Zane didn’t know how much preparation was required for ghost investigations until he met Supernatural Anonymous, which was what Garrett and the rest of Solitude’s local teen enthusiasts of the paranormal called themselves. When Zane arrived, they were already gathered outside Stilgarth Manor, armed with cameras, laptops, and other strange gadgets he didn’t recognize. Garrett was standing beside some of the members and cheerfully waved him over.
“How did you afford all of these?” Zane asked.
“Lincoln’s dad has a tech shop and is a ghost hunter hobbyist himself.” Garrett held up something that looked like a small box. “And Chris’s dad makes wedding videos, so he has a bunch of older equipment he lets Chris use.”
“You must be Garrett’s friend, right?” another boy asked. He had yellow hair and bright blue eyes. “First time here? Got bitten by the ghost bug like us?”
“I don’t really know if I believe in ghosts,” Zane admitted, avoid Garrett’s gaze.
Far from being annoyed, the boy laughed. “You should talk to Chris. He’s the resident skeptic and heathen unbeliever in our group. I like having him around, though. Keeps us grounded. Makes us approach everything with logic so we don’t get carried away by every moving shadow. He does the research so we can focus on the ghost hunting. My name’s Lincoln Myers. I don’t think we share any classes at Gainsborough, but Garrett’s told us a lot about you. Real big of your dad to give us permission. You’re something of a celebrity, too, you know that?”
“I hope not,” Zane said with a shudder.
Lincoln laughed again. “I just mean I hear you’ve got skills on the court.” He patted Zane’s shoulder. “We’ll be heading inside in five minutes—stick close to us and make sure you don’t wander off. Stilgarth isn’t a maze, but we always try to play it safe. It may not look haunted, but sometimes those are the ones with the most activity. And Stilgarth’s never let us down.”
Skills on the court. Had Garrett said that? But why—
“We’ve finished setting up the motion sensors,” a teenage girl said, interrupting his thoughts. Her tone was all business. “I’m Jen Valeria. The house is more famous for creepy sounds and voices than any poltergeist activity, but on the rare occasions that the latter happens, it can be intense, so we’re hoping we can catch something on camera in real time. Do you have any questions before we get started?”
Zane didn’t. Garrett turned to the rest of the members, who were waiting expectantly for the go-ahead. “We’re going to split off into three groups,” Garrett told them. “Alpha team will stay on the ground floor and do our base investigations: monitor for voices, footsteps, sightings, anything else that’s unusual. Bravo will scout the rest of the rooms on the first floor. Charlie team will be moving up to the second landing. We’ll be calling the ghost by name, using both Gravemother and Ginevra Traithe when we ask for a sign of her presence. Then we’ll be moving to the cemetery to keep vigil by the Gravemother’s memorial, to see if we can get lucky there, too.
“Stacie, you’re in charge of Alpha. Mort, you are for Bravo. I’m gonna lead Charlie, and I think Chris should stay with us just to see if he can get a rise out of the ghost again.”
One of the boys in the group with sandy-brown hair rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s see if the Gravemother’s in the mood for a chat.”
“Like I said, heathen unbeliever,” Lincoln said to Zane. “I’d like it if you accompany Garrett and me on the Charlie team, too. Since you’re a descendant of the Gravemother, she might recognize you even without the deed to the house. You did bring it, right?”
“Yeah,” Zane said. He dug into his pockets and retrieved the folded copy of the document.
Lincoln nodded in satisfaction. “I promised my dad I wouldn’t be out too late, either,” he said, “so this shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Cross your fingers that we find confirmation soon enough. Otherwise, we can always come back and try again another night.”
The ghost-hunting crew had set up more devices by the main hall, and they all looked overly complicated. There were three laptops on standby on a table the team had brought, given that the house was missing anything that could pass for furniture. Several foldable metal chairs were available for the Alpha team to sit on, so they could catch anything happening on-screen. There was a camera trained on a long hallway heading into the other rooms on the ground floor, and the team’s resident IT expert, Matt, explained that they already had more cameras stationed beyond. There was one more at the base of the staircase leading up to the next landing.
Zane couldn’t help but be impressed. The boys and girls on the crew were no older than him, but everyone was acting like professionals who’d done this a million times over. Garrett explained that Chris had learned how to set up similar equipment from his father and taught the rest of them how to do it.
“But you didn’t tell them you’ve seen the Gravemother yourself?” Zane whispered to Garrett.
Garrett looked uncomfortable. “Our policy is to only consider evidence we can see on audio and video as valid. It’s not like we don’t believe eyewitness accounts, but we need something more to substantiate them. And yeah, I know that I saw what I saw, and you did, too, but . . .” He sighed. “They might think I’m just trying to claim bragging rights.”
