Ghouls Just Haunt to Have Fun (3 page)

My mouth fell open. “You mean to tell me that you signed me up for this stunt for the free
vacation
it could offer you?”

“No,” Gil said meekly. “I mean, I’ll be there for moral support, M.J. It’s not like I’m going to abandon you or anything.”

I gave Gilley an even look. He and I both knew that San Francisco was like Disneyland for the gay man. “Oh, you’ll be there for moral support, all right,” I said. “In fact, I want you in my line of sight at
all
times, Gilley. Since you tricked me into this, I am holding you personally responsible for making sure that my lighting is right and the camera angle plays to my good side.”

Gilley pouted. “You really need me there at all times?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, opening the manila folder. “At allllllll times, my friend.”

While we waited for the plane I read through the e-mails and downloaded Web pages that Gilley had printed out. Apparently this guy Gopher wasn’t as goofy as his name. The show was the brainchild of the coproducer, Roger Evenstein, whom the e-mails suggested would not be at the actual shoot. While doing a documentary on the infamous Russian prison camp where Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn spent his internment and from his experiences wrote
The Gulag Archipelago
, Roger came across one man who had survived six years alongside Solzhenitsyn in the freezing temperatures of the Siberian wasteland. The man was especially interesting to the producer because he claimed that a family heirloom—a small silver cross—smuggled in to him by a relative had saved him. He claimed that the cross had kept him warm during the bitter temperatures of the Siberian nights, and that whenever he took the cross off, he became cold—chilled to the very bone—but as long as he wore it, the cold did not penetrate his skin, and he was saved from freezing to death through six agonizing subzero winters.

Roger was ready to consider it a simple case of mind over matter: His body worked harder to maintain its temperature because the man’s belief in the talisman was so strong. But to show the producer that he was not imagining it, the old man offered him the cross to try out. Roger wrote:

 

A few years later Roger had teamed up with Gopher on a project about another documentary involving a scientist at the University of Arizona who was doing electronic brain scans of mediums and psychics during reading sessions for strangers. While working on that project, Roger had shared his story of the cross with Gopher, and the idea for the show was born.

The two men wondered what other everyday objects could contain such power, and whether that power was limited to only good or positive energy. In their research they came across all manner of items that were claimed to possess special, amazing, or even evil energy.

And it was the folks who claimed to own an evil talisman that concerned the producers the most; these people, Gopher described in his notes to Gilley, were completely imprisoned by the object in question. They believed strongly that it haunted them and that there was no way to get rid of it without bringing on a catastrophe for either themselves or some other poor soul who happened upon the possessed thing they had thrown away.

The show had arranged for an assortment of guests to showcase their “haunted” items to the team of “experts” or mediums invited to the show. Gopher emphasized that his hope was to help those people anchored to this so-called “evil” object to let go of its hold over them or dispose of it in a safe manner, while tracing the root of power for those objects that had “good” energy.

As I read the production notes, I had to admit I was intrigued. But I was also highly skeptical. I know more about things that go bump in the night than just about anyone, but the idea that a ghost or spirit could inhabit something as small as a hairbrush was a bit far-fetched for me. Most ghosts need territory to walk around in: a room, or a house, or a field, or a barn. Every once in a while you’ll see them cling to an instrument—usually one of destruction, like a sword or a pistol—but even then they’ll still stomp around in the area where the instrument is kept. They don’t contain themselves to the item; they contain themselves to the area
around
the item.

But the story of the old Russian man and his cross wouldn’t leave me, and as our plane began to load and people lined up to board I decided this might not be so bad after all. At least it would provide me with a little more education and experience, because, trust me, in the ghostbusting business, just when you think you’ve seen it all—you become acutely aware that you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

 

We landed at four thirty Pacific time. While we waited for the cab that would take us to the Duke Hotel I stretched my legs and arms. It had been a long flight.

Steven and Gilley had slept through most of it, while I’d continued to read through the folder, becoming more and more curious about this little adventure. We were next in line for a cab when Gilley gave me a sideways glance and said, “You still mad at me?”

I smiled. “Nah. But I am a bit surprised that you agreed to come along and sleep in the lodgings provided.”

Gilley’s look turned puzzled. “Why?”

I opened my eyes wide at him. “
The
most haunted hotel in America?”

“What’s the most haunted hotel in America?” he said, his face going a teensy bit pale.

“The Duke Hotel,” I said. Oh, this was too good to be true! Gilley obviously hadn’t read the literature on our accommodations.

There was a look of panic in Gil’s eyes as the rest of the color drained from his face. “You’re lying,” he said breathlessly.

“Am not,” I sang, and swung the pamphlet over to him. Despite being in the ghostbusting business, Gilley is actually terrified of ghosties. Oh, he’s great about observing things from the remote safety of the van when I need him, but ask him to actually
enter
someplace haunted and that
POW!
you hear is the sonic boom created by Gilley breaking the sound barrier on his way out the door.

Gilley tore the pamphlet from my hands and scanned the contents as we hustled into the cab that had just pulled up to the curb. “Oh, no,” Gil moaned as we got settled into the backseat. “All I heard was that we were staying in some luxurious accommodations! No one told me this place is
haunted
!”

Steven and I laughed, as he’d been listening in and was thoroughly enjoying Gilley’s reaction. “What’d you expect?” I said. “That they’d shoot something about haunted possessions at the local Starbucks?”

Gilley didn’t reply. He was too busy hyperventilating. Steven pulled out a small plastic bag from his messenger bag and handed it to Gil. “Breathe into this; it will help.”

Our cabdriver looked in his rearview mirror. “Is he okay back there?”

“He’s fine,” I said. “Just being a drama queen. How long will it take to get to the Duke Hotel?”

