Page 10 of Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2)

CHAPTER TEN

“There’s no electricity to any of these buildings, and the turbine certainly isn’t running,” Tina said while Oscar applied burn cream from their first aid kit to her finger. “It had to just be static…”

“But normal static wouldn’t cause an injury to the skin like that,” Nigel replied.

Oscar glanced up at his boyfriend, who stood a few feet away, arms folded over his chest and a worried expression on his face. They’d retreated to the turbine hall to tend to Tina’s burn, but Oscar could still feel…something.

A presence. Not as strong as in the switching hall, but definitely there. Waiting to see what they would do next, maybe.

“We shouldn’t go back into the switching hall, except to set up the camera,” he decided. “I’ll go in with Chris, and have some salt in hand, just in case.”

“I don’t like this,” Nigel said.

Tina held up her bandaged finger. “For the record, I’m not a fan either.”

“These ghosts are getting very aggressive very fast.” Nigel stared worriedly into the shadows just outside the circle of their lights. “The situation is getting dangerous; someone could get seriously hurt. And the longer we’re here, feeding the spirits our energy, the worse it will get.”

“I know.” Oscar bit his lip. “The rest of you should go back to the van and wait for me there. I can set up the cameras—”

“Like hell,” Chris objected.

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Nigel said with a scowl.

“Let’s just hurry and finish up, and then we can all go back to the van together,” Tina suggested.

Oscar hesitated. Nigel was right; a ghost causing a physical injury like a burn, even a mild one, was a bad sign. Doubly so, given what had happened to Mamaw. But he couldn’t just leave, and it seemed none of the others were willing to sit on the sidelines. “We’ll make it quick, then.”

Oscar and Chris worked fast, Chris setting up the camera while Oscar stood watching the seemingly empty hall. But if Edwin Corbett was lurking, he didn’t do anything further to disturb them. Still, he was glad it only took a minute or so to get the camera in place, pour the salt circle around it, and get back out.

Their final destination, and the one he’d been dreading the most, was the aging warehouse. Oscar felt his steps slowing as they approached, then stop altogether just outside the rotting wooden door.

“We don’t know what’s inside,” he said, “but please, everyone, be careful. Remember the film—something happened that worried Mamaw in here. And as soon as she left…”

Nigel moved closer to his side, as if determined to protect Oscar from the same fate. Tina put down her backpack and pulled out her canister of salt. “Locked and loaded. Anything that tries to mess with us is going to get a face full of good old sodium chloride.”

Oscar grinned, some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. Whatever might be waiting inside, his team had his back.

And he had theirs. He took a moment to strengthen his shields, imagining a flood of white light filling him from above. If anything tried to latch on to him, or to anyone else, it was going to have a fight on its hands.

“Let’s go,” he said, and opened the door.

The aging warehouse was an enormous brick structure, but where once light had streamed through the many glass windows, now there were only shadows. Trees and vines had grown close against the outside walls, covering most of the windows in a gray blanket.

Once inside, Oscar panned his headlamp slowly across the vast space. At one time it must have been filled to the ceiling with barrels of whiskey, the alcohol gradually absorbing color and flavor from the charred oak interiors. Now all that remained were piles of broken, rotting boards that looked as to have been part of the storage racks, and a smaller pile of abandoned barrels in one corner.

“Is it just me, or is this place creepy?” Chris asked.

“Very creepy,” Tina agreed. “I’d go so far as to say downright spooky.”

“Do you sense anything, Oscar?” Nigel asked urgently.

Oscar took a deep breath and concentrated. It took a moment, but he did sense…something. Someone.

“Over there,” he said, pointing toward the opposite end of the warehouse. “I think someone is there. But they don’t feel hostile. More…curious? Hopeful?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Tina said with a frown. “I mean, going by the footage from your grandmother’s experience…”

Oscar shrugged. “I don’t feel anything hostile in here with us. But let’s keep our guards up anyway.” Just in case, he took a moment to ground and center again, and to reinforce his mental image of his old football equipment and its protection. The sense of watching eyes faded slightly, but he knew they hadn’t left.

“Should we get some footage?” Chris asked. “In case you decide we should put it on our channel later.”

Might as well; no harm done if he decided against making this public. “Go for it.”

Chris focused the camera on him. “This must be weird,” they said. “We’re going on a tour of ‘places your ancestors died horribly.’”

