What a Ghoul Wants (29 page)

“Gopher wants to know how far away you think that storm is.”

“It’s about ten miles away, Gil,” Heath answered, knowing I was getting close to the
boiling point. “We’re gonna have to wrap this up and get back to the castle soon.”

“Gopher wants to know if you think that’s really necessary.”

I let Heath handle that one. Of course it was necessary, unless our producer thought
we’d be overjoyed to turn ourselves into lightning rods out here on the moors. I aimed
the camera back toward the castle, but I was still listening to the conversation and
I could feel my blood pressure ticking up as Gopher argued through Gilley to get us
to stay on the hunt, no matter what the weather. But finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Gopher wants to know—”

“You tell Gopher that if he asks
one
more stupid, unnecessary, or annoying question, we will all walk off this job!” I
snapped.

Heath eyed me with surprise, but I didn’t care. He had more patience for stupid than
I did. And for several long seconds we heard nothing through our earpieces. But then. . .

“Gopher wants to know what that is. And he swears it’s not a stupid, unnecessary,
or annoying question. He really wants to know what that is.”

The question took me by surprise. “What what is?” I asked, looking around.

“That purple thing on the monitor. It’s coming from Heath’s camera.”

Belatedly I realized I was still holding Heath’s infrared in my hand. I looked at
the screen, and so did Heath and behind me I felt John take a step forward to look
as well. And that’s when we all saw a purple blob moving near the water. “The duke!”
I gasped, and had to resist the urge to dash forward.

“Come on,” Heath said. Taking me by the elbow, he led me toward the blob. As we neared,
the frenetic pacing of the purple bubble of energy stopped, and I had the distinct
feeling that the ghostly spirit had suddenly become aware of us. But as we moved closer,
the purple blob moved sharply away.

It was an odd movement, because I’d had the strange feeling that the moment the duke
had seen us, he’d been glad. . . almost relieved that we were there.

“Gopher wants to know where the duke is going.”

I pulled my earpiece out of my ear. Heath could handle Gopher right now—he was one
distraction too many, especially since I tried to figure out why I was feeling like
the duke wanted us to come forward, but when we did, he flinched away. . . and then
I suddenly realized why. We were all wearing enough magnets to freak out even the
most stalwart spirit.

I handed Heath the camera and quickly unzipped my vest. Heath grabbed my arm. “What’re
you doing?”

“It’s the magnets,” I told him, pulling a little to get out of his grip and continue
shrugging out of the vest. “We can’t get close if we’re wearing these.”

“Em,” Heath said, his voice firm. “We’re wearing these for our own protection. We
know nothing about this spook, and you saw Lady Catherine on our first night here��you
said she’d been beaten bloody. What if he’s as violent now as he was when he was living?
What if he’s as deadly as his widow?”

I hesitated. Heath had a solid point. Still, I could feel the energy of that spirit
at the edge of the lake calling out to me, and another rumble of thunder—this one
much closer—reminded me that we’d have only one chance at this tonight. I turned to
John and motioned to the big microphone on a pole he was carrying to capture any unusual
sounds. “That thing’s a lightning rod, buddy,” I told him, waving at him to lower
it. “We all have microphones on—we should be able to record enough sound just fine.”
I then handed him my vest. “Here. Watch me and if I look like I’m getting into trouble,
run to me and throw the vest over my head, okay?”

John nodded and set the sound boom on the ground to take up my vest and hold it like
a bullfighter.

Heath, however, was doing his protective-boyfriend bit. “You’re not going over there
alone, Em.”

I stared hard at him. “We can’t risk both of us, Heath. I need you to watch for any
other spooks that might be lurking out here. Who knows who or what else may be haunting
these moors?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Heath insisted.

“Everything about this shoot is dangerous.” The sound of my voice was nearly drowned
out by another rumble of thunder just as the first big raindrops started to fall.
We were in for a douser, that was for sure.

Through the earpiece around my neck I heard Gopher’s voice yell,
“Cover the cameras!”

