At the top of the ladder, Kimberly accepted Sterling’s outstretched hand. He tugged and she landed on the floor. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, seriously. Gain a little weight. You’re so light you’d be easy to grab off the street and shove into a car.”
She shook her head and blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
“You worry so much about stalkers, but you weigh nothing. Put on some weight so you’ll be harder to kidnap.”
“I suspect Patty Hearst might not agree with that tactic.” Brow furrowed, she started to explain all the ways that was wrong. Then she noticed the glint in his eye and the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. She squinted and gave him a shove. “You goof! I never know when you’re teasing.”
“Good. Though you seem to be catching on. And honestly a couple pounds wouldn’t kill you.” He poked her in the side.
She jumped. “Stop that!”
“Oh, you’re ticklish. I will file that away for later.” He rubbed his hands together.
She pointed at him. “Don’t even think about it!”
A thump ended their conversation.
She whirled. “What was that? Did you see something, TJ?”
TJ sounded sheepish. “I had the camera on you two, recording you flirting.”
After she’d just been thinking how he always managed to catch the right moment on camera. She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything discouraging though. “We weren’t flirting. Either of you see a light switch?” The light from the opening below illuminated only the area around them, and she didn’t relish the idea of running her hands along unknown surfaces.
“Here,” Sterling said. With a click, he stood in a pool of light from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He let go of the light pull and brushed his hands together. “Cobwebs. My favorite.”
She turned, taking in the dimly lit attic. The sloping ceiling followed the roofline, narrowing at the edges. Dust accumulated in furry film on the tops of stacked boxes. A few pieces of old, worn-out furniture sagged in the dark, low corners, napping in their shadowy resting places.
What could Snickers have detected? Why did he lead her here? She clasped her quartz stone, breathed deeply, and opened her senses to any disturbances. Her burned hand throbbed painfully. She did her best to ignore it and focus on the attic. “Anyone see anything amiss? Something out of place? Anything to explain a thump?”
“Maybe a tree branch banged against the side of the house,” Sterling suggested.
She went to the window and peered out. “Good suggestion. But no tree branches within striking distance.”
“I appreciate you considered the explanation,” Sterling said, exuding delight from his heart chakra.
“Would have made things easier.”
Trees reminded her of the noose she’d seen swinging from the tree in the backyard. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“You cold?” Sterling asked.
She realized she was. The attic could store sides of meat. Her teeth chattered as she answered. “It’s chilly up here.”
TJ and Sterling shared a glance, brows furrowed.
“It’s actually the opposite of chilly,” Sterling said. “It’s warm and stuffy.”
She looked to TJ for confirmation, but he shook his head, eyes concerned behind his thick-rimmed black glasses. “I’m roasting. But let me switch to the FLIR.”
While TJ shuffled cameras, she reached out with her sixth sense. A burning odor irritated her nose, like ozone after a lightning strike. The air crackled with residue, raising her hair on end. Her skin prickled.
She looked down. A small jumble of objects lay on the floor. Squatting, she took a closer look before picking up a teddy bear. Something metallic fell to the floor and rolled away. She grabbed it before it rolled out of sight.
“What did you find?” Sterling asked.
TJ moved closer, cameras in hand. “Look, Ms. Wantland! I’m using both cameras at the same time! I’ve never even seen Stan do this!”
“Good job, TJ. Sterling, it was a ring,” she said, peering up at him. “I noticed this cluster of things, picked up the stuffed animal, and the ring rolled away.”
Sterling bent down and poked through the items, lifting a small book, a necklace, and an ink pen. “What is all this mess? They just tossed this stuff up into the attic? The rest of the space is pretty well organized and well kept. Why this pile of junk?”
“I don’t think this is junk. Look at the ring. It looks vintage and potentially valuable.”
Sterling put his hand out to accept the jewelry. When she brushed against him, he grabbed her hand. “Your hands are like ice!”
“I told you I’m cold. It’s freezing up here.”
“And I told you it’s stuffy and hot. Not cold at all. I’m sweating.”
“I guess you have a higher metabolism.”
“Not that high. More likely you’re going into shock from that burn on your hand. I think you need medical attention.”
