Sarah took a step back and then another, clunking down the stairs to collapse on a chair in the master bedroom.
Hadn’t she already known Corrie killed Sammy - Corrie’s body anyhow? Why did Will’s story cut so deep?
Will followed her into the room.
“Sarah, you have to make a decision. You either believe Corrie is possessed or you don’t. I didn’t want to tell you because you were skeptical. I understand that, but you can’t be now. After everything we’ve learned, everything you’ve seen. Don’t you see how close we are to ending this once and for all?”
“You should have fucking told me,” she muttered.
Will hung his head. He looked troubled - guilt and defensiveness flickering across his face.
After a long silence, he nodded.
“You’re right. I should have.”
SARAH FOUND a seat at the back of the room. Twenty or so people occupied the other folding chairs facing the small stage where a man stood speaking, hands braced on the podium as if letting them all in on a fantastic secret.
“How can something so empty also feel owned… inhabited?” he said. “As if there are invisible beings walking among us, sitting at the cracked table, short one leg, sipping tea from the remaining half-tea cup that rests on a spider-webbed saucer. Perhaps they are trailing up and down the stairs, brushing so close. If only our senses were a shade keener, we would feel them, spin around and shout ‘who’s there,’ only to find ourselves staring into an emptiness that is not quite empty.”
The man gazed out at the small crowd of people, the dimmed overhead lights reflected in the round lenses of his glasses.
“If one opens the mind the tiniest crack, such questions may become a lifelong pursuit, a passionate investigation into the unseen world. Modern science has proved already that nothing is as it seems. I lift my finger to the light and marvel at what I see - a solid, fleshy appendage - but had I the tools to slip only the tip of a fingernail beneath a microscope, I could observe a billion cells in ecstatic dance, driven together by an energy we cannot perceive… or can we?”
He gestured toward a corner of the room.
“The rocking chair shifts of its own volition, offering a groan of protest before settling into its unnerving squeak-squeak-squeak. Somewhere in the house, laughter rings out as if a child has glimpsed a wondrous thing - their first pony, or a bubble lifting from their bath and landing on the tip of their nose. It is a sound so endearing for a moment you forget this house is empty, no rosy-cheeked toddler plays in these rooms. And with that thought, the warmth in your chest turns cold and drips like ice down your spine, pools low and deep, in your feet perhaps, because you cannot seem to move them to save your life.”
Sarah held her breath, the memory of such experiences so close, she shivered.
“I have experienced true hauntings and human fabrications. Sometimes it is a vain bid for money or attention, but many times it is deeper than that. A person desperate to have their own glimpse of the unseen world validated by another. A near-impossible task, I tell you, because the energy world is ever-shifting. Rarely do you find a place where the spirits are stagnant. I might see an ethereal woman bent low in a garden, gazing into a freshly blooming daffodil, and then I might never see her again. For the rest of my life I could sit on the pavers stone, knees pulled to my chest, back aching from the effort. I could replace my vigil with another and another to ensure that eyes never left that daffodil. Time would send the flower back to her seed, but still I could sit on hardened ground, snowflakes wetting my eyelashes, and watch. Yet still I might never see her again. In all likelihood, I would not.”
Somewhere near the back of the room, a small alarm tinged. The man stood up tall, squinted toward a wall clock and grinned.
“Per usual, I have gotten carried away. If you’re interested to know more, you can find me online at www.mazurssecrets.com. You can also purchase my books in the store upstairs. Thank you all for attending tonight’s talk. It is with gratitude, I bid you farewell.”
The man offered a little bow, and the spattering of people occupying the folding chairs clapped. Sarah watched as the meager group cleared. The man stood on the little raised stage, shuffling his papers together before returning them to a brown leather case.
“Mr. Mazur?” Sarah stepped up to the stage.
The retired professor, now paranormal investigator, peered down at her.
“Good evening. I’m sorry I didn’t have more time for a Q and A session. I’m on a plane in an hour and forty-five minutes.”
Sarah reached out and grabbed his pant leg, as if that might prevent him leaving the room.
When he looked at her hand in alarm, she quickly pulled it away.
“Can I walk with you? Please. I drove five hours to be here.”
“Interested in the paranormal, are you? Or are you a quantum physics girl? Neither here nor there.” He waved a hand and winked. “Literally.”
Sarah hurried to keep up. The man was tall, well over six feet, and his strides were long and purposeful. He swung his briefcase in rhythm with his step, and she quickly shifted to his other side before it bashed her in the face.
“I have a friend who’s, well she’s - possessed. I need your help to get rid of the spirit.”
He stopped abruptly, sliding his glasses down his nose as if he expected a sardonic smile to crack her lips.
“I’m deadly serious.”
She rode next to him in the cab, detailing Corrie’s possession, running through the history of Kerry Manor, and concluding with the fire that wasn’t there.
His eyes lit as he asked questions about the temperature of the house at various times, the sources of light, the smells.
She rushed with him into his hotel room, his suitcase open on the bed with shirts and pants and socks hanging on the backs of chairs.
“Here, grab those,” he gestured at a pair of pajama pants covered in spaceships. She stuffed them into his suitcase and held it down as he forced the clasp into place.
“Grab that, will you?” he asked, gesturing at an industrial-sized black plastic toolbox with a red handle. She picked it up and nearly dropped it.
“Whoa, whoa, highly valuable, not to mention delicate equipment in there. Here, you take this.” He handed her his suitcase and took the plastic box. As they hurried back down to the cab, he peppered her with questions.
“How old is Corrie? What’s her body type? Is there much water near Kerry Manor?”
“Pop the trunk, will you?” Sarah called to the cab driver, carrying his suitcase to the back.
Mazur put a hand on her arm.
“No need, cabbie,” Mazur called. “I’ll be catching a ride with this young lady.”
CHAPTER 40
Now
Sarah
“Y ou will?” Sarah asked Mazur, surprised. She’d been so distracted by the questions, she’d almost forgotten her original purpose.
“Yes. I am a lecturer, but first I am a scientist, an investigator, and you have laid a conundrum at my feet. I must see it through to its end.”
The cab pulled away, and Sarah reached out a hand.
“Wait…” But he was gone.
“My car is still at the bookstore,” she mumbled.
“Ha,” Mazur laughed. “Perfect night for a walk. Brisk, yes, but my father always said to give the cold his due, or he will chase the warmth away.”