Summoned to a supposedly haunted house, Tom Jurgen and Rachel encounter a documentary filmmaker looking for supernatural phenomena, a family with secrets, and a snowstorm that traps everyone with a vengeful ghost.
(Inspired by Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and the Netflix series of the same name.)
The door to Heller House was seven feet tall, solid oak. Rachel and I looked at the doorknob for a moment as snow fell on the veranda around us.
“Well, we made it.” I pressed the doorbell.
Rachel shrugged. “I hope we don’t get snowed in here.”
We were in northern Wisconsin. The snow had started halfway here, challenging my car’s wipers on the highway and coating the road from town. The gray sky threatened a lot more before morning.
The door opened. The woman inside, in her 80s, had thin silver hair and a black sweater with padded shoulders. She held a cane. “Mr. Jurgen?”
“That’s me. And this is my associate. Rachel.”
“Marsha Heller.” She had a thin, sharp nose, and narrow eyes behind round glasses. A lilac perfume drifted from her hair. “Come in, please.”
We wiped snow from our shoes on the welcome mat, and I rolled our suitcase inside. Rachel carried a laptop case and a wore a backpack slung over one shoulder.
Inside a narrow hall greeted us, with a staircase on the right leading up to a landing that looked down twenty-five feet to the floor where we stood. Wide chandeliers hung from the second-story ceiling, but half of their bulbs were burned out. Faded flowered wallpaper stretched along the wall next to the staircase. Paintings hung on the far wall. A living room opened on the left.
The hardwood floor under our feet was polished and shiny in the dim light that filtered through the windows beside the door. The hallway smelled like a pine forest.
“Up there.” Marsha Heller pointed at the staircase. “Craig!”
A man leaned over the railing. “Mom?”
“My son will show you to your room. Come back down to the study right away.” She turned, rubbing her eyes as if a migraine was settling in. “We’ll have a meeting.”
Craig, in his 30s, had a crew cut and a thin brown beard, and a cable knit sweater and jeans. He led us upstairs and opened a door. “Just the one room?” I saw him checking Rachel out.
“That’s right.” I stepped inside before she could give Craig a snarky answer. “Let us straighten up a minute, okay?”
“Sure. I’m right across the hall. With my wife.” He winked. “Just knock when you’re ready.”
Rachel closed the door. I unzipped the suitcase. “Feel anything spooky?”
“Just him.” She hung her denim jacket on the hook behind the door. “And that’s not psychic.”
Rachel’s got red hair and hazelnut eyes. She’s my girlfriend, not just my associate. Plus, she’s a little psychic. That helps with my P.I. work. I hung up our coats, we washed up, and in a few minutes Craig was leading us back down the stairs.
“So is this place really haunted?” I asked.
He snorted. “Sure. Bad plumbing. Mice. Memories. You name it.”
The study—yeah, it was the kind of house that would have a study—was past the staircase. It had leather armchairs, a long sofa, paintings and books on every wall, and sculptures every few feet. Tiffany lamps cast light and shadows around the room. A liquor cart waited in a corner. Marsha Heller sat at one end of the room, her cane on the floor, underneath a black-and-white photo of an old woman in a white dress with a high-necked collar.
Another woman sat at the other end in a straight-backed wooden chair, as if they were facing off for a debate—or a duel. Her cell phone sat next to a glass of Chablis. Slender, she had short black hair and wide blue eyes, and wore a brown blazer over a white T-shirt. Ten years or so younger than me, so mid-30s. She stood up as we entered.
“Tom Jurgen, this is Vanessa Montague.” Marsha Heller’s lips curved in a frown. “She’s a filmmaker. Mr. Jurgen is a private detective. And his, uh, associate. Rachel, was it?”
We shook hands. I’d heard of Vanessa Montague, of course. Documentary filmmaker whose YouTube channel had 1.4 million subscribers, along with 1.35 million Instagram followers. She specialized in videos of distant deserts and dark jungles, venomous snakes and giant spiders, deep caves filled with bats and ancient ruins on top of treacherously tall mountains.
And the occasional haunted house. She liked to explore the supernatural.
Rachel and I had experience there too. More than we liked.
“Nice to meet you.” Montague looked us over warily. Did she know me?
“My daughter Kathryn asked Ms. Montague here to record the, uh, phenomena here in the house.” Marsha Heller sipped red wine from her glass. “Craig, serve Tom and Rachel some wine.”
“Sure thing. Cabernet or Chablis?” He smiled at Rachel.
“Just water.” She sat down on the sofa.
“Same here.” I sat next to her. With a mild frown, Craig opened a tall bottle of Perrier. “So, is Heller House haunted?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Vanessa Montague smiled. “Why are you here?”
“To keep you honest.” I glanced at Marsha Heller.
She nodded. “I can’t keep you out of here. My children and I own this house jointly—Kathryn has just as much right to bring you here with your film crew as I do to have Tom here to watch you. And make sure you don’t fabricate anything, or misrepresent what you see or hear.”
Montague looked at me. “I’ve heard of Tom Jurgen. Is he really the right person for debunking? He has more experience with the supernatural than any ghost hunter I’ve ever met. Most of them are fakes, or just incredibly naïve. You’re the real thing.” She smiled at me.
Rachel kicked my leg. She gets territorial whenever she thinks someone is flirting with me. I crossed my arms. “Yes, I’ve had my share of encounters with ghosts. And demons. Invisible assassins. Vampires. Giant mutant chickens. Am I leaving anything out?”
“Aliens.” Rachel scratched her nose. “But I suppose those aren’t really supernatural. Witches trying to bring back the dead? That was pretty creepy.”
