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Demon House: The Haunting of Demler Mansion (Penny Wright Book 3) Page 3
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Zandra prided herself on her record: 90% of assignments cleared without injuries, on schedule. Even that ten percent problem rate—not necessarily failures, but problems—was higher than she’d have liked.
Ben’s track record? Only sixty-eight percent clean. Long sessions at the gym didn’t tend to impress ghosts.
Or me, she noted. Obviously.
He quieted down for several minutes, scrolling through websites on his phone. Zandra glanced at his screen and saw the same articles about Penny Wright that she’d perused earlier. Penny didn’t seem to be an attention seeker, nor did she present herself as a paranormal expert. She’d refused nearly all interviews or requests for comment. Zandra wondered how Anderson had gotten her to join up.
“I’m not convinced,” Ben said. “Even if she’s powerful, she’s untrained. Babysitting her will make this case ten times harder.”
On that much, Zandra and her new partner agreed. “Then I suggest you start working instead of whining.”
She smiled at his answering scowl. Ben stormed out of her cabin, the decks shuddering in his wake.
About half an hour later, Anderson’s Jeep SUV pulled into the parking lot. Zandra stood on the walkway that connected the row of cabins. She heard Ben’s door open, but she didn’t look over at him.
Anderson got out of the car, brushing at his clothes to loosen any wrinkles, though Zandra couldn’t spot any. He nodded at her, then at Ben, his typical lukewarm greeting. But Zandra knew his expressions. His eyebrows raised just slightly, lip twitching with humor. She wasn’t close enough to read him, but she’d known Anderson long enough to interpret.
Fireworks yet? his expression asked.
Did you expect anything less? Zandra’s smirk responded. Then she focused on the young woman who’d just stepped out of the passenger side.
She was petite, with strawberry-blond hair falling past her shoulders and freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Kohl lined her wide-set eyes. Her face was open, her eyes friendly.
“Hi. I’m Penny.”
So she hadn’t waited for Anderson to introduce her. Zandra liked that. The warmth of her aura swept over Zandra in a rush of turbulent energy. Raw power, but uncontrolled.
And she’s nervous, Zandra thought. She’s left everyone she loves and fears she won’t be able to find her way back. Maybe she’s right. I never did.
“I’m Zandra. Or just Z.” She tilted her head in her partner’s direction. “The lurker over there is Ben.”
He mumbled a greeting. Penny waved.
I’ll need to stay close to her to keep her steady, Zandra thought. She sought out Anderson’s aura and sensed eager confidence. He wanted to see what Penny could do.
“We can break more ice later,” Anderson said. “We’ll all meet at the hotel office in five. Daylight’s wasting.”
Chapter Three
Penny followed the others into the lodge. They walked past the front desk, which sat deserted, into a large room with a rectangular table in the center. Open rafters crossed the vaulted ceiling, and the walls and furniture were constructed of knotty oak.
Anderson bent over a laptop. On the table lay a stack of file folders. “Good, you’ve got your gear.” He stood upright, gesturing for them to gather closer.
“I realize I’ve kept a lid on the details of this case so far. But since we have a new addition”—here he pointed at Penny—“I wanted to keep you all on the same page. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Edmund Demler?”
They nodded.
Anderson rested his hand atop a file, tenting his fingers. “Demler Mansion was Edmund’s home since childhood, as well as the location of his death. For years, stories have circulated that the building is haunted, but we had no corroboration until recently. About a month ago, sisters Hannah and Kacey Eckert were exploring Demler Mansion when Hannah fell through a weak part of the second floor. She’s in a coma, critical but stable condition, so she hasn’t explained what she experienced. But Kacey, her younger sister, reported having seen an amorphous silver shape in the room just before Hannah fell.”
He picked up his computer and flipped it around so that the screen faced the rest of them. “And their companion, Ross Trujio, apparently captured the phenomenon on video.”
Ben and Zandra stood to either side of Penny, all of them intent on the screen.
Anderson hit play.
