Slattery Falls Page 7

  “Yes. Me too.”

  “So,” continued Josh, “my theory is that if we had a considerable amount of time and resources, we would likely find more tentative connections. Do you know how far Waterbury is from Slattery Falls? About ninety miles. With that in mind, Weeks could affect most of New England. At minimum.”

  “That’s speculation, though. You went to school for science, animal science granted, but how are you suddenly going to throw the need for proof, for evidence, right out the window?” I asked. “That’s not like you at all. We don’t even definitively know that we can link all the people in Slattery Falls who went missing to Weeks.”

  “What’s your gut feeling?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It does though.” Elsie this time. She dropped her gaze before going on. “It sounds like Josh is in, and even if he wasn’t, I’m going. Fuck it, I’ll go alone if I have to, Travis. I think you know we have to, and you’re just scared, that’s fine. I’m petrified. Josh?”

  “Scared shitless, and yeah, I’m going too.”

  “Christ.” I pulled at my hair and paced the room. “You fucking two. You know goddamn well I’m not going to let you go alone. And yes, I’m scared. Know what of? We don’t have a fucking plan. We know how to break into a house with minimal security and walk around with flashlights. What we don’t know, is the first thing about stopping an evil entity that’s been around for over a century. Thoughts, anyone?”

  Neither one had an answer to this. “We’ll figure it out, and we won’t go until we have a plan,” said Elsie.

  “That could be months,” said Josh. “It could be never.”

  “Then I guess we better get to work,” said Elsie.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Having done everything possible over the weekend, we took Josh out to lunch on Sunday, then sent him on his way, disappointed. Ten years and I’d never seen him like this. Josh was the type of person who planned breakfast five days in advance. He rarely rushed into anything with uncertainty. Everything about the Weeks story burrowed under his skin, showcasing a side of him I’d never really been aware of before. We agreed to keep in touch if anything new came to light.

  Josh agreed so that we could update each other regarding anything new. Elsie and I agreed because it scared us to think he might go up there by himself.

  Days and weeks passed with few developments. Running web searches on how to vanquish ghosts gets you results that deal in fiction or crackpots, not much in the realm of useful tips. It seemed like maybe we needed an expert on the occult, but where the hell does one find that? Yellow pages? Elsie and I kept this at the front of our minds, but we also spent some time trying to dig up other reported expeditions into the house—either freelance or professional, we weren’t picky—and came up short.

  The town of Slattery Falls still kept a firm grip on the property. Surveillance cameras galore and alarms on the fences. We found plenty of people who had tried to break in and failed. None who had succeeded and wrote about it, posting to the darkest corners of the internet.

  This left us with two unique problems. Number one, we’d have to figure out a way in and it would be outside of the way we usually did things. That didn’t bode well. Problem two, we liked to know the details regarding activity before going in. You know, hotspots of activity, rooms to watch out for, figures that pop up, sounds to listen for, things like that. With no reports to be found, we were going in blind. Elsie pulled floor plans for the house, but that was about it.

  It had been three weeks since we started trying to plan when Josh called us again, a little after nine. The guy still had no phone etiquette. When the phone rang at that hour, my stomach dropped. I put him on speaker and he sounded over-the-top excited.

  “I’ve got it! I figured it out. I know what to do.”

  “Spill it,” said Elsie.

  “Okay, I was able to find a doctor who dabbles in this stuff. His name is Jericho. I can’t go into details right now, but he gave me a ritual that will get rid of Weeks. The only catch is we need to be in the house, since that’s the source of power. We also need some items, but I’ve got that covered.”

  “That sounds too easy,” I said, more to Elsie than the phone.

  “I thought so too,” said Josh. “But he’s done this before. He told me the whole story. Guys, we can do this! So, when do we go?”

  “What are the items? How long do you need to get them?” asked Elsie.

  “Already done,” he answered.

  “Holy shit! Okay,” said Elsie. “Um…” Her eyes met mine, expectantly.

  I looked for any excuse to put it off, to doubt my friend, but his enthusiasm was catching, and before I could slow the momentum, it had claws in Elsie. Nothing I could say or do would turn the ride around at that point.

  “Okay,” I said. “This weekend. Come up on Saturday, not so damn early this time. Anything you need from us?”

  “No, I’ve got this, but, uh, as much as I appreciate that you’re on board, maybe we should put it off until the following weekend. We still have to figure out how we’re going to get in.”

  “Shit, I don’t suppose you came up with something for that too, did you?”

  “Actually, I might have something,” said Elsie.

  It was a great idea, although I admit to being a little disheartened that she had been rolling this over in her mind and hadn’t run it by me. She told me later she wanted to figure some more stuff out before she laid a half-assed plan on my doorstep. The excitement of Josh having figured out how to deal with the house and the lingering spirit of Robert Weeks caused her to blurt it out.

  That made sense. As much as I hated to admit it, I felt eager, too. Throughout our friendship, the man on the other end of the phone had never steered me wrong, but fuck, I wish I hadn’t listened to him just that once.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Like the best laid plans, Elsie’s was simple if it worked, infinitely more complicated if it didn’t. You might recall the mention of a ghost hunting business; Here Ghost Nothing. That idea belonged to Elsie, and was she ever proud of her brainchild. She made up shirts, pamphlets, the whole nine yards, then set to work finding out who in Slattery Falls one might contact to get access to the Weeks House.

