Chapter Seventeen

Hastings Mills, NY, July 16th, one year ago

Only a purple ribbon of sky separated day and night by the time the police finally departed, leaving behind yards of yellow tape, two news vans, and a warning they’d be back the next day with more questions. When an exasperated Stone asked why, he was told in no uncertain terms that if it turned out the events of the day were arranged by his production team to help his show’s ratings, they’d be charged with causing a wrongful death, so no one should think about leaving town.

With the house finally to themselves, Stone and the others gathered in the kitchen to go over the plans for the night. Before speaking, Stone took a few moments to mentally review what he planned on saying. The last few hours had been hell and the team looked shell-shocked. Claudia wore a bandage on her head where a piece of debris had caught her when the final rock had crashed through the Rawlingses’ porch. No stitches, but a nice bruise was already forming. She and Shari looked paler than normal. Everyone did, actually.

Del sat shoulder to shoulder with Ken. He had hardly left his side since coaxing him from the van. It had taken almost fifteen minutes and a healthy dose of whiskey for Ken to stop shaking and give them a coherent recap of what had happened to him. Stone had filmed it all. Then he’d updated his video log of the events and made all the others do the same, before they had time to relax and regain their composure. He wanted to capture everyone’s raw reactions and emotions on film.

Maybe I won’t even edit it, he thought. He’d already decided that the Rawlings haunting would be more than just a single episode. Hell, with everything that’s happened so far, this could be a prime-time multi-night event.

Which meant they had to see things through to the end, and for that to happen, he needed to make sure everyone was on board with staying. He couldn’t afford to have his team flake out on him now.

Although if they did, imagine the ratings. Haunted house so frightening Stone Graves’ own team refuses to finish investigation. In tomorrow’s finale, he bravely faces off alone against—

No. They were his team, and he needed them.

With that in mind, Stone tapped his glass on the table to get their attention.

“We’re all exhausted,” he began. “The last couple of days have been crazy and I doubt tonight will be any easier. We’ve got to be on our toes, ready for anything. But we need sleep too. Tired people make mistakes, and we can’t afford that, not with…whatever we’re dealing with here.”

“It’s a demon.” With his bruises and frightened eyes, Webb reminded Stone of a horse he’d once seen right after it escaped a burning stable. On the edge of panic because it still didn’t believe it was safe.

“Demons aren’t real.” Stone knew he had to nix that idea before it grew roots. The same way he’d refused to entertain it when it popped into his own head earlier. “And they don’t come and go. Does she look possessed to you?”

All eyes turned toward Abby, who surprised them by responding. She hadn’t spoken since the police had left.

“You’re both wrong. It’s the Devil,” she said, her voice soft but filled with the stubborn certainty only a child can muster. “I’ve seen him. In my room. You saw him too.”

Stone’s body gave an involuntary jerk. She’d never mentioned seeing the creature. How had she managed to keep functioning? Lord knew he’d been unable to shake the memory of the thing he’d witnessed. To a child, it had to seem demonic.

That doesn’t mean we jump to conclusions. There are all sorts of spectral beings. Ghosts. Poltergeists. Shadows.

Demons don’t exist.

Besides, since when did a demon cause psychokinetic events or appear in two places at once? Manifestations like that were the modus operandi of poltergeists. Which also happened to be more common than so-called confirmed cases of possession.

What about Evan Michaels? He caught Randi looking at him and knew her thoughts mirrored his.

We never had a chance to figure out what caused his problems before that priest screwed everything up. It could have been anything.

Lots of questions, when what they needed was answers. He had to get the team focused on that, not superstitious fears. He cleared his throat.

“Listen. This isn’t a demon. Think about what we’ve seen versus the signs of possession. Demons don’t appear in multiple places at once. Demons don’t cause objects to fall from the sky. Demons don’t manifest outside of the possessed person’s immediate space. On the other hand, poltergeists and other spectral phenomena are known to do all those things. And also move furniture, cause hot and cold spots, and even create aural and visual events. It explains everything. We’re simply dealing with some sort of super-poltergeist. Or maybe multiple entities. Not a denizen of some mythical alternate world. Or the Devil,” he added, giving Abby a warm but serious smile.

Instead of appearing relieved, she simply shook her head.

“You’ll see,” she whispered. “You’ll all see. She told me.”

“Hush,” Curt told her, and she did. Stone wanted to ask her who ‘she’ was – it better not be Randi putting ideas in her head or he’d send her packing – but right then Shari pushed away from the table, her lips tightened in a grimace, and left the room. After a moment, Claudia followed her. Damn them! Abby’s words and the twins’ obvious disagreement with his assessment had done their damage. Whatever confidence he’d started to build in the group was eroding again. Their faces showed it, ranging from fear to resignation. Time to throw them a bone.