The video was shaky, the only sound heavy breathing. Penny could make out a dim hallway with doors on either side. Some hung off of their hinges.
“We’re in the eastern wing of the house,” a young male voice said. Ross Trujio, Penny assumed. “Somewhere around here is the bedroom where Edmund Demler grew up.”
The camera pointed upward, showing patches of mildew on the ceiling. Then back down to the hall. The shot moved through a doorway and entered a room, the man’s flashlight illuminating the space one piece at a time. Bricks and narrow slats of wood in the walls. A few rotting items of clothing, draped over the back of a wooden chair. A cracked mirror, hanging above a chest of drawers.
The camera shifted to Ross’s face. He was around twenty, with a faint growth of whiskers on his chin. He spoke in a hushed, excited tone.
“They say Demler’s grandparents kept him locked away most of his life. His room was somewhere on this floor, with a window that faced the lake.”
Penny leaned forward as she watched, placing her hand on the back of a folding chair.
“Could that be why he drowned them?” Ross asked. “Seeing them happy, when he was stuck in here?”
The camera swung around to the window, its glass a web of fractures. Then back to Ross.
“The air has a chill to it—even colder than outside, I think. It smells damp and musty. There’s a bad feeling here, for sure.” Ross exhaled, shaking himself. “I’m getting chills here, you guys. Major vibes.”
Zandra’s hand moved toward the screen. “What’s behind him?” she murmured.
“I see it too,” Penny said.
There was a streak of silver. But it wasn’t from the window glass or any mirror.
“This house has been empty for almost twenty years. It’s seen some really dark stuff, and some people say it should’ve been torn down, but you know? I don’t agree. We can’t just get a sanitized version of our history, from like, textbooks and museums. That’s why I’ve gone to lots of places and—”
Ross cringed. “Crap, that sounded lame. Okay, edit that last bit out.” He tilted his head, examining his own face on the screen. “I should get the girls over here. Reaction shots.”
The camera’s motions were jerky as Ross walked toward the door. He stepped out and said, “Hannah? You’ll want to see this.” Then he turned back toward the bedroom.
The silver shape suddenly loomed into view.
Ross yelped as he fumbled the camera. At the same moment, there was a deafening crash. “What the—oh holy—”
His voice cut off, and the screen went black.
Penny inhaled, her heart thumping.
For several seconds, none of them spoke. The air in the lodge had turned stuffy. Like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Anderson returned to the laptop and minimized the window. “As we begin, I’d like to hear your initial impressions. What might we be facing when we enter the house?”
Penny looked at her teammates to see if they’d speak first.
“Do we have any video of Hannah’s fall?” Zandra asked.
“Afraid not. Just a statement from Kacey, her younger sister. I’ve got some background documents here, though the complete files are with the sheriff. He didn’t want to share them over the internet.”
Anderson picked up one of the folders. Zandra accepted it and flipped it open.
“In her statement, Kacey described seeing the same kind of visual phenomena in the adjoining room,” Anderson continued. “Hannah was listening to it. Responding to it.”
He and Zandra exchanged a glance.
“I’ve seen that happen before,” P
enny said. “A ghost’s memories can overwhelm a living person. Make them do irrational things. But…”
“Go ahead,” Anderson encouraged. “Follow that train of thought.”
Penny tucked her hair behind her ear. “In my experience, ghosts don’t usually speak to living people directly. Even mediums.”
Most of the time, the dead weren’t aware of the living at all. Or even aware of the fact of their own death. Instead, ghosts tended to relive the moments of their greatest regret or fear from life. Over and over, endlessly. It was a terrible fate, being trapped in such a way.
“Unless the ghost is fully conscious,” Penny added. “Aware of his or her own death. Those are the really dangerous ones.”
“That’s true.” Ben strolled across the room, stretching his arms. “But poltergeists can be just as deadly. And they don’t have to possess any consciousness at all. They’re like a natural disaster, able to strike at any second when an energy source comes near.”