“You’re both wrong,” TJ said. “She has a cold spot directly around her.”
“What?” Sterling asked.
“Come see. It’s quite clear. Vivid and distinct blue aura around her signature body heat.”
“Come see? I’m standing right next to her. I don’t feel a cold spot.”
“You’re not close enough. It’s specifically affecting only her. Never seen this before. I think it might be an attack.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
TJ shrugged. “But I can see it quite clearly. Look.”
She sifted through the other objects in the little pile as TJ and Sterling squabbled over the FLIR images. Pack rats collected “treasures” into little piles like this, but they hid them in their nests. She didn’t see signs of rodent activity. Besides, this was out in the open, not tucked away in a nest.
She picked up the small notebook, turning it over in her hands. My Daily Prayers the cover read above a picture of a cross, a dove, and water. Not a notebook. A prayer book. She looked again at the items. Ruth had mentioned in the family interview that things had disappeared from the house. Were these the missing belongings?
She reached for the teddy bear, but the terrible odor she’d smelled when they first arrived at the Johnsons’ house filled the attic. She could barely breathe, the acrid stench burning her throat and lungs. Foul air choked her until she coughed. Her head began to pound. Pressure built as though two massive hands rested on either side of her head, squeezing like a vise grip.
Waves of nausea struck. She leaned forward on her hands as the room around her lurched, the floor tilting askew. Afraid she would slide along the slanted floorboards, she tried in vain to grab onto something. Dizzy, she couldn’t move. She heard TJ and Sterling call out to her, but she couldn’t answer. Hands grasped her hunched form, pulling her, until strong arms scooped her off the floor.
She rested her head against Sterling’s chest as he cradled her in his arms, comforted by his scent, which overpowered the rotten odor surrounding her. His heavy footsteps clunked against the attic floor, extracting her from the foul environment. As they drew closer to the door and fresh air, the pain in her head subsided a little. His lips brushed her ear. “Can you get down the stairs?”
She nodded, anxious to leave the horrid space. Who was this entity attacking her for intruding? He lowered her feet to the floor but kept her tucked close, one arm curled around her, steadying her against his warm body. She longed to press her frigid hands against him.
“Let me go down first. You can even sit on my shoulder if you need to. TJ?”
“Yeah?”
“You getting all this?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I want someone to see this and try to argue there’s nothing in this house making people sick. I’ll go back up and collect samples, maybe use a carbon monoxide tester.”
“And hopefully we can catch the spirit on the FLIR. Nasty little beast, isn’t he? Went right for Ms. Wantland. Full-blown attack.”
Sterling shook his head and reached to steady her as he descended the steps out of the attic. Fighting nausea, she managed to turn herself around and place her hands on the floor. She felt about with a foot until it connected with the first step. Wobbly, she didn’t trust herself not to tumble to the floor below. Sterling somehow managed to situate himself just below her. “Here. Sit on my shoulder. Or at least lean on me for support.”
Too weak and disoriented to argue or attempt the stairs independently, she did as instructed. Somehow, they inched their way back to the floor below.
As soon as he neared the ground, Sterling yelled over his shoulder. “Rosie! Kimberly’s sick! Come quick!”
Shaking, she slid from his shoulder, gripped the handrail, stepped off the final stair, and lowered herself to the floor, leaning against the wall. Sterling crouched beside her. He rested a hand against her forehead, patted her cheek, and peered at her anxiously until Rosie flew up the staircase and took over.
Snickers whined nearby. She turned to assure the dog she was okay, that she would be fine. But he wasn’t looking at her at all. He peered up the stairs, his gaze intent as though watching something.
She motioned to TJ, who bent low to hear her. “Let Stan get this for the show. You take the FLIR and see what the dog is watching. Maybe you can capture something helpful. Have Elise record Snicker’s behavior. Something dreadful is up there. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Yes, Ms. Wantland.” The junior camera operator rushed to carry out her instructions.
Rosie rubbed lemon oil on her temples. Sterling snatched up the bottle and caressed her hands with the invigorating oil. The fog began to lift from her mind. Her sour stomach lingered, and for one horrible moment she feared she would vomit right there in the hallway, on camera, in front of Sterling.
