One of the cameramen went first. There were three of them, and I never learned their names, so I referred to them by letter.
Camera A went to the front door, opened it, stepped inside the house, and closed the door. A few moments later, the director said, “Action”—swear to God—and Hannah, Kayla, and I walked to the front door. I opened it and held it open for Hannah and Kayla, allowing them to pass through the doorway in front of me because that’s how I was raised, not because I didn’t want to go first.
Camera A had positioned himself halfway up the staircase, filming us from an overhead angle as we entered the house. The door was closed and we eased into the living room. There were a couple of chairs, a tall side table, and a sofa left over from the previous tenants, yet we didn’t use them. Hell, I could barely see them. There was a brief pause as Cameras B and C entered the house and took positions around us. I used the time to close my eyes and cover them with my hands, applying slight pressure with my palms. It was something that Shelby had taught me from her caving days—it’s supposed to help your eyes adjust to the dark, allowing them to see better with limited light sources.
“Keep yourself open,” Hannah said. I presumed she was talking to Kayla. I leaned against the back of a chair.
Minutes passed without anyone else speaking; I couldn’t tell you how many. Finally I removed my hands and opened my eyes. It wasn’t as if the place was suddenly lit up like Target Field during a Twins game, yet now I could see shapes, if not distinct features, and the shadows on the floor and walls that trembled along with the branches outside.
Hey, my inner voice said. The special effects guy is really good.
“Do you feel it?” Kayla asked. “The air? It’s very heavy.”
Hannah stood in the center of the room, her arms raised and her head bowed as if she were calling on an ancient deity.
“Yes,” she said. “There’s real darkness here.”
“I’ve never felt this before,” Kayla said. “It’s like the air is pressing down on me.”
“I have. Kayla, you can feel this?”
“Yes.”
“You told me that you communicate with the spirit world through words and pictures, not feelings.”
“That’s what normally happens. This—I don’t know how this is happening. I can’t explain it. What is it?”
“Nothing I haven’t felt before.”
“Hannah…”
“Evil, Kayla. We’re in the presence of evil.”
That caused my head to snap toward her. Hannah had lowered her arms and was adjusting the bag hanging from her shoulder.
That was pretty dramatic, my inner voice said.
Is she telling the truth or playing to the cameras? I asked myself.
The cameras, my inner voice said. We hope.
We remained standing in the darkness for I don’t know how long. I had lost all sense of time. It could have been a few minutes; it could have been much longer. I flashed on something that Einstein once said to help explain his theory of relativity—When you are sitting with a pretty girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot stove a second seems like an hour. That’s relativity.
I wondered what Einstein would think of what I was doing now.
He’d think you were nuts, my inner voice said.
“Something,” Kayla said.
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
“There’s an older man. He’s angry, a very, very angry person. He’s all about taking what’s his, about keeping what’s his. I can’t see him.”
“He’s hiding.”
“He enjoys tormenting the people who live here,” Kayla said. “The people who live here—he doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like their religion or their politics or philosophies or—he doesn’t like the color of their skin. He communicates with them mostly by yelling. He yells at them all the time. He yells at them so loudly that the furniture shakes. He stomps around so that it makes things move.”
I heard a loud thud from the kitchen and jumped about six feet into the air.
Better hope a camera wasn’t recording you, you wuss.
“What was that?” I asked aloud. It was the first time I had spoken since we entered the house, and I was surprised by the sound of my own voice. It was like I hadn’t heard it before.
“Probably the wind,” Hannah said.
“There is no wind tonight. Not much, anyway.”
“Not every little noise we hear in the dark is the spirit world trying to contact us. Take a deep breath. Try to relax. I learned a long time ago that it’s nothing until we can prove it’s something.”
Yeah, you innocent, naïve victim, you.
“But let’s take a look,” Hannah said.
Camera C went first, positioning himself in the kitchen so that he’d have good video of Hannah, Kayla, and me as we entered the small room. I went last again, just to be polite.
The kitchen had a white refrigerator and a white stove, reflecting what little light seeped through the narrow windows. The cabinets were made of dark wood. At least they seemed dark. There was nothing lying on the floor or on the kitchen counters or in the sink, nothing that might have fallen from the walls.
So what made the noise?
I was tempted to pull out my cell phone, turn on its flashlight, and take a good look around, but I knew no one would like it.
