“Alice, are you still there?”
Nothing.
Air rattles from my chest. With my voice much quieter than I intend, I ask, “Is there anyone else here with me? I’m happy to speak with you, too.”
Nothing.
“Alice, are you trying to scare me? It’s okay if you are—I’m invading your space.”
Nothing.
Yep. Okay. That’s enough for this room. I slip my phone into my back pocket as I stand and grab the flashlight, turning it fully on to guide myself to where my camera and tripod are set up. I retrieve the camera and hold it in front of myself with a trembling hand as I slip the tripod under my arm.
In case she’s still here, I add, “Thanks for letting me visit, Alice.”
This is not the first time a spirit has told me someone evil is lurking in the shadows. Every time before, it’s turned out to be nothing. I figure they’re trying to get rid of me, and I’m more than willing to take the hint.
I continue roaming the house, aiming my camera ahead and poorly trying to keep my hand steady. Surely, the trembling is from the cold. It’s a frigid spring evening, and abandoned houses don’t come with heaters. I’m wearing my standard black fingerless gloves and a T-shirt with a long black coat over it, but goosebumps still prickle my skin. I’m not scared—just freezing.
I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, right?
Then I nearly jump out of my bones when a mysterious creak sounds from my right. I square my shoulders. This is an old house—there are a lot of mysterious creaks going on. Like I said, ghosts can’t hurt you. I mean, I’ve heard other professionals say they’ve been tripped or pushed, but as long as you’re not on the stairs or too close to a window or balcony, you’re safe.
Another creak makes me whirl around, pointing my camera in the direction of the darkness. Silence rings out as I aim the lens for a bit longer, knowing there could besomething—or someone—there that I cannot see.
Before I continue my house tour, my focus lingers on the old Canon camcorder I inherited from August. It works, and that’s what matters. I have one other handheld camera that I like to keep stationed in the rooms I’m not in—right now, it’s in the basement. To keep paying for my editing software, these two cameras are all I can afford.
If I had a bigger budget, I’d be able to buy some nicer cameras, even a thermal camera so I could catch spirits that the regular cameras can’t detect. Spirits emit energy, which means thermal cameras can find them by detecting temperature fluctuations caused by their presence. I’m saving up for a high-quality thermal camera and should have enough by the end of this month or the next. The dream for many cameras is still far off.
I move through the rest of the house, setting up my camera and tripod and trying to communicate with any other potential spirits lurking about. No hits for the rest of the night. It’s fine. I’m pleased with what I got with Alice. I can’t wait to get home and go over my footage to see if anything was picked up that I didn’t catch in real time. If Alice’s voice is on video with—fingers crossed—any shadow that could be argued as her, tonight’s video will be the one I submit for the contest.
An extended yawn is my signal to wrap this up. It’s four a.m., and I’ve been here since midnight. I stop the recordings, make sure I have everything I came here with (cameras, EVP recorder, EMF detector, phone, flashlight, tripod, car keys), then go to sneak myself back out the window I crawled through to get in here.
I pull the frame back up, trying to avoid potential splinters, and stretch through the window to place my bag of equipment on the ground before climbing through the window myself. I swing one foot over the ledge and am about to swing the other to meet it when something slams into me. Hard. I’m propelled backward into the house, my head hitting the solid floor with a deafening crack.
two
. . .
Twelve Years Ago
To jump or to crawl?With my hands stationed on my hips, I stood before a chain-link fence contemplating how to bypass it. Below the fence, there was a space big enough for me to crawl under, but that would inevitably lead to some pretty gnarly grass and dirt stains on my favorite jeans. Though, one could argue that that was my bad for wearing my favorite jeans. However, if I were to jump it, I could rip the jeans (or, you know, my body). I tapped my fingers against my hips. Jumping led to a greater risk of landing on an ant hill or a pile of deer shit.
Crawling won. There was a better chance of removing the stains than flawlessly mending torn jeans. I crouched down, shoving my bag through the fence before I shimmied myself under, sucking in my stomach to make myself as small as possible.
I popped back up once I reached the other side and broke into a run through the woods. Darkness controlled the area,with one distant street lamp and the moon lighting my way.
“I’m so late,” I muttered to myself.
I promised I’d meet August at midnight, and it was now twenty minutes past. Iwasgoing to be on time—but I got caught by a major lecture from my mother that riled her up so much she didn’t go to bed until eleven (she was typically a ten o’clock-on-the-dot kind of lady). After that, I had to wait until I was sure she was actually asleep before I snuck out.
I found the decaying cabin behind my cross-armed best friend. She wore jeans under a cropped black hoodie, with her dark hair separated into two French braids, hitting just below the shoulders. Her heart-shaped face was even and annoyed.
“Sorry!” I shouted before she could scold me. “I brought the camera.” I pulled it out of my bag and wiggled it in the air. It was an old handheld video camera that had been living in my kitchen cabinet for years. It still worked, it just used video cassettes instead of a SIM card.
August took the camera off my hands. “Did your mom hold you up?”
“Naturally.”
