“All right.” Sloan’s deep voice broke his deliberations as he’d now meandered back to the foyer. “I’m off the phone, man. Come in the living room with me for a second, please,” He said, beckoning him over.
“Sure.” He followed him, immediately taking note of the fireplace all aglow, yet the area still remained rather cool. “You got the heat on?” He ran his hands up and down his arms. “I hope so. It’s cold as hell in here.”
“Yeah it’s on, but more importantly, how can something be cold as hell?” Sloan jabbed, plopping down on the couch and plucking a camera from the seat next to him.
“Shut up. Anyway, what? You wanna take my picture?” He began to do a series of silly poses as Billy Joel’s, “It’s Still Rock ’nd Roll to Me” played on the radio.
Sloan smirked and shook his head. “Have a seat next to me, please.”
Mike stomped over and slumped down next to the man, certain that he was about to view some shots of the unbelievably serene lake that surrounded his property, or perhaps some images of his upcoming book cover.
“Remember when…” Sloan closed his eyes and rocked back against the couch, letting out a deep exhale. “Remember when I told you Joel had some concerns about this house?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, resting his hands across his knees. “Your son thinks it’s haunted and you don’t agree.” Sloan threw him an strange look. “What?” He threw up his hands.
“I didn’t say I didn’t agree.”
“Sure you did! You told me that, too. You said there were no such things as ghosts and all of that shit is silly, that people think of stuff like that because—”
“All right, all right, all right!” the man yelled, waving his hand frantically about. “I was a bit skeptical, I’ll give you that.”
All Mike could do was shake his head at him, but he let it slide nevertheless.
“Look, here is what’s going on. I’ve been hearing things around here, and seeing stuff, too.”
“You’ve been smokin’ that shit again, haven’t you?” Mike chortled.
“Mike, I’m serious.”
Sloan’s stern expression made him pause.
“Seeing stuff like what?”
“I’m not really sure… kind of like mists and shadows… and I’m hearing stuff… like people I can’t see, but I hear their voices, they’re talking. Sometimes I hear wailing… music coming on. Doors closing and opening on their own.”
Mike couldn’t help but be completely horrified. This was the last person he’d think would come to him about some stuff like this, and he could tell by Sloan’s expression that he was completely sober
and
somber… This wasn’t a joke.
“Where in the house is this happening? Is it like one area?” He looked around, hoping and praying that whatever his buddy talked about wasn’t standing right there with them at that moment.
“No, it’s all over, but mainly,” he said, pointing ahead, “over there.”
“The office?” Mike looked at the intricate, arched doorway with the sheer curtains framing it.
“Yeah.”
“Peter Jones’ office?”
“
My
office!” Sloan barked. “I bought this house. My name is on the title and the mortgage.”
“A ghost doesn’t give a shit about what the hell your name is on, Sloan. Fuck a deed! You think you can go wave that paper in its otherworldly face and say, ‘See, Peter! It’s
my
house now, so this is all the proof you need to move your ass on. Call the bank if you don’t believe me!’ That’s not how this works, Sloan.”
“Oh, so now you’re a paranormal expert, huh? You and Joel go out into old, abandoned buildings with microphones and state-of-the art recorders and make contact with the dead?”
“No, but I—”
“You know all about the rules and regulations of ghostly encounters? I got ghostbusters as family and friends and didn’t even know it! Just motherfucking wow!”
“You’re ridiculous sometimes, Sloan.” Mike shook his head and shifted his weight on the couch.
“I might be, but you’re a new jack to this, too. Regardless of what I thought, something is
definitely
going on in here. Now, I want you to look at these photos and video clips and tell me what you think.”
Mike took the camera from the man’s hands and looked through the viewfinder. “I only see pitch black.”
“The damn cover is still on!” Sloan barked. He grabbed the thing, snapped the cover off, and handed it back over.
“How the hell was I supposed to know?! You’re the one who told me to look in here and tell you what I saw and then—”
“Just look at the goddamn camera!” Sloan’s face reddened, that vein in the middle of his damn forehead protruded, and his eyes turned to steel. It was right then that it hit him how his brave friend, the one always willing to go in headfirst, was not only serious, but genuinely afraid. This wasn’t a game, a gimmick, or some joke the man was playing.
He looked through the viewfinder.
Click… click…
“Holy shit…” was all he could muster as he watched a video of what appeared to be a white, wispy mist moving about inside the office. It had a human-like form, and behaved as a man would. The desk chair moved away from the desk on its own, and the mist sat down, as if it belonged there. Books began to open, one after the other, their pages flipping in rapid speed from front to back, and then in reverse.
“What do you hear?” Sloan asked in a low whisper.
“Like… crying… a man crying.”
Sloan nodded, lowered his head into his palms, and remained that way for several minutes as Mike continued to look at the photos and footage.
“And that’s not all of the pictures, just most of them. I’ve been taking these for weeks. I set this camera and another one on a tripod and just let them run. I would replace the batteries as needed. Some days, they picked up nothing; other days, I might get strange sounds but no mist, no movement, that’s it. But, the other day, I got
this
.” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the camera. “I didn’t want to believe it! You know how like you see somethin’ but you don’t believe you saw it so you just kinda go on about your way?”