“But there was no sign of any IO—inanimate object—movement on the video.” Zandra pointed at the open file in her hand. “Nor does Kacey mention anything that specifically indicates polt activity in her statement. She saw a silver shape in the air. Her sister was acting strangely, then she fell. So we can’t be sure yet what type of ghost she encountered.”
Penny looked over Zandra’s shoulder at the witness statement. She was thinking of her own brushes with ghosts in the past. Ghosts, aware or not, could take on energy from the living. Especially mediums.
“Was Hannah a medium?” Penny asked. “Or Kacey or Ross? Could this ghost have been absorbing their energy?”
“Not that I’ve seen from the statements,” Anderson said. “It’s worth asking when we speak to the witnesses.”
Ben sighed, shaking his head. “But Hannah and Kacey and Ross aren’t here now. We can assume the entities will draw energy from us when we enter the house. So I’d rather not spend all day asking questions that might have no relevance to the current situation.” He glanced at Penny. “No offense.”
Her skin heated. “None taken,” Penny said. But Zandra’s eyebrow arched, like she knew this statement wasn’t quite true.
“At this point, all questions are relevant,” Anderson said. “It seems to me that more than one person on this team could benefit from a reminder of the basics.” His tone remained light. Yet the tension in the room was palpable. Ben stared out the window. Zandra’s back was straight and stiff.
Penny had been dressed down by a boss before, and it could be humiliating. But somehow, having Anderson defend her was almost worse. He was the one who’d encouraged her to share her ideas, all for Ben to scoff at how obvious they were.
And she’d thought the haunting would be the most difficult part of this assignment.
But until today, Penny had met almost no one else with a paranormal ability—“para-sensitives,” as Anderson called them. She’d left her comfort zone far behind.
Anderson paced in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. “We are here to clear the haunting at Demler Mansion,” he instructed in a professorial tone. “First, we determine the possible entities present and assess the level of danger. We cannot simply assume we know the factors at play.”
He returned to the computer keyboard and time-shifted the video until Ross’s face dominated the shot, his eyes wide.
“Second, we delve into background information to understand those entities and their motivations. We speak to witnesses and proceed with further research. Third?” Anderson punctuated the word by rapping his knuckles against the table. “We choreograph our approach to liberate the entities while minimizing casualties. Questions?”
Only a million, Penny thought. She hardly knew where to begin. She’d helped ghosts move on before, but she’d relied almost entirely on instinct.
Step one sounded clear enough, though—“determine the entities present.” In other words, identify the ghost. It might be Edmund Demler, the famous killer. But Anderson didn’t want them to assume.
“I have a question,” Zandra said. “According to Kacey’s statement, Hannah mentioned the name ‘Tina.’ Do we know who that is?”
“I do,” a quiet voice said. “I knew Tina.”
They turned. A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, wearing a cable-knit sweater, her blond hair swept off her face. She pushed her cat-eye glasses up on her nose, smiling at them shyly.
“Tina Freeman was a resident at a local camp for girls,” the woman said softly. “She was also Edmund’s last victim.”
Shady Valley Camp for Girls - 1995
On the first day of dredging the lake, the deputies found Nicki. Tina Freeman watched from the doorway of the cabin she shared with three other girls.
Two other girls now, she thought.
Tina looked over her shoulder at Nicki’s bunk. The blanket remained neatly folded, just as Nicki had left it a week ago. There’d been a pillow, too, but Jasmine had stolen it the same night that Nicki took off.
People came and went all the time here. In just a few days, some other girl would take Nicki’s bunk. But Nicki had been different. To Tina, she had mattered. And now she was dead.
And it’s my fault, Tina thought.
Outside, the deputies had set up a tent by the lake. They gathered there now, their shadows moving around within the white fabric. Other girls watched from the cabins, too, gasping and crying because everybody knew what that tent had to mean. Plus the stretcher that the medics had leisurely carried inside.
Tina went into her room and pulled out her backpack from beneath the bottom bunk. Turning her body so the others couldn’t see her if they came in, she started rolling up items of clothing and cramming them into her pack.