“So I know what to look for.” I took a glass of water from Craig. Lemon slice. “Thanks.”
“Just so you don’t get in my way.” Montague cocked her head.
“That’s sort of what I’m here for.” I sipped.
She stood up. “I have to check on the setup. We’re starting tonight.”
A tall blond woman in slacks and a knit vest stepped aside in the doorway to let her leave. “Time for cocktails?” She had a wide smile and a figure I was careful not to check out too closely with Rachel in punching distance.
Craig kissed her cheek. “My wife. Brandy. Wine?”
She dropped into a chair. “Scotch. You’re Tom Jurgen? Mother hired you?”
I introduced Rachel. Craig delivered her drink as another woman entered. Short, in a black turtleneck and jeans, she had brown hair tied back in a ponytail and thin, pale cheeks. “Hi, everyone. Charley will be right down.” She headed straight to the cart.
“My daughter, Kathryn.” Marsha Heller’s face was grave. “She invited Ms. Montague to the house.”
“There’s crazy stuff going on here.” She dumped ice into a glass and poured herself some vodka, topping it off with a few drops of vermouth. After a quick sip, she looked me over. “You’re the detective?”
Again I introduced myself and Rachel. “What kind of weird stuff?”
Kathryn perched in the chair Montague had vacated. “You’ll see. I know why you’re here. I don’t want to plant anything in your imagination.”
This looked like it could be a long weekend.
Finally Charles showed up, the final sibling in the family. He had jeans, a U of Wisconsin sweatshirt, and the same brown hair as his brother and sister. He was shorter and heavier than Craig. “Hi! I’m Charley.” He poured himself some whiskey and soda, and then shook my hand and Rachel’s. “You’re the P.I. mom hired? Glad somebody’s here with some sense.”
Rachel snorted. “Sense? You don’t know him like I do.”
Nice. I grinned. “Nice to meet you all. Since nobody wants to tell me what to expect. I’ll tell you a little about me.” I sipped my water. “I used to be a reporter. I saw a monster one night, and nobody would believe me, or print the story. So I quit before I got fired, and now I’m a private detective. But I still run into monsters.”
“Me too.” Rachel lifted a hand. “Lots of them. And I’m psychic, FYI.”
“Really?” Charley laughed. “Read my palm? Check my aura? Do a Tarot reading?”
Craig groaned.
“Shut up, Charles.” Kathryn glared at him. “I want Tom to keep an open mind. One way or the other. Right, mom?”
Marsha Heller nodded slowly. “He is here on business. I expect you all to cooperate.”
“Sure!” Charley winked at us. Or maybe just to Rachel. “Whatever you want.”
A young Hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform peeked through the doorway. “Mrs. Heller? Everyone? Dinner is ready.”
“Thank god.” Brandy stood up. “I’m starving.”
We all stood, picking up our drinks. Marsha Heller was the last to get to her feet, holding her cane in tight bony fingers. “This way, please.”
The lights flickered. Once, twice, three times. Then they went out, leaving us in darkness.
“Olivia?” Mrs. Heller’s voice was firm. “What happened?”
But the maid was gone. The lights still burned in the hall
“Damn it.” Craig stumbled through the shadows, Brandy right behind him. At the door he flicked the light switch. Nothing.
Charley chuckled. “See why you’re here, Tom?”
“Shut up, Charley.” Craig flicked the switch again, and again. “I’ll check the circuit breaker. The rest of the house is on.”
“This way.” Marsha Heller stepped forward. “Dinner.”
I took Rachel’s hand. She squeezed. Yeah, she’d felt something. In the lights of the hallway I looked at Kathryn. “Stuff like this?”
She kept her face expressionless. “Open mind, Tom. Open mind.”
Dinner was chicken marsala with risotto and asparagus. I’d told Mrs. Heller that Rachel was a vegetarian, and the cook whipped up a cobb salad for her. It looked so good I wanted to trade, but Rachel would have kicked me again.
Montague didn’t eat with us. Maybe she was setting up her ghost hunting equipment, or maybe Mrs. Heller made her eat in the kitchen.
After dinner and coffee, Craig and Brandy headed to the study to watch TV. Charley stayed in his chair, tapping on his phone as Olivia and another maid took plates away, and Mrs. Heller stood up and announced she’d be reading in her room.
Montague walked in through the kitchen door and waved to Kathryn. “I’m done setting up. Do you want to check?” She looked at Rachel and me. “You guys, too.”
We followed her through the kitchen, where Olivia and the other maid—Halley—were helping with the dishes and cleaning. I stopped to thank the cook, Mrs. Chambers, for dinner, and the maids for their help. They seemed confused at being acknowledged.
Through the kitchen, down a short hall, we found Montague’s command center. An array of laptops lay in a circle on a small round table, cables running between them and to a wireless router in the center. A coffeemaker sat on a folding table.
A short, pudgy guy with a beard and a gray sweatshirt sat in front of one laptop, moving his mouse around. “Vanessa, the wi-fi connection in the study is spotty. I’ll have to check it.”
“Wait until Craig and Brandy are done watching TV.” Kathryn sat down in a folding chair. “He’ll get annoyed if you’re fussing around.”
“This is Emil Dudley, my assistant.” Montague leaned behind him to peer at his screen. “Yeah, that’s not right. Fix it later.”
Dudley gulped coffee from a paper cup. “Sure thing.”
I peeked. The screen showed four angles of the study. Craig and Brandy were on a sofa, staring at a TV. In another angle I could see that they were watching Friends. Chandler and Monica were laughing at something Joey said. Craig and Brandy weren’t.