I took the opportunity created by Heath’s being too distracted by the need to cover
the expensive new equipment and bolted for the area where I’d last seen the purple
blob of energy. I couldn’t see the duke, but by opening my sixth sense wide, I could
certainly feel him. Behind me I heard Heath call out to me, but I ignored him and
kept on truckin’.

When I approached the water’s edge, I stopped short, certain that the ghost I was
searching for had just stepped up right next to me. For a moment, I dared not to even
breathe. I didn’t know what to expect, and he’d come up so fast and so close that
it’d taken me by surprise, so I held perfectly still until I could figure out if this
guy was friend or foe.

For several seconds, nothing happened, and I took that as a good sign. “Hello?” I
said tentatively.

I had this feeling of warmth in my mind—it’s hard to describe, but I had this sense
that this ghost was welcoming me, and again there was that added element of relief.

“My name is M. J.” I said, hoping the duke would understand me. I mean, the guy was
Welsh and he died several centuries ago—what if he spoke only Gaelic?

Clarence,
came a name into my head so clear and so crisply enunciated that there was no mistaking
it.

“Your name, sir,. . . it’s
Clarence
?” I repeated.

I had this sense of affirmation, which I took to be a yes.

“Clarence” wasn’t at all what name I’d been expecting; in fact, if memory served me,
Lord Mortimer’s first name had been John. Wanting to make sure I hadn’t misheard the
spook, I tried a different tact. “Sir, are you the Duke of March? Lord Mortimer?”

I felt a sense of mirth fill my head, and this other feeling of a proper British gentleman
saying something like,
Why, heavens no!

“Sir,” I said, feeling the ripple of electrostatic energy tickle the atmosphere—the
storm was getting closer—“could you please tell me who you are?”

“Clarence,” came the soft whisper in my ear. I hoped my mic had picked it up.

“Clarence who?” I asked.

But the spook didn’t elaborate; instead, clear as day, he said, “I know her secret.”

“You know whose secret?”

No answer came to my ear or my mind; instead, I had the urge to look across the water,
which shimmered as a lightning bolt flashed behind me again. I saw nothing out of
the ordinary, but I still felt the urge to continue looking, and then for the briefest
moment I saw what looked like a small rowboat and realized that Clarence—who’d been
standing next to me until then—had suddenly moved to the center of the lake and was
guiding the rowboat toward the castle. Another series of lightning flashes lit up
the water again, and it was then that I clearly saw a man in a small wooden boat,
rowing hard straight for the castle wall, and a second later when yet another flash
lit up the area, the boat had vanished, and Clarence was gone.

“M. J.!” I heard Heath yell from some distance behind me. “Come on! We’ve got to head
in! The storm is getting too close!”

I knew I’d have to heed the warning, but I felt as though I’d just missed something
huge. Something Clarence had shown me had tremendous significance, but I couldn’t
quite put it together.

“
Em!”

I turned reluctantly away and trudged up to the group, shivering with cold. The rain
was really starting to come down now and I was getting soaked. As I approached the
guys, I put my headset back on and heard Gilley in the middle of an argument. “I don’t
know why she’s not answering, Gopher!” Gil snapped. “If I knew, I’d tell you!”

“Gil!” I said loudly so he could hear me above the storm. “We’re coming in.”

“M. J.? Oh, thank the baby Jesus! I was beginning to worry.”

“Did my mic pick up any of that?”

“You mean what your friend Clarence had to say?”

I felt a little bubble of hope in my chest. Maybe there’d be even more captured on
film once we took a good look at it. “Can you analyze the tape for me while we work
our way back to you? I want to listen to it after I dry off.”

“You think there may have been some EVPs?” he asked, using the acronym we ghostbusters
have for the recorded sounds and whispers of spirits too soft for the human ear to
hear.

“I do think there may be one or two,” I said. “All I audibly heard was Clarence say
his name and something about knowing a secret.” By this time I’d reached the boys
and John handed me my vest, which I gladly took and shrugged into.

“I’ll get on it,” Gil promised. “Gopher wants to know, how soon before you’ll be back?”

I sighed, really sick of Gopher and his wants-to-knows. “Ten minutes or so. But then
I’m heading straight for a warm shower, so if he wants to talk, it’ll have to wait
until I’m warm again.”