A screen door slammed shut, which meant the lodge. “Girls, I’m sure you have better places to be?” Diane barked. “Schoolwork to do?”
Feet started shuffling on the wooden boardwalk that connected the cabins. “Let the sheriff’s office work. Choose to be productive, please. Boredom breeds unhappiness.”
Tina kept shoving things into her backpack. The tiny stuffed animal that she’d won at the town’s wildflower festival back in July. The creased Polaroids of her and Nicki that she’d buried in her socks-and-underwear drawer.
“Tina? Aren’t you supposed to be on lunch duty? It’s 10:45 already.”
Tina cursed under her breath. Why didn’t I shut the door? Why am I always such a dumb piece of—? She pushed the backpack under the bed and turned around.
Diane stood with a hand against the doorframe. The woman wore an apron with oversized pockets, carrying items like knitting needles and cheese graters and Sharpie markers. She was always doing three different tasks at once. Tina sometimes felt jealous of Diane’s sense of purpose. It was like she knew exactly why she’d been put here on this earth: to manage the day-to-day lives of thirty-some delinquent teenage girls, as if supervision would turn them docile and virtuous. Didn’t Diane get tired of constantly failing?
“Yeah, I’m on lunch today,” Tina said. At the last minute she added, “Ma’am.”
“It’ll help if we stay busy.” Diane put a hand on Tina’s shoulder. “You’d better get going. Those potatoes won’t bake themselves.”
Tina rubbed her hands against her jean shorts. She thought she might puke if she had to even look at a potato, but she’d just make things worse if she claimed to be sick. Then there’d be staff checking on her later, making her talk about her feelings at one of their campfire circles.
It wasn’t like Diane was mean. She was strict and all, but never said cruel things to them. She expected so much, though, and she never stopped looking disappointed when people did things they weren’t supposed to. Tina was eighteen, at least a decade and a half younger than Diane. But she’d learned better—it wasn’t boredom that bred unhappiness; it was hope.
“I’ll be right there,” she promised. “After I pee.” Don’t look at the top bunk, Tina told herself. Don’t look anywhere. Go
deep inside where none of it can hurt you.
Diane’s eyebrow twitched. “All right.” She started to turn away, then hesitated. Instead of leaving, she came fully into the room and shut the door. “Nicki’s your bunkmate, isn’t she?”
Was, Tina wanted to shout. She’s dead. We both know it.
She nodded.
“Do you have any idea what happened?” Diane whispered. She was tall, with tanned skin and dull brown hair that she kept twisted back in a claw clip. The smell of raspberry and vanilla lotion surrounded her. “I thought Nicki went home. Then the police turn up this morning. They haven’t told us a thing.”
“I don’t know. Really.”
“All right. Well, I’ll check on you later I guess. Keep your chin up.”
When Tina got out of the bathroom, Diane had gone, though the scent of raspberry lingered.
In the lodge kitchen, a pot of water simmered. A pile of yellow potatoes sat beside the sink. Stomach burning, Tina got to work.
Vera came out of the walk-in fridge carrying an armload of onions. As usual, she wore her platinum blond hair in a high ponytail. Her red cat-eye glasses slipped down her nose.
“Are you feeling okay?” Vera asked, pushing the glasses up. “You’re looking pale.”
Tina shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Fine as any of us can be, you mean? Sometimes I wonder if they should fill that lake in.”
Vera was on staff here, in her twenties. A local who seemed content to stay in Crimson Falls forever. She was all smiles no matter what happened. Even if Diane scolded her or one of the camp girls had a fit, Vera’s eyes would just glaze over, her cherry-red glossed lips curving upward until it was over. Tina kept waiting for Vera’s happy-go-lucky demeanor to slip, revealing annoyance or sarcasm beneath. Because who could be that tranquil all the time? But unlike Diane, Vera never cared about anybody breaking the rules.
“Poor Nicki,” Vera remarked, her smile wistful, the closest she ever got to sad. She chopped onions and prattled on about the other girl who’d drowned last summer. Everyone said it had been an accident. But was that how Nicki got the idea? How long had she been planning it without giving away a clue? Or was it purely an impulse?