“We have motion detectors and cameras mounted in the front hall, the study, the library, the pantry, and the kitchen. We’ll install them in the dining room now that everyone’s done with dinner.” Montague tapped the nearest laptop. “We can access and record everything through these.”
“Not the bedrooms.” Rachel crossed her arms. “Right?”
She chuckled. “No. Or any bathrooms.”
“Is there an attic?” I looked up at the ceiling. “Or a basement?”
“The cellar’s locked. The router signal doesn’t reach the attic. Emil’s working on that.”
“Right.” He clicked his mouse with a frown. “I’ll pick up a stronger one tomorrow. If I can get out of here.”
The snow was still falling heavily outside the window.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
Montague and Kathryn exchanged glances.
“There are ghosts.” Kathryn stared at me as if daring us to challenge her. “An old woman in white. Two children, a boy and a girl. I saw them, and Charley saw them. Whatever’s going on, there are screams, they moan, they knock on the walls, they break things—”
“They turn out the lights?” Rachel asked.
“Emil?” That was Montague. “You checked the circuit breaker, right?”
“It was on.” Emil sounded irritated. “I turned it off and then back, and the lights came on again.”
“The rest of your family doesn’t seem all that worried,” I said.
Kathryn sighed. “They don’t live here. Craig lives in Milwaukee, Charley’s in Evanston. I’m in Madison. I spend most weekends here with mom. I hear stuff. I—see stuff.”
“Ghosts.” I wasn’t really skeptical, but Mrs. Heller had hired me because she didn’t trust Montague.
She nodded. “Y-yeah.”
“Does your mother see them? The staff?”
Kathryn shook her head. “Mom doesn’t want to believe in it. Olivia and Halley, and Mrs. Chambers, they don’t spend the night most of the time. They might tonight.” She glanced at the swirling snow outside. “We have extra rooms in the attic for them.”
“And you invited your siblings for the weekend?”
Kathryn rolled her eyes, “Mom wanted them. With Vanessa here.”
I nodded. “Sounds like a party.”
She frowned. “I didn’t think we’d get a blizzard.”
“All right.” I sat down. “I did some research on the house before we drove up here—”
“Me too.” Montague smirked. “What did you find out?”
I glanced at Kathryn. “The previous owners moved out and sold it after their son died—not here, but nearby. Your grandparents bought it 51 years ago. The title passed to your parents after your grandfather died. No murders or unexplained deaths, but a house two miles away burned down 18 years ago.” I shrugged. “No ancient burial grounds, no animal mutilations, no summer camp massacres, no UFOs.” Then I looked at Montague. “Your turn.”
She nodded. “Pretty much the same. A few odd disappearances in town over the years. Kathryn tells me her father claimed to see things in the walls, although he had dementia toward the end of his life. Mrs. Heller denies seeing anything unusual.”
“Charley saw the children,” I said. “Anything else? Anybody else? What about Craig or Brandy?”
He shrugged. “Have to ask them.”
“What about the two kids?” Rachel asked.
Kathryn sighed. “By the front door. Early in the morning last fall, before the sun was up. I was going out for a run. They just stood there, and when I went toward them, they were just—gone.”
I looked at the computer in front of me. Mrs. Chambers was wiping her hands on a towel in the kitchen. Charley was in the study, fixing himself another drink. The front hall was empty.
“We’ll be up all night here,” Montague said behind me, making sure I didn’t touch anything. “Watching.”
“Nothing like an all-nighter.” I stood up. “We’ll be back.”
At 11 p.m. Rachel and I were down in Montague’s makeshift media center again, after some Internet research (me) and a nap (Rachel). Montague and Dudley were stationed at their laptops. Kathryn paced in a circle. I got coffee and sat with Rachel in a corner.
After 20 minutes Kathryn got tired and sat down at a laptop, but then she pulled her chair over to us. “The thing with my mom?” she said. “She was the one who told me about the ghosts first. Now she doesn’t want to talk about them. She got mad when I told her I called Vanessa Montague. But I think she’s really scared of them.”
“Are you?”
She hugged her arms across her chest. “I’ve heard them. And those kids were creepy.” She looked at Rachel. “You’re psychic?”
Slowly Rachel nodded. “Yeah. There’s—something. I’m not sure if it’s ghosts or just your creepy brother.”
Kathryn snorted. “Which one?”
“Vanessa?” It was Dudley. “I’ve got something. Front hall.”
That seemed fast. Montague pushed her chair back to take a look at his screen. I stood up.
A ball of bright white light was spinning at the foot of the staircase, glittering like a sparkler on a dark winter night.
Montague shot from her chair and grabbed a camera. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”
“Coming too.” I glanced at Rachel, then tilted my head at Dudley.
She couldn’t read minds—except mine sometimes. “Fine, I’ll stay here while you play Scooby-Doo.” She rolled her eyes.
I grinned and followed Montague.
Through the hall and the kitchen, then through another door—the house was confusing—and we were in the front hall. The chandeliers overhead were dark, but the whirling white fireball at the foot of staircase seared my eyeballs. I shaded my face and looked at it from an angle.
The thing was eight feet wide, 12 or so feet high, twirling inches above the hardwood floor. Sparks jumped out, vanishing like fireflies. Montague held her camera to her eye, her finger on “Play,” pointed at the light.
I stepped toward it, keeping out of Montague’s shot. I held out a hand, but I didn’t feel any heat—but I wasn’t going to get too close in to risk a burn.
The fireball spun for 30 seconds or so as we watched, and then it narrowed and shrank down until it was just as tall and skinny as Montague. She took a step toward it, next to me, her camera steady.