“There’s another camera on the hallway upstairs,” Lincoln announced. “But we’re going to rely on recording tech to capture EVP—electronic voice phenomena—and also use spirit boxes to communicate with the ghost in most of the rooms on the second floor. That’s where the Gravemother is usually heard. Oh, as a heads-up, just wanna remind everyone about those annoying pipes knocking around in the room at the back of the house, so we can dismiss those right off the bat.”
“You know about the noises, too?” Zane asked.
“Yeah. Nearly jumped out of our skin the first time we heard the rattling. We were so sure we’d gotten valid evidence at last, up until some of the other crews told us what it really was.”
“Has anyone seen what she looks like yet?” Garrett asked, with a significant glance back at Zane.
“I wish,” Lincoln said. “We don’t even have a portrait of her. We do know from some accounts back then that she had black hair and green eyes and was pretty, but that’s it. We know just a little bit more about her husband, Harrison, but that’s because he was a big shot back in the day. One of the richer businessmen in town. My mom’s into history, and she said he had a reputation for being ruthless. There are a lot of unflattering accounts written about him, but not much about his wife.”
While the other teams split off to carry out their instructions, Lincoln led team Charlie up to the second floor and into one of the rooms. Zane realized immediately whose room it was.
Mr. Vink had refrained from bringing Zane, Emma, and their father here that first visit, citing the damage. The outer walls of the room had not been touched, preventing the cold chill outside from getting in. The workers had focused instead on the wall that had separated Ginevra Traithe’s quarters from the bedroom beside it, but the wreckage was extensive enough. Debris littered the floor, though an attempt had been made to pile it in one corner, allowing people to walk around it. The floor still appeared intact, but everything was covered in thick layers of sawdust, thanks to the destruction done to the roof above it.
“There are three bedrooms on this floor,” Lincoln explained. “The smallest was likely for guests, and the largest for the master of the house, which in this case would be Harrison Traithe. We think that this room was the one that Ginevra Traithe occupied when she was alive. But we’ll scout out Harrison Traithe’s quarters first.”
The room at the opposite end of the hallway was just as bare as everything downstairs. Lincoln stopped before the large fireplace, over which another mantel-piece loomed, and took out an odd metal box.
“What is that?” Zane whispered.
“A spirit box,” Garrett replied. “It goes through different radio frequencies at a few tenths of a second. The ghost can manipulate the resulting white noise into communications.”
“That sounds scientific, but I’m also pretty sure that it’s not.”
“It works!”
“Why? Did a ghost tell you that?”
“I’m glad I’m not the only unbeliever here,” Chris murmured, close enough to hear them.
Garrett rolled his eyes. “Only fricking Bridget Montgomery vouches for it, and I’ll take her expertise over yours.”
Lincoln handed the box to Garrett, who flicked it on. The loud, annoying sounds of thrumming static started up almost immediately.
“Harrison Traithe,” Garrett intoned. “Are you here with us tonight?”
The spirit box squawked.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Chris quipped.
Garrett snorted. “Harrison Traithe, if you’re here with us, please smack Chris’s head as a sign.”
That got a few laughs from the group.
A garbled screech burst from the box. Garrett looked down at it, excited. “What was that? Jen, did you get that?”
For a few short minutes he and three others huddled over the recorder, rewinding and listening intently. “I think it might have said hello,” Jen said slowly.
“Are you trying to say hello to us, Harrison Traithe?” Lincoln asked. “Do you want to hang out, answer some questions? We want to know more about you.”
More static, and then further high-pitched sounds. “I heard it,” one of the members whispered. “I’m pretty sure it said Stanton.”
“What, me?” This from Chris, sounding doubtful.
The box spat out rapid-fire noises that almost sounded like words.
“Stanton,” Jen interpreted. “I’m coming for you next.”
The sudden intake of breath from the rest of the group was broken only by Chris’s disbelieving laughter. “Oh no, I’m in trouble!”
“Dude!” Lincoln hissed out.
“If it’s interested in me, then maybe I should push some more.” Chris stepped toward the spirit box. “Hey there, ol’ Harrison,” he said conversationally. “How’s it hanging up there? Or, uh, down there, whatever, I won’t judge. Is there something you want to say to me? Does the Gravemother have some beef with me? We can sit down and talk it over. Grab some pancakes if you want.”
“What’s he doing?” Zane murmured.
“Lincoln complains about it, but it’s part of their shtick,” Jen said. “Good cop, bad cop. Or good investigator, bad investigator, in this case.”
A flurry of noises from the spirit box, and this time Zane could hear the voice, rough and crackling and angry. Get you, it snarled. I will hunt you, before dwindling back down into white static.
“Whoa,” Lincoln said. “That was unequivocally a voice speaking.”
“I’m doomed,” Chris said with a dramatic sigh.
Zane and Garrett glanced at each other. The encounter didn’t feel the same as the ones Zane had had with the Gravemother.
There were no other voices audible in the small room after that. “Well, that’s a bit of a letdown, given our promising start,” Garrett said. “But the next one’s the main event, so I’m optimistic.”
