Chapter 11
eleven
AUTUMN
Lydia: You sure you’re okay with Zeke filming this thing at your place?
Autumn: Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?
Lydia: I don’t know… Just… you know how he is.
Autumn: It’s gonna be fine. He knows not to mess with me.
Lydia: Okay…
The doorbell rings at exactly eight o’clock.
As I open the door and see Zeke standing there, a tripod under one arm and a camera around his neck, I feel a little nervous.
I’ve been telling myself it’s because we’re about to meddle with whatever spirit’s been roaming around my house, but I think there’s something else to it.
Something more to do with Zeke.
Because when he strides into my house, looking up and down the halls like he owns the place, and drops his stuff in a heap on the kitchen island, my stomach’s doing little flips.
I keep thinking back to the last time Zeke was inside my house—that night he came to my door with his hair all sexed-up and his forearm leaning on the doorframe, brazen and completely irreverent.
If you’d told me that night that in less than a week I’d be going naked swimming with that kid, I’d have laughed in your face.
But here we are.
And I’ve got to knock it off. There’s a ghost in my house, and I need to be present.
“You good with the living room?”
I snap to attention, my thoughts jerking back to Zeke as he unpacks his camera. “Huh?”
He grins, fiddling with the camera lens. “Get your mind out of the gutter, hot stuff. I’m clothed, and we’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, please. You wish my mind was in the gutter,” I say, one hundred percent aware of how totally lame I sound.
He eyes me, a sly smile on his lips. “You’re not wrong there. Anyway—living room?”
“Actually…” I begin, suddenly aware that this is—I don’t know—kind of serious?
I’ve never been on a ghost hunt, if that’s what you call this.
I don’t know anything about how this stuff works, but if we’re going to make contact with a ghost, I want to be dialed in.
I want to make this count. “Most of the activity I’ve been hearing has been from the upstairs guest room. ”
Zeke cocks his head. “Guest room, huh? Alright, let’s check it out. Lead the way.”
As he follows me up the stairs, I’m annoyed to find myself wondering if he’s staring at my ass. I mean, this is Zeke Holloway we’re talking about—of course he’s staring at my ass. I’m just annoyed at myself for kind of hoping he likes what he sees.
“Meh,” Zeke says, surveying the guest room. “Not as cool as the living room. That fireplace is kick ass, man. Let’s film down there.”
“But what if the ghost doesn’t show up down there?”
Zeke throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, she’ll show up. I can already hear her whispering—yes, her—so she will def come around as soon as we ask to make contact. I’m honestly a little surprised I haven’t caught a glimpse of her yet.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “How does that work? Like, I figured you could see ghosts—not just kiss or fuck or whatever you do with them on camera—but are they just like, floating around all the time?”
“Yes and no.” Zeke rubs his jaw. “For me, they show up when they want to. Some ghosts love attention and want to be seen all the time, so they’ll show up for me almost constantly.
Which honestly gets old. There’s this one that hangs around by the post office, for example, who I figured out always wants me to compliment her freaking shoes.
Like, how many times do I have to say, ‘Your heels look dope, lady!’”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, because I’m pretty sure Zeke is dead serious right now. And even though it sounds funny to an outsider—to someone who can’t see any of the stuff he sees—it probably does get old.
“Well, can’t you just ask her why she’s so hung up on her shoes? Maybe there’s some underlying thing you could help her with.”
Zeke sighs. “Yeah, so that’s the other thing.
I can’t talk to ‘em. I mean, I can talk to them, but they don’t speak out loud—they only do this whispery thing to let me know they’re there.
And I didn’t get whatever gene it is that lets you hear their voices in your head. Blessing and a curse, I guess.”
“Wait, so can Will do that?”
“Nope.” Zeke looks smug. “Neither can Phoebe. We can all four see them, but only Benji can hear them. He’s the chosen one.” He brings his palms together in mock prayer position, rolls his blue eyes upwards.
“Really? Why him?”
“Now, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Zeke’s eyes glimmer. “But really—we have no clue. Just how it worked out.”
“Interesting,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “But… if you can’t talk to the ghosts, how do you plan on ‘making contact’ here, as you put it?”
Zeke waves a hand. “Oh, there are plenty of ways around it. It’s just annoying is all.
Like, Phoebe’s super good with tarot cards, so she likes to communicate with them through that.
I brought a spirit board—yes, a ouija board, don’t get your pretty panties in a bunch, it’s fine as long as you’re with me—a spirit box, and a pendulum. We can use whatever.”
“Well, okay,” I say, gesturing around the living room. “Do your thing.”
Zeke shoots me a suggestive smile. “I’ll remember you said that.”
Zeke sets up his tripod and ring light in the corner of the living room, fixing his camera to the top and angling it so that it gets most of the room.
He shoves what he calls a spirit box into his pocket, and affixes a light to his phone camera.
I was always under the impression that ghost hunters needed a lot of equipment, but when I ask about it, Zeke scoffs.
“That’s for people who can’t see ghosts,” he says. “And I like to keep things simple. But of course, if I get the deal with SyFy, you better believe I’ll say yes to whatever fancy ass equipment they want to shove my way.”
He waves me toward the front door.
“I’m gonna start outside on the front step with the selfie cam, explaining where I’m at, what I’m here for, all that jazz.
When you open the door, I’ll flip the camera to you and you can say hi, and then we’ll do a little walkthrough and head to the living room.
I’ll keep the tripod camera running the whole time so we can capture any activity in the room, but you and I will mainly talk to the phone cam. Got it?”
As per Zeke’s instructions, I wait inside while he goes out to the front step.