I slipped my phone from my pocket to take my own video. I could stare directly at the light now without hurting my eyes. It flickered and slowed, and for a moment—half a blink—I saw someone standing in front of me.
A woman in a long white dress, with gray hair, arms at her sides. Her eyes were closed.
Then she was gone.
We stood in the dark. I shifted the phone to my left hand and reached into my pocket. I hang a small penlight on my keyring—smart P.I.s have to be prepared for the lights going out. I flicked the light around the floor, looking for—what? Footprints? Scorch marks? “You see that?”
“Yeah.” Montague’s voice was low and calm. “The woman at the end?”
“I saw her.” I hoped she’d gotten it on her camera.
“Now do you believe me?”
“I never said I didn’t.” I tapped my phone to call Rachel.
Then the house began to shake and bang around us.
It started loud and got louder, crashing and slamming our ears like Godzilla rampaging across Tokyo. I lifted my hands to shield my eardrums and looked at Montague. She had her camera pressed to one ear and a hand to the other, staggering as the pounding din pummeled the air.
The clamor went on like an endless storm. No rhythm, just ceaseless booming, over and over, a burst of explosions that rattled my skull until I sank to my knees, dropping my phone, holding my ears, and clenching my eyes, imploring it to just—
Stop.
It was suddenly gone.
I raised my head, my eardrums still ringing like cymbals as the roar faded from the air. “What the hell?”
“Just what Kathryn said.” Montague’s voice was a raspy distant whisper.
I saw my phone vibrate on the floor, but I didn’t hear Rachel’s ringtone. I pressed it against my ear.
“You okay?” She might have been on the far side of the moon.
“I think so. You?”
“. . . backstage at . . . heavy metal concert.” Pause. “. . . is coming out. I’ll . . . with Dudley.”
The chandeliers blinked on and off overhead. I turned—Kathryn was flipping a switch at the dining room door. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out whatever she was saying. After three flips, she left the chandeliers on to spill bright light across the hall again.
Since as I was still on the floor, I crawled over to check for burns or scratches or ghostly ectoplasm on the hard, polished wood. Nothing. I rubbed. The floor felt cold. I sniffed, and smelled smoke and ash for a moment until it faded from my nostrils.
Rachel appeared ran from the dining room doorway. “ . . . all right?”
I stood up, rubbing my ears. “Did you record that? We’ll want to look at it.”
She nodded, holding my arms. “Dudley said . . . the motion detectors . . . recorded . . .” I was starting to hear better, but the ringing still got in the way.
We gathered in front of the staircase. I looked up for wires hanging from the ceiling high above, anything that could have spouted fire and sparks. Again nothing, except—
Craig leaned over the railing above in pajamas. “What the hell?” I couldn’t quite hear him, but I his lips were clear.
But I wasn’t watching him. I pulled away from Rachel and started up the steps. She followed, probably yelling at me in words I couldn’t hear, but then she stopped.
I stared at the faded flowered wallpaper beside the staircase.
LET THEM IN. In red block letters like blood, starting from the middle of the stairs and going down.
A clank rattled the walls again. Just once. As if reminding us that something was still there. Craig shook his head and went back to his room. He hadn’t seen the writing.
“Was that there before?” Rachel leaned behind me.
“It was dark.” I touched the N with the tip of my finger. The letter smeared, like chalk. I sniffed, then wiped my fingers on my sleeve.
Let who in? In where? Demons trying to possess us? Into the house? Into our minds? Into the kitchen? Maybe the ghosts were just hungry for a late-night snack.
The wind howled outside. Kathryn joined us on the steps. “Are you still debunking?”
I shrugged. “The night is young.”
Back in Montague’s command center I got some coffee and we watched the recordings, taken from two angles. I saw Montague and me on the screen—I needed a haircut—staring at the swirling fiery sphere. Dudley slowed it down as it shrank, and I looked for the woman I’d seen standing inside it, but she wasn’t visible. Did I imagine her?
Charley walked in to join us, a can of beer in his hand. “That was loud. Find any ghosts yet?”
Montague hooked her camera up to a laptop and we watched it again. Nothing different. “Is that what you’ve seen here before?”
“Yes.” Kathryn nodded.
“Not me.” Charley shook his head. “Not that, anyway. I saw those two kids once, standing in the middle of the front hall one night when I came down for a beer. When I got to the bottom step they ran through the door. They didn’t open it or anything, they just ran right through it and disappeared.” He burped. “Weird. Maybe I was drunk. Hey, what was that writing on the wall?”
Kathryn rolled her eyes.
“Did you see anything else when we were down there?” I asked.
Rachel shook her head. “I kept an eye on the other cameras—until the banging started.”
Dudley ran footage from the other locations. No swirling lights in the upstairs hall, no ghostly figures in the dining room. In the study an empty wine bottle fell over during the clanging.
I looked at Rachel. “So—did you feel anything?”
She grimaced. “Yeah. It was—loud. Inside my head, not just in the walls. And angry.”
Kathryn shuddered. “I knew it.”
“At us?” Charley gulped some beer.
“Who do you think?” She looked ready to slap the can from him.
“Why?” I asked. Kathryn or Rachel, whoever could answer. “Why is this happening?”
Rachel shook her head. Kathryn shrugged. Charley looked at his beer.
“Okay.” I finished my coffee. “I’m going upstairs. Wake me if—well, unless something else wakes me.”
Rachel followed me out and then up the stairs. “Any lies?” I asked.
“Charley’s more freaked out than he’s letting on.”
“So am I. Anyone else?”
“Kathryn’s keeping stuff back. And I get a vibe from Dudley, but I’m not sure what it is.”
