Chapter 2
two
. . .
Twelve Years Ago
To jump or to crawl? With my hands stationed on my hips, I stood before a chain-link fence contemplating how to bypass it.
Below the fence, there was a space big enough for me to crawl under, but that would inevitably lead to some pretty gnarly grass and dirt stains on my favorite jeans.
Though, one could argue that that was my bad for wearing my favorite jeans.
However, if I were to jump it, I could rip the jeans (or, you know, my body).
I tapped my fingers against my hips. Jumping led to a greater risk of landing on an ant hill or a pile of deer shit.
Crawling won. There was a better chance of removing the stains than flawlessly mending torn jeans. I crouched down, shoving my bag through the fence before I shimmied myself under, sucking in my stomach to make myself as small as possible.
I popped back up once I reached the other side and broke into a run through the woods. Darkness controlled the area, with one distant street lamp and the moon lighting my way.
“I’m so late,” I muttered to myself.
I promised I’d meet August at midnight, and it was now twenty minutes past. I was going to be on time—but I got caught by a major lecture from my mother that riled her up so much she didn’t go to bed until eleven (she was typically a ten o’clock-on-the-dot kind of lady).
After that, I had to wait until I was sure she was actually asleep before I snuck out.
I found the decaying cabin behind my cross-armed best friend. She wore jeans under a cropped black hoodie, with her dark hair separated into two French braids, hitting just below the shoulders. Her heart-shaped face was even and annoyed.
“Sorry!” I shouted before she could scold me. “I brought the camera.” I pulled it out of my bag and wiggled it in the air. It was an old handheld video camera that had been living in my kitchen cabinet for years. It still worked, it just used video cassettes instead of a SIM card.
August took the camera off my hands. “Did your mom hold you up?”
“Naturally.”
She examined the camera closely. “You’re sure the night vision works well?”
“Positive,” I said. “I used to use this to record raccoons in my backyard at night. Always worked very well.”
“Perfect.” She weighed the camera in her hand. “This’ll work. If we ever do this again, I should have a digital one. My parents said they would buy me a new camcorder for Christmas.” She pulled me into a hug, the scent of her Sweet Pea bodywash hitting my nose. “Thanks for coming, Lace.”
I hugged her back with a chuckle. “Are you kidding? This is going to be so fun. I’ve never ghost hunted before.”
The cabin we were at had multiple Reddit threads discussing how haunted it was.
One guy even claimed that he entered it one evening, was in there for five minutes max, but it was daylight when he exited—and three days later.
August said that story was probably bullshit, but the ones claiming sightings of apparitions, unexplained cold spots, and whispering voices were likely real.
She knew more about this subject matter than I did, as she spent a lot of her time watching YouTube videos and reading books and online articles about ghosts, hauntings, and the occult.
She guided me inside the cabin and handed me a flashlight.
My nose wrinkled at the overwhelming smell of mildew as I swept my light around the room.
It was surprisingly well structured for an abandoned cabin in the woods.
From the outside, it appeared ready to collapse, but the inside seemed solid.
Dusty, dirty, and filled with bugs galore, but solid. And smelly.
I swung the light back to August to find her staring at me, icy blue eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked.
“What’s that bruise from?”
“Bruise?” I repeated innocently.
The beam of her flashlight hit my face, making me squint, before she pulled it away. “The massive one on your chin.”
I blinked in an attempt to regain the sight she stole from me.
“Oh. That.” My fingers went to the bruise involuntarily.
“Brittany Anderson tripped me today. I was walking down the hall with my hands full, and she stuck her foot out.” I lightly tapped the bruise.
“This is from my American History textbook.”
August pursed her lips. “Brittany Anderson is such a bully.”
I corrected, “She’s a bitch.” I grimaced before I told her what happened next. “I was pissed off, obviously, so at lunch I went out planning to slash her car tires. The vice principal caught me with my dad’s pocket knife against the tire before I could pierce it.”
