“Okay. Let me try to focus on a smaller area.”
My arm tingles as the sensation spreads back to it, all except my pinky. My pinky wiggles free of my own will, making my stomach churn. Disturbing with a capital D.
“Ew,” I mutter. I switch the camera on night mode and hit record.
“Okay, Lace. Work your magic,” Kit says encouragingly.
I take note of the temperature, warmer than I expected. I like doing investigations when it’s warm, because ghosts can drop the temperature with their presence. If it’s already cold, it’s more difficult to notice the drop.
I take out my other camera to do a sweep of the room. Normally, I talk while doing this, but the words aren’t coming to me. It’s fine. I add the official narration in later, anyways. It’s just, the energy in here…it’s wrong. I felt it as soon as Kit gave me my body. It’s not haunted-wrong, it’swrong-wrong. That’s the only way I can explain it. I’m afraid to breathe, let alone speak, right now. The quiet is overwhelming, thick and impenetrable.
I know I’ll need to speak, but narrating my thoughts feels silly. I’ll save my voice for the direct conversation.
“What are you doing?” Kit asks curiously.
“Shush,” I say in my head.
“Are you looking for something?”
“Pleasestop talking. This freaks me out.”
He chuckles. “Now you know how I feel.”
My nose scrunches. “I’m doing a sweep of the room. It’s a good shot to add in post. Now, be quiet. I can’t concentrate.”
I finish my sweep and then take a seat in the middle of the room, facing the corner where the camera on the tripod is set up, keeping the grinder in my sightline. I know at least one person had a fatal interaction with that out of the four people who died on site while the mill was operational. One other had a heart attack. The final two drowned in the river out back. Several more people have died here since the mill shut down. A few other drownings, a supposed suicide, and some that have no real explanation at all.
I pull out my flashlight, turn my phone on voice record, and switch on my EVP recorder. I mess with the flashlight a moment, setting it to the right level so the ghost can tap it and turn on the light without much effort. I place it back on the ground. Okay. All set. I reach in my jacket pocket and remove my dad’s lighter, thankful that Kit has kept it on me. I press it to my lips, hoping it’ll give me the bravery I need right now, before putting it back in my pocket. I take a deep breath in, a light scent of mildew filling my nostrils. I can do this.
“Hi,” I say, my voice coming out softer than intended. Surely because I’m not used to using it. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi, my name is Lacy Gordon. Is there anyone here with me right now?”
I don’t get any form of response. I’m used to this, however, so I push on.
“I was hoping to talk to you tonight. I’m not sure if anyone else has asked you to do this before, but I like to communicatewith this flashlight. All you have to do is tap it once for yes and twice for no.” I demonstrate the tapping. “Sound good?”
The light blinks once. I bite my lip to keep my grin at bay. This ghost picks things up quickly.
“I’m glad you want to talk.” I ask my first question, “Hate to start with a sore subject, but I have to ask, did you die here?”
The light flashes once.
“Sorry to hear that,” I say genuinely. “I hope there wasn’t any pain.”
One flash. Hopefully that’s a yes, no pain, not a yes, there was pain. The temperature in the room drops dramatically, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite being covered. Excitement courses through me as I square my shoulders, finding comfort in my familiar situation.
“Now, I did a little research and found that a few different people passed away here. Can you confirm who you are? Bernadette Smith, maybe?”
Bernadette is one of the people who drowned while the mill was still running. The mistress of the owner, as the story goes, who was here late at night waiting for her lover. She fell out of the window and into the water, hitting the waterwheel on the way down and breaking her neck. Well, they say she fell, but some have theorized she was pushed. She’s who Kit and I believe is the vengeful spirit, so I hope she says yes.
The light blinks. I smile. Then blinks again. My smile drops. Then again. My brow furrows. And again. It’s practically strobing now, on, off, on, off.
“Remember,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “once for yes and twice for no.”
But my words are ignored. The light keeps flashing on and off, the rate increasing, faster and faster. I gulp, my body going rigid.
Bad, bad, bad,I hear in my head. Is that me or Kit?
The flashlight lifts into the air. At first, only a millimeter off the ground, so I think I must be imagining it, a trick being played on my eyes by the shadows. But then it floats higher, rising to my eye level.