In our room I yawned and opened my laptop. “I’ve got some more work to do. Get some sleep.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She flipped her own laptop up and plugged earphones in. “Just a few episodes of Cougar Town.” Her latest streaming addiction
“Enjoy.” I started searching.
Stuck here with the rest of us, Mrs. Chambers put out plates of pastries and fruit for breakfast. I wandered in at 10 or so with my laptop under my arm. Rachel was still in the shower. Craig and Brandy were finishing their coffee silently. Mrs. Heller sat with her hands folded in front of an empty cup, as if she’d been up at dawn and was now judging us for sleeping in. Charley came in after me and loaded up on donuts.
The writing had been wiped from the staircase wall when I came down, presumably by Olivia or Halley. Nobody mentioned it. I hoped Montague had images.
“Mr. Jurgen, I hope you slept well.” Mrs. Heller turned her eyes to me.
“Thank you, ma’am. After the noise stopped. Did you?”
She blinked. “I sleep like the dead most nights.”
I looked at Craig. “You guys?”
“We slept fine.” Brandy seemed to want her husband to keep quiet.
“We getting out of here today?” Charley slumped in a chair.
I looked at the dining room window. Snow kept falling outside, still steady and heavy and hard to see through
“I called this morning.” Craig set his coffee cup down. “Snow’s not going to stop until this afternoon. Maybe tonight.”
“Good thing I brought extra underwear.” He smirked.
Craig stood up. “Let’s see what’s on TV.”
Rachel came down a few minutes later. Mrs. Heller greeted her, then stood up. “I think that’s everyone. Kathryn is in back with Ms. Montague. Please make yourself as comfortable as you can.” She sighed. “I can’t wait for spring.”
She picked up her cane and left.
Rachel ate some melon and a danish as I drank coffee and Charley looked at his phone. Then we carried our dishes to the kitchen. I thanked Mrs. Chambers again. Rachel kept an apple as we headed back to Montague’s command center.
Kathryn sat next to her as she stared at a computer screen, tapping buttons. “Anything new?” I leaned over their shoulders, holding my coffee carefully. “It seemed quiet after all the commotion.”
Montague pointed to a screen and ran video backwards. “Some activity in the library.” Five books fell off a shelf, then moved around on the floor until they formed a cross. “What does it mean? I don’t know.”
“Well, I did some research last night.” I sat down and opened my laptop. “How far did you check Emil Dudley’s background?”
She looked puzzled. “He had references. They all checked out. What do you mean?”
“I do background checks for a living. When I’m not investigating haunted houses.” I brought up what I’d found. “Your guy was he was fired from a news station three years ago for using archival footage of a factory of a factory fire in a story about an apartment building fire. Before that he was sued for doctoring footage on a reality TV show.”
“What show?” Rachel is addicted to reality TV.
“Lost in Lust Cove, season three.”
“I remember that!” She punched my arm. “I didn’t know the guy’s name, though.”
“Okay, okay!” Montague waved for our attention. “That doesn’t mean he’s faking everything here! Before we even got here.”
“It doesn’t help your credibility. Have you worked with him a long time?”
“We’ve worked on three projects together. That doesn’t make him—”
“Hey, where is Emil?” Kathryn looked around.
Montague sighed and tapped on her phone. We heard four buzzes. “Hi, it’s Emil, I guess I can’t pick up right now, but—”
She cut the call. “Maybe he’s taking a shower.”
Montague and I knocked on Dudley’s door upstairs. No answer. It was locked, but Charley had a key.
No Dudley. His suitcase was open, but the bed hadn’t been slept in. The towels in the bathroom didn’t look used.
“Huh.” Montague folded her arms. “He went up around 5 or so. He drank enough coffee to stay up all night.”
Montague and Dudley were on the third floor. It had only three small rooms. A ladder on one wall climbed up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
Montague opened the opposite door. “This is my room. Check it out if you want.”
We peeked. Rumpled sheets, underwear on the floor, but no Dudley here either,
I turned to Craig. “What’s in the attic?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been up there in years.”
“Why would he be hiding up there?” Montague stared at the door above.
“If we’re going to look, we have to look everywhere. They taught us that in detective school.” I put a hand on a wooden rung. “
Before climbing I called Rachel. I always like to let her know what I’m doing in case of—problems. “Dudley’s not in his room. I’m going to check out the attic.”
“You want me to come help? I’m good at hide-and-seek.” She giggled.
She was, but this was no time to bring our sex life into it. “Stay there and keep an eye on the equipment. Call me if anything happens.” Then I climbed.
The attic smelled of mildew and rat poop. Cardboard boxes covered with dust were scattered across the floor. I spotted a rat skeleton crushed in a trap. No Dudley.
I climbed back down and slapped the dust from my hands. Montague and Charley emerged from the third room. Empty.
We knocked on the second-floor doors. Craig opened his door a crack, bare chested in his boxers. Red.. “What?”
“Who is it?” Brandy called.
Oops. “Sorry. Have you seen Dudley?”
“No!” He slammed the door.
Mrs. Heller shouted “Come!” when we knocked at her door. “What is it?” She sat in a heavy upholstered chair with her feet up on a stool, a hardcover book open across her lap. I couldn’t make out the title.
“We’re looking for Dudley.” I glanced across the room. “You haven’t, uh, seen him, have you?”
“That young man?” She shook her head. “I’ve just been reading.” She picked up her book. Danielle Steel. We let her get back to it.
I let Montague check my room. Then we headed back down to the command center. “Any sign of him?”
“He’s not running around keeping out of sight.” Kathryn pointed to a computer. “I’ve been watching the video.”
“I watched too. You guys looked like dorks on a scavenger hunt.” Rachel smirked. “And what was going on with Craig?”