August’s shoulders slumped. “That’s why you weren’t at lunch? Ugh, you know that is not how you’re supposed to solve your problems. It’s better than using your fists, but—”
Cutting her off, I said, “I know, I know. And, well, I’ve been suspended for a week, which, weirdly enough, my mom was not too jazzed about.”
“Suspended? Lace…”
My head hung. “It was a bad idea. I know.”
August toyed with one of her braids. She was never one to tell me not to act the way I acted, but she often liked to suggest that I learn to take my anger out in more constructive ways. Like sports, crafting, or interpretive dance. None of those were good suggestions.
I learned to control the anger, a little, but still desired to solve problems in ways I found more constructive.
Often somewhat violent ways. It was what I used to do back in elementary school.
And in early middle school. And, okay, I punched this guy freshman year because he grabbed August’s ass at a party.
However, I’d moved past that. I knew how to handle my anger, and it was not with hostility.
It was by shoving it all down deep and letting it tear away at my insides until I couldn’t stand it anymore and exploded.
And, well, when I was tripped, the fuse was lit.
“It’s only one week,” I assured her. “Anyway, aren’t we here to search for some evil spirits?” I switched on the camera and pointed it at her face, making an, “Ooooo,” sound.
She shoved the camera away with a smile. “Not evil spirits. Just normal spirits.” August knelt on the ground to search through her bag. I pointed the camera back at her as she pulled out several candles, setting them down in a line before herself.
Without her having to ask, I tossed her the silver lighter always in my pocket. It wasn’t for personal use. The lighter was my dad’s, and I liked to keep it on me. A reminder of what killed him, in a sense. Lung cancer. Too many cigarettes. Whatever you wanted to blame.
She lit the candles one by one.
“Calling on anyone dead,” I prodded, scanning the room like I was expecting Patrick Swayze to pop out and say hello.
“Shush,” August scolded. “Be nice to them. Watch me.”
I walked around her so I could focus the camera on her face.
“Hi,” she started. “My name is August. Is there anyone here with us right now?”
I held my breath to make it easier to hear the slightest of sounds—but nothing happened. “Damn,” I said.
“Don’t give up,” she urged before she tried again. “If anyone is here, I’d love to talk.”
Still nothing. I sat cross-legged opposite her, letting the camera in my hand loll to the side. I picked up one of the candles, holding it close so it illuminated my face, creating long shadows with my features. “Oooo,” I said again.
August rolled her eyes. “We can try a different room.”
She went to stand but paused halfway when the candle I held went dark.
“Why’d you blow that out?”
I stared at the candle, smoke spilling from the burnt wick. “I didn’t.” It was just a breeze, I was sure.
August grinned widely, the candlelight making her excited and sweet grin almost terrifying. She sat back down and took the candle from my hand, relighting it with the lighter. “Is someone here right now?”
The candle blew out again. I couldn’t control my gasp. Holy shit.
August was vibrating with giddy excitement as she separated her candles into two groups.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d love to chat with you, if that’s cool.
We can use the candles. This group”—she pointed at the candles on her right—“can be yes. And this group”—she pointed to the left— “can be no. Sound good?”
The candles on her right went dark with a woosh of air, which made a soft yelp exit my throat.
Yes.
August went on asking questions for another thirty minutes before the ghost stopped responding. I got everything on film. Though the footage would likely be unsteady since I was shaking the entire time.
Ghosts were real. My entire worldview was shifted. August had always believed in ghosts, but now I couldn’t deny their existence either.
“We could post this to YouTube,” I proposed as we left the cabin. “If I can figure out how to convert this to a digital video.”
“Yes!” August exclaimed, hooking her arm through mine. “You’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to do that since you’re suspended for a whole week.”
I bumped her thigh with my hip—her hip unreachable by the five inches of height that separated us. “Well, I already have an idea for the channel name. ParanormalAugust.”
“Why not ParanormalAugustandLacy?”
“You’re the lead,” I said. “I’ll be your camera woman.”