“It is,” Oscar said, switching to his on-camera voice. “We’re standing in the room where my great-great-great grandfather, Ivan Corbett, was crushed to death by barrels of his own whiskey. Possibly on this very spot,” he added, then wondered if that was too hokey even for a ghost-hunting show. “A few days ago, I didn’t even know he existed. Now, I’m here searching for his ghost.”

Chris gave him a thumbs up, then moved on to capture more footage of the warehouse. Nigel stepped closer to Oscar. “How are you really feeling? In a non-medium capacity, I mean.” He grimaced. “That sounded a lot more formal than I meant.”

“It’s your smooth talk that really swept me off my feet,” Oscar teased. “As to your question…I don’t know. Weird? What happened to Mamaw Fox—to Barbara—has hung over me my entire life. But this?” He turned slowly, the beam of his headlamp failing to pierce the deepest shadows. “I guess I’m proud my ancestors built it, but sorry this is how it ended up. Sad they died before their times.”

Nigel nodded. “That’s a lot of feelings.”

“Tell me about it.” Oscar hesitated…but nothing threatening had come to confront them, and he still didn’t sense anything hostile in the warehouse. “I’d like to be alone for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Is it safe?”

“I think so.” Oscar gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “I promise I’ll let you know the second anything changes.”

“Okay. I’ll corral the others and we’ll start setting up the laser grid and the camera.”

Once he had gone, Oscar looked over the space once again, wondering where the accident that took Ivan Corbett’s life had happened—and what had caused it. Had some unseen hand loosened a bolt, or a strap, or given an unsteady barrel an extra push?

Casting his mind back to the bout of dizziness he’d had in the distilling room, he felt nearly certain that something had pushed him. Not in real life—but had he caught some fragment of Jeff Corbett’s dying memories?

Ordinarily, he would have cautioned himself against jumping to conclusions. But his family had been dying, or at least been hurt, at twenty-five year intervals here for the last one-hundred and fifty years. And they didn’t have long to figure out what was going on.

“Ivan Corbett,” he whispered into the deepest shadows of the room, where he sensed the presence. “I’m your great-great-great grandson. Blood of your blood, and that still means something in these hills. I need your help, before whatever killed you does the same to my dad or me.

“So please, help me and my friends to figure this out. Tell me what’s killing us and help me stop it. Please.”

He stood still for a long moment, breath steaming in the cold. But if Ivan answered, Oscar didn’t hear it.

* * *

They set up the second-to-last night vision camera at a distance, beneath the shelter of a partly collapsed building that might have once been used for administration. The structure itself was in far too bad shape to go inside, so Chris pointed the camera out toward the cluster of original buildings, just in case some outside activity showed up.

“And even if it doesn’t,” Chris said, “maybe we’ll get some cool footage of animals, like deer or something.”

“Probably; there are enough of them around here,” Oscar agreed. God, he hoped some of the cameras caught some activity, anything to tell them where to concentrate their in-depth investigation tomorrow night.

The last camera was set up at the spring house, which struck Oscar as the most peaceful place on the property. It was a single-story stone building, and remained mostly intact despite the depredation of years.

The interior was just as it had been in Mamaw’s time: a metal railing surrounded an opening roughly the same size and shape as a swimming pool. Though a thin skin of ice clung here and there at the edges, the water within had enough natural movement to keep it from freezing over, at least in these temperatures.

An almost refreshing feeling seemed to fill the air, and Oscar noticed everyone else visibly relax once inside. “Mamaw said this is where they got the water for the whiskey,” he said, while Chris eagerly snapped pictures.

“You’d think they would have used the creek,” Nigel remarked.

“The creek would have been needed for the condensers in the powerhouse,” Tina replied. “And, unless there are some sort of dangerous mineral contaminants, the spring would be a purer source. We could probably drink out of it right now and be fine. Barbara did, after all.”

“It’s a shame this is just sitting here.” Oscar could almost imagine the spring house restored, people laughing as they strolled along the concrete floor, drinks in hand. Perhaps drawing up a bucket of the water itself, using it to toast each other’s good health.

He shook his head sharply. Now his imagination really was running away with him. “Let’s set up the last night vision camera and head out. We need to get over to Josh’s to pick up the gear Ms. Montague sent us.”

Josh lived in a small house at the end of a long drive, whose ramshackle pavement had been patched and patched again. The wooden structure looked old, and couldn’t have had more than four small rooms total, but the paint was bright and neatly trimmed rose bushes surrounded it. On the tiny porch was a pile of packages of varying sizes.

Josh opened the door and came out as they pulled up. “I’ve got your deliveries right here,” he said. “I’ll help you load them.”