I tried to hide a grin, not quite succeeding. “They must not have found anything good on TV.”
“There’s a cellar.” Charley pointed at the floor.
“We’re not supposed to go down there.” Kathryn shot him a nervous look. “Mom says. She’s got the only key.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. I looked at Montague. “We’re supposed to be investigating, aren’t we?”
“Those were the rules.” She seemed uncomfortable. “But it’s locked, right? So Emil couldn’t be down there.”
Vanessa Montague might have been an award-winning documentarian, but she’d obviously never been a reporter—or a detective. Tell me a place is off-limits, and it’s the one place I want to go.
But she had a point—Dudley probably couldn’t be down in the cellar if it was always locked. So where the hell was he?
I walked around the ground floor. The snow was piled three feet high on the veranda outside. No sign of anyone fighting their way through it. The other doors were blocked by snow. We could shove our way out in an emergency, but there was no sign that somebody else had.
The cellar door was locked, like Charley had said. I made a mental note to ask Mrs. Heller about the key. And ask her some questions about the basement.
Apparently the ghostly phenomena only visited the house after dark, because the morning passed quietly. Rachel and I hung out with Montague and Kathryn in the command post, watching the monitors for any signs of ghosts or Dudley while more snow blew around in thick white billows, piling up until it blocked half the window.
Lunch was sandwiches from Mrs. Chambers in the dining room. She and the maids shared a room in the back of the house for overnight stays. Mrs. Heller had her meal delivered to her room, so I didn’t get a chance to ask her about the basement. Charley drank a Coke and played on his phone. Kathryn ate fast to go rejoin Montague with a sandwich for her. Craig and Brandy didn’t make eye contact with me.
After lunch I went upstairs for a nap. Rachel hung out with Kathryn and Montague. I didn’t know what anyone else had planned, but I slept like a baby. A nervous baby, waking up and rolling over at every sound.
Rachel came in at around 4 p.m. and punched my arm. “Roll over. Some of us didn’t get any sleep last night either.”
I sat up and stretched. “Anything going on in the bunker?”
“Nah. I thought I saw a giant spider creeping up the wall in the study, but it turned out to be a real spider on the screen. We relocated it.” She yawned. “I ended up playing solitaire on my laptop for two hours. I noticed I hadn’t moved a card in 15 minutes, and that’s when I figured I needed sleep.”
“Good call. How are the others holding up?”
“Vanessa tried calling Dudley 17 times. Nothing. Kathryn kept falling asleep in her chair. I don’t see how Vanessa stays awake. Speed, maybe?” She shrugged and dropped on the bed. “Thanks for getting this warm for me.”
I kissed her cheek and headed downstairs.
Craig and Brandy were watching TV for real this time, and Charley played a game on his phone in a nearby chair. No sign of Mrs. Heller. Maybe she was avoiding all of us. In the command center I found Montague slumped in a chair, snoring softly.
After watching the screens for a few minutes—no whirling balls of fire in the front hall, no spiders on the screen—I got myself some coffee and opened up my laptop to do a little more research. On Montague, on Dudley, on the Hellers. But before I got very far, Montague’s phone started to buzz.
It sat in front of her laptop, bouncing with each buzz. Her hands fluttered as she started to stir, but I grabbed it before the call could go to voice mail.
DUDLEY. I pressed Answer “Emil?”
“V-Vanessa?”
“It’s Tom Jurgen. Where are you?”
Now Montague was awake, “Give me that!”
I put it on speaker and set it between us. “Emil!” she shouted. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I’m—I don’t know. It’s dark . . . fell asleep, or something. I don’t know. What’s going on?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked as Montague glared at me.
“I don’t—I was in my room, I think, but—”
The call went dead.
“Damn it!” Montague yanked the phone out of my reach. “This is my phone!”
“It was Dudley, and you were asleep.” I waited as she tried to call back. No answer.
“Damn it.” She slammed the phone down and leaned forward, peering at her screen. “Is he on here?” She started shifting feeds.
“We’ve got to get into the basement. It’s the only place left.” I pulled my own phone to call Rachel. I hated to wake her up, but she’d kill me if I didn’t. “Which room is Mrs. Heller’s?”
I fetched Charley and Craig from the study. Brandy was drinking a glass of wine and watching Jeopardy. Upstairs we went to the room at the end of the hall. Kathryn joined us, buttoning a sweater, with Rachel right behind running a hand through her hair. “What’s going on?”
“Dudley called. We need to check the basement.” I knocked on the door. “Mrs. Heller? I’m sorry, but we need some help.”
No response. I knocked again.
Craig reached around me and twisted the doorknob. “Mom? It’s me.” He opened the door. “Mom? Are you here? Mom?”
I followed him into the bedroom. Marsha Heller sat in her chair, her feet up, her book in her lap. Her eyes were closed.
She wasn’t breathing.
“Oh god.” Craig knelt in front of her feet. “Mom?”
Rachel tried CPR for 15 minutes and Kathryn tried for 10 minutes more while Craig called 911. But the storm had picked up again, the roads were still clogged with snow and ice, and in the end, there was nothing to do immediately. There was no obvious evidence of foul play or supernatural attack. It looked like, for whatever reason, Mrs. Heller’s heart had just stopped. They promised they’d come out tomorrow.
So the children placed her gently on the bed, slid a pillow under her head, and covered her with a flowered quilt.
Kathryn was crying when we went to the study. Charley was fighting back tears. Craig brought Mrs. Chambers and the maids in, and Brandy poured drinks for everyone. Montague joined us, her face pale, and we drank a somber toast to Marsha Heller.
