“Oh yeah? So I get to stay up here on the second floor?” Blake chuckles. “That’s nice of you guys. Normally I’m the one going into cellars or barns. But it looks like”—I see the shine of my flashlight in his eyes and my heart sinks—“that’s the honor of our guest tonight. What do you say, Persy? Care to take the yard and the shed out back?”
“Sure.” The word is out of my mouth as anticipation makes my stomach swirl a little. “Who’s afraid of the dark, right?” The others point their cameras at me, and I use my flashlight to illuminate my face at an upward angle with a sly grin. “Come on, friends. Looks like we’re going on an adventure.”
“I like her,” Leah says with a laugh. “Any way we can get you here permanently, Persy?”
“Traipsing around the woods?” I tease, knowing my gear is picking my voice up for the stream. “Not likely. I’m made for warehouse haunts, factories, and too-narrow hallways with masked men waiting at the end of them.” The confidence stays in place as I make my way down the stairs, my hand on the dusty banister. At the bottom of it, I wipe my hand on the back of my t-shirt, hating the feel of the gritty dust on my skin, and make my way to the front door.
“Into the yard we go,” I murmur, stopping on the porch to look around with the camera. I know how to do this. I know how to be entertaining and interesting for my viewers, even in the dark. Though the only light outside is coming from the van on the other side of the house and the flashlight in my hand, I know the GoPro is in night vision mode so the viewers can see everything better than me. Which might be the point.
The grass is springy under my boots, and I meander a little, wandering around the far side of the house. While I’m not exactly afraid of the dark, it’s still human nature to be wary of it. That’s what I’ve always told myself, anyway. My heart races a little at every strange noise, and more than once I quickly shine my flashlight on a shadow that I swear doesn’t quite belong.
I’m not scared.
That’s the irony of my name.Scaredy Catis the joke, since I don’t get afraid of anything. No game, movie, or haunt has scared me in years, which is part of the fun for my viewers. Most of them are just as hopeful as me that I’ll find something to freak me out.
Though I, for one, am not holding my breath.
A breeze picks up, causing the tree limbs to rustle and the leaves to make soft noises. My hair blows around my face, which only serves to set me that much more on edge as I make my way around the empty yard. “This place certainly is creepy,” I murmur, knowing I shouldn’t stay silent for too long. “The house might’ve been nice once, but?—”
Something crashes through the bushes near me and when I jerk my flashlight up, yellow eyes reflect in the beam of light. My heart drops to my stomach and a soft gasp leaves me…only for it to end in a rueful laugh instead. A female deer stands at the end of the yard, perfectly still and probably more afraid of me than I am of her. “Sorry, pretty girl,” I tell her softly, dropping my flashlight so I’m not blinding her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.” As the shock wears off, I see her jump away, back into the trees. My heart gradually settles back into its normal rhythm, and I turn away from the woods and head toward the shed peeking out from the trees near the side of the house. It’s one of the few places I do actually dread going, but more because I don’t want to end up with tetanus than my belief that there’s a ghost lurking among the shelves.
“What do you think, guys?” I breathe. “Think it’ll fall apart with me inside? Or the door will fall off its hinges dramatically when I get over there?” Trevor chuckles in my ear.
“Our viewers like your sense of humor,”he informs me. “I can tell by their comments. And we definitely have a bigger audience than usual. Ten minutes in there, then you can head back in and meet the others in the dining room. They’ll be setting up the table about then.”
Great. Because it’s totally my goal to play with a Ouija board tonight. While I don’t necessarily believe in angry ghosts, I’m also a firm believer innotinviting in trouble when I don’t need to take the risk. But I suppose I signed up for the wholeSquad Ghoulsexperience, and this is just part of it.
Taking a breath, I gently pry open the door, pulling it on reluctant hinges as the large wooden slab makes them groan and squeak in protest. It finally swings open, and I wince when it drops to the grass, though I’m not exactly surprised.
“So much for leave no trace,” I mutter, loud enough so the mic can pick it up. Armed with my flashlight and the camera, I point both into the shed. There’s no way I’m stepping inside. Not with all the rust crawling over shelves and bits of machinery. I really don’t need tetanus this close to my busiest season when I make most of my money.
Slowly, I scan the small, box-like space, looking over the shelves of old, dust-encrusted mason jars and scraps from someone’s projects. The dirt and mold are cloying in my nostrils, coating them and making me sneeze into my arm as I take a quick step back. “I think we can officially say there are no ghosts?—”
The shelving unit on the right side of the shed creaks ominously, and just as I look at it, the whole thing just…goes down. Mason jars cascade to the floor, glass shattering and releasing both dangerous flying missiles of tiny, ancient glassand a smell so pungent I have to take at least four steps back just to stop myself from passing out on the spot.
“Oh,fuck,” I gasp, arm over my face. “Okay, well, obviously I spoke too soon, gang.” It takes me a moment, but I shake off the anxiety from the shelves falling, and the way my heart beats rabbit-fast in my chest. It slows at last, and I lean against the doorframe of the shed lightly, turning the camera back to give it a wry grin. “I wasn’t expecting the ghost of the mason jar to show up and try to scare the hell out of me.” I laugh, as Trevor’s voice sounds in my ears.
“I’m assuming you’re all good? You can turn off your camera and head inside now. I’m focusing on Blake setting up at the table. Shit, I can’t believe that shelf just fell like that.”
Yeah. I can’t either, as a matter of fact. With a quick promise to be right back to those watching, I turn off the camera in my hand before laying it gently in the grass outside of the shed. Without a word, I take my flashlight to the shed entrance, looking at the hinges of the door. I’m not an idiot, and the way it fell off felt a bit strange to me. Then the shelf falling really just sealed the deal.
Sure enough, fresh tool marks on and around the hinges are obvious when I look closer, and when I poke the hinges, I notice just how loose they are. And not in a way that feels like age. Then I step inside the shed to look at the ‘old’ shelf bolted into the wall.
It’s not that old.
I roll my eyes up towards the rusted ceiling of the shed, and bend down to poke the jar lids with one finger. The ‘dust’ feels a lot like spray paint, and now that I’m paying attention, the lids have remnants of permanent marker that’s been scrubbed off.
But somehow, I doubt the doctor who supposedly lived here in the 1800s had access to Sharpies. A small huff leaves me, but I can’t voice my opinion with Trevor listening to my everyword. Still, I shake my head and examine the wall just to sate my curiosity.
Sure enough, the nails look brand new. I supposeSquad Ghoulsdidn’t think I’d look this closely, so they didn’t bother to disguise this part of their little prank.
I hate people who fake shit like this.
Swallowing back the distaste that feels like a physical presence in my throat, I snatch my camera and stride back up the yard. I can’t just opt out of doing the seance, but God, it would be great to be done with this as soon as possible.
Not that I’m shocked.
I can’t be considering most of these shows fake at least some of the excitement. While I never consented to be part of said ‘excitement,’ I tell myself I shouldn’t be shocked and I have no right to be pissed.