We stood in the kitchen listening for more noise. We heard none.
“The atmosphere isn’t as oppressive in here,” Kayla said.
“I read somewhere that the kitchen is the most important room in the house,” I said. “It’s where families gather not just for nourishment but also for conversations, debates, arguments, and hugs.”
The way both women ignored me, I had the distinct impression that my words would end up on the cutting room floor.
Oh, well.
After a few moments, Hannah directed us back into the living room.
“You can really tell the difference, can’t you,” Kayla said. “This room is so filled with negative energy.”
“Can you still feel the old man?” Hannah asked.
“No.”
“Neither can I.”
Hannah reached into her bag and pulled out what looked like little more than a black box in the darkness.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a K2 EMF meter. It detects electromagnetic energy, which often indicates the presence of spirits.”
“Does that really work?”
“Yes, although … not tonight.” Hannah dropped the meter into her bag and turned toward me. I couldn’t make out the expression on her face, yet I could feel her eyes. “You’re on.”
I stepped into the center of the room knowing that both Cameras B and C were pointed at me.
“Leland,” I said. “Leland Hayes. We’ve never been properly introduced. My name is McKenzie. I’m the guy who shot you in the head.”
I waited. I saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. I decided to explain myself.
“You robbed an armored truck, stole over half a million dollars, and hid it somewhere,” I said. “When we caught you, you decided to shoot it out. You decided it was better to kill a handful of police officers than surrender. I’m the one who shot you in self-defense. You know what? They gave me a commendation for it. What do you think of that?”
Are you talking to Leland or the cameras?
Both, I decided. I wanted to justify myself to the TV audience. I didn’t want them to think I was a killer.
We waited in the darkness in silence.
“I’m not receiving anything,” Hannah said.
“Neither am I,” Kayla replied. “If anything, the air seems lighter, somehow.”
“Let’s try the cellar.”
We moved back into the kitchen and found a narrow doorway that led to a wooden staircase to the basement. Once again a camera went ahead of us. I didn’t know which one; I had lost track of who was who. This time I made to go first, but Hannah put a hand on my shoulder and held me back so that Kayla could descend the stairs in front of us. Hannah went second. Suddenly I felt better about myself for going third.
The cellar was completely empty. It had a cement floor, stone walls, and the floor above us for a ceiling. If there was any heat on in the house, it had been set only high enough to keep the water pipes from bursting. The temperature in the basement was particularly low, although I couldn’t see my breath. I put my bare hands in my pockets to keep them warm, fingering my car keys in one and the EVP recorder in the other.
“I’m not feeling anything,” Kayla said. “The air is even lighter than it was in the kitchen.”
“I’m feeling something,” Hannah said.
“What?”
“Cold. It’s freezing down here. Holy mackerel, turn up the heat.”
“Don’t cold spots sometimes indicate the presence of a spirit?” Kayla asked.
“Yes. They also indicate that it’s December in Minnesota and we’re standing in a basement.”
Kayla and the cameramen chuckled, and I thought, The woman has charisma, you have to give her that.
“McKenzie,” Hannah said. “Try again.”
“Hey, Leland, you worthless piece of dog excrement—”
Editing your language for the TV cameras, are you?
“I met some guys you knew the other day. I wouldn’t call them friends, though. You didn’t have any friends, did you, because you were such a miserable SOB. You know what they did for your funeral? Nothing. No one cared about you. Not even your own kid. They cremated your body and dumped your ashes into a hole because that’s what you deserved.”
My words echoed in the empty cellar and faded to nothing. Again we waited in silence. Again nothing happened.
“Let’s get out of here,” Hannah said.
We climbed the stairs. As we climbed, Hannah whispered to me.
“Next time ask about the money,” she said.
We went up to the ground level and hung around some more. Eventually Hannah decided we should climb the stairs to the second story. Once again a cameraman went first.
We crowded into the smaller of the two upstairs bedrooms. I assumed that it had been Ryan’s.
“It’s not nearly as bad in here,” Hannah said. “The darkness. It’s almost like—it’s like a bubble of light.”
“There’s a woman,” Kayla said. “She’s very quiet, very timid; she’s afraid.”
“Can you see her?”
“No. I can’t see her, I can’t hear her, but I can feel her. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”
“In the past, the spirits wanted to talk to you,” Hannah said. “They wanted you to help them communicate with their loved ones. Tonight, they’re hiding.”