Ben’s track record? Only sixty-eight percent clean. Long sessions at the gym didn’t tend to impress ghosts.
Or me, she noted. Obviously.
He quieted down for several minutes, scrolling through websites on his phone. Zandra glanced at his screen and saw the same articles about Penny Wright that she’d perused earlier. Penny didn’t seem to be an attention seeker, nor did she present herself as a paranormal expert. She’d refused nearly all interviews or requests for comment. Zandra wondered how Anderson had gotten her to join up.
“I’m not convinced,” Ben said. “Even if she’s powerful, she’s untrained. Babysitting her will make this case ten times harder.”
On that much, Zandra and her new partner agreed. “Then I suggest you start working instead of whining.”
She smiled at his answering scowl. Ben stormed out of her cabin, the decks shuddering in his wake.
About half an hour later, Anderson’s Jeep SUV pulled into the parking lot. Zandra stood on the walkway that connected the row of cabins. She heard Ben’s door open, but she didn’t look over at him.
Anderson got out of the car, brushing at his clothes to loosen any wrinkles, though Zandra couldn’t spot any. He nodded at her, then at Ben, his typical lukewarm greeting. But Zandra knew his expressions. His eyebrows raised just slightly, lip twitching with humor. She wasn’t close enough to read him, but she’d known Anderson long enough to interpret.
Fireworks yet? his expression asked.
Did you expect anything less? Zandra’s smirk responded. Then she focused on the young woman who’d just stepped out of the passenger side.
She was petite, with strawberry-blond hair falling past her shoulders and freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Kohl lined her wide-set eyes. Her face was open, her eyes friendly.
“Hi. I’m Penny.”
So she hadn’t waited for Anderson to introduce her. Zandra liked that. The warmth of her aura swept over Zandra in a rush of turbulent energy. Raw power, but uncontrolled.
And she’s nervous, Zandra thought. She’s left everyone she loves and fears she won’t be able to find her way back. Maybe she’s right. I never did.
“I’m Zandra. Or just Z.” She tilted her head in her partner’s direction. “The lurker over there is Ben.”
He mumbled a greeting. Penny waved.
I’ll need to stay close to her to keep her steady, Zandra thought. She sought out Anderson’s aura and sensed eager confidence. He wanted to see what Penny could do.
“We can break more ice later,” Anderson said. “We’ll all meet at the hotel office in five. Daylight’s wasting.”
Chapter Three
Penny followed the others into the lodge. They walked past the front desk, which sat deserted, into a large room with a rectangular table in the center. Open rafters crossed the vaulted ceiling, and the walls and furniture were constructed of knotty oak.
Anderson bent over a laptop. On the table lay a stack of file folders. “Good, you’ve got your gear.” He stood upright, gesturing for them to gather closer.
“I realize I’ve kept a lid on the details of this case so far. But since we have a new addition”—here he pointed at Penny—“I wanted to keep you all on the same page. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Edmund Demler?”
They nodded.
Anderson rested his hand atop a file, tenting his fingers. “Demler Mansion was Edmund’s home since childhood, as well as the location of his death. For years, stories have circulated that the building is haunted, but we had no corroboration until recently. About a month ago, sisters Hannah and Kacey Eckert were exploring Demler Mansion when Hannah fell through a weak part of the second floor. She’s in a coma, critical but stable condition, so she hasn’t explained what she experienced. But Kacey, her younger sister, reported having seen an amorphous silver shape in the room just before Hannah fell.”
He picked up his computer and flipped it around so that the screen faced the rest of them. “And their companion, Ross Trujio, apparently captured the phenomenon on video.”
Ben and Zandra stood to either side of Penny, all of them intent on the screen.
Anderson hit play.
The video was shaky, the only sound heavy breathing. Penny could make out a dim hallway with doors on either side. Some hung off of their hinges.