There was a pause while Gilley relayed what I’d said; then he came back with, “Gopher
wants you guys to get right to the south wing before we run into daylight.”

“Tell Gopher to—”

“We’re not filming any more tonight,” Heath interrupted, his voice hard. “And, Gil,
tell Gopher that if he has a problem with that, he can meet us on the drawbridge.”
Heath winked at me; then he clicked off his headset, and I did the same. I noticed
that John and Michel quickly followed suit, and in spite of the miserable weather
and the fast-approaching lightning, we all had ourselves a good laugh.

We hurried at a swift jog through the rain, which got worse the longer we were out
there, and to add to the misery a blowing wind began sending the rain in sheets against
us. We also had to be mindful of our equipment, and luckily John had brought along
a waterproof wrapper for the fuzzy microphone he carried on his boom, but none of
the rest of us had thought ahead to hazardous weather, so we each had to tuck our
cameras inside our coats—well, except for Michel. He kept his out and at the ready,
covered by his own vest, and I gave him high marks for dedication.

We reached the drawbridge just as the lightning was starting to get scary close, and
I prayed that with the storm and the wind we’d be able to sneak across it without
encountering that horrible pounding from the underside.

When we stood at the edge of it, however, we got another most unwelcome surprise.
Our idiot producer, dressed in a blue rain slicker, stood with his arms crossed over
his chest just on the other side of the bridge. He looked ready to give us a piece
of his mind. “Damn,” I swore. Why was he being
such
a pill?

“I should give him a few points for having the balls to meet me out here in this,”
Heath said, squaring his shoulders and preparing to have it out with Gopher.

Gopher must have taken the movement for a challenge because he began striding purposefully
toward Heath. It was then that I noticed Meg and Kim huddled under an umbrella with
a camera, and I
tsk
ed in disgust at the way Gopher was clearly attempting to fill a few minutes of film
with the created drama of our crew squabbling when the pressure of the bust was getting
to be too much. It was gratuitous, exploitive, and so unnecessary when we had plenty
of scary footage to offer the audience.

“Here,” Heath said, carefully handing over his camera to John. “Take this while I
go talk to him.”

“Shouldn’t we go in?” John asked.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re definitely going in. He can’t stop all of us, right?”

“I’ll distract him,” Heath said, shrugging next out of his backpack.

At that exact moment a bolt of lightning struck so close to us that I was physically
thrown off my feet. I felt a slight buzzing go through my whole body and it took me
a moment to get my wits about me. When I could lift my head, I saw that the boys were
in exactly the same position, lying on the ground trying to shake off the effect of
a jolt of electricity surging through the atmosphere. Heath appeared a little dazed
next to me, because he was lying on his back staring blankly up. “Heath! You okay?”
I crawled over next to him.

“Yeah,” he said with a groan. “Just got the wind knocked out of me. Check the others,
would you?”

I pushed myself to my knees and saw that John and Michel were rolling onto their sides.
They looked sore and stunned but otherwise okay. Then I looked for Gopher and the
breath caught in my throat.

By the looks of it he’d received the worst of the jolt from the lightning, because
he’d been thrown nearly six feet and was now perilously close to the side of the bridge.
I saw him raise a hand slowly to his head, and I knew he’d likely gotten the wind
knocked out of him too.

I staggered to my feet, intent on helping him, when I saw a bone-white hand rise up
out of the water and swiftly move toward Gopher’s shoulder—like a cobra striking its
prey.

I cried out, but I was too far away to help him, and in the blink of an eye, the hand
had grabbed hold of Gopher’s slicker and was pulling on him hard. For his part, Gopher
tried to sit up, but the power of that hand kept him from doing anything other than
flail about.
“NO!”
I screamed as Gopher’s head and torso were heaved violently over the side toward
the water.

A shape flew past me at incredible speed and that’s when I realized Michel had gotten
to his feet and was racing toward Gopher. Six feet from him the photographer launched
himself into the air like a baseball player diving for home, and he managed to land
on Gopher’s shins a nanosecond before our producer would have gone completely over
the side.