“Please,” Kayla said. “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re here to help you. Please, talk to me. Please, tell me who you are.”
Hannah had retrieved the K2 EMF meter from her bag and turned it on. The first three lights—green, light green, and yellow—were flashing.
“Keep talking,” she said. “Ask what her name is.”
“Who are you?” Kayla said. “Why are you here? Are you trapped in this house? Please, let us help you.”
“Are you Judith?” Hannah asked. “People called you Judy?”
All five lights on Hannah’s meter flared, including dark red, which indicated the highest concentration of electromagnetic radiation.
And then they went out.
Hannah actually shook the meter, but the lights would not go back on.
“Who’s Judith?” Kayla asked.
“Leland’s wife. She died of cancer years before Leland was killed.”
“Then why is she here?”
One of the cameramen said, “Look at this.”
We turned toward his voice. On the floor in the center of the bedroom across the hall was a light; we could see it flashing through the doorway.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s an infrared motion detector,” Hannah said. “Did anyone go into the bedroom? Anyone?”
There was no answer.
“C’mon,” she said.
We piled into the empty room—the master bedroom, I decided—and circled the motion detector. It was encased in an off-white plastic container that was designed to hang on a wall, but it had been set on its back on the floor by a member of the production company’s crew. Instead of a white light, it flashed bright orange-yellow, and I wondered if the color had been chosen by the special effects guy. No one attempted to turn it off.
“Oh my God.” Kayla was clutching her temples with both hands. “Immediate headache in here. Horrible headache.”
Hannah clutched her stomach and sank to her knees.
“Bad nausea,” she said. “I feel vertigo. I feel dizzy. There’s too much negative energy in here.”
“The older man … Ohhh, this person is not stable.”
“It’s a trap,” Hannah said. “He wanted us to come into this room. This is where he’s strongest.”
I felt none of the things that Hannah and Kayla were feeling, and hadn’t since we entered the house, yet watching the young women being assaulted by a ghost …
Are you listening to yourself?
I was compelled to act.
“Hey, Leland, you gutless chickenshit,” I said. “Is this all you’ve got? You’re too cowardly to take on a man, so you attack a couple of girls? That’s about your speed, isn’t it? You’re nothing but a coward. Even now that you’re dead, you’re too much of a pussy to take responsibility for your actions. You ruined your life and your ruined your son’s life and now you’re hiding in the dark—”
Kayla was on her knees and doubled over. I could see the anguish on her face in the flashing light.
“We need to get out of here,” she said.
“No,” Hannah said. “Not yet.”
“Tell you what I’m going to do,” I said. “I’m going to buy this worthless pile of crap you call a house, and after I search every square inch of it for the money you stole, I’m going to burn it to the fucking ground and then me and your kid are going to piss on the ashes. You can be the dumb ghost haunting an empty lot where the meth-heads go to shoot up.”
The motion detector flew off the floor and hit me square in the chest.
It was like being hit with a slap shot except I wasn’t wearing a chest protector.
The force of the blow pushed me backward against the wall; the motion detector clattered across the floor.
I clutched my chest because of the pain.
My first thought: Who did that? Was it a cameraman?
Then I felt it in my gut; it was like feeling the effects of being punched hard without actually feeling the blow itself.
I felt it again.
And again.
How is this possible?
I became nauseous; I began hacking as if I were about to vomit.
That felt a lot less agonizing than the searing pain vibrating in my head.
I fell to my knees.
“Stop it,” Kayla screamed. “Stop it.”
She moved to my side and cradled my shoulders in her arms, trying to protect me the way a mother might. She really was that caring. I immediately felt the pain and nausea leaving me—and entering Kayla.
This is crazy!
Kayla began hacking the way I had.
“What kind of man are you?” she shouted.
Leland answered by shoving her away. Kayla fell backward at least a half-dozen feet.
She landed on the floor.
I could hear her head bounce against the bare wood.
I could hear her gasping as if she suddenly couldn’t breathe.
I knelt next to her. She was writhing in pain. I attempted to cradle her the same way she had embraced me.
“Stop it,” I yelled. My head twisted back and forth as I searched for an adversary, someone I could hit. All I found was cameramen pointing their cameras at us, as impassive as furniture. “Leave her alone.”