  Turns out a Mr. Jeremiah Tedeschi, the head and presumably only member of Slattery Falls’ Historical Society, held that distinguished responsibility. We got Mr. Tedeschi on the phone, admittedly under a false pretense, then ever so gently steered the conversation toward our main objective. At the beginning of the conversation, he showed reluctance to even admit the house was on the town’s land, and we knew this might be a bit more work than originally expected.

  We based a substantial part of the plan on this guy taking our word for a lot of things and not conducting any further research. We told him he could visit our website. Josh had set something up, and while his voice said he would do just that, his tone suggested he would rather not deal with the computer machine. The pièce de résistance came when he referred to our “documentaries” as being on “The YouTube”—a pretty solid sign the background check would be shallow. The hardest portion to sell Tedeschi on was a book deal dependent on this trip to the Weeks House, twenty-five percent of the advance to go to the Slattery Falls Historical Society. What’s twenty-five percent of zero? Okay, it was mean, but when you think about it, it’s kind of their own fault for making it impossible to just break in. The logic is there, I promise.

  Mr. Tedeschi hemmed and hawed, but it was all a show. He was good to go based on that advance money, but his reluctance created an interesting predicament. When we were setting a time to meet, we pitched late at night. That’s when we did our investigating. He was quick to counter, saying he would be in bed by nine, and unable to let us in or lock up after us, so no, that simply wouldn’t work. The conversation went back and forth here, but I think it struck Elsie and me at the same time. Did we need to go at night? We always h
ad, but that’s only because it proved to be the best time to commit breaking and entering. An exploration by daylight would definitely be… different. We pushed for the night thing anyway, even tried saying it might affect the size of the advance, but despite agreeing to let us in, I believe we had pushed good old Mr. Tedeschi to the end of his limits. That’s how we came to agree to a noon ghost hunt, perfect after a spot of lunch. We made our reservations, so to speak, worked out a timetable, said our goodbyes, and hoped to high hell that Jeremiah Tedeschi wouldn’t realize how stupid the thing he had committed to really was.

  “It’s almost two weeks out,” said Josh, “so let’s figure out what needs to get done between now and then.”

  “I think the top of the list is the daytime thing,” I said. “I’m a little pissed at myself for not anticipating that the old guy who’s letting us in wouldn’t want to lock up at three in the morning. Is there any reason to think this will change our approach?”

  “It shouldn’t. Nighttime is synonymous with ghost stories because it’s scarier, but there have been plenty of sightings during the day. All the Civil War sites just south of us have activity day and night. No, it shouldn’t be a problem,” said Josh.

  Elsie piped in. “The other thing to remember is we’re not necessarily looking for activity this time. We’re going to get in, perform Josh’s ritual, and get out. Although, I wouldn’t mind sticking around long enough to make sure it worked. I’d hate to think all this work was just to piss off a ghost who already seems to have it out for us.” She looked at Josh. “Any reason to think the ritual needs to be performed at night?”

  “I’ll look into it, but I think it should be alright.”

  “Ready to tell us what’s involved yet? You’re not going to sacrifice a pig, are you?”

  “Nothing like that. Actually, I think I feel better keeping it close to the chest until it’s time, and I’ll ask you two to trust me. I will tell you that you don’t have to play a role in it, it seems easy enough.”

  “Alright, I trust you, man. Els?”

  “C’mon, you have to ask?”

  With little to do, the next two weeks were interminable. We’d get Josh on the phone every few days, but there wasn’t much planning left to do. We tried finding out more about the house and the town, but it appeared we had dug that well dry. Just when it felt like waiting one more minute would push one of us off the deep end, the day finally arrived. Since Elsie and I lived closer to the Weeks House, Josh crashed on our couch the night before, and at 10:30 the next morning, the three of us set out for Slattery Falls.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  An eerie calm settled over the ride to Slattery Falls. We were about to perform an occult ritual to banish an evil... what? Spirit? Entity? Who the fuck knew, and two weeks of needling Josh confirmed to Elsie and I that he would not tell us what it involved until the moment came. Since there was nothing else to discuss, we rode in silence. Elsie drove, I rode shotgun, and Josh with his Misfits messenger bag on his lap sat in the back. Whenever I’d look in the mirror, he looked lost in thought. Serene, but a world away.

  The sun beat down as we passed by a rustic, weather-beaten sign welcoming us to Slattery Falls. We turned down the town’s main road, and only access point, then followed to the end. Our first view of the destination came over the tops of the trees. Not a mansion, but the Weeks House was a story taller than any of the other buildings in town. Being on a hill overlooking the town made the size differential a bit more glaring than it actually was. I’ll just come out and say it. The place looked evil.

  I know, I know. I saw what I expected to see and imprinted the history associated onto the face of the actual thing itself. But damn, you weren’t there. The layout of the house was a style popular at the time called Gothic Revival, and honestly, it’s probably what you think of when you picture old haunted houses.