Charley poured himself more scotch. Mrs. Chambers and the maids left. Kathryn sniffled and sipped her wine.
I hated to do it, but Montague was staring at me impatiently. So I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, but we really have to get into the basement. Can one of you help us find the key?”
“Right now?” Charley set his glass down, sloshing scotch over the end table.
“We have to look for Emil,” Montague said. “He called me. Right before—before . . .”
Charley picked up his glass and slugged his drink down. “All right. I’ll look.”
Craig came with us, along with Kathryn, Montague, and Rachel. The two brothers entered the bedroom. The rest of us waited at the door, uncomfortable and embarrassed. Montague leaned against the wall beside the door, not gazing in. She checked her phone every 30 seconds.
Mrs. Heller had been wearing a skirt with no pockets. So they searched through a handbag on the table next to her chair and came up with a thin keyring. A red stone charm hung from it, along with a half-dozen keys.
“This is the front door.” Craig looked through the rest of the keys. “It must be here.”
We trooped downstairs to the basement door. Craig turned the key, opened the door, reached inside and flipped a light switch. Then he stepped back and looked at me. “Okay.”
I didn’t feel like a bold, fearless ghost hunter, just a nervous P.I. wondering how I got into this—and what I was going to find at the bottom of the steps.
Large squares of cardboard were spread out and taped down across a cement floor. Light came from two bulbs dangling from cords in the ceiling. A black furnace sat in one corner, blue gas glowing through the slats in its front.
An empty wine rack took up half of a brick wall, covered with dust and cobwebs. Shelves next to it held canned goods that looked as if they’d been left over since the Great Depression. Big cardboard boxes were stacked against some of the shelves. Rachel opened one and peeked inside. “Clothes.” She reached in and held up a gray sweater, dust billowing around it.
“Where’s Emil?” Montague groaned.
I looked at the ceiling. Then I turned 360 degrees and pointed. “There?”
A door in the corner. Montague rapped. “Emil? Are you there?” No answer.
Craig tried all the keys. None of them opened it up.
“Does anybody come down here?” I asked.
Charley shrugged. “We used to play down here when we were kids. Ouija boards and stuff.”
“It’s been locked up for years,” Kathryn said. “At least since dad died.”
Montague pounded again. “Emil!” She pressed her ear to the door. “I think I can hear him. Emil?”
I’m not big or strong enough to kick down a door. “There must be some tools somewhere. Aren’t there?”
“Off the kitchen.” Craig turned. “I’ll go.” He and Charley headed for the stairs.
Then the lightbulbs burst.
The darkness felt as vast and deep as outer space. I blinked away the afterimage burning my eyeballs and grabbed for the flashlight in my pocket.
“What the hell?” That came from Montague.
I flashed light around. First I looked for Rachel. “You okay?”
“Get that out of my eyes!” She waved a hand. “Yeah. I’m trapped here in the dark in a haunted house with a bunch of strangers and you. Everything’s just peachy.”
Everyone turned on their phones for light. Rachel had a flashlight app on hers. Craig grabbed the railing and began to slowly climb the stairs. I zoomed around the basement, looking for ghosts and monsters. The only other light aside from ours came from the blue flame of the gas burning in the furnace.
Montague stayed near the door, calling for Dudley. Kathryn leaned against the wall. She breathed deeply, like she was about to start hyperventilating. Rachel patted her arm. “It’s all right.” She glanced at me. “Isn’t it?”
“You tell me. Anything?”
She closed her eyes. Bit her lip. Then she nodded. “Yeah—”
At the top of the stairs Craig cursed. “The door’s—stuck or something.” He banged. “Hello? Let me call Brandy.”
Montague pounded on the door with her fists again. “Emil! Are you all right?”
The furnace started banging. Just like the walls last night.
I turned. The blue gas glowing inside suddenly flared bright, burning my eyes in the surrounding darkness. I held up a hand and took a cautious step forward.
Then the gas started flowing forward, seeping out through the metal slats. It coalesced into a ball of blue fire on the floor. Just like last night, it started whirling around, throwing off heat and sparks.
The furnace shook on the concrete floor, clattering like a rusty locomotive. The pipe that pumped hot air up into the rest of the house rattled, and steam spurted through the joints.
With the cardboard on the floor and the boxes scattered against the walls, the basement was looking more and more like it was on the brink of exploding into an inferno.
The fireball spun faster. Blinking, I inched around it, the heat scorching my face and hands.
Something jostled my shoulder. I jumped.
Kathryn. “We’ve got to turn it off!”
“Yeah.” I edged closer. A spark landed on my arm, burning at my sweater. I swatted it away.
We reached the furnace. Its base was practically rocking back and forth, trying to rip free from the floor. I looked around. “Where’s the button?”
She reached around my shoulder and stretched for a switch near the top. I lifted my hand too, but she got there first and pressed.
Immediately the clanging stopped. The blue fire inside the furnace faded, then died. The base of the furnace settled on the floor. The air wasn’t burning my skin anymore.
But the ball of fire was still twirling in the center of the basement.
Kathryn and I held hands as we edged our way around it, back to the others. She broke away from me and headed for Montague, who was holding her phone up to capture a video. Rachel grabbed my arm. “You okay?”
“I think so.” My face felt sunburned and my nerves were still rattling. The smell of gas filled the air around us.
The ball of blue fire dazzled my eyeballs. Then, just like last night, it shrank into a narrow column of burning light, and once again I saw a woman—the same gray-haired woman in a long white dress, eyes closed.
This time, though, two young children—a boy and a girl—stood in front of her. She had her hands on their shoulders.