“You’ve done enough,” Oscar protested, to no avail as Josh immediately picked up one of the boxes.

“Just tell me what this is all for, and we’ll be even,” Josh said with a grin.

“Fair trade.” Oscar grabbed a box of his own and followed Josh. “We’re ghost-hunting at the abandoned distillery just outside of town.”

“Wow, seriously?” Josh put the box in the back of the van, then stepped back to stare at what remained of the equipment already inside. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

“We’ve got our own show,” Oscar admitted. “I mean, it’s not big, yet, but we’re getting more subscribers all the time.”

“Give me the name of it so I can check it out!” Josh beamed at him as they went back to get the largest package, the one with the generator in it. “That’s so cool!”

“Thanks, man.” They hefted the generator between them and maneuvered it to the van. “Let me give you a business card—it’s got the address for our channel on it.”

They heaved the heavy box in with a grunt. Josh stepped back and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “So what does that have to do with me having to take shipments of stuff for you?”

Oscar’s sigh plumed in the cold air. “Because my dad is dead-set against it. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t go behind his back, but…let’s just say this is a now-or-never sort of thing.”

Josh frowned a little, but nodded. “Yeah, I remember you saying your dad was one of the church-going folks who don’t hold truck with anything supernatural.”

“It wasn’t the church-going part so much as, well. Other stuff.” Oscar shrugged awkwardly.

“I can’t wait to see your videos. Not that I want to go poking around looking for ghosts myself,” Josh added, holding his hands up, as if Oscar might be on the verge of inviting him along.

Oscar chuckled. “You have to be a little crazy to do it, I guess.”

They stepped away from the van to give the others room. “I hate to ask you another favor,” Oscar said.

“Not a problem,” Josh replied immediately.

“We need to go back to the site tomorrow and do an overnight investigation. I thought…if it’s okay with you, I thought I’d tell my dad we were all coming over here to drink beer and shoot the shit. Then send him a text sometime later and say we had too much to drink and are just going to crash with you.”

Josh laughed. “This really is just like high school, when we’d tell our parents we were staying at each other’s houses, then go out by the old quarry and drink.”

“We were lucky we didn’t drown that night we polished off the Jack Daniels and went skinny dipping.”

“I couldn’t even look at the stuff for years after,” Josh said with an exaggerated grimace. Then his mouth softened, and he met Oscar’s gaze. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you, until I saw you again. Is that weird?”

“You’re welcome to drive down and visit any time. And you’ve got my phone number now.”

“True.” Josh shuffled his feet and glanced at the others, who were busy securing everything in the van. “So, uh, are you seeing anyone?” he asked in a lower voice.

Hadn’t he said…? Hell, no wonder Nigel had been giving him a funny look when they first ran into Josh. “Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, Nigel and I—”

“Oh! Uh, sorry.” Josh took a quick step back, his face flushing. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know; I know.” Oscar’s own cheeks went hot, so he quickly changed the subject. “Thanks, man, for everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Any time.” Josh stuck out his hand, and Oscar shook it. “Watch out for the ghosties, okay?”

Oscar laughed, as if the situation was as light as Josh believed. “Will do.”

He walked back to the van. Nigel squinted at him suspiciously. “What were you two talking about?”

Oscar slung his arm around Nigel’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “How handsome my boyfriend is, of course.”

Chris made an exaggerated gagging sound, and Tina rolled her eyes. “Get in the van, lovebirds,” she said. “Or we’re stealing it and going on a road trip to Baja.”

* * *

That evening, Nigel shut himself in the upstairs bathroom while Oscar and the others distracted Scott with whatever non-ghost-related anecdotes they could come up with.

Lisa Fox had come through yet again. While they were gone for the day, she’d made a few phone calls to chat with relatives, and managed to get the number for the nursing home where David Armstrong, husband of the late Julie, now resided.

Hoping it wasn’t too late—at what time did the residents of a nursing home go to bed, anyway?—Nigel dialed the number. After a few rings, a tired-sounding woman answered.

“Hi, is David Armstrong available?” Nigel asked.

“Let me check,” the woman said, seeming to perk up. “He doesn’t get many calls; I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear from you if he’s still up.”

Nigel felt a wince of guilt; he was about to not only lie to an old man, but bring up one of the worst days of his life.

A few minutes passed, then the bland hold music stopped, there was the click of transferring lines, and a creaky voice said, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this David Armstrong?”

“That’s my name; don’t wear it out.” The old man chuckled at his own joke.

