In the Dead of Night (7 page)

“It is, although Taekwondo is more a philosophy and way of life for me, and not really a sport. Tennis is a sport.”

She glanced at me, as if this was some private joke…some secret dig brought on by my recent taunt? Maybe it goes along with her favorite moniker for me, ‘Cracker Jack’. I have no idea at all as to why she chose it. I mean, a smiling cartoon sailor on a box of sweetened popcorn with a cheap, meaningless toy inside every box…. Okay, maybe it ain’t so vague, since who in the hell wants to be compared to
that?

“This is excellent!” Fiona enthused, pointing to her burger. “Really
good
, Tom!

Everyone else chimed in, and I have to say the burger and hotdog I ate seemed unusually good. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, as my appetite at lunch was obliterated by the details surrounding Dickey Rollins’ exit from this world.

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, everyone had indulged in seconds and a generous slice from the dessert pizza. Fading sunlight peered through mature maples surrounding Tom’s property, creating an almost exotic feel, enhanced by the burning torches encircling the deck. Thirty minutes left before I needed to leave, rehearsal was set to start at nine o’clock sharp.

An emphatic tap on my watch got everyone moving, and we cleared the table in a matter of minutes. The dishwasher in Tom’s custom kitchen whirring in the background, he motioned for us all to follow him back outside.

Across the yard sat a revitalized small stone and log structure, built not long after the main house was erected. The ‘NVP studio’, as Tom called it. Fresh blue paint upon the door and window frames, the building seemed to glow under the backyard’s security lamps, nestled beneath tall pines and maples that were probably small saplings when it was built.

Like a little playhouse from some urban fantasy, the studio seemed to beckon us. Ready for its first ‘official’ test drive, perhaps?

I could hardly wait to put it in gear.

Chapter Seven

“You should all watch your step, since the sidewalk has a few ridges that have popped up due to the ground shifting over the years,” Tom advised, as we neared the end of the cement path to his studio. Additional security lights set up in a pair of tall maples turned on just before we reached the building.

A crude miniature version of the main house, the three-room structure contained smaller stained-glass windows on each side of the doorway. Definitely not designed with a broken-down riding mower and rusted handsaws in mind—which is what Tom said it sheltered when he first visited the property. The floor had rotted through in several places, too, and the roof hung low in one corner. But that’s no longer the case. Everything old and busted has been replaced with brand new materials, starting with a new cedar-chip roof.

“Before we step inside, and I should’ve mentioned this to Jackie, Tony, and Angie earlier, take a look at the long cement slab below the window,” he said, pointing a small flashlight at a narrow flowerbed located beneath the window sill.

We followed him over to it. Most of the slab lay hidden behind a row of rose bushes, just beyond the reach of the security lights’ soft glow.

“Jackie, would you mind holding this for a moment?”

Tom motioned for her to take the flashlight. Then he carefully pulled the plants away from the slab. Fiona was the first one to gasp this time, and only because she immediately understood what the words and numbers meant, illuminated clearly by the flashlight’s bright beam.

Nathaniel Smith…born January 24
th
, 1893…died July 7
th
, 1945.

“Now that’s jacked up!” said Justin, while the rest of us…well let’s just say the rest of us were murmuring. Unfinished, nonsensical thoughts, like a Sunday Pentecostal service. “You mean to tell me some dead guy is buried here, in your
yard?
”

“So it would seem,” said Tom, chuckling. “When I first noticed it a couple of months ago, it gave me a start, too. I should’ve told everyone then…. But, as it turns out, no one is actually buried here. At least according to the state archives. Mr. Smith is buried in Chattanooga. Apparently, this is just an extra marker.”

He turned toward us, smiling. It must’ve been a sweet moment for him…all of us with mouths hung open until we realized there really wasn’t a body there.

“I might add that Nathaniel was the second to last owner of this property, right on up to his death in 1945,” added Tom.

Well, maybe the sucker’s buried here after all. I shuddered for a moment, and Fiona did too. Not a good omen.

“Come on in, everyone,” he said, ushering us inside. “Let me show the best evidence to Jimmy, and if anyone else wants to hang out afterward, we can look over some of the other pictures and audio recordings I haven’t had time to examine yet....”