“We’re in the eastern wing of the house,” a young male voice said. Ross Trujio, Penny assumed. “Somewhere around here is the bedroom where Edmund Demler grew up.”
The camera pointed upward, showing patches of mildew on the ceiling. Then back down to the hall. The shot moved through a doorway and entered a room, the man’s flashlight illuminating the space one piece at a time. Bricks and narrow slats of wood in the walls. A few rotting items of clothing, draped over the back of a wooden chair. A cracked mirror, hanging above a chest of drawers.
The camera shifted to Ross’s face. He was around twenty, with a faint growth of whiskers on his chin. He spoke in a hushed, excited tone.
“They say Demler’s grandparents kept him locked away most of his life. His room was somewhere on this floor, with a window that faced the lake.”
Penny leaned forward as she watched, placing her hand on the back of a folding chair.
“Could that be why he drowned them?” Ross asked. “Seeing them happy, when he was stuck in here?”
The camera swung around to the window, its glass a web of fractures. Then back to Ross.
“The air has a chill to it—even colder than outside, I think. It smells damp and musty. There’s a bad feeling here, for sure.” Ross exhaled, shaking himself. “I’m getting chills here, you guys. Major vibes.”
Zandra’s hand moved toward the screen. “What’s behind him?” she murmured.
“I see it too,” Penny said.
There was a streak of silver. But it wasn’t from the window glass or any mirror.
“This house has been empty for almost twenty years. It’s seen some really dark stuff, and some people say it should’ve been torn down, but you know? I don’t agree. We can’t just get a sanitized version of our history, from like, textbooks and museums. That’s why I’ve gone to lots of places and—”
Ross cringed. “Crap, that sounded lame. Okay, edit that last bit out.” He tilted his head, examining his own face on the screen. “I should get the girls over here. Reaction shots.”
The camera’s motions were jerky as Ross walked toward the door. He stepped out and said, “Hannah? You’ll want to see this.” Then he turned back toward the bedroom.
The silver shape suddenly loomed into view.
Ross yelped as he fumbled the camera. At the same moment, there was a deafening crash. “What the—oh holy—”
His voice cut off, and the screen went black.
Penny inhaled, her heart thumping.
For several seconds, none of them spoke. The air in the lodge had turned stuffy. Like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Anderson returned to the laptop and minimized the window. “As we begin, I’d like to hear your initial impressions. What might we be facing when we enter the house?”
Penny looked at her teammates to see if they’d speak first.
“Do we have any video of Hannah’s fall?” Zandra asked.
“Afraid not. Just a statement from Kacey, her younger sister. I’ve got some background documents here, though the complete files are with the sheriff. He didn’t want to share them over the internet.”
Anderson picked up one of the folders. Zandra accepted it and flipped it open.
“In her statement, Kacey described seeing the same kind of visual phenomena in the adjoining room,” Anderson continued. “Hannah was listening to it. Responding to it.”
He and Zandra exchanged a glance.
“I’ve seen that happen before,” P
enny said. “A ghost’s memories can overwhelm a living person. Make them do irrational things. But…”
“Go ahead,” Anderson encouraged. “Follow that train of thought.”
Penny tucked her hair behind her ear. “In my experience, ghosts don’t usually speak to living people directly. Even mediums.”
Most of the time, the dead weren’t aware of the living at all. Or even aware of the fact of their own death. Instead, ghosts tended to relive the moments of their greatest regret or fear from life. Over and over, endlessly. It was a terrible fate, being trapped in such a way.
“Unless the ghost is fully conscious,” Penny added. “Aware of his or her own death. Those are the really dangerous ones.”
“That’s true.” Ben strolled across the room, stretching his arms. “But poltergeists can be just as deadly. And they don’t have to possess any consciousness at all. They’re like a natural disaster, able to strike at any second when an energy source comes near.”
“But there was no sign of any IO—inanimate object—movement on the video.” Zandra pointed at the open file in her hand. “Nor does Kacey mention anything that specifically indicates polt activity in her statement. She saw a silver shape in the air. Her sister was acting strangely, then she fell. So we can’t be sure yet what type of ghost she encountered.”