“This is Dr. Nigel Taylor—I’m dating your cousin Oscar Fox?” His nerves turned everything into a question. “Scott Fox’s son?”

“Little Oscar!” Armstrong exclaimed. “I followed his career—such a shame he didn’t stick it out, he could’ve gone to the NFL.”

Nigel silently bristled; football had never been Oscar’s goal, just a means to get a scholarship. Keeping his annoyance out of his voice, he said, “I’m sure you’re right. The reason I’m calling is, his mom and I have been working on some genealogical research together.”

“Building a family tree to give to Oscar? I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Exactly,” Nigel lied. “I’m not sure how much you can help, but since you were married to Julie Corbett…?” He let the question linger, hoping Armstrong would fill it in.

“Poor Julie.” Armstrong’s voice grew wistful. “I haven’t celebrated a single Thanksgiving since she died. Just doesn’t feel like a happy time anymore.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.” Nigel felt the stab of guilt again, but pressed on. “You were out on a hike together, correct?”

“That’s right.” Armstrong sighed. “It was a beautiful day—cold but clear, perfect for hiking. Julie loved the outdoors—we both did. She said she wanted to show me something, so we pulled off the main road a little ways and started up an old road that wasn’t used by anybody anymore.”

Nigel held his breath; he’d expected to have to pry harder for Armstrong to start talking.

“Like I said, it was a beautiful day,” Armstrong went on. “The leaves had passed the peak of color, but there were still plenty on the trees and the ground, both. Like walking through a kaleidoscope.”

He trailed off, so Nigel prompted, “What happened?”

“There was some kind of old factory? I don’t remember rightly…”

“A distillery,” Nigel filled in.

“Right, that was it! You know more than I do, young man, maybe I should be asking you questions instead.” Armstrong laughed his wheezy laugh again. “We didn’t go in, of course—didn’t want to trespass.”

Nigel sat up straighter. “You didn’t go inside any of the buildings?”

“No, like I said, we weren’t sure who owned them these days. You don’t just go traipsing around on other people’s property.”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Anyway, Julie said her dad had owned it, inherited it from somebody, I don’t remember now. He wasn’t really interested, and the business just kind of died or got sold off or something. The mountain by it was pretty, and Julie wanted to hike up a little ways, to look at the place from above. So we started up, and that was when the weather turned.”

This was something new. “What happened?”

“Weather comes in fast in the mountains—real fast. Keep that in mind, if you ever go for a walk up there.”

“I will.”

“It went from sunny to overcast. Got real windy, and started spitting sleet. We…we got separated…” The old man’s voice suddenly began to shake.

“Separated?” Nigel asked gently.

“I don’t know how it happened!” Anguish twisted the words. “She was right there, and then she wasn’t! I—I got turned around somehow. The trees were swaying, and it was so cold, and I called and called for her, but she didn’t answer. I don’t know how long I wandered around on that damn mountainside until I…until I found her.” He let out a long breath. “She was already going cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Nigel said sincerely. “That must have been a terrible thing to go through.”

“It was.” Armstrong was silent for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry, young man, that wasn’t why you called, I’m sure.”

It was, but Nigel couldn’t exactly say that. “Thank you for sharing it with me. Was there anything else your wife told you about the distillery, or about the family’s time owning it?”

“Not that I recall. I imagine you’d be better off looking at the letters than talking to me, though.”

Nigel’s heartbeat quickened. “Letters?”

“Yes, the letters.” Armstrong sounded puzzled. “After Julie passed, I tried to give them to Scott. He didn’t want them, so I ended up donating them to the library there in Marrow. I don’t know what’s in them, but some of them were real old, from the 1800s even. I figured you’d have already looked at them as part of your genealogical research.”

Nigel tamped down on another surge of annoyance directed at Scott. “I didn’t know about them.”

“Then I guess your call wasn’t for nothing,” Armstrong said with a chuckle. “It’s been real nice talking to you, but the nurse just brought in my evening meds. Tell Scott and Lisa to give me a call, will you? I’d love to catch up with them.”

“I will,” Nigel promised. “Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Armstrong.”

Lowering his phone, he stared blankly at the flower design on the shower curtain. Julie had died in very odd circumstances…not at the distillery itself, but on the slope overlooking it.

Which confirmed that whatever stalked the Corbett family had a longer reach than he’d hoped. Oscar was right—they needed to get to the bottom of this fast, before something happened to either him or Scott.

As for Julie herself…the three Corbett men who had died on the property still haunted it. Had she been free to pass on to the other side, or did she still wander the mountainside, searching fruitlessly for her husband?