Zane’s hand trembled as his flashlight glanced off the room’s surfaces. The beam flickered as he trained it on the wooden floor and then toward the window—
—and then he stopped, gripped by a sudden surge of déjà vu.
The window looked exactly like the one he’d seen in his vision of the woman in his bedroom.
He took a step back and turned, intending to tell Garrett of this revelation—
—and his flashlight caught a glimpse of white as something (some large spider?) crawled across the wall just outside the bedroom door—though, no, not a spider—he saw enough limbs to know it looked human. He stumbled back.
“Hey.” Garrett caught him before he could trip. “What’s wrong?”
Zane looked again, but there was nothing there.
“You sure you’re okay?” Garrett persisted.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good. Ginevra Traithe,” Garrett said formally, “can you hear us?”
Static.
“We have something extra for you today, Ginevra Traithe.” Garrett gestured at Zane. Still shaken from what he’d just witnessed, Zane’s fingers fumbled as he pulled out the documents again, holding them out to the other boy with a trembling arm.
“Thank you,” Garrett said, taking them and trying to sound formal. “Ginevra Traithe, I am holding papers that show the transfer of ownership of Stilgarth Manor to one William Kincaid, also a descendant of yours. I know you were angry when they tried to take the house apart, and rightfully so. But this deed means the house will remain standing for a little while longer. We’ve found your many times great-grandson! Isn’t that amazing?”
This time, the spirit box was silent. Frowning, Jen inspected it carefully. “Is it broken?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Lincoln said, worried. “I just bought this. They guaranteed that it would work for—”
He took a step back like he’d been shoved as the spirit box erupted into a frenzy, like someone was screaming with a piercing, discordant voice. It went on for a few more seconds before dropping off abruptly, silence reigning once more.
“Wh-whoa,” Lincoln said, stuttering. “Whoa. D-did you get that, Ronald? If we didn’t get this on audio, I think I’m gonna cry.”
“Did you hear any words?” Chris asked Garrett.
“No, just a lot of screeching. But this is good. It’s getting a rise out of the ghost in some way. I’m going to narrate parts of the document. Keep recording and keep your eyes and ears peeled.” Garrett cleared his throat, shuffled the papers in his hand, and began to read. “‘The township of Solitude (hereinafter: the “Transferor”) do hereby transfer, in consideration to William Emerson Kincaid (hereinafter: the “Transferee”), ownership of Stilgarth Manor at number six-one-six Alpine Road, Solitude—’”
There was a sudden sharp sound from the spirit box again, breaking through the static. At almost the same time, it sounded as though someone was knocking on the door, though it was wide open and no one stood nearby. Undeterred, Garrett continued.
“‘—to be held by the Transferee and/or his executors, administrators, and assigns, subject to the same terms and conditions—’”
The fireplace blazed to light without warning.
Zane jumped back with a yelp, shielding his eyes; they had gotten used to the darkness, and the sudden bright flames were jarring. He saw Garrett covering his face, and the others—
The others were nowhere to be found.
It was like they were in another place entirely. There was a four-poster bed in the corner, and a dresser and a large wardrobe, and a small table with a couple of chairs. The windows were closed, half hidden by some linen curtains, and there was a woman in the room with them, arguing with a man whom Zane didn’t recognize.
“How could you do this?” the woman cried. “I trusted you!”
“You’re making a fuss over nothing, Ginevra,” the man said, and Zane nearly jumped when he heard the name. “They’ll find the boy, I have no doubt. You know I won’t let anything happen to you—”
“Will you protect me?” Ginevra cried. “You’ve never done so before!”
The man’s face hardened. “Don’t be difficult, Ginevra.”
“No one’s been able to find Timothy or Jack! People are talking, and they say—they accuse me of foul play! I love them both, I would never—”
“And like I said, I will handle it. Just let me do all the talking.”
The woman took a step back, disbelieving. “You believe them, don’t you? You think that I had something to do with their disappearances.”
A strange look crossed the man’s face. “We can talk about it later. Ginevra—”
But something odd was taking over the woman. She clutched at her sides and sank down to the floor, then cupped her hands against her mouth. “No one understands me,” she whispered. “No one believes me. They will pay. I will make them pay. I will find—”
The room plunged unexpectedly into darkness.
The odd knocking sound they’d heard before seemed to have transferred to the floorboards; Zane could feel the jolts running up his feet. He looked at Garrett, only to see him staring, pale-faced, at the open window.
The Gravemother stood there, a horrible distortion of the woman Ginevra had once been, hair in wild tangles around her, neck broken, and eyes trained on them. With a crackling snarl that came from deep within her throat, she leaped forward—
—and they were back in the manor, just as the spirit box was ripped from Jen’s grip and sent hurtling toward the wall, where it smashed to smithereens. More sounds rose from the spirit box’s broken pieces as the gadget died, giving one last squeak before falling quiet for good.
In the ensuing silence, Jen spoke, voice trembling. “I think—I think it said Where’s Emmy?”