“What the hell are you doing?”
YOW!! I nearly shot out of my body right then, my mom scared me so bad. I turned and nearly fell over. “Geesus, would you not do that?”
She came from the kitchen (I had no idea she was still in there) and stood behind the couch. “Zoë, those braces aren’t meant to be walked on.”
“Well, duh-I know that. But look.” I pointed down at my feet. “I can walk!”
“Because the braces are supporting you.” She put her hands on her amble hips. “Try it without the braces.”
I did.
I fell down.
“I have to pee,” I said from the floor.
Mom towered over me. “Then I’ll help you. I used to change your diapers, you know.”
Ugh.
Rhonda was in the living room holding the remote and flipping channels when we came back in. She must have entered while I was in the bathroom. She’d put on nice pants, a white shirt, and a black blazer. Only the black lipstick, nails, and spiked bracelets gave her true nature away. Oh, that and the flat black matte Betty Page coiffure.
Two clicks to Channel Two Action News. “Check this out.”
I looked at the clock over the television. It was after five. Wow, where was the afternoon?
“… as promised… a very startling… and creepy… Halloween event.”
The screen broke from the anchor to the Smith house, where I’d been last night. Only it was a night shot, and the wind around the autumn trees did look spooky. Jump photography, two flashes of special effects lightning, and we were in the house with a guide.
Randall. Only he looked awful. The monitor had broken his nose, and his eyes were bruised. The man looked like a raccoon.
I listened with interest as the SPRITE member showed the camera crew the mess and then gave an account of what they saw, and then to my surprise, they played the video they’d taken of me.
“Nice profile,” Rhonda said.
And it was, but just not something I wanted filmed. Not that I thought anyone was going to recognize me in the shot.
“We’re not sure if this is the entity causing the nightmares the Smiths have been through these past few weeks since buying the house,” Randall was saying. “We did catch her voice on tape.”
The image changed to a voice image with a straight line and then a squiggle. Then I heard my voice say, “Look out!” as white letters clarified it for the television audience.
Oh, greeeeeat.
If there was one thing distinctive about me, it was my voice. Gravely. Rough. Deep. Kinda manly.
“Sounds as if she was warning you,” the reporter commented as they stood in the living room carnage.
Randall nodded. “Yeah, yeah. And she did, because right after that is when the camera and monitors we were holding jumped out of our hands.”
“So you’re saying maybe she’s more of a guardian angel?”
Randall smiled. “Right now, I don’t know what to believe. We hope to make contact again tonight.”
Rhonda switched off the television. “You know what this means?”
I was still on Guardian Angel. Aw. How sweet. “Randall looks like a raccoon?”
“It means the whole area’s going to be crawling with people. Kids trying to get in to see the ghost. Freaks. Groups singing outside in midnight vigils to stop the evil.”
In a word, mob.
“You need to get in, find that fetter keeping that thing anchored to that house, destroy it, and get out. You don’t need SPRITE taping you anymore.” She tilted her head to the side, almost resting it on her shoulder. “And please… please… keep your mouth shut. If you don’t I’ll kick your damaged ankles.”
Mental note: Rhonda is mean.
Goth chick wasn’t kidding when she said mob.
Circus might have been more appropriate, though. There were indeed prayer groups with heads bowed, people with signs saying “Ghosts have rights too,” and even a few men in white collars preaching the dangers of doing God’s work.
Wasn’t even a full moon tonight and the crazies were there for their Halloween fix.
The SPRITE van was in the driveway, their little fairy logo incongruent with the kids in sheets and black robes. Several news vans were there as well. Must not be much happening on this Thursday night.
Rhonda stayed in the background, blending in (LOL!) as I made my way past the cameras and reporters to the back of the house. There I found an open door and slipped inside, happy I wouldn’t have to sieve through the wood. I can do it, but I don’t like to. Especially not glass. Too cold.
I stopped in the kitchen. There was equipment everywhere. Camera lenses pointed at me from every angle. Luckily none of them were turned on and running.
Yay.
I moved to the hallway and the den. Fewer cameras here, and none of them looked like thermal imagers. My guess was they’d keep those in their hands, as they had the night before.
I stood in the room’s center. The television in the corner was dark, the books on the shelf all in place. My guess was that since the thing had been centered in here, maybe the fetter was too.
So, what would it look like? Would it glow? Jump up and down?
Sing?
I wanted to shout out, call to it. But not if they could actually record me. Think, think, think.
What had SPRITE done to provoke it the night before?
“Randall we can’t work with all those people outside.” That was Herb, and he didn’t sound happy. “I told you not to do that interview-not till we were done.”
They stopped right outside the den, in the hallway, where I’d been stuck the night before.
“I thought it needed to be shown that we’re not crazy people.” Randall said.
“I know we’re not crazy, and so do you. Why should it matter who else does?”
“But we actually have proof, Herb. We need to show it around.”
Did something just vibrate on that shelf?
“Randall, just because we got something on tape doesn’t mean people will believe. Hell, someone could say that was Boo we caught on the imager.”
Yep, something was definitely vibrating over there.
“That was not Boo,” Randall said a bit louder, and I wouldn’t have been too shocked to see him stomp his foot. “I know what I saw.”
A book sailed across the room. I ducked, and it slammed into the two-person sofa.
“Randall, we both saw it, and we heard it too. There’s something in this house.”
“Then why are you ashamed of it?”
Another book flew across the room, followed by a trophy. I ducked both of them and then looked at the two SPRITE members. Uh, hello? Moving objects?
“I am not ashamed of it, Randall. Geez.” Herb put his hands in the air. “We just didn’t need that circus outside.”
This time the television actually lifted in the air and sailed at the door.
Right at them.
“Move, you idiots!” Okay, so I think my outburst then was justified, right?
Randall and Herb both looked in time to see the television hurtling at them. A few girlie screams, but the two ducked out of the way.
That’s when the giant squid sort of appeared. It didn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a Wall Street tycoon, to realize what I did at that moment. The poltergeist activity from last night wasn’t fed from the Smiths, but from SPRITE. Point of sale: Randall.
Some unresolved issues there. A little frustration and anger?
“Christ! Get the cameras rolling! We have activity in the den!”
I moved to the side, behind what looked like the eye of the squid. It continued to grab up random objects with its tentacles and toss them at the doorway. Keeping quiet while it was busy, I looked for the fetter. Anything that might work.
A fetter was a leash of sorts. So, it’d have to be somehow connected to old Squidward here, right? Not around his neck because he didn’t seem to have one. So-where?
Randall and Herb arrived then, as well as Ron, who sported a nasty bruise on his right cheek. Randall had the thermal imager in hand and was getting it geared up to point in the room. I moved to the side, out of the way and hopefully still out of sight of the poltergeist.