“Hey, I’m not completely unreasonable. If we can’t figure this out, then we can bring in a priest.”

And I’ll be right here to film that shit too. Even if I have to do it myself. If someone wants to leave, they can. It’s not the military.

But maybe they’ll be looking for a new job in the morning.

“Let’s focus on doing this the right way. We’ve got video throughout the house. Ken’s got some of the equipment in the van working. He and I will finish reviewing the recordings from the other night. I think the rest of you should bring blankets and pillows into the living room and we’ll all sleep there tonight. And no one goes anywhere alone. Pick a buddy and pair off.”

After the rest of the group left, he and Ken went out to the van, where they settled themselves in front of the one working monitor.

“Stick with the outside cams and skip everything else. I want to see who or what trashed the van.”

Webb scrolled through a list of video files until he found the one he wanted.

“Here.” He tapped a key. “This is one of the porch cameras, the one facing the yard. It should show us anything approaching from the back or the driveway.”

An image came up on the screen, showing the van plus a wide space to either side. Rendered in shades of black, white, and gray by the infrared setting, the grainy shot seemed like a still picture because of the lack of activity. Stone glanced at the time stamp, which scrolled forward at normal speed.

“Faster,” Stone said, “otherwise we’ll be here all goddamned night.”

Webb frowned but touched another key. The time stamp moved forward at 2x. Minutes sped by and the picture remained the same. Stone rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep. And—

A shadow darted across the screen.

“Stop! Go back.”

Webb reversed it and then played the video at normal speed.

At five minutes after midnight, a dark, man-shaped form appeared from behind the house and walked at a brisk pace across the yard before disappearing behind the van. For ten minutes after that, nothing happened. Then the wraith appeared again and went back around the house.

“We’ve got the bastard,” Stone said. “Can you zoom in on his face?”

“I’ll try, but the picture’s already grainy.” Webb reversed the video at half speed, the shadowy figure walking backward in a herky-jerky motion until at one point he glanced toward the front of the house and the cameras mounted there. Webb stopped it and enlarged the image.

Revealing Curt Rawlings.

His eyes were shut and a hazy black aura covered him like a cloud of smoke.

“Jesus.” A chill ran through Stone’s body and buried itself in his guts, where it turned to a piece of ice. “Is that some kind of data glitch?”

Webb shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell it is.”

The ice in Stone’s stomach grew from a cube to a glacier.

What if demons really did exist?

And one had already possessed Abigail’s father?

Pete Telles opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. A cool breeze drifted in from the open window, ruffling the curtains and filling his room with the soft, green scents of summer. The house was silent except for the muted hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the occasional rumble of snoring from his parents’ bedroom.

He climbed out of bed with his favorite toy, a Build-A-Bear named Bobo, tucked under his arm. After putting on his Yankees cap, he went downstairs to the kitchen and opened the storage cabinet where his mother kept the cleaning supplies and other household necessities. One at a time, he removed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, two cans of furniture polish, and a long butane lighter, and set them on the table.

For the next few minutes, he moved silently through the house, closing and locking all the windows on the first floor. Then he sprayed a thick layer of polish on all the tables and up the steps to the top of the staircase. After closing his parents’ door, he doused polish on the floor and walls of the upstairs hallway. Downstairs, he poured the alcohol along the bottoms of the curtains and on the carpet in the living room. When the bottle was half empty, he used the rest to draw a trail into the dining room, where he took the lighter from the table and held the flame to the puddle on the floor.

A pale blue line erupted and quickly raced across the house to the curtains, which immediately burst into flames. Dark smoke rose from the carpet and began to spread as orange flared up and sparks shot through the thick strands. When the growing fire reached the areas of furniture polish, it expanded in a fury, the flickering turning into a blaze that flowed up the stairs.

Pete took Bobo from the table and went out the back door, making sure to lock it behind him. He stood at the back of the patio and watched as the reddish-orange glow in the windows grew brighter. It only took another minute before the smoke alarms kicked in, their strident cries muted by the closed windows.

Almost immediately, Dorothy’s voice rang out, calling for her son. Pierre’s joined in.

“Pete! Where are you? Pete!”

Their shouts continued, moving from room to room, soon mixed in with coughing as smoke filled the house. Glass shattered and flames burst through the broken windows, igniting the outside walls. More screaming from inside, frantic now, filled with pain and terror.

Dorothy’s face appeared at one of the upstairs windows, covered in black, hair smoldering. Her wild eyes found Pete. He waved at her. She opened her mouth and then a wall of fire enveloped her. The window exploded and ejected her outward, a flaming missile that soared through the air and landed on the patio in a hail of broken glass. Her charred body continued to burn, filling the night with the greasy smell of roasting meat.

Pete walked around to the front and sat down in the damp grass.

When the fire department arrived, they found him hugging his bear and crying for his parents.