I drove to Ventura Village earlier than I needed to—and no, it wasn’t because I was excited about the prospect of being on TV. It’s true that I did spend more time than usual making sure I was dressed just right and my hair was just so, but that was because, well, appearances matter, don’t they?
There were two vehicles anchored in front of Leland’s battered old house, a small white delivery truck that looked like something the U.S. Postal Service might use and a sparkling black TV van. I parked a half block in front of them and walked back. A young woman with a clipboard, the same woman I had seen at the Twin Cities Psychic and Healing Festival, moved to intercept me.
“You’re McKenzie,” she said.
“Yes.”
She offered her hand and I shook it.
“I’m Jodi Steffen,” she said. “I’m one of the producers. There’s something that I need you to do for us, but not now. In a minute.”
We moved closer to Leland’s place. The sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, and it bathed the house in a golden light. Instead of making it appear inviting, though, the sun highlighted the structure’s many imperfections, giving the impression that it was even more dilapidated than it was. There was a man recording the imperfections with a handheld camera, shooting them from a wide variety of angles. Meanwhile, a second man was setting up a bank of shaded lights on thin telescoping posts behind the branches of a tree, the lights aimed at the front windows of the house.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“That’s our special effects guy,” Jodi said. “He’s setting up GV shots that’ll make the house look dangerous—trees casting menacing shadows on the wall, that sort of thing. We’re trying to create an ominous atmosphere.”
“I find it disconcerting that you have a special effects guy on a reality TV show,” I said.
“You’ve never heard of the observer effect?”
“The theory that the mere observation of a phenomenon inevitably changes the phenomenon?”
“Listen, general view shots are anything that looks interesting, that helps create a sense of time and place,” Jodi said. “They tell the viewer what part of the year it is, if it’s hot or cold, what kind of neighborhood we’re in, if the structure is old or new or in between, if the place is scary. They provide the editors with the necessary tools to help build an edit, to help move the story along.”
I found that disconcerting, too, but kept it to myself.
We passed the white truck. It was filled with lights, grip stands, small sandbags to keep the stands from falling over, tripods, rags and frames, reflectors, generators, electric cords, microphones, and a lot of other equipment I couldn’t identify.
Eventually we halted a few yards away from Leland’s house. A well-dressed woman, only a few years older than Jodi, was standing in front of it just outside the cyclone fence. The FOR SALE sign had been moved so that it was peeking over her shoulder. There was a camera with a microphone mounted on its side pointed at her face. A second camera was pointed at Hannah Braaten. Hannah was holding a notepad that she kept referring to while she spoke to the woman. The director I had met at the psychic festival was sitting in a canvas chair a few feet behind Hannah and the first cameraman. He was wearing a set of headphones and watching a small video screen mounted on a folding table that revealed what the cameras were filming.
Jodi pressed an index finger against her closed lips and gestured for me to follow her to the black TV van. The door was open, and we leaned inside. There was a man sitting on a stool in front of a bank of CCTV monitors. He was also wearing headphones.
“This is Mission Control,” Jodi said.
I could hear Hannah and the other woman talking over a pair of speakers as they were being filmed. It turned out that the woman was the real estate agent who had given the production crew permission to film Leland’s house. She was telling Hannah that she’d heard all of the stories—the rumors, she called them—about the house being haunted. It was her hope that Hannah and her people would finally disprove the rumors once and for all.
“Nothing we do is scripted,” Jodi said. “The only moments that are planned are the scenes between the performers and the people they’re interviewing. That’s standard while shooting any story, even documentaries. We use the interviews to establish the history of the house, to set the scene, if you will. If you had arrived a few minutes earlier, you would have seen the interview we filmed with a neighbor who claims to know the history of the house, who knows some of the people who have been haunted.”
“Big black guy with a dog the size of his foot?” I asked.
Jodi smiled in recognition. “He was great,” she said. “Very colorful. We’ll need to bleep half the things he said, but that’s okay. It adds”—she paused as she searched for the correct word—“authenticity.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to give an interview,” I said.
“No. We have something else in mind for you.”
“Something else?”
“You’re going to be the innocent. The naïve victim lacking experience with spirits and the bad things they can do who seeks the help of the heroic yet world-weary psychic medium.”
I started to laugh. The tech working the control panel turned his head and glared at me. I put my hand over my mouth to tone it down.
