Chapter 3
Kendyll
(Present Day)
I MANAGED TO OPEN MY groggy eyes by sheer willpower alone, only to have them assaulted by a black mass. My entire body felt heavy with sleep, and now my face was being smothered with the ethereal presence of a ghost cat and his incessant yet intangible kisses.
“Good morning to you, too, Catsper,” I croaked, my voice hoarse with exhaustion.
The one-eyed black feline purred happily in response and floated off of me.
One milky green eye peered at me from his round and fluffy face, and both of his ears twitched, including the one that was torn in half.
I sometimes wondered how the cat had died and if his missing body parts were a result of his passing or from prior to his death, but the only response I got when I asked him was either meow or meow. So I was left to speculate.
I blindly searched the nightstand for my phone, and when I saw no new messages or calls, my throat nearly closed up.
With shaky hands, I tried dialing my brother’s number.
Each ring and pause between them was like the ticking down on an ensuing explosion.
When the other line clicked, followed by the prompt to leave my voice message, that bomb detonated with a painful blast. I squeezed my eyes shut and tossed the phone away without leaving a message.
I wasn’t sure how many days or weeks had passed since we last spoke. He hadn’t reached out to me or answered any of my attempts to get ahold of him. Not since that day. It should’ve been the best day of his life. After all, it was his wedding day.
But I ruined it.
I knew he blamed me. How could he not? My heart threatened to break every time I thought about that day and the events that occurred. If only I had stayed in my stupid room. If only I hadn’t followed him. If only I …
Blowing out a puff of air that carried the horrid tangle of emotions with it, I threw off my blankets. I wanted to snuggle deeper into the cheap hotel bedding, but rotting in bed wasn’t why I was back in this once wealthy yet small town.
I took a rather slow shower and got dressed, all while focusing my senses on the hotel room around me.
Other than my long-time ghost cat companion, I hadn’t seen or heard any spirits here.
Though, I still felt a slight presence that didn’t belong to Catsper.
Each time I’d tried to find the source, the feeling receded like someone slipping around a corner before I could catch them.
As I put my glasses on and stepped into my jeans and purple turtleneck, that subtle yet elusive feeling of a nearby otherworldly being tingled the back of my neck.
I turned around to see if the presence had finally wandered close enough for me to catch sight of them, but the feeling vanished before I saw anyone.
“You don’t have to be scared,” I told whatever ghost or entity kept coming close only to disappear.
I wasn’t sure if they kept running out of energy, causing them to fade quickly, or if they’d simply gone too far to hear me. In case they could hear me, I wanted to make sure they knew they were safe talking to me.
Ever since I started seeing ghosts and demons as a little girl, I’d hardly ever met any that purposefully avoided being seen or spoken to. There was only one time in my life where ghosts actively hid from me, and I never found out why.
“I might find out why soon if they’re still there,” I murmured to myself, looking at my open laptop on the motel room’s desk.
The email from my employer—or as I liked to think of her, my scheming owner—was still open. I’d reread Bethelma’s email once this morning, and I sat down at the desk now to read it again.
From: Bethelma (bethelmathemedium@)
To: Kendyll (kendyllcartwright@)
Kendyll,
I have three months set aside in your schedule so that you can investigate my new haunted property.
I’ve been told service is practically non-existent up there, so don’t bother reaching out to update me on the progress.
Type up all of your findings and evidence gathered into one of your usual reports like what you do for the TV show. Don’t forget to take photos and videos!
Three months should be plenty of time for you to establish what’s going on with the alleged haunting of the place.
If it’s as bad as rumors say, try to learn all of the lingering spirits’ names, stories, etc.
Try to build a rapport with them so that they’ll be cooperative with any future televised investigations I do there for Haunted Days and Nightmares or even for when I let other ghost hunters book the place to investigate.
If the place doesn’t have a spooky atmosphere or lacks good haunts, stage it with a foreboding ambience, fake history, and hidden devices that I can use to make it appear haunted. This will be a great money maker for me, ghosts or no ghosts. People love a good haunted hospital.
Information on the building (codes to get in, facilities that still have power, and other general information about the building’s condition) will be in the attachment from the previous property manager below.
Talk in three months.
-Bethelma the Illustrious, the Voice of Souls, and the Giver of Tranquility
I scoffed. Bethelma the con artist was a far more appropriate name for the old woman who’d tricked a younger and more naive version of me into working for her.
My dumbass had shown off my real gift of communicating with the dead to the woman who pretended at it.
Instead of being embarrassed as I’d hoped, she’d been like a predator who scented blood.
I’d had nowhere to go back then, so when she offered me an opportunity to make money and have a place to stay by working for her, I’d signed her contract without truly understanding what I’d agreed to.
Now I worked for the fraud who used my abilities as her own on the television show we worked on, Haunted Days and Nightmares.
She was the world’s most famous medium because of me.
Her knowledge was my knowledge; her evidence was my evidence.
Her wealth only stood to grow once I completed this investigation of her new haunted property.
A property I’d been to before and had never wanted to return to.
But putting off this job would just draw out the inevitable. I’d faced worse than an empty abandoned building. I’d faced the very epitome of evil given human form and survived. I could stay at this location for three months and make it out alive.
With my belongings packed, I smiled at my transparent black cat. “Are you ready to go?”
After meowing in response, he vanished, most likely to gather energy from people in the town, while I loaded my bags into the car.
The drive through the quiet streets made me clench the steering wheel tightly.
I hated this town and all the memories and emotions that came with being here.
It was the setting of my hellish childhood, the place where I’d been gawked at as a crazy freak.
My being able to see the dead unnerved people. The ability made me seem like a mental case that needed professional observation and medical intervention, which was part of the reason I got sent to the place I drove to now.
“You’re not being locked away again,” I told myself as I turned into the long driveway.
Trees with gold and brown leaves lined the uneven stretch of pavement.
The towering foliage created a separation from the town I’d just left, and as I careened the car down that stretch of road, my stomach sank further and further.
I brought the vehicle to a stop right outside of the closed metal gate that shut out the outside world from the now abandoned building within.
I got out of the car and rounded it to stare up at the name engraved upon the dirty sign.
Mountview Psychiatric Hospital.
Beyond the closed metal gates, the towering building stood with dark windows spanning the front.
Those cold panes felt odd, hinting at the lack of life within the once full institution.
The hospital had closed quickly after budget cuts and “suspicious unexplained activity.” Whatever that meant. I hoped to find out while I was here.
An anxious shiver made me wrap my arms around myself.
The memory of being brought here as a little girl was suddenly fresh in my mind.
My small hand clutched within a larger one, the confusion swarming my mind as I tried to understand why I was being given new clothes to change into and a new room to call my own.
And yet, being a patient here was still better than being at home.
I swallowed hard against the emotions that tried flooding me alongside the memories.
But I couldn’t stop all of them, especially not the later ones that concerned a different man.
The man who’d helped me escape from this place, the person I’d stood with in front of these very gates on a day so long ago.
Though, calling him a man wasn’t right. He was no man. He wasn’t even human.