I’m not sure if Fiona and I fully heard what he said after that, since our eyes were drawn to the opulence inside. Very little expense had been spared in outfitting the room with state-of-the-art recording equipment and a large monitor for close examination of visual images and deeper analysis of electronic voice phenomena, or EVPs. Even the long control board and furniture in the room looked expensive. Not to mention the hardwood floors, a second furnished ‘office’ complete with another computer system, and a small bathroom. That’d definitely be a necessity, as it seemed quite possible to never want to leave this place for days at a time, if one had enough paranormal data to review. A small fridge next to the main console would answer the remaining needs a serious investigator might require.

Hell, if Tom had added a sound booth, I might be tempted to commandeer the studio to record my band for a week or two.

“Is this place
booyakasha
or what?!”
Justin enthused, laughing while laying a damned good Ali-G on us.

“It’s just
so
sweet, man!” added Tony, sliding down into one of the high-back leather chairs in front of the console. “You’ve definitely outdone yourself, Tom. This will take our ghost investigations to a whole new level, y’all.”

“Yes, it really is something special,” said Fiona, admiringly. “I can’t wait to see what everything looks like using this new equipment, Tom.”

“Better than my old system,” he said, moving over to the other chair. “
Much
better.” He sat down and turned on the main board, which quietly came to life. Green, orange, and blue lights began to flicker across the console’s face. “Okay, Fiona…Jimmy. Gather round a little closer and get ready to see something special.”

She and I moved over to where we stood directly behind him and Tony, with Angie and Jackie on Fiona’s right side, and Justin leaning in next to me. All of us waited expectantly for what would soon appear on the 60 inch LCD screen before us.

“Okay…first off is the image in the window upstairs,” Tom advised. “For Fiona’s benefit, this happened when we were moving around the front of the house, and I pointed the infrared camera toward the upstairs window—the one above the main entrance.”

“That’s where the younger kids sleep,” said Fiona. “Charlain told me during my initial visit to the house that her children hear voices up there.”

“Well, that makes a lot of sense in light of what we’ve got here,” Tony advised, and then looked over at Tom, whose expression made it clear he wanted to completely handle the findings from last night’s investigation. “Oops, sorry, Tom…. I just got a little carried away.”

“It’s all right,” he replied, somewhat tersely. “Anyway, here we go.”

At first, only an intense yellow glare from the security flood lamps in the Thompson’s front yard filled the screen, amid a greenish glow from the infrared video. That, and Tom and Tony’s voices commenting on how it sucked to not be able to get any closer to the house without incurring additional problems—like worse camera angles due to the overhanging eves upstairs. Whoever built the place never considered the inconveniences presented for future ghost hunters.

Roughly a minute later, the upstairs window came into clear view. As we noted last night, the curtains were slightly open—most likely the kids’ request to have more than a nightlight illuminating their scary bedroom. A pair of wispy sheers blocked most of our voyeur access inside the bedroom, but still a gap existed in the middle of the window. For our purposes, that’s all we needed to capture the image.

At first, we could only see the green-hazed outline of the house and the reddish outlines from the security lamps’ casings, emitting heat from the powerful halogens. Then a dark red form appeared in the window. Fiona let out another slight gasp.

It rarely happens with this type of technology, as often the forms caught by infrared cameras appear shadowy, undefined as to sex, though clothing such as hats and coats can be determined. Not this time. Facial details of a woman were clearly viewable, and the woman’s face was framed by ringlets. Only the eyes remained shadowed, hidden. The portals to the soul…even though her expression was blank, who could say for sure there was no menace implied?

“Go ahead and run the video forward, Tom,” said Fiona, shifting to the mode the group has come to expect of her. From sweet-natured to the ‘take charge’ individual who has spearheaded NVP’s rise to the top shelf of Tennessee’s plethora of paranormal investigators vying for the more prestigious locations to explore.

He looked back in surprise, maybe under the delusion that last night’s trauma and this morning’s second helping would promote him into the lead role…at least for now. Still, no one questions her direction when she gets into her zone—not even me, her closest confidante.