’t seem too pressed about it.” Yet, I finish in my head. Even if the ghosts aren’t talking to me, I’m sure they’re here. My EMF detector lit up like a Christmas tree when I entered this room, sensing either spirits or electromagnetic fields.
She clicks her tongue. “Lace, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this YouTube channel—”
I dip forward with another groan. In one ear and out the other with her, I swear. I cut Meggie off. “A YouTube channel. That’s what I’m trying to accomplish. Making content. Meeting ghosts. Talking to them and helping them feel less lonely.”
Additionally, there’s this competition I’d like to enter.
I’ve been successful since my re-entry into this world.
Successful enough to have a chance at winning a contest hosted by a minor streaming company.
The best entry is awarded a pilot for their own reality paranormal investigation TV show.
A show sponsored by a network would give me more resources and better methods to assist the spirits.
And I could travel—be the one to leave for once, rather than the one who is left.
Lately, I’ve been visiting more haunts than usual, trying to capture elite footage for my entry.
I’ve had moderate success—with a random knock here, a shuffle there, footsteps up the stairs, or flickering lights.
During my investigation a few days prior, I even felt a ghost poke me.
However, none of these are winners. The big winner would be an apparition, but I’ve never seen one with my own eyes.
Sure, I’ve caught shadows on camera, but it’s not enough. Not for this.
“This isn’t going to get her back.”
My attention snaps back to my sister. “She’s not why I do this.” Not the sole reason, anyhow. I close my eyes, dragging a hand down my face. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“Just”—Meggie huffs a sigh—“be safe.”
Honestly, I’m unsure if Meggie is more worried about me getting hurt or getting arrested. Neither have happened. Yet.
“I always am.”
“And call me tomorrow? You spend too much time alone.”
“I like being alone.” Being alone is easier.
“Sure. We’ll go with that.” Her tongue clicks again. “Talk tomorrow, Lace?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” I resign.
I set the recorder back up on my phone after the call ends. Refocusing, I stare at the flashlight, ready to try my question once more before moving to another room.
“Is there anyone here with me right now?”
The light flashes once, making me jolt. I nearly yip in excitement, but I keep my cool because, hey, I am a professional.
Despite that, my heart is pounding in my throat. With my voice forcibly steady, I say, “Hi there. Do you live in this house?”
Near instantly, the light flashes again.
I resist the urge to dance in my seat. Fuck, yes. We have company. “Is it all right that I’m here with you?”
The light flashes again. Just once, thankfully.
It hasn’t happened often, but when a ghost is not happy to see me, it’s best I get out of their hair.
They can’t hurt anyone living, but they can make things unpleasantly creepy.
I’ve been touched a few times by ghosts, but nothing aggressive enough to cause harm.
“Thank you. Now, I was doing some research on your house before I came over and found that a few family members died of carbon monoxide poisoning in 1956. Does that sound familiar to you?”
The light flashes twice. No.
Hmm, well, it’s not uncommon for a ghost to have no recollection of their own death. I’ll move away from that subject.
“That’s all right. I’m sorry if anything I said upset you.”
The light flashes twice again. I’ll assume it means that I didn’t upset them, not that they’re unaccepting of my apology.
“Are you Richard McCall?”
The light flashes twice.
“Alice McCall?” I try.
Once.
Thank god. Four members of a family of six died that tragic night—the parents, Richard and Alice, and two of their children, Richard Jr., otherwise known as Richie, and Robert.
Kid ghosts are…a lot. Too much, even. My heart crumbles when I find them, and it’s so hard to leave them alone when I do eventually have to leave.
“Alice,” I confirm gently. “It’s lovely to meet you. You have a nice home.”
I’m lying through my teeth. White paint is peeling from the window frames, the floors are uneven and likely riddled with termites, and the walls have questionable stains covering them that are hopefully smoke and water damage.
It’s been vacant since 1956. Reports of unstable electricity, near-constant cold drafts, odd noises, and bad smells have been successful at keeping any potential residents away.
I’d wager a guess and say Alice here is the source of that.
“Is there anyone else with you, Alice?”
The light flashes twice. She’s alone.
I frown. One thing I have been unable to figure out in this business is how to help spirits move on.
Not my expertise, unfortunately. I can find them and communicate with them, like how I am now, but I’m not a medium or a psychic, so the flashlight acts as my translator.