I flicked my flashlight at them for a moment. Right before she and the children vanished.
The basement was black as the dark side of the moon again. I flicked my light at Montague. “Did you get that woman? At the end?”
“I—I think so.” She tapped her phone. “I wish I had cameras down here for that, but I got a lot of it.”
Before I could look, a shaft of light burst from the top of the stairs. “Craig? What’s going on?”
“Brandy!” He was still on the top step. “It was—I don’t know. How’d you get the door open?”
“I just pushed. Why is the furnace off? What happened to the lights?”
He didn’t answer or come back down. I figured he was getting out of the basement as fast as possible. A good idea as far as I was concerned. “Let’s get out of here and—”
“Vanessa?” A male voice.
“Emil?” Montague whirled. In the light from above we could see the door—open now, and Dudley staggered through, his hair disheveled and his face pale.
I took Rachel’s arm. “Feel anything now?”
She looked at the spot where the woman had stood with her children. “Why were the doors locked? Why didn’t anybody open up?”
I leaned forward. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head, clearing it. “I’m fine. I think—I want to get upstairs.”
“Me too.”
Warmth lingered without the furnace, but it would get chilly by nightfall. We’d have to try turning the furnace back on at some point, but right now everyone just wanted lights and something to drink for their frayed nerves.
We huddled in the study again. I poured myself a whiskey. Rachel jabbed my arm. “Don’t get too used to that stuff. Just give me one too.”
Dudley slumped in a chair, gulping tequila straight. “I don’t know,” he told me when Montague and I asked what had happened. “I don’t—I remember a voice, a woman’s voice, and I was going downstairs, and then the door wouldn’t open. I kept dreaming my phone was buzzing—”
“I called you 30 times.” Montague was staring at him. “You called me once.”
“Really?” He shook his head and drank. “Can I get something to eat?”
Montague started for the kitchen, but Craig cut her off. “Just a minute—since we’re all stuck here, do either of you two experts have any idea what the hell is going on?”
Montague shook her head. “I’m here to document, not to investigate. I’m just glad Emil’s okay.”
Craig tuned to me. “Jurgen?”
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
That got everyone’s attention. Now I felt nervous. I sipped my whiskey.
“Well?” That came from Brandy.
I set my glass down and pointed at the wall. “Does anyone know who the woman there is?”
People turned to look, except for Dudley. The photo that Mrs. Heller had sat in front of yesterday showed an old woman in a white dress with a high-necked collar.
She was the woman in the cellar, and in the front hall last night.
“It’s been there forever,” Charley said, a can of beer in his hand.
“Mom never said anything about it.” Kathryn had red wine. “But—isn’t that the woman downstairs?”
Montague pulled out her phone. After a moment she handed it to me. “It looks like her.”
Craig elbowed his way in for a look. Montague passed it around the room. Charley looked at the photo, back at the phone, and nodded. Everyone else seemed to agree.
“So what?” Craig crossed his arms. “Who is she? Why is she—haunting the house?”
I picked up my glass. “That’s the question. We can’t ask your mother, but if she shows up again, maybe we can ask her.”
Charley snorted. “She doesn’t seem like the talking kind of ghost.”
I sipped. “You never know.”
Despite all the weird disturbances and the stress of being trapped by the snowstorm, Mrs. Chambers managed to cook dinner for the lot of us. Pasta and salad, with pie for dessert. The weather apps on everyone’s phones agreed that the snow was likely to stop around midnight, so we had a chance of getting out of the house sometime tomorrow.
The house grew slowly but steadily more chilly, but no one wanted to risk the furnace again. All the bedrooms had electric blankets and space heaters in the closets, so nobody would freeze to death in the night. Rachel and I put on extra sweaters, and the maids brought out quilts for Craig and Brandy to wrap themselves in while they watched TV. Charley went up to his room.
Kathryn was in Montague’s command center again. I joined them. Dudley sat in a corner, a wool blanket over his shoulders, shivering, a cup of hot chocolate steaming in front of him.
“Do you remember anything else?” I crossed my arms, Rachel next to me.
He shook his head. “Like I said—a woman’s voice telling me to come downstairs. I remember, uh, looking at the furnace and feeling cold, even though the fire was pretty hot. Then the door shut and I couldn’t get out. I was so cold.” He gulped some of his chocolate.
Maybe he’d remember more soon. In the meantime—“I have to ask. You have a little shady activity in your background.”
Montague turned to watch him as he set the paper cup down and crossed his arms. “Yeah. I, uh, screwed up. It was—I got into some stuff. Then I got into rehab. Nobody would hire me after that. Except you.”
Montague sighed. “I wish you’d just told me. I still would have taken you, but just—it makes me look bad.”
“Sorry.” Dudley nodded. “You can fire me.”
“I’m not doing anything right now except checking the data.” She tapped a key on her laptop. “I’ve got the stuff from my phone. And I found something from that fireball in the front hall last night. It’s just a few seconds, but it looks like the same person.”
Rachel and I leaned over her shoulder, Kathryn behind us. Montague had both frozen images on her screen.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s her. I wonder—” I straightened up. “Okay, I’m an idiot.”
“We all knew that.” Rachel punched my arm. “What’s the new evidence?”
“The picture.” I headed out to the hall.
Back in the study, no one was sitting in Mrs. Heller’s chair underneath the picture of the old woman. Craig looked up as I pulled it down from the wall. “What?”
I popped the back open and slipped the photo out. Words on the rear were written in precise black pen: Eleanor Hopewell, 1946-2003.
“Does that sound familiar?”
Craig shook his head. “No idea. Who is she?”
“Let me get my laptop—”
But before I could move, the lights went out. Again.
