Between the Living and the Dead (17 page)

“Could, maybe, but this is your case. You're the one's been workin' it.”

Rhodes couldn't argue with that. “I'll get dressed.”

“Good idea,” Hack said. “Wouldn't do for you go to out there in your jammies.”

*   *   *

When Rhodes arrived at the Moore house, he saw a white van parked at the curb. Two men stood at the gate looking at something one of them was holding. The headlights of the county car gave Rhodes enough of a look at the two men for him to recognize one of them. It was Seepy Benton, and Rhodes figured that the other one was Harry Harris, Benton's assistant ghostbuster.

Rhodes drove past the van. A sign on the side said
CLEARVIEW PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS.
The
C, P,
and
I
were red, with the other letters in black. Two sheeted ghosts floated at either end of the name. They weren't particularly scary ghosts.

Rhodes parked in front of the van and walked to where Benton and Harris were looking at their equipment. Both men had flashlights, but they weren't turned on.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Seepy said. “You probably wonder why we called you here tonight.”

“You didn't call me,” Rhodes said. “Hack did.”

“That was a joke,” Seepy said. He was wearing a bright red polo shirt with an odd design on the left side, some sort of logo, Rhodes supposed.

“I see you've noticed the emblem on my shirt,” Seepy said. “I designed it myself. It's a Kabbalistic Tree of Life drawn on a Star of David inscribed in a hexagonal cross-section of the Cube of Space. I'm one of the Illuminati.”

“Suspicions confirmed,” Rhodes said. “Is there a Blacklin County chapter?”

“I'm working on it,” Seepy said. “I had a feeling you might show up here tonight. The law never sleeps here in Blacklin County. Harry and I aren't breaking any laws, though, and we haven't crossed your police line. We're just standing here on the sidewalk, which is the right of any private citizen.”

“Sure it is,” Rhodes said. “Occupy Blacklin County. Good evening, Dr. Harris.”

The only times Rhodes had dealt with Harry Harris had been at the college, where Harris chaired the English Department. He looked like an English professor should, always wearing a suit and tie. Even his graying goatee seemed right for his profession. However, he was dressed differently for his night's ghostbusting expedition. He wore jeans and a shirt that Mikey Burns would admire, an orange number covered with white palm trees. He still had the goatee, though.

“Good evening, Sheriff,” Harris said. “I hope you don't mind our doing a little investigating here. This house is the perfect place for us to check out our equipment, and it has the reputation of being haunted.”

“Reputations don't count for much,” Rhodes said. “I doubt that you'll find anything.”

“The sheriff's a skeptic,” Benton said.

“Ah,” Harris said. “Do you know Wordsworth, Sheriff?”

“We were introduced when I was in school, but it was just a brief acquaintance. Had something to do with daffodils. I haven't had much to do with him since.”

“There's a poem of his you might like. Not many people read it today. It's not about daffodils. It's called ‘The Affliction of Margaret,' and in it a grieving mother says, ‘I look for ghosts; but none will force their way to me: 'tis falsely said that there was ever intercourse between the living and the dead.' Intercourse in this instance means—”

“I know what it means,” Rhodes said. “I passed that English class, and for what it's worth, I agree with that grieving mother. Ghosts don't do any talking to the living, and that's because there aren't any ghosts.”

As soon as he said it, Rhodes felt the prickling on the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him. He shook off the feeling.

“A skeptic, like I said,” Seepy told Harris, “but then he hasn't seen this.”

“Seen what?” Rhodes asked.

Seepy passed him the device he'd been holding. “It's our EMF meter, and we're getting a high reading. There could be a ghost in that house.”

Rhodes grinned. “I should introduce you to Brad Turner. He lives not far from here, and he wears a tinfoil hat.”

Seepy looked insulted. “I've never worn a tinfoil hat in my life.”

Rhodes eyed Seepy's disreputable straw hat. “It might be an improvement, but you need to understand why Turner wears the tinfoil.” Rhodes pointed toward the cell tower. “Look over there. See the flashing red light?”

“It's on the top of a cell tower,” Harris said. “We know about it.”