“You think I’m joking,” Jodi said. “Hannah said that you would be in the house with her, that we’d hear you and film you. She also said that you absolutely refuse to be questioned on tape. So how else are we going to introduce your character? How do we justify your involvement? The plan is for Hannah to record a voice-over that’ll explain your part in the story. You won’t say a word. Okay?”
“I thought you said that all of this was unscripted.”
“We don’t fake anything, McKenzie. Other crews do; we all get that. But we don’t. At the same time, the execs put pressure on us to keep it interesting and action-packed. That’s what all the GVs are about. That’s a major reason why we film at night, forget the so-called witching hour.
“You might have also noticed if you watch these kinds of shows that only the highlights of a paranormal investigation are shown on-screen. The audience doesn’t see us sitting in the dark all night waiting for something to happen. They don’t see us poring over hours of video to discover if anything paranormal was captured by the cameras. To keep it exciting without altering the actual content, we employ narrative tricks. Which brings me to what we need you to do…”
A few minutes later, I was in my Mustang and slowly circling the block. Jodi wanted to film me driving down the street, parking, stepping out of the car, and walking toward Leland’s house.
“We’re establishing your character,” Jodi said.
All I could think of was a story I once heard about the actor Steve McQueen and how he practiced getting out of his Mustang over and over again so that he’d look super cool while doing it in the film Bullitt.
I positioned my own Mustang at the end of Leland’s street and slowly drove down it, refusing to look at the camera as I had been instructed. I eased into the designated parking spot, turned off the engine, and opened the door. I slipped out, twisting my body so that I was looking over the roof of the Mustang toward the camera beyond. I paused for a moment as if searching for something, eased along the side of the car until I had room to close the door, and moved slowly toward the house, all while trying to keep my face expressionless. I left my leather jacket unzipped despite the crisp winter air, and it flapped open as I walked.
Jodi slowly applauded when I reached her. “Very nice,” she said.
“Are you sure? I could do it again.”
What is wrong with you? my inner voice wanted to know.
“We’re good,” Jodi said.
Next, they filmed me walking up to Hannah, who was waiting next to the gate of the cyclone fence. I extended my hand and she shook it, and we chatted, and then she hugged my shoulders as if we were friendly, yet not quite friends.
“How was that?” I asked.
Have you no shame?
After being assured that there was no need for retakes, I zipped my jacket and leaned against the fence. The sun was close to setting. Hannah moved to the director’s side and they began a spirited back-and-forth. The director kept glancing at his watch. Hannah kept gesturing with her hands as if there were nothing to worry about. After a few minutes, the director called my name and offered his hand. I walked up to him and shook it.
“Good to see you,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Are you clear on what you need to do?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Good. I like spontaneity.” He glanced at his watch some more. “Now if only the other one would show up.”
The other one?
The director turned his back to me and spoke to no one in particular. “Are we almost ready?”
A member of the director’s crew said that he had just finished placing the cameras and infrared motion sensors in the house.
“Show me,” the director said.
The two men and Jodi retreated to the black van.
Hannah smiled at me. “Nervous?” she asked.
I surprised myself by answering, “Yes. I’m not used to all these cameras.”
“You’re supposed to pretend that they’re not there.”
“I’ll try.”
“Are you sure it’s just the cameras, McKenzie?”
“What else?”
“You’re the one who wants to talk to Leland Hayes.”
“What I want…”
“Yes?”
“Remember when we first met? I told you I was confused and that I didn’t like being confused. I’m hoping after tonight I will be unconfused.”
“One way or another.”
I had to chuckle at that.
“Yes,” I said. “One way or another.”
“Once we get inside, follow my lead. I’ll explain things as we go. It’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you.”
“Because I’m so innocent and naïve?”
I didn’t laugh the way I had when Jodi first told me what my role in the TV show would be, yet I did smile.
“Big, brave, gun-toting ex-cop—were you ever innocent, McKenzie?” Hannah asked.
“Probably not. You?”
“Oh, yes. When I was younger. Sweet and innocent. Not now, though. McKenzie, the stories I could tell.”
“Where’s your mom?” I asked.
“She’ll be along.”
A few moments later, a car parked across the street and Esti Braaten stepped out of it. She was followed by Kayla Janas.
I glanced at Hannah.
“She wants to learn,” Hannah said. “She wants to help. Besides, if I can’t read Leland, maybe she can.”