“About twenty minutes,” he said, still looking skeptically at Gilley, then at me, as though I should do something.

Under the cabdriver’s disapproving glare I was motivated to rub Gil’s back. “It’ll be okay,” I said to him. “I’ll protect you.”

Gilley wheezed into the bag and glared at me. I . . . left . . . my sweatshirt . . . at . . . home!” he said, gasping.

On one of the busts that we’d done in the early summer Gilley had been attacked by a vicious brute of a ghost. To protect him, I’d rigged a sweatshirt with dozens of refrigerator magnets (ghosties
hate
magnets). Looking at him now, all red and hyperventilating, I gave in. “Driver? Can you please take us first to a sporting goods store and a hardware store before you drop us at the hotel?”

An hour later, and with a huge cab fare tab, we finally arrived in front of the Duke Hotel. I had been hurrying to glue on enough magnets to the inside of the sweatshirt we’d purchased for Gilley to hold him through the front lobby. I would finish it once we were checked in to our room.

As we were pulling up to the grand structure, Gilley squeaked in that way that said he was both excited and nervous.

“What?” I said, concentrating on gluing down a magnet.

“We’re here,” he said. “And there’s trouble.”

I glanced up just as Steven said, “There are a lot of police and an ambulance up there.”

I squinted through the windshield. The curved driveway leading to the front door was lined with police and rescue vehicles, and the area was blocked off. An even longer line of cars had slowed in front of the commotion. Some were being directed by a traffic cop to move on, while others were waved into the hotel’s underground garage.

I could also see several uniformed bellhops in red jackets with gold piping who looked distinctly out of place among all the police and medical crew.

“Wonder what happened,” our driver said.

“Something bad,” I whispered, feeling a shiver.

“What would you like me to do?” the driver asked, turning his head to look at us over his shoulder. “It’s gonna take a while to move up this line. Or I can let you out here and you can make your way to the lobby if you’d like.”

“We’ll get out here,” Steven said, reaching for his wallet.

Meanwhile, I was transfixed by the scene up ahead. Handing Gilley the sweatshirt along with the extra magnets and glue, I reached for the door handle.

“M.J.?” he said, obviously noticing my withdrawn appearance.

“I’ll be back, Gil.” And I got out of the cab.

“Wait a second and I’ll come with you!” he said, gathering up his things and struggling with the sweatshirt and magnets.

“No!” I snapped, then reined myself in. “You can’t,” I said gently. “Or at least, you can’t bring that sweatshirt along.”

“Why not?”

“What’s happening?” Steven said, coming to stand next to me on the sidewalk after paying the driver.

“There’s a girl up there who needs my help.”

“A girl?” Steven and Gilley said together, while they looked from me to where I was pointing, up near the mass of police.

“Yeah. She says someone entered her room and hit her over the head. She’s been trying to tell the police, but she can’t get any of them to listen to her.”

“How did you hear a girl from inside the cab?” Steven asked.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gilley mouth the word
ghost
to Steven.

“Ahhh,” Steven said, nodding. “I will stay with Gilley. You go help the girl.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I confirmed, handing Steven my backpack and looking at my watch. We’d landed an hour and a half ago and already I was doing my first bust. Little did I know that over the next few days, it certainly wouldn’t be my last.

Chapter 2

I wound my way through the mix of onlookers and men in uniform to get as close to the girl as I could. It was tough going, as many of the gawkers didn’t want to give up their places at the front of the crime scene, and no one in uniform would let me cross the yellow tape and orange sawhorses marking the area off-limits to the public. Finally someone in the exact spot I needed to get to shivered as if they were cold and moved aside, letting me slide into place at the very top of the crime-scene tape and close to a blanketed figure lying prone on the driveway.

Right next to the body I could see the slightest of haze in the atmosphere, and I knew that the woman who told me about being struck over the head in her hotel room was right now trying to figure out who the body on the driveway belonged to.
Yoo-hoo!
I called in my mind to get her attention.

I had this sense of the woman considering me curiously for a few seconds before making her way over. Immediately the five feet around me became cold as ice, and people crowding around shivered, rubbed their arms, and unconsciously moved away from where I was standing, which was a relief, because I was beginning to feel really scrunched.

What’s your name, sweetheart?
I asked. Her answer was clear; it sounded like the words
so
and
fee
.
Hi, Sophie,
I said pleasantly.
Can you tell me what happened to you in the hotel room?

Immediately a series of disjointed pictures played out in my mind. I was looking at a brass plate hung on a door with the numbers three, two, and one on it. Then I had a very quick glimpse of a room decorated with celery green and yellow-striped wallpaper, cream carpet, and dark wood furnishings. On a table in the center of the room was a mess of papers. I had the sense of searching for one particular item within all that clutter, but something shiny shook loose and fell to the floor, where it caught the light and sparkled. As I reached down to pick it up I became aware of footsteps right behind me, and before I had a chance to react I felt a searing blow to the back of my head, followed by the fuzzy, confused haze of where I stood now.

I reached out to grab the column the police tape was secured to, feeling very wobbly on my feet.

“Ma’am?” someone said to me. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

I blinked a few times and rubbed the back of my head, then realized that an EMT was standing quite close to me with a concerned look on his face. “I’m fine,” I said, eyeing the body on the ground. “What happened to her?” I asked him, thinking about feeling that hard knock to the back of my own head and how Sophie had ended up here.

The EMT looked me over again, probably to assess whether I really was okay; then he said, “Looks like she might have jumped from the roof.”

“She
jumped
?” I asked.

The EMT nodded. “Right now they think it’s probably a suicide. Cops are trying to figure out the trajectory of jumping off a six-story building, but the angle’s right.”