Penny looked over Zandra’s shoulder at the witness statement. She was thinking of her own brushes with ghosts in the past. Ghosts, aware or not, could take on energy from the living. Especially mediums.
“Was Hannah a medium?” Penny asked. “Or Kacey or Ross? Could this ghost have been absorbing their energy?”
“Not that I’ve seen from the statements,” Anderson said. “It’s worth asking when we speak to the witnesses.”
Ben sighed, shaking his head. “But Hannah and Kacey and Ross aren’t here now. We can assume the entities will draw energy from us when we enter the house. So I’d rather not spend all day asking questions that might have no relevance to the current situation.” He glanced at Penny. “No offense.”
Her skin heated. “None taken,” Penny said. But Zandra’s eyebrow arched, like she knew this statement wasn’t quite true.
“At this point, all questions are relevant,” Anderson said. “It seems to me that more than one person on this team could benefit from a reminder of the basics.” His tone remained light. Yet the tension in the room was palpable. Ben stared out the window. Zandra’s back was straight and stiff.
Penny had been dressed down by a boss before, and it could be humiliating. But somehow, having Anderson defend her was almost worse. He was the one who’d encouraged her to share her ideas, all for Ben to scoff at how obvious they were.
And she’d thought the haunting would be the most difficult part of this assignment.
But until today, Penny had met almost no one else with a paranormal ability—“para-sensitives,” as Anderson called them. She’d left her comfort zone far behind.
Anderson paced in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. “We are here to clear the haunting at Demler Mansion,” he instructed in a professorial tone. “First, we determine the possible entities present and assess the level of danger. We cannot simply assume we know the factors at play.”
He returned to the computer keyboard and time-shifted the video until Ross’s face dominated the shot, his eyes wide.
“Second, we delve into background information to understand those entities and their motivations. We speak to witnesses and proceed with further research. Third?” Anderson punctuated the word by rapping his knuckles against the table. “We choreograph our approach to liberate the entities while minimizing casualties. Questions?”
Only a million, Penny thought. She hardly knew where to begin. She’d helped ghosts move on before, but she’d relied almost entirely on instinct.
Step one sounded clear enough, though—“determine the entities present.” In other words, identify the ghost. It might be Edmund Demler, the famous killer. But Anderson didn’t want them to assume.
“I have a question,” Zandra said. “According to Kacey’s statement, Hannah mentioned the name ‘Tina.’ Do we know who that is?”
“I do,” a quiet voice said. “I knew Tina.”
They turned. A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, wearing a cable-knit sweater, her blond hair swept off her face. She pushed her cat-eye glasses up on her nose, smiling at them shyly.
“Tina Freeman was a resident at a local camp for girls,” the woman said softly. “She was also Edmund’s last victim.”
Shady Valley Camp for Girls - 1995
On the first day of dredging the lake, the deputies found Nicki. Tina Freeman watched from the doorway of the cabin she shared with three other girls.
Two other girls now, she thought.
Tina looked over her shoulder at Nicki’s bunk. The blanket remained neatly folded, just as Nicki had left it a week ago. There’d been a pillow, too, but Jasmine had stolen it the same night that Nicki took off.
People came and went all the time here. In just a few days, some other girl would take Nicki’s bunk. But Nicki had been different. To Tina, she had mattered. And now she was dead.
And it’s my fault, Tina thought.
Outside, the deputies had set up a tent by the lake. They gathered there now, their shadows moving around within the white fabric. Other girls watched from the cabins, too, gasping and crying because everybody knew what that tent had to mean. Plus the stretcher that the medics had leisurely carried inside.
Tina went into her room and pulled out her backpack from beneath the bottom bunk. Turning her body so the others couldn’t see her if they came in, she started rolling up items of clothing and cramming them into her pack.
A screen door slammed shut, which meant the lodge. “Girls, I’m sure you have better places to be?” Diane barked. “Schoolwork to do?”