There’s a possibility I’ll be able to pick up on a voice once I watch and listen to my recordings, but that may be the best I get.
Out of every investigation I’ve done, I’ve only heard one voice in real time. However, it was indiscernible until I listened to my audio footage later. They said, “Go.” Or maybe, “Whoa.” Or, “Low.” Or potentially, “Yo.”
I continue my conversation with the spirit. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry you’re alone, Alice. I was wondering if you—”
The light flashes.
Hmm. Is she saying thank you?
“Sorry, Alice, I’m not sure what you’re saying yes to.”
The light flashes once again. Is she tapping it by accident?
“Sorry, I really am not sure—”
The light flashes again. I wonder…
“Are you saying someone else is here?”
One flash.
“Who? Your husband?”
Two flashes.
My breath hitches. “One of your children?”
Two flashes.
“A friend?”
Two flashes.
Well, that’s not creepy. Okay. Maybe she misinterpreted the word friend?
“Someone nice?”
Two flashes.
I force myself to take a deep breath. “Someone not so nice?”
One flash.
Shit. “Alice, should I leave?”
Nothing.
“Alice, are you still there?”
Nothing.
Air rattles from my chest. With my voice much quieter than I intend, I ask, “Is there anyone else here with me? I’m happy to speak with you, too.”
Nothing.
“Alice, are you trying to scare me? It’s okay if you are—I’m invading your space.”
Nothing.
Yep. Okay. That’s enough for this room. I slip my phone into my back pocket as I stand and grab the flashlight, turning it fully on to guide myself to where my camera and tripod are set up. I retrieve the camera and hold it in front of myself with a trembling hand as I slip the tripod under my arm.
In case she’s still here, I add, “Thanks for letting me visit, Alice.”
This is not the first time a spirit has told me someone evil is lurking in the shadows. Every time before, it’s turned out to be nothing. I figure they’re trying to get rid of me, and I’m more than willing to take the hint.
I continue roaming the house, aiming my camera ahead and poorly trying to keep my hand steady.
Surely, the trembling is from the cold. It’s a frigid spring evening, and abandoned houses don’t come with heaters.
I’m wearing my standard black fingerless gloves and a T-shirt with a long black coat over it, but goosebumps still prickle my skin. I’m not scared—just freezing.
I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, right?
Then I nearly jump out of my bones when a mysterious creak sounds from my right.
I square my shoulders. This is an old house—there are a lot of mysterious creaks going on.
Like I said, ghosts can’t hurt you. I mean, I’ve heard other professionals say they’ve been tripped or pushed, but as long as you’re not on the stairs or too close to a window or balcony, you’re safe.
Another creak makes me whirl around, pointing my camera in the direction of the darkness. Silence rings out as I aim the lens for a bit longer, knowing there could be something—or someone—there that I cannot see.
Before I continue my house tour, my focus lingers on the old Canon camcorder I inherited from August. It works, and that’s what matters.
I have one other handheld camera that I like to keep stationed in the rooms I’m not in—right now, it’s in the basement.
To keep paying for my editing software, these two cameras are all I can afford.
If I had a bigger budget, I’d be able to buy some nicer cameras, even a thermal camera so I could catch spirits that the regular cameras can’t detect.
Spirits emit energy, which means thermal cameras can find them by detecting temperature fluctuations caused by their presence.
I’m saving up for a high-quality thermal camera and should have enough by the end of this month or the next.
The dream for many cameras is still far off.
I move through the rest of the house, setting up my camera and tripod and trying to communicate with any other potential spirits lurking about.
No hits for the rest of the night. It’s fine.
I’m pleased with what I got with Alice. I can’t wait to get home and go over my footage to see if anything was picked up that I didn’t catch in real time.
If Alice’s voice is on video with—fingers crossed—any shadow that could be argued as her, tonight’s video will be the one I submit for the contest.
An extended yawn is my signal to wrap this up.
It’s four a.m., and I’ve been here since midnight.
I stop the recordings, make sure I have everything I came here with (cameras, EVP recorder, EMF detector, phone, flashlight, tripod, car keys), then go to sneak myself back out the window I crawled through to get in here.
I pull the frame back up, trying to avoid potential splinters, and stretch through the window to place my bag of equipment on the ground before climbing through the window myself.
I swing one foot over the ledge and am about to swing the other to meet it when something slams into me.
Hard. I’m propelled backward into the house, my head hitting the solid floor with a deafening crack.