  I guess I expected the place to look condemned. As far as we could glean the historical society wasn’t taking care of this place. Nobody was. Yet here it stood, appearing much the same as I imagine it must have in the late 1800s. Gray siding with black shutters gave the house a dark-as-night exterior, even in the middle of a summer day. The gates loomed high enough to keep amateur trespassers at bay, with spikes at the top in case they were wily enough to try climbing. They hid the cameras well, but you could spot them if you knew where to look.

  Standing by the front gate was a man who could only be Jeremiah Tedeschi. Tall and thin, he lacked any hair on top of his head, and dressed as though he was on his way to teach an English course at university. We pulled up right at the agreed upon time, and he still greeted us with crossed arms, a tapping foot, and a frown that stretched from nose to chin.

  “Time to look professional, my people,” I said. “Shirts on.”

  This ruse played better coming from a trio of semi-reputable looking adults than it would have from a bunch of college kids. Intuition told me Tedeschi wouldn’t open the gate if Elsie turned up with her hair still pink.

  “Hello, you must be Mr. Tedeschi. I am Travis Morland, proprietor of Here Ghost Nothing Productions, and soon to be Publishing.” I shot him a wink. “This is my wife Elsie, our lead research analyst, and Joshua Costa, lead investigative specialist.” Josh shot me a side-eye glance. I don’t think I had called him by his full name since the first time we met. Evidently it hadn’t grown on him. Tedeschi held out his hand to shake, and I put a pamphlet in it.

  “Yes,” he said. “Of course. It’s, err… a pleasure to meet the three of you. I have high expectations, you know. I get several inquiries a year from people like yourselves who would like nothing more than to step into this house and sully the good name of Slattery Falls. I daresay you’ll treat the house, as well as the town, with respect regarding your findings?” It was a statement, but without the proper gumption behind it, turned into a question.

  “Oh, Mr. Tedeschi, have no worries on that front.” Elsie had adopted my carnival-worker-selling-to-a-rube tone, and I don’t even think she realized it.

  “Very well. Do you have equipment to unpack?”

  “No sir, everything we need is in that bag right there.” I gestured to Josh. “Technology is a wonderful thing, everything so much more compact and advanced than it was twenty years ago. Am I right?”

  “I would imagine you are.” He looked as though he regretted skipping his noon tea to help us rapscallions out.

  “Quick question, uh, for my notes. For the book. For my notes for the book.” Smooth. “My understanding is that no one has occupied this house for well over a hundred years, and that the historical society doesn’t do any upkeep on it. Shouldn’t it look a lot more dilapidated?”

  “Yes, that is quite strange, isn’t it? Well, I can’t speak about how the interior of the house has held up. I’ve never been in there. However, yes, the exterior has certainly retained its… quality.”

  So basically, he did not know, and the house scared the fuck out of him, too.

  “You’ve never been inside?” Elsie’s tone no longer upheld the facade.

  “I have not,” said Tedeschi, with an unmistakable air of finality. “Well, if that will be all, I will return at five o'clock sharp to lock the gates. If you finish earlier, please wait for me. It would not do to leave access to this house… available to the general public. Oh, and one more thing.”

  He reached into his tweed jacket pocket, and removed an envelope.

  “These are standard liability waivers in the event that one of you is injured during your visit to the property. I will require all three of you to sign one before I can permit you to enter.”

  “Just boilerplate, huh?” I said. “No problem.” I took the paper, pretended to read it for a cursory amount of time, then signed it and handed it back. Josh and Elsie did the same.

  Tedeschi tucked the folded papers into his jacket pocket and patted them. “Well, that’s everything in order, then. The front gates are open, as you can see. Please clos
e them behind you. This key will unlock the deadbolt on the front door,” he said, holding it out between thumb and index finger, the way one might hold a tissue containing the carapace of a nasty bug. “If there are any other locked doors within, the historical society does not have a key for them, and you are quite on your own.” He handed the key over and smiled, not allowing it to touch his eyes. “I wish you good luck and I shall see you at 5 p.m. sharp.”

  We shook hands and then watched him get in his car and drive back to town. Standing in front of the open gate, the realization hit. This was what we’d been working toward, not just for a few weeks, but for years. Before we could register what a godawful fucking idea this was, we stepped through the gate and approached the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Having Josh open the door to what came next felt like the natural move so I handed him the key. Although the exterior of the house wasn’t extravagant, the door’s size and intricacy set it apart. You’ve seen this type of door before; a taller arch than any human being could possibly require. And while the average door is probably under seven feet tall, these were at least ten and loomed over the three of us. Ornate designs separated the glass panels in a way that couldn’t have been cheap or easy to craft when they built the house. A massive brass lion door knocker adorned the right-hand side, begging to be used, but ultimately feeling a little too much like tempting fate.

  Josh unlocked the deadbolt with no difficulty and pushed the door open to reveal a well-maintained living area, unnaturally so. The furniture could have been brought in yesterday. The truly eerie part was how clean everything had stayed. Shouldn’t there have been dust, settled, or floating through the air? At the very least, wouldn’t the furnishings be faded from the sun streaming in the window?