“You look extremely pale,” Sterling noticed. “White as a ghost, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
She clutched her abdomen as another wave of nausea overwhelmed her.
“Come on, the joke wasn’t that bad,” Sterling said. Though he kept his voice light, she saw concern in his eyes.
“What is it, girl?” Rosie asked.
“I feel like I’m going to puke. That horrible smell filled the attic while we were up there.”
She saw Rosie look to Sterling, who shook his head, his brow deeply furrowed.
“What else?” Rosie asked.
“My head felt like it was going to explode. It still hurts, though not as badly.”
“And she complained of cold,” Sterling added. “She was shivering, and her hands felt like ice. I suspect she’s going into shock.”
Rosie pawed through her satchel, much like a traditional doctor’s black bag but filled with the herbs, crystals, oils, and teas she used to support Kimberly’s psychic health. “She’s not in shock from that little psychic burn. She’s been attacked by a spirit that wants her gone. But he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Kimberly never quits. And I’m here to keep her going.”
Sterling sighed and shook his head a bit. “How can I help?”
Rosie withdrew dropper bottles full of tinctures then placed her hands in front of Kimberly and closed her eyes. “Your spectrum is out of whack. You’re scared.”
She lifted one eyebrow and smiled. “I could have told you that.”
Rosie peered at the bottles, presumably weighing her treatment options.
Snickers whined. Kimberly turned to see why and heard a scuffling from the attic. TJ worked his way down the ladder, something tucked under one arm.
“I think I found what caused the thump upstairs, Ms. Wantland.” He carried a simple file box. “I found it on its side.”
She eyed the plastic container, hinged lid clasped in place. No lock. No label. She retracted her hand from Sterling—still massaging—and reached for it.
The box nearly jumped from TJ’s hands and into hers. Startled, she dropped it in front of her. The dull thud it caused sounded identical to the thump they’d heard upstairs. Then again, did thuds and thumps really differ all that much?
Snickers spun around, teeth bared, and crept closer, nose quivering, snuffling so hard he snorted like a pig.
Sterling scowled and held out a hand. “Stop that! Go on! Shoo! Is this dog bipolar? What the heck?”
Crouching low, the dog wormed his way past Sterling until he reached the box.
Sterling threw an arm in front of her. “I won’t have that mutt bite her. She’s endured enough injuries.”
Kimberly watched closely. “I think he’s disturbed by the box.” Though she defended Snickers, she didn’t push Sterling’s arm away. She wasn’t sure enough to risk a bite.
Sterling scooped it up. “What the hell is in it?” He popped the clasp and rocked the lid back. “Oh, my gosh.”
She heard a collective gasp from the gathered crew. Scarcely able to breathe, she managed to whisper, “What is it?”
He spun the box as she leaned closer.
“Paperwork,” he announced, inspecting a page. “Boring, filed paperwork. Property documents, looks like to me.”
“Property documents? May I?” She reached for the box, but before she could grab it, one page from the very back of the box slid to the floor beside her.
Sterling shook his head. “What the—” He peered into the box, shook it slightly, and tapped the side. No other paperwork slid out.
“I have a camera on Kimberly. Caught the phenomenon,” Stan assured them.
Burning hand throbbing, arm hair standing on end, she reached for the official-looking page. The thin, yellowed paper crackled between her fingers then sizzled with charged energy. Her eyes scanned the faded letters, typed so long ago. It was a claim deed issued by the Homestead Office to James Loveless on April 24, 1889.
Why did the spirit bring this to her attention? The family’s ancestors had no reason to cause problems or inflict harm. Who did? Whatever presence had infiltrated the house and targeted Faith seemed willing to do anything to get what he wanted. But what did he want? Powerful and fired up, he must have a strong motivation feeding his manifestations.
Michael squatted beside her. “What are you getting from it? Images? Visions? Connection?”
“It’s charged, but I’m not getting anything else. No helpful information.”
Sterling continued to fiddle with the box. “What caused that to—”
The hallway lights flickered. The closet door leading to the attic slammed shut.
“I think it’s time for another family meeting,” she said. “Tomorrow morning as soon as we can gather them together.”