Always Dead (Welcome To Dead House Book 2) Page 2

  Tina Louise was as much a mystery to me now as she was back in the day when we were working together. Those had been good times, though. When we weren’t chasing ghosts on paranormal ghost tours, we spent our time together being creative, critiquing one another on our dance arrangements and choreography.

  The two of us had collaborated on some of the East Coast’s most popular burlesque shows. She’d been kind from day one but ruthless when it came to business. Tina Louise was one of the few dancers I knew who had the moxie to negotiate her own contracts with some of the shadiest club owners you’d ever want to meet. She taught me so much, but she left us too quickly.

  I learned a lot from the redheaded siren.

  Her passing had been only a few months ago, but it felt like a lifetime. TL had gone too soon, way too soon.

  The house remained quiet, but at least the strange molasses feeling did not return. The entity did not try again to project her emotions on me. I had not enjoyed that at all. Joey was hiding somewhere, or he had gone to a safe place to recover. As always, I hoped he came back safe and sound.

  I couldn’t imagine life without him now, although that was probably very selfish of me. I had always believed it was best for spirits to pass on and not linger in this realm after their death. But Joey? When it came to him, I selfishly hoped he would stick around for a long time.

  From what I gathered, from the sparse hints he sometimes dropped, Joey visited the neighbor’s house and harassed her on the regular. Maybe he was over there now tormenting Linda by slamming doors or stomping around, which was probably a better alternative than hanging out here with whoever this ghost might be.

  I should have been more sympathetic when I found Joey in the dryer.

  A few minutes later, I sat down alone at my wobbly kitchen table to enjoy my boring soup, along with a bottle of water and the last of my crackers. As I ate, I began plotting tonight’s investigation. Rem Pods for sure. Easy-peasy.

  I’d have to go to the grocery store soon, or I would be forced to eat the frozen vegetables in my freezer. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I continued buying vegetables when nobody in this house ate them. It just felt like the responsible thing to do.

  The house felt emptier than usual. Too big, and too empty.

  After eating about half of my soup, I threw the rest away and began setting up the Rem Pods. They were basically proximity sensors that flashed and screeched when anyone got near them.

  I retrieved three of them and decided to put two in the hallway and one in the front room. It wasn’t quite dark, but I turned the lights off anyway. I used the digital recorder and tried to catch something, but nothing happened. I went at it for an hour, moving the equipment around, and trying different tactics. I even asked the ghost to respond with a yes or no answer by using a flashlight.

  It was pointless. Whoever she was, she didn’t want to talk to me. Eventually, I gave up and put all the equipment back in my closet. I changed my clothes and sat on the couch, hoping to lure Joey out of hiding.

  “Joey, there’s a new show on. Come watch it with me.”

  There was nothing on television. I hated the commercials, and I’d already watched everything on my DVR. I toyed with the idea of adding some details to my book outline, but my brain was mush. I read the letter from the publisher a dozen times before I went to bed. I would call the publishing house in the morning to hear more about the details of what they were offering me. The letter was kind of vague.

  That was probably the case. This had to be too good to be true. Nobody hit the publishing jackpot on the first book. Then again, I had received more than my share of rejection letters. At least it felt that way. In a recent interview on Good Morning, Louisiana, popular author Bernadette Lewis let it drop she had been rejected nearly a hundred times before her book Spirit of Spring was selected by Yorktown for publication. I guess in the grand scheme of things, I’d really hit the jackpot, depending on what they offered.

  Yeah, Tamara Garvey. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.

  Strangely enough, it did not take me a lifetime to write my first book. I wrote it in record time. Those writing sessions had been so surreal, as if someone else had been doing the writing and I was just along for the ride.

  Almost like a dang ghostwriter stood over my shoulders, whispering in my ear.

  I decided to call it a day. I’d do more investigative work tomorrow after my walk. I wanted to check out a few locations around the property. I felt as if I were missing an important clue relative to my dream, something that would lead me to the true identity of the young man in my book. No doubt he’d been a resident of Crystal Springs at one time, or at least a visitor. I flicked off the light and closed the door to my office.

