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.”
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