Feet started shuffling on the wooden boardwalk that connected the cabins. “Let the sheriff’s office work. Choose to be productive, please. Boredom breeds unhappiness.”
Tina kept shoving things into her backpack. The tiny stuffed animal that she’d won at the town’s wildflower festival back in July. The creased Polaroids of her and Nicki that she’d buried in her socks-and-underwear drawer.
“Tina? Aren’t you supposed to be on lunch duty? It’s 10:45 already.”
Tina cursed under her breath. Why didn’t I shut the door? Why am I always such a dumb piece of—? She pushed the backpack under the bed and turned around.
Diane stood with a hand against the doorframe. The woman wore an apron with oversized pockets, carrying items like knitting needles and cheese graters and Sharpie markers. She was always doing three different tasks at once. Tina sometimes felt jealous of Diane’s sense of purpose. It was like she knew exactly why she’d been put here on this earth: to manage the day-to-day lives of thirty-some delinquent teenage girls, as if supervision would turn them docile and virtuous. Didn’t Diane get tired of constantly failing?
“Yeah, I’m on lunch today,” Tina said. At the last minute she added, “Ma’am.”
“It’ll help if we stay busy.” Diane put a hand on Tina’s shoulder. “You’d better get going. Those potatoes won’t bake themselves.”
Tina rubbed her hands against her jean shorts. She thought she might puke if she had to even look at a potato, but she’d just make things worse if she claimed to be sick. Then there’d be staff checking on her later, making her talk about her feelings at one of their campfire circles.
It wasn’t like Diane was mean. She was strict and all, but never said cruel things to them. She expected so much, though, and she never stopped looking disappointed when people did things they weren’t supposed to. Tina was eighteen, at least a decade and a half younger than Diane. But she’d learned better—it wasn’t boredom that bred unhappiness; it was hope.
“I’ll be right there,” she promised. “After I pee.” Don’t look at the top bunk, Tina told herself. Don’t look anywhere. Go
deep inside where none of it can hurt you.
Diane’s eyebrow twitched. “All right.” She started to turn away, then hesitated. Instead of leaving, she came fully into the room and shut the door. “Nicki’s your bunkmate, isn’t she?”
Was, Tina wanted to shout. She’s dead. We both know it.
She nodded.
“Do you have any idea what happened?” Diane whispered. She was tall, with tanned skin and dull brown hair that she kept twisted back in a claw clip. The smell of raspberry and vanilla lotion surrounded her. “I thought Nicki went home. Then the police turn up this morning. They haven’t told us a thing.”
“I don’t know. Really.”
“All right. Well, I’ll check on you later I guess. Keep your chin up.”
When Tina got out of the bathroom, Diane had gone, though the scent of raspberry lingered.
In the lodge kitchen, a pot of water simmered. A pile of yellow potatoes sat beside the sink. Stomach burning, Tina got to work.
Vera came out of the walk-in fridge carrying an armload of onions. As usual, she wore her platinum blond hair in a high ponytail. Her red cat-eye glasses slipped down her nose.
“Are you feeling okay?” Vera asked, pushing the glasses up. “You’re looking pale.”
Tina shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Fine as any of us can be, you mean? Sometimes I wonder if they should fill that lake in.”
Vera was on staff here, in her twenties. A local who seemed content to stay in Crimson Falls forever. She was all smiles no matter what happened. Even if Diane scolded her or one of the camp girls had a fit, Vera’s eyes would just glaze over, her cherry-red glossed lips curving upward until it was over. Tina kept waiting for Vera’s happy-go-lucky demeanor to slip, revealing annoyance or sarcasm beneath. Because who could be that tranquil all the time? But unlike Diane, Vera never cared about anybody breaking the rules.
“Poor Nicki,” Vera remarked, her smile wistful, the closest she ever got to sad. She chopped onions and prattled on about the other girl who’d drowned last summer. Everyone said it had been an accident. But was that how Nicki got the idea? How long had she been planning it without giving away a clue? Or was it purely an impulse?