  I brushed my teeth, kicked off my floppy slippers, and slid under the clean sheets. I was tired, and I’d done very little today. I was kind of glad Joey made himself scarce because I didn't have the energy to hang out and watch paranormal investigation shows all night as he often liked doing on the weekends. I had the DVR recording Haunted Case Files and a few other shows. We’d catch up on them later together.

  Truth be told, it had been that strange encounter with the invisible entity which had drained me.

  There was definitely a ghost in residence at the Dead House. Maybe it was a good thing Chloe was gone. I thought maybe I should text her and suggest she stay gone until I got to the bottom of this paranormal mystery. I could sage the house, which might make the atmosphere feel a little better.

  As a young medium, Chloe was working on her skills for helping the dead move on. I didn't have her kind of skills, but I knew how to investigate, and I could use a ghost box as good as anyone. I sighed as I rolled over on my side. An odd movement caught my eye.

  Strange dark shadows gathered in the corner of my room. Remaining very still, I stared at it and as always began debunking what I was experiencing. As the shadows gathered, I could come up with no reason for seeing this particular paranormal manifestation.

  Please don’t be shadow people. Please don’t be shadow people.

  I wasn’t afraid of much in the way of ghosts, but shadow people were something else entirely, more along the lines of the demonic, not dead people. The shadows in my room collected themselves and became a shape quickly. What I was seeing was oddly formed, like a small whirlwind or a dust devil.

  I didn't move and held my breath, hoping that whatever this was wouldn’t realize I was awake, which was pretty stupid. That never worked.

  Ghosts always knew when you saw them. One did not accidentally stumble upon a ghost. If you saw them, they wanted you to, and if they wanted you to see them, it was because they wanted to connect with you. Usually, they needed your help. A few mean ones just wanted to scare the hell out of you.

  I continued to pretend to sleep, and I watched through partially closed eyes as the shadows shifted yet again. The twisting shadow devil crawled up the gray painted wall and spread out across the ceiling as it rose.

  It’s now or never, Tamara! You’ve gotta move, girl!

  As the shadows touched the ceiling, I opened my eyes to get a better view. It was easier to see it on the white ceiling. The manifestation was not a swirling, dust devil anymore. It folded in on itself and took the shape of a person, a dead person…maybe.

  It didn’t appear to be an inhuman entity. It had two legs and two arms, a head, and long, stringy black hair. Very long hair that hung down vertically from the ceiling.

  As I watched, the hair grew longer and longer. My voice didn’t want to work. All I could do was continue to stare in horror as the stringy hair reached for me like living tendrils of blackness. When I could finally move, I sat up and stared into the eyes of the ghost.

  There was no sense in pretending we didn’t see one another.

  I still couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do much at all but stare above me as the features in the shadow’s face began to form. Out of nowhere, Tina Louise’s voice popped into my head. T
his was twice in one day!

  What the hell are you doing? Run, idiot!

  I rolled out of bed and landed inelegantly on the floor with a loud thud. I wasted not a second climbing to my feet and racing for the door. I ran to the living room and turned on every light I could along the way.

  “Joey! Get in here! Where are you?” I heard a light tapping sound on the other side of the front door, but it stopped as quickly as it began. It must have been the wind tossing leaves up on the porch. Joey had been telling me the truth, and I had offered him no comfort. He was right. I was the worst best friend ever.

  I guess his cold shoulder was his way of returning the favor. I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  The Dead House had a new resident.

  3

  Chloe

  Mom's birthday came and went, and Tamara didn’t mention anything about it. If she did remember mom’s special day, she didn’t let on. At first, I thought maybe she wasn’t saying anything because she didn’t want to make me sad. You know, stir up grief or something. But I gave her plenty of clues to the contrary. Like always, Tamara wasn’t great at picking up my subtle cues.