“Aren’t you afraid that Kayla will discover you’re not the superstar you claim to be?” I asked.
“I’ve never claimed to be a super anything.”
The women joined us. Hannah and Esti hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other for a while, which I found refreshing.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Esti said without offering an explanation.
Hannah and Kayla also hugged.
“Are you okay?” Hannah asked.
“No,” Kayla answered. “This is all new to me, like I said when you called, so no.”
“You’ll be fine. Just keep yourself open. Tell us everything that you see or hear.”
“I’ll try.”
“There are no locks on the door, Kayla. No one is forcing you to stay. If you start to feel that it’s too much for you, just walk out of the house. All right?”
“All right.”
Kayla turned toward me. “McKenzie,” she said.
She hugged me close, but it wasn’t about affection. Kayla needed someone to hold on to. She told me why in a whisper.
“I’m scared to death,” Kayla said.
“Don’t be,” I said. “Didn’t your parents tell you? There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Kayla thought that was funny, but Hannah and Esti didn’t.
I released the young woman when Jodi motioned me toward her.
“Take this,” she said.
I took the electronic device that she offered and bounced it in my hand.
“What is it?” I asked.
“An EVP recorder.”
“EVP?”
“Electronic voice phenomena. We use these to digitally record what the spirits say to us. We might not hear the spirit, but these devices are specially designed to capture voices and sounds that can’t be detected by the human ear, voices and sounds that are considered paranormal or supernatural. We hope. Mostly everything we record will turn out to be a whole lot of nothing, just mushy static. Sometimes a producer will be convinced that he heard a spirit speaking from the other side and will replay the mush over and over again, telling us what it says. Then he’ll throw up a caption on the screen that translates the mush and replay it a half-dozen more times and the audience will say, ‘Yeah, I hear it, too.’ But mostly it’s mush.”
“Are you saying that sometimes producers will fake EVPs?”
“I’m saying that you sometimes hear what you want to hear, and what you want to hear more often than not helps support a dramatic plot line. Except, this one time—I’ll never forget it. We recorded an EVP of a woman’s voice, speaking clear as a bell. She said, ‘He’s sleeping now.’ It was captured near a fresh, unmarked grave that turned out to be a newly buried child. It still raises goose bumps when I think of it.
“Sometimes you wonder if it’s your imagination, if it’s playing tricks on you,” Jodi added. “Other times … I’ve been involved with paranormal crews that have been able to document the existence of the spirit world over and over again. ’Course, scientists rarely accept our evidence as valid, for the simple reason that crews are all over the place. Nobody’s tools, methods, and practices are standardized. Our conclusions can’t be reproduced in a laboratory; they don’t lend themselves to peer review. That doesn’t make them any less true, though. McKenzie, I have a very good feeling about tonight.”
Well, that makes one of us, my inner voice said.
“Okay,” the director said. “Is everybody here? Is everybody ready? Hannah? Kayla? McKenzie?”
Jodi and I joined the others at the gate. Hannah had picked up a large leather purse and draped it over her shoulder. I didn’t think she was going on a shopping expedition to the Mall of America, so I asked her, “What’s in the bag?”
“A few necessities.”
“Necessities?”
“A girl never knows when she’ll be invited on a long weekend in Vegas.”
Esti shook her head and turned away. Everyone else laughed.
By then the sun had set and night had settled over the Cities. There were plenty of streetlights, of course, and porch lights, and the lights streaming from the windows of houses where normal people were going about their business. There were no lights on in Leland’s house. The show would be filmed in complete darkness with night-vision cameras because—drama.
I stood staring at the house for a few beats before I realized that Hannah and Kayla were doing the same thing. I wondered if they were thinking what I was thinking—that they would look fabulous in the spooky pale green color that night-vision cameras film in, while I’d probably resemble the alien in Predator. I found the idea disconcerting.
When did you become such a Hollywood baby?
“Remember,” the director said. “Don’t speak unless you have something to say. Audio is everything. We want to hear the things that go bump in the night, and we can’t if the performers are talking nonstop.”
I turned on the EVP recorder and stuffed it into the pocket of my jacket.
“Cameras,” he added. “Keep on the performers when they’re talking. If the editors hear a vital conversation and want to cut it into the show, they’re not going to be happy if you’re busy filming an empty corridor. Hannah, it’s all about you. Make it happen. All right. Let’s have a good show.”