“We don't just know about it,” Seepy said. “We've compensated for it. We've stood at both ends of the block and walked toward this gate. The reading goes up no matter which direction we come from. Something in the house is moving the meter.”

“The something doesn't have to be a ghost,” Rhodes said, handing the EMF meter back.

Seepy took the meter and said, “I know an easy way to find out.”

Rhodes put up a hand to stop Seepy from going on. “I know what you're going to say.”

“So?” Seepy said. “How about it?”

Rhodes thought it over. What would be the harm in letting Seepy and Harris walk up to the house? They'd see that the reading didn't increase, and they'd go home. That meant he could go home, too, and that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of the night arguing with them.

“All right,” Rhodes said. “I'll open the gate, and you can slip under the tape. Just don't go in the house. Let me get my flashlight first.”

Benton and Harris high-fived as Rhodes walked to his car. He returned and opened the gate, which gave out a wild
skreeeeek
that seemed to unnerve Benton momentarily. It made the prickle return to the back of Rhodes's neck, too, and this time he couldn't shake it off.

“Ready?” Rhodes asked, trying to ignore the prickly feeling.

Benton and Harris nodded. Rhodes held up the tape for them and followed them into the yard, shining his flashlight along the cracked and overgrown walk.

“Look at this,” Seepy said, handing the EMF meter to Harris.

“I've never seen it get that high,” Harris said. “Something's in there.”

“You need to see this, Sheriff,” Seepy said, holding out the meter.

Rhodes looked at the lighted digital readout. It was well into the teens now. It had been under ten outside the gate.

“We really should go inside,” Seepy said.

“There aren't any ghosts inside,” Rhodes said. “Mice, yes, and rats. But no ghosts.”

“You aren't afraid of rats and mice, are you?” Seepy asked.

“What about ghosts?”

“I ain't afraid of no ghosts.”

“Very good,” Harris said. “
Ghostbusters
is excellent entertainment, but very unrealistic. We're not expecting to find Gozer the Traveler in the house, just a lonely ghost, purely insubstantial. Nothing to be afraid of at all.”

“If there's nothing there, we'll leave,” Seepy said. “I've been certified by the Citizens' Sheriff's Academy. I know how to deal with a crime scene, and you can keep an eye on Harry to be sure he doesn't mess up.”

If it hadn't been for the funny feeling on his neck, Rhodes would've turned him down, but it seemed as if there might be something in the house after all. Not a ghost, and not just a rat, but something.

“Just don't touch anything,” Rhodes said. “I'll go first.”

He went up on the porch and opened the door, which for some reason opened easily this time. The rainy dampness on the previous night must have made it stick.

As soon as Rhodes crossed the threshold, he felt a chill. Seepy and Harris felt it, too, and it excited them even more than the EMF reading.

“No doubt about it,” Seepy said. “This place is haunted. CP Investigations has found its first ghosts!”

“You haven't found anything yet,” Rhodes said.

“We will, though,” Seepy said, and the door slammed shut behind them, just as it would have in a scene in a bad horror movie.

Rhodes controlled his vertical leap, but Seepy and Harris didn't. Rhodes wasn't impressed. He could take them in a contest any day. They hardly cleared the floor.

“We're trapped,” Seepy said.

“No, we're not,” Rhodes said. “There's a back door. Besides, we can open this one.”

He went over to prove his point and tugged on the knob, but he couldn't budge the door. It was tightly stuck.

“Trapped,” Seepy said again. “It's like
House on Haunted Hill.
”

Rhodes was beginning to wonder if Seepy was cut out for the ghost-hunting business. “We're not trapped. Remember what I said about the back door?”

As he spoke, something scuttled past them on the floor. Rhodes turned the flashlight downward and saw a rat the size of a kitten. It surely couldn't be the same one he had seen that morning. All rats looked alike, so this had to be another one.

The rat ran up the stairs toward the second floor, and Harris said, “Follow that rat.”

“Why?” Rhodes asked.

“Because animals are more sensitive to the paranormal than we are. The rat might be trying to tell us something.”