  I baked cupcakes for the occasion complete with sprinkles, and still I heard not a word from her about Mom. She gobbled up the snacks without even asking why I’d spent the day baking and frosting. It occurred to me after she scarfed them down that she didn’t remember. This wasn’t about avoiding hurting my feelings. This was about her forgetting Mom’s birthday.

  You would think Mom’s best friend would remember. Tamara was always going on about how my mother had been her closest pal and whatnot, but she couldn't even be bothered to celebrate her birthday. Wasn’t it on her calendar?

  That hurt. It gave me another reason to not like her. That’s all I needed, one more reason. Tamara had been nothing but nice to me from the get-go, so situation normal.

  Tamara tried really hard, and I didn’t try at all.

  Maybe my best friend Lynn was right and I should see a therapist. Obviously, I could not hide my feelings forever. At least I had Lynn to talk to. We had only known each other for a few months, but we’d gotten pretty close in that short amount of time. I had friends before, at my old school, but not anyone as close as Lynn and me. I’d always been kind of a loner.

  We liked the same music and read the same books. We were the same in a lot of ways but also very different, as I was beginning to discover.

  I didn't mind that she recently began hanging out with the “Goth Girls” at school, her former enemies, but that didn’t mean I had to like them too. On the other hand, who was I to tell her who she could hang out with? I wasn’t that kind of friend, the kind who demanded all your time or forced you to ditch everyone else. I wasn’t that insecure.

  Lynn had developed some disturbing new habits, though, like posting crazy stuff on that stupid blog of hers and poetry that went a bit too dark for my taste. I understood the poetry, like her obsession with drawing on her skin with permanent markers, were just cries for attention. She was asking for help, and there were times I considered telling someone, but who?

  Tamara or Mrs. Brooklyn, the school guidance counselor? I wondered if I could do it anonymously. I wasn’t sure how that kind of report worked, but I’d have to do something. What if I lost her friendship? I only had two friends, Lynn and Trey, and I guess that was by choice.

  Joey wanted to be on the list, but he was too unpredictable to be a friend. I knew for a fact Joey spied on me when I hung out with Trey. There was nothing worse than making out with your almost-boyfriend and seeing the Ghost in the doorway of the closet with his hand on his hip and a doo-rag on his head.

  I even caught him fumbling around in my makeup drawer recently. I couldn’t have that, so I reestablished my boundaries by burning sage and meditating in my room.

  I was better at it now. In the beginning, I had a difficult time with the visualization aspect. I sent light in all directions, and scattered energy rather than collected it. It wasn’t my fault I was an untrained medium. The only way I would get better was to practice. From what I had read, meditation was the best way to protect myself. However, my meditation and “woo-woo” stuff as he called it, didn’t harm him anymore. I focused my energy work on my own body and the barrier around my room.

  Too bad it didn’t work against living jerks like Trey. I kind of missed him, even though I would never admit that to a living soul.

  Once upon a time, I believed Trey and I would become a little more than friends, but now I wasn’t so sure. We rarely kissed anymore, and we never did anything cool together like hanging out and watch movies or go to the mall.

  His latest obsession had taken over his life. Trey had a new hobby—sprucing up an old clunker his dad gave him. The plan was to flip the vehicle for a good chunk of change and then they would split the profit, but that required considerable improvements. The only thing was, Trey’s father never helped with any of those so-called improvements. He left it all up to his son, and Trey acted as if he didn’t mind at all. I’d only met his father a few times, but we had never engaged in conversation. I got weird vibes from him, and I was polite even though it ticked me off Trey was getting the short end of the stick.

  Unfortunately for Trey, I had absolutely no interest in helping him fix up the classic car; the dang thing came with an odd presence. I didn’t even want to sit in it, but being the supportive friend I was, I did.

  But only once.

  In my opinion, the car was a hunk of junk, with possibly major negative energy attached to it. Trey had a perfectly good car already, but my sometimes boyfriend’s obsession with the classic Chevy Nova was unbelievably strong. It bordered on becoming a problem.

