Nightmare (16 page)

I quickly pulled out my phone and snapped some photos of
the area, set to the highest resolution my phone would allow. I
didn't stop to review them; there would be time for that later. I
just kept snapping until my phone ran out of memory.

"I don't see anything," said Jordin, and though her words
came out in a whisper, the grounds had been so quiet aside from
the sobbing that I nearly jumped when she spoke.

Apparently I wasn't the only one. Because just like that, the
crying stopped and all was quiet.

"I think you scared it off," I observed. It seemed as though
Jordin's statement had gotten the ghost's attention and caused
it to flee the area. "Come on, let's head back inside. We won't see
or hear her again anytime soon. If that really was her. Now she'll
be watching for us."

Jordin hesitated, staring all around. "Sorry if I frightened
you," she said quietly as she searched the landscape for any signs
of the apparition.

I was a bit surprised at Jordin's soft-spoken words. Maybe
there was hope for her as a genuine paranormal investigator
yet.

Dusk approached rapidly, and since we were already outside, I
directed us to the gazebo. The Myrtles had a man-made pond with
a small island in the middle. Sitting atop that island was a tiny
white gazebo, and it was the site of a lot of reported activity.

"So what's the story here?"Jordin asked, her eyes peeled and
her digital recorder already going.

"The Myrtles is steeped in Civil War history," I replied. "A
Confederate soldier is sometimes seen or heard in this area."

We circled the gazebo slowly from opposite sides, and then
entered to meet in the middle.

"Snap to, soldier,"Jordin called out. "A Union battalion just
arrived! Grab your gun and fall in!"

I threw her a wicked look.

"Chill out, Maia," saidjordin. "I'm not teasing it. Just trying
to get a real response."

We didn't stay there long.

Once we were done at the gazebo, I tried to give Jordin a tour
of all the hot spots, and there were many.

The former slave shack was popular with tourists. Despite
its dilapidated exterior, it was used as a private cottage for visitors and was outfitted with modern furnishings inside. We did
some recording and moved on to the graveyard. The Myrtles
had its own graveyard out on the surrounding land, and most
of the headstones were more than a hundred years old. It was a
truly creepy location, deathly quiet, but we didn't find anything.
We swung through the cobblestone courtyard where Chloe was
often seen leaning up against an exterior wall. Again we found
nothing and had no other sign of Chloe that evening.

Long after nightfall, the two of us wandered back through
the double front doors, diffused with opaque glass, into the main house, with video cameras, flashlights, and digital audio recorders
in hand. We checked out the ladies' parlor and the gentlemen's
parlor, expansive and lavish sitting rooms on the first floor. The
walls were covered with costly artwork, and each room was filled
with antique furniture. The empty space in this bed-and-breakfast
was nothing like a traditional hotel. It was more cramped, and
though there was room to move around, it seemed that every inch
that could be spared was devoted to an endless collection of historic objects and luxurious furnishings. Beautiful multicolored
rugs covered the hardwood floors, and elaborate candelabras
hung from the ceilings of nearly every room.

After spending a few minutes in the dining room, we made
our way up the old wooden stairs, covered in a long row of red
carpet, and slowly went through the empty guest rooms. It didn't
escape my notice that aside from a few subdued comments or
ghostly provocations, Jordin had not been her usual chatty self
all evening. I again wondered if talking about her parents' death
that afternoon had dredged up bad memories that wouldn't go
away.

And I couldn't help wondering if her parents' death had
something to do with Jordin's obsession with investigating the
paranormal.

Around midnight, we were walking the halls when we thought
we heard footsteps in one of the guest rooms ahead. I turned to
one door, sure that the sound had originated from there, while
Jordin approached the door opposite me.

Before opening her door, Jordin caught herself. "You're probably right...." she whispered, and spun around to join me.

Both of us were facing my door when a creaking sound came
from behind us.

I turned quickly but Jordin rotated far more slowly, being
the closer one to the source of the sound.

"Did you ... ?" I whispered.

She shook her head. "Never touched it."

The door Jordin had been about to open now stood fully
open.

"Urn," Jordin began, her voice high and jittery, "would you
call that an invitation to come in or a warning to go away?"

I threw her a look to indicate that I didn't know and then
plowed straight into the now-open room. I held my video camera
high, doing a full 360 of the room. It wasn't until I'd finished
that Jordin joined me inside.

The room was similar in size to the room I was staying in,
decorated with quaint historical accoutrements, like a portrait of
a stern-looking man hanging on one wall and identical antique
flower vases situated on opposite ends of an ancient hardwood
bookcase.

I sat down on the edge of the room's queen-size bed. "Is
anybody in here?" I said out loud. "Are you trying to reach out
to us?"

Jordin sat in an antique rocking chair opposite the bed. She
held her audio recorder aloft with one hand while pulling out a
digital still camera with her other. She began snapping photos
of every view of the room she could manage.

"It's colder in here," she whispered.

I agreed. "Air's heavy, too. Breathing is a little harder."

Jordin decided to try her hand at communicating. "Can you
do something to let us know you're here? You could move something here in the room, or tap on something, or even touch one
of us."

There was no response.

"What's your name?" I asked the dark, oppressive room.

Jordin let out a small gasp.

"What?" I asked.

It just-" Jordin's eyes were wide and she was searching the
entire room, breathing faster. "It felt like someone touched my
hair. Like they wanted to see what it feels like."

"Maybe they did."

"Is this level of activity normal?" she asked. "Seems like we've
had really good luck on every investigation we've had."

"No," I said, "this isn't normal. I mean ... we are intentionally visiting places known for their extensive paranormal activity. But we've had exceptional results. If I didn't know better, I
might think paranormal activity itself was up-way up-across
the board. Either that, or ... well, never mind."

"What?"

I squirmed a bit. This wasn't a theory I was eager to put forth.
"Sometimes certain people can attract high levels of activity. Like,
maybe it's not the place that's haunted-it's the person."

Jordin looked shocked. "A person can be haunted?"

I nodded. "But if either of us were, we'd be noticing it all
the time. Not just during investigations. Has anything unusual
happened to you lately? Like at home?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"Me neither. So that leaves us with the raised activity
theory-"

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes fell on the portrait
on the wall.

Jordin followed my gaze. "What?"

I stared long and hard at the portrait before answering. I had to swallow before I could get any words out. "The man in that
photo," I whispered.

"What about him?" Jordin whispered back.

"He's ... kind of... smiling," I said, unable to believe my
eyes. In all my experiences and travels, this was something I'd
never seen before. The edges of the man's lips were curled up
just slightly.

"So?"

"He was frowning when we first came in."

Jordin did a double take and rose off of her seat to examine
the portrait up close. She took several photos before responding.
"Are you sure?"

I nodded. I was as sure as I was sitting on that bed. But she
didn't have to take my word for it. I turned off my video camera
and rewound the footage to my circle in place of the room when
I entered.

"Look," I said, pointing at the camera's LCD viewer. The
camera never stopped moving, but the image of the portrait was
perfectly clear. The man was definitely scowling.

Jordin let out a shuddering breath and rubbed her arms.
"Look at that!" she whispered. "That's crazy!"

Much as I hated to adopt her terminology, there wasn't
another word that did it justice.

Crazy, indeed.

The next morning around eleven, I was woken up by Jordin
knocking on my door. The knocks became louder, and it wasn't
until I feared she might break the door down that I finally roused
from the comfortable bed.

"You have to hear this!" she said, and billowed past me to sit
on the edge of my bed.

"Sure, come on in," I yawned, apparently to myself.