Rhodes didn't think so. He didn't have a high opinion of a rat's ability to communicate with humans. He didn't see the harm in following the rat, though. He already knew there was nothing on the second floor.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“You first,” Seepy said. “You're the sheriff.”

Rhodes laughed and went up the stairs, lighting the way with his flashlight. Seepy and Harris had turned on their own lights, but they stayed close to him. At the top of the stairs Rhodes looked around for the rat, but he didn't see it.

Benton and Harris were interested in the bedrooms, but they found nothing that Rhodes hadn't seen the night before. They did get a higher reading on their meter, but it was about the same in every room.

“No ghosts,” Rhodes said after they'd investigated all the bedrooms. “Not even any rats. Time for us to leave.”

Seepy and Harris were reluctant, but they didn't have any good arguments in favor of staying. All three of them went back out into the hallway and were about to go back down the stairs when they heard an agitated squeaking noise.

Rhodes shined his light on the stairs to the attic. The rat sat hunched on the top step. Its body shook with the effort it took to squeak so loudly, and its eyes seemed demonically red in the flashlight's beam.

“Rats don't usually vocalize,” Seepy said. He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, but then he always did. “It's trying to tell us something. Where do those steps lead?”

“The attic,” Rhodes said. “Or I think they do.”

“You didn't check it out?”

“Look at the dust on those stairs. Nobody's used them in years.”

“Ghosts don't disturb the dust,” Harris said.

“We need to see what's up there,” Seepy said. “If we can get past the rat.”

“The rat's as scared of you as you are of him,” Rhodes said.

“I'm not scared. I just don't want to force an encounter that won't end well for the rat. You go first.”

Once again Rhodes couldn't think of a good reason not to do what Seepy wanted. In fact, he wished now that he'd taken a look into the attic when he was in the house before. He turned his light on the stairs. Now that he looked at them closely, he could see that the dust had been disturbed by little rat tracks, but that was all. He started up the stairs.

Dust puffed out from beneath his feet with each step. The old boards creaked. The noise didn't appear to bother the rat, which waited for Rhodes at the top of the stairs, but when Rhodes was a couple of steps away from the top, the rat flattened its ears and ran past him. Harris maintained his composure, but Seepy nearly fell back down the stairs as he jumped out of the rat's path. Harris reached out a hand and grabbed Seepy's arm to steady him.

“You all right?” Rhodes asked.

“I'm fine,” Seepy said. “I must have put my foot wrong and slipped.”

Rhodes grinned. “Right. It could happen to anybody. You sure you want to go into the attic?”

“I'm sure.”

Rhodes thought the door might be locked. If it was, they'd just have to leave it that way. He didn't intend to break it down.

It wasn't locked, however. The knob didn't turn easily, but it turned, and the door swung open with a
skreeeek
to rival the gate.

Rhodes stepped into the attic. The ceiling was high enough for him to stand, and he shined the light around. Seepy and Harris waited outside. Maybe they wanted to be sure there wasn't an army of rats in there, sharpening their teeth on some handy stones.

Rhodes didn't see any stones, however, and he didn't see any rats. What he saw was cobwebs, lots of them, thick and dusty. Eight or ten old cardboard boxes sat well away from the attic windows, which were all intact. Dust lay thick on the boxes. Just past them near the rear of the attic was a rectangular wooden structure, a closet for storing things not to be left out in the open room.

“See?” Rhodes said. “No ghosts. Just dust.”

The ghost hunters looked disappointed until a sudden chill settled over the attic. Rhodes thought the temperature must have dropped at least five degrees, instantly.

“They're here!” Benton said.

“Where?” Harris said.

“I don't see them, but they're here. Look at this meter.”

Rhodes couldn't see the meter, but from the excitement in Seepy's voice, he judged that the reading had risen as fast as the attic had cooled.

“The boxes,” Harris said, and he and Seepy hustled over to look at them, dust pluming around their feet.

Rhodes went along, too. The boxes didn't crumble when Benton and Harris touched them, but they were so dry and stiff that it was a near thing. Benton and Harris looked into all of them. Inside were what appeared to be old schoolbooks and papers. No ghosts.