  Then again, who was I to say? I didn't have one car, much less two of them.

  Life revolved quickly around me, but I didn’t feel as if I were a part of the movement. I was stuck in my own emotional mud. I still missed Mom so much it made me sick sometimes. I wanted to feel better, but it was an exercise in futility.

  Every night before bed, I flipped through my Mom’s postcards, the ones I had discovered in the attic. I studied her faint script and memorized the exotic locations pictured on those worn cards. I raided Mom's trunk a few more times since that first occasion and found other interesting items I kept as my own treasures. Despite my best efforts, I was no closer to making real contact with her.

  Some medium. I couldn’t even make a connection with my own mother.

  It was as if she had nothing to say to me; like she rejected me again, even in death. I should be used to that by now.

  "Chloe? Are you listening to me? We both have to focus on the crystal. That's how this works. It will work if we both focus. Together we have the power to make contact with Tina Louise!”

  Lynn recently used a blue rinse on her hair, but the color didn’t look great on her. I was too much of a friend to tell her. If I had to guess, I would say her experimenting with the odd color is what had her grounded for a few weeks.

  Poor Lynn.

  She went from one grounding to the next, and she didn’t really do much at all. She was seeking her individuality, just like the rest of us teenagers. At heart, I didn’t believe Lynn was a troublemaker. I got the feeling her mother didn’t care what she did and in fact, Lynn’s mom wasn’t around at the moment. Lynn’s dad was frequently out of town on his truck driving gig, so my friend was enjoying a few nights of freedom and a break from staying home all the time. At least for a little while.

  Earlier, Lynn and I walked over to the Burger Shack and returned with a sack of bad food. After gorging on French fries and soggy hamburgers, my best friend suggested we try a pendulum session. Apparently, it was kind of like a séance, but instead of hovering around a crystal ball or staring at a candle, the participants focus their attention on a crystal pendant.

  Things were boring as hell at my house. It wasn’t much more exciting here, but at least I got to hang out with Lynn. I just wished she was more like she’d been
when we first met, happy go lucky, and outgoing. We couldn’t both be depressed.

  Here we were, two Debbie-downers hanging out in a stuffy bedroom doing preteen crap.

  I could feel Lynn’s extreme emotions at times. Whether it was an extrasensory gift from being a medium or just the intuition of a friend I couldn't say, but I sensed she was very lonely, and she was experiencing some strange sort of desperation.

  I shook off those awkward feelings and reminded myself not to snoop and to remain in the moment.

  "I am focusing, but I'm not sure I like this, Lynn. This feels kind of off. Forbidden. Mediums have to be careful about which methods they use when communicating. I am too open for this, I think."

  “Big baby. You have to try it at least once to know for sure.” Lynn coerced me to try again. She rebelled against everything and everyone. At least I was kind of quiet about my rebellion. I liked it that way.

  “What exactly am I supposed to be focusing on? The crystal? Your voice? The paper?” This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday night. The feeling of wrongness increased but I didn’t want to disappoint my friend.

  Lynn waved the crystal pendant over a piece of paper on which she’d written YES and NO.

  “See? You just hold the pendulum still, and it will swing when you ask it questions. It will probably work better for you since you are an actual medium. Want to give it a try?”

  “I don’t know, Lynn. It sounds kind of sketchy to me. Wouldn’t my unconscious mind move the pendulum? Like I said, I have a bad feeling about this.” I did not make any move to accept the hanging crystal from her fingers. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this room.

  “Is it cold in here or is it just me?”

  Lynn tilted her head and studied me with a frown. “Nice try. Now take the pendulum and ask a question. You heard me. I’ve tried to engage her with a variety of questions but apparently your mother doesn’t want to talk with me. She will probably talk to you, though, if you give her a chance. Isn’t that why we’re doing this, Chloe? Don’t you want to talk to her?” She continued to hold out the end of the string to me, but I was leery about accepting it. I wanted to make a connection with my mother but not like this. I had hoped to use my own abilities, not some homemade Ouija board.