Hannah crossed the room and eased me out of the way like an EMT who was taking charge. She reached into her bag and pulled out what looked to me in the flashing orange-yellow light like a bundle of tobacco leaves held together with blue yarn. There was a cheap lighter in her hand, the kind you find on display at the checkout lines of gas stations. She set fire to the leaves, waited a moment, and then blew out the flame.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Sage.”
The leaves began to glow like tobacco at the end of a lit cigar, the smoke creating a cloud above us. It had a kind of fragrant, woodsy scent like cedar.
Hannah slowly waved the smoldering sage above Kayla’s writhing body.
“St. Michael,” she said, “archangel, invincible in battle, be our guardian against the wickedness and the snares of the devil. Oh glorious prince of the heavenly armies, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits that wander the world.”
Kayla’s body slowly calmed. She rolled on her side. Her breathing became less erratic and raspy.
“Come to the assistance of those whom God has created in His likeness and whom He has redeemed at great price from the tyranny of the devil. Our protector, to you the Lord has entrusted the souls of the redeemed to be led into heaven. Crush Satan beneath our feet. Bind him and cast him into the bottomless pit that he may no longer seduce the nations.”
Kayla rolled onto her back. She became still; her breathing was under control. She closed her eyes, opened them, took a deep breath, and spoke with the exhale.
“Smudge stick?” she asked.
“White sage. From my own garden.”
With Hannah’s help, Kayla sat up and massaged the back of her head.
“That hurt,” she said.
“I can imagine.”
Kayla gestured at the smoking bundle of sage in Hannah’s hand.
“Do you have one for me?” she asked.
Hannah handed the smoldering stick to Kayla, reached back into her bag, and produced a second stick. She set it afire with the same cheap lighter, blew out the flame, and watched it smoke.
Hannah smiled at Kayla, Kayla smiled back, and I thought, They’re sisters in battle.
“Let’s go get him,” Hannah said.
Hannah helped Kayla to her feet and began chanting.
“In the Name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, of blessed Michael the Archangel, God arises; Satan and his cohorts are scattered. As smoke is driven away…”
“As smoke is driven away…” Kayla repeated.
“So are they driven…”
“So are they driven…”
It reminded me of the call and response of the old blues songs that came out of the bayous of Louisiana.
“As wax melts before the fire…”
“As wax melts before the fire…”
“So the wicked perish at the presence of God.”
“So the wicked perish at the presence of God.”
Hannah and Kayla circled the room before moving into the hallway, their smudge sticks leading the way, and I realized, They’re chasing the sonuvabitch.
“We drive you from us…” Hannah chanted.
“We drive you from us…” Kayla repeated.
“Unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions…”
They went into the smaller bedroom, waved their smudge sticks some more, then headed down the staircase. Cameras A, B, and C did their best to keep up while trying to stay out of the way.
“Most cunning serpent, you shall no longer deceive the human race…”
Once downstairs, they circled first the living room, then the kitchen, then the living room again, Hannah leading the way, Kayla following behind while repeating every word that her mentor uttered.
“Be gone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man’s salvation…”
Together, the two women slowly pushed toward the front door.
“Tremble and flee when we invoke the holy and terrible name of Jesus…”
They stopped at the door.
“Lord, grant us Thy powerful protection and keep us safe and sound.”
They stood looking at each other for a few beats.
“He’s gone,” Kayla said.
“I should hope so.”
“I don’t feel anything. The house is clear.”
Hannah actually laughed a joyous, gleeful laugh like I’ve heard from athletes after they’ve won a close championship game.
“You have to admit, that was fun,” she said.
“Are you crazy?” Kayla asked.
But I noticed that she was laughing, too.
“Will Leland return?” Kayla asked.
“He might. We’d have to do a full-blown cleansing, possibly even an exorcism, to finally send him to the other side. Or he may realize that there’s nothing to gain by staying here and go to the other side on his own, finally taking responsibility for his actions.”
“Wait. The woman. She’s still here.”
“Negative spirits will not stay when you stand up to them like we did,” Hannah said. “It’s like what they say about bullies—stand up to them and they’ll back down; they lose their power if you don’t cower before them, if you stay confident and strong. Good spirits, though, they’re not threatened by us. They won’t leave unless they want to.”
“I can see her.”
“Where?”
Kayla gestured toward the center of the living room.
“What do you see?” Hannah asked.