From my spot just inside the door, I can see him through the glazed windows, grinning like a fool and talking to himself.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s clearly invested in this, and I kind of love it.
When he rings the doorbell, I play along, inviting him inside, giving the camera a toss of my hair.
If I have to be in this, too, I may as well look good.
“So, over there is the kitchen,” I say, pointing to the opposite side of the foyer.
“And over here’s the living room.” I stride in front of Zeke, leading him down the hall and turning back to the camera to give my commentary.
“We’ve also heard—we being my ex-husband and I—some activity coming from upstairs, which makes sense because I know my ex’s family had servants at one time who lived up there. Like, a century ago or something.”
“Oh, yeah? Tell me more about that,” Zeke says.
I shrug. “I don’t know many details. I just know they’ve always been wealthy, and at one point they had a dedicated house staff. I think maybe a cook and a maid? Maybe a groundskeeper, too.”
“About when would you say this was?”
“Oh, I don’t know… Late 1800s? Early 1900s?”
I’m impressed by Zeke’s investigative thoroughness. I kind of just assumed he’d come rolling in here with his phone, throw a ouija board on the floor, and start raving about some ghost girl’s tits. But no, he’s taking this seriously. I’ve got to give him credit.
“You know any names?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think my former in-laws were very concerned with the history of non-family members.”
“Checks out,” Zeke says, shooting me a half smile.
He props his phone up on the sofa, waves at me to bring a pair of candlesticks from the mantel, and spreads out what I assume must be the spirit board onto the coffee table.
I talked Lydia into using one in college—she ran screaming from the room when the boys next door started pounding on the wall, if I remember correctly—but that’s the only time I’ve ever used one.
I’m intrigued, but also a tiny bit scared.
“It’s okay,” Zeke says, as though reading my mind. “I mean, don’t use it without me, but it’s just a tool. I’d have been able to feel it by now if whatever’s here was some kind of demon.”
“Wow, how comforting,” I say drily.
Zeke shrugs. He lights the candles, then crosses the room to flick off the lights.
The sky outside is almost black, with only the tiniest sliver of moonlight falling across the floor.
Zeke takes a seat on the floor next to the coffee table, and I follow his lead, sitting across from him.
The glow of his face in the candlelight is eerie, but his chiseled features are no less attractive.
“My brother would say we have to do an opening meditation,” Zeke says, his voice a little quieter, a little more reverent now that we’re in the dark. “But I don’t mess around with that shit. Autumn, get your hands up here.”
Zeke’s fingers are already on the planchette.
Gingerly, I place my own across from his, aware of every single point they’re touching at.
I force myself to focus. Keep my mind on the task at hand.
Not only are we contacting a ghost, we’re doing it on camera.
This is not the time to be daydreaming about Zeke’s long, probably capable fingers. God.
Also, he’s twenty-three. That’s still a thing.
“Yo,” Zeke calls out into the darkness. I stifle a laugh, trying hard to remain still. “There’s somebody here. I can feel you. You wanna come out and say what’s up?”
We sit in silence. The house is still. Somewhere outside I hear the faint hoot of an owl, but here in the room, there’s nothing. Just us breathing. Zeke’s eyes move. He turns to look at something between us, and a grin spreads across his face.
“Theeeeeere you are,” he drawls, seemingly to no one. “I knew you’d come around. And—oh, wow. I was right. You are a looker.” He turns to me, like it’s an aside to some audience. “I can always tell. The vibes are either hot or not.”
I sniff. “So you’d already clocked this one as a bombshell, huh?”
“Babe, I clocked two bombshells the second I came through that door.”
“You remember we’re on camera, right?”
“Absolutely, I do.”
I roll my eyes, hoping the camera picks it up. Zeke’s laying it on thick, and I don’t want whoever ends up seeing this clip to think I’m in on the cringey shit, too.
Across from me, I see Zeke shiver. For a second, the muscles in his jaw flex and his eyes flutter shut. His fingers are still on the planchette, but his breaths have deepened, and he seems… I don’t know. Relaxed, but weirdly fidgety.
“Zeke… Are you okay?”
Zeke draws a deep breath in, then lets it shakily out. “Yeah, I’m—I’m good. It’s just… This ghost… she’s kind of handsy.”
The realization of what he’s saying hits me—he’s sitting across from me on the floor right now, while some hot ghost runs her ethereal hands all over him.
Suddenly alert, I squint through the darkness, straining to see.
And as I do, I notice that the fabric of Zeke’s t-shirt is rumpling and smoothing in circular little waves as though an invisible hand is gliding along his chest. As I watch, the hem of his shirt lifts for a moment, baring tight, smooth skin beneath, and then as soon as it falls, Zeke’s hair begins to ruffle backwards.
“Is she running her hands through your hair?” I whisper. I knew this was going to be weird, but I can hardly believe what the hell I’m seeing.
“Mmhmm,” Zeke says, letting his head drop backwards. The flickering flames of the candles are casting long, dancing shadows on the column of his neck, and although all this feels voyeuristic, I’ve also realized… it’s hot as hell.
Zeke groans. I watch as his head drops to one side and his chin slowly rises, like someone has their hand beneath it and is guiding him to look upwards.
His eyes hover on something I can’t see, and then slowly, slowly, his gaze slides to a point between us, something above the table. Only then do his eyes drop to mine.
Zeke looks at me through the flickering glow of the candles. A tiny smile plays at his mouth, and I feel his fingertips stroking mine, our hands still resting on the planchette. I realize we haven’t even asked a single question.
“Did she leave?” I ask. My fingers feel like an electric current’s running through them, so aware am I of Zeke’s touch.
Zeke shakes his head. He grins. “Nah, but I think she wants to tell us something.”