Page 13 of Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At Nigel’s suggestion, Chris moved the outside night vision camera to a place where it would catch the surrounding area rather than the buildings themselves. The unknown spirit had come from the direction of the creek and the hillside, so if it appeared again, perhaps they could get a better idea of where it originated.
Oscar remembered how he’d felt watched, the afternoon they’d arrived at the distillery. As if there was something taking notice of his presence. Could it have been the mysterious fourth ghost? And if so, was this the vengeful entity that had been killing off members of his family for the last hundred-and-fifty years?
Before they began the night’s investigation, he took the van and drove just far enough to get a cellphone signal. He sent a text to Mom, telling her they were crashing at Josh’s house. He felt bad about lying to her, but he didn’t see any other option.
As soon as he arrived back, they got to work. Tina would remain in the command center, keeping an eye on all the cameras. He, Chris, and Nigel geared up, himself and Nigel with head cams and Chris with their main camera. They tested their mics and walkie-talkies, grabbed extra flashlights, and packed salt canisters into their backpacks.
“Since there’s a spirit wandering loose out here, we should put a line of salt around the generator and tent before we leave,” Nigel said. “We don’t want to leave Tina sitting here in the dark with everything drained.”
She paled. “You guys head for the building, and I’ll start on that right now.”
“Call us on a walkie-talkie if you need us,” Oscar told her. “We’ll be out here in a flash.”
“Worry about yourselves.” She went to their supplies and hefted up a five-pound box of salt. “I’m about to turn this place into Fort Knox for ghosts.”
The night air had a bite, its cold stinging Oscar’s sinuses and the back of his throat. Clouds covered any hint of moon or stars, the only sounds their breathing and the crunch of their boots on the dirty pavement. He glanced up at the hillside, but nothing moved. Even the huge oak that had given the distillery its name was lost in the darkness.
“Where to first?” Chris asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t suggest solo sessions,” Nigel said firmly. “Certainly Oscar shouldn’t be left alone at any time.”
A part of Oscar wanted to reflexively protest that he could take care of himself—but that would be stupid. Something had murdered four members of his family and sent a fifth to a mental institution. He didn’t want to become the next victim if he could help it.
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of wandering off by myself,” he said. “I don’t know that we’ll get anything, but let’s try an EVP in the distilling room. If there is anything left of Jeff Corbett besides a memory, maybe we can make contact.”
The darkness inside the old stone building felt somehow thicker than the night outside. Their headlamps and flashlights barely seemed to penetrate the gloom. Oscar’s skin prickled, and he had the overwhelming sense of something holding its breath.
He took a deep breath of his own before centering and grounding, then strengthening his shields as much as possible. Chris had started filming as soon as they stepped inside, so he unclipped his EMF reader and made sure it was in view of the camera.
It flickered and let out a soft beep. “We’re getting some activity already,” Oscar said. He didn’t know if this would ever make it onto their show, but if it did, they at least wouldn’t have to rely completely on voice-over to explain what was happening. “Let’s move toward the area where Jeff would likely have died.”
As they crossed the concrete floor, Chris suddenly swung the camera up. “Whoa, did you see that?”
Oscar’s heart pounded. “See what?”
They peered at the high catwalk, the beam from the camera’s light shaking slightly. “I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.”
“We could try the EVP session up there,” Nigel said, though he sounded less than thrilled by the prospect.
“No. Not unless we don’t have another choice.” Oscar started forward again. “One attack of dizziness that high off the ground was enough. I’m trying not to die here, remember?”
Nigel’s pale face went even whiter. “You’re right, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” He shot Nigel a reassuring smile. “I’m shielding as hard as I can. Nothing’s going to get through to me.” He hoped.
The EMF let out another chirp—then lit up, all the way into the red. Oscar stopped, staring down at the concrete floor. There was nothing to distinguish the spot in front of him, no dark stain that might be blood, but going by the footage from the night before, this was where Jeff’s body had hit the floor.
It seemed strange to think a member of his family had died right here. His great-uncle had taken his last breaths in this space—then either passed on, leaving behind the imprint of his trauma, or become stuck in it himself.
He looked up into the camera. “This is where Jeff Corbett died, after falling from the catwalk above.” He paused while Chris panned the camera up. “Given these readings, some part of him is still here.”
Oscar cut off the EMF meter. The silence after was almost shocking. “We’re going to try to capture an electronic voice phenomenon, or EVP, on this digital recorder.”
He swapped the meter for the recorder. Taking another breath, he made sure he was grounded and centered, and let any impressions come to him. There was something here; he could feel it.
“I would like to speak to the spirit of Jeff Corbett,” he said in the authoritative voice he’d been practicing in front of the mirror. “My name is Oscar. I’m your great-nephew, through my daddy’s side. If you’re here, can you say your name into the device in my hand?”
The walkie-talkies crackled, making them all jump. Knowing Tina wouldn’t interrupt them without good reason, he clicked his on. “What is it?”
“The thermal cam is showing something coming toward you from the direction of the catwalk.” The tension in her voice was clear even through the low-quality sound of the walkie-talkie.
As she spoke, the already-cold air turned frigid. “Barometric pressure dropping,” Nigel reported, eyes glued to his meter. “Temperature decrease of five degrees.”
“Oscar, it’s right there,” Tina said. “Right behind you.”