“She’s very beautiful. And young. And … I can hear her. Her name is Judith. Judy. Yes, yes we will—she wants us to follow her. McKenzie, she wants you to follow her.”
She does?
Kayla led us across the living room and into the kitchen. We went straight to the back door and opened it. Camera A tried to get in front of her, but Kayla was having none of it, so he had to film her from behind.
She paused outside the door and waited for Hannah and me and the camera guys to catch up. It was darker in the backyard than the front, yet there was still enough light to make out the spotty lawn, the cyclone fence, the garage, and the small, worn wooden shed that was leaning heavily against it.
“Oh,” Hannah said. “It’s very peaceful out here. Not like inside the house at all.”
“Follow us,” Kayla said.
Us?
She led us across the lawn, halting in front of the shed. She pointed at the door.
“In there, McKenzie,” Kayla said.
I stared at her for a few beats. It was like my brain had turned off; I didn’t understand what she wanted me to do.
“Judy wants you to open the door,” Kayla said.
“McKenzie,” Hannah said, “it’s all right. I feel only lightness and warmth.”
Cameras A and B positioned themselves so they could see me grab the latch and yank the door open. I looked inside the shed. It was empty. There weren’t even any tools on the floor or hanging from the walls.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Judy says you’ve been kind to her son.”
To Ryan?
“She says you deserve to know what happened. She wants you to know what happened.”
“About the money?” I asked.
“Judy wants you to look beneath the floorboards.”
For a moment, excitement thrilled through my body. I stared at the shed, then practically leapt toward it. I fell to my knees and began pulling at the boards even as my inner voice chanted, The money, the money …
The boards didn’t budge, though. I felt along the edge of the floor and discovered that they had been nailed to a two-by-four. I was able to work my fingers underneath the two-by-four and lift. The entire floor came up like a trapdoor, and I rested it against the back of the shed. All I saw beneath the boards, though, was a black hole. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, turned on the flashlight, and looked again. There was plenty of dirt. And nothing else.
“It’s empty,” I said.
Kayla started laughing. I glared up at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s Judy.”
“Tell her the money isn’t here,” I said.
“She knows. But she says it was there. She said this is where Leland hid it before he was killed. It’s gone now.”
“I can see that.”
“Leland didn’t know the money was gone, though. That’s why he stayed in the house. He thought he was hoarding the money for himself.”
“Ask Judy why she stayed,” Hannah said.
“She didn’t. Judy says she came from the other side when we—meaning you and me—connected Leland with her son. She wanted to help protect her son from Leland.”
Kayla laughed some more.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll tell him.”
“Tell me what?” I asked.
“Judy says she knows you’re upset about not finding the money. She says you want to know what happened to it.”
“I really, really do.”
“She says you’re a smart fellow. She says to think about it; you’ll figure it out.”
Jodi, the director, the crew, both Hannah and Kayla, and even Esti were positively delighted by how everything had turned out. They were all convinced that they had just filmed the greatest paranormal TV show of all time. I personally didn’t have much to compare it to, but what the hell. Maybe they were right.
They all wanted to retire somewhere, anywhere, and bask in the glory of it. I understood. Nearly every hockey game I ever played ended with me and the guys heading to a neighborhood pub to talk it over. Esti invited the production crew to her house. She didn’t have much to drink, she said, only wine and hard ciders. A member of the crew said he’d stop to get some beer on the way over there. I thought Esti and Hannah would probably have a guaranteed thirteen-episode contract before the evening was concluded.
The company seemed genuinely disappointed when I begged off; they figured that I was in a mood about not finding the money. The director shook my hand and said I was a helluva performer. Hannah, Kayla, and Jodi Steffen each hugged me in turn. Esti did, too, but I don’t think her heart was in it.
I gave them all a wave, headed for my Mustang, and fired it up. I drove off. After a few turns, making sure that I was well out of the sight of Leland’s house and the crew, which was now busy packing up its gear, I pulled over and parked.
I slipped the EVP recorder out of my pocket. I would have returned it to the production crew if someone had asked me to, but no one had.
It took a few moments before I was able to figure out the controls. Finally I rewound the recording until it was at the beginning of the ghost hunt and hit PLAY. And listened hard. Especially when the recording reached the part where Judy was supposed to be speaking to Kayla.
I didn’t hear a damn thing except for—what did Jodi call it? Mushy static.