“No, I don’t, because
I
would’ve packed my shit and been outta this motherfucker faster than your damn head could spin! I’m not spending the night here, Sloan.” He shook his face so fast, he could feel his jaws wobbling. “I’m going to a hotel. Your house is haunted, man! The guy is sittin’ down reading, boohooing for Christ’s sake! Fuck that shit!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sloan angrily slapped his palm against his thigh. “I had no idea you were a pansy with a mustache! Jesus!” Mike looked at the man, daring himself to not burst out laughing. He was caught between a wall of fear and one of amazement and amusement all at once.
“I’m not a pansy. I just know my limits.” His lower lip quivered with mirth, but he’d meant what the hell he’d said.
“Please don’t do this to me. I need you here tonight, Mike. Not because I’m afraid to be in the house by myself, but as a witness. I am going to call a professional.” His eyes, filled with sadness and sorrow now, though Mike knew it was a bit of a show just to get his manipulative way.
“Who?” He crossed his arms, wanting concrete answers before he agreed to some shit he’d soon regret.
“Shit.” He shrugged. “I have no idea. I have to look further into that but I want a witness at least to the noises. Hell, something may not even make itself heard or seen today. That happens sometimes, too. But, regardless, it’s worth a shot. You know I’m about evidence and research, Mike. I hate when people put stories out there that are supposed to be factual but are nothin’ but exaggerations or downright lies. What helps eliminate some of that are eyewitnesses. This is important.”
“But they could just say I made it up, too!”
“Yeah, but people can accuse me of doctorin’ the tapes, Photoshopping the pictures. This still gives me more merit. Don’t you see? I can barely believe I’m even saying this! I’ve never seen a ghost in my entire life, Mike.”
“Not that you’re aware of… but trust me, they’re always around.” Mike let his gaze roam around the place again. His paranoia grew by leaps and bounds.
“Always around, huh? So they watch you beatin’ off?”
“Not funny, Sloan,” he snapped, though his lips curved in a grin, telling on him. “I told you years ago how I used to see my dead next door neighbor.”
They marinated in silence for a moment or two.
“I’m a rational guy, Mike. This doesn’t make any sense to me… and yet… and yet, it happened. I knew if I told you why I called you over, told you the truth, you might not have come. I know you believe in the paranormal, like my son… you take it seriously.”
“You’re damn right I do.”
“And that’s why I couldn’t risk you not coming.”
Mike looked at Sloan long and hard and decided he wanted to bash his head in. He’d been set up, but he knew his pal really needed him and this was no time to pull the plug and run with his tail tucked between his legs.
“Well, look, I definitely won’t be down here on the first floor, next to that office!” He pointed a slightly shaky finger in the general direction of that room.
“That’s fine,” Sloan stated wearily, sitting up and slumping forward, as if the whole weight of the world had landed on his shoulders.
Mike sat there and looked at his friend for quite a while, not sure what to say, not certain what to do. His hand hovered over Sloan’s back, inches away like some flying saucer debating on whether to land on planet Earth. After a deep sigh, he rested his hand along the tightened muscles of the man. It was then that he felt him shaking…
So strange.
He couldn’t see Sloan moving, but he was definitely vibrating ever so slightly beneath the fabric of his shirt.
Damn, he’s real shaken up about this…
“Sloan, is anything else going on, man? What’s happening?” he asked softly.
“Early this morning I saw something that took my breath away.”
“You sure you want to tell me?” Mike teased. “You know I’ve already got one foot out the door.”
Sloan chuckled sadly and plopped back against the couch to glare up towards the ceiling. “I guess I’ll keep it to myself then. You’re already unnerved, so tellin’ you this won’t help.”
Mike shook his head. A part of him wanted to hear the details, to have it all rolled out before him; while another part of him wished for Sloan to simply remain quiet. He argued with himself for a moment or two, then reached a formidable conclusion. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. I can take it. Tell me.”
Sloan stared at him for what seemed like the longest. He didn’t blink, smile, or frown; he just remained in a frozen state. On a resigned sigh, he clasped his hands together.
“Around two this morning I heard a noise in my bedroom. I woke up, expecting to find what I usually do, which is doors open that I know I closed, or vice versa. Sometimes it’s a window. I’ve gotten so used to it that it no longer causes me any concern, though I guess it should. Anyway…” He rubbed his forehead, as if to ease some tension. “I swung my legs over the side of the bed to get up and noticed something kinda out the corner of my eye. I looked over at my small bookshelf and desk in my bedroom.”
“The silver and black one?”
“Yeah, and uh, up on the ceiling…” he said, motioning upward as he relayed the particulars. “I saw a baby.”
“What did you just say?”
“A baby…a see through form, almost like some hologram or something. Mike, I sat there and couldn’t even speak, couldn’t yell, nothing. It was crawling backwards in strange, choppy movements, like a windup toy where the batteries were dyin’… and then it paused and it… it looked at me.”
Mike swallowed and his mouth dropped open, but no words came out.
“I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but it looked like a newborn. Newborns don’t crawl, ya know? Seemed it could not have been more than a couple weeks old. It was naked… its eyes glassy, like marbles… and the room was freezing, man! Mike, the windows weren’t open, totally locked shut, but I could literally see air curling out my nostrils from each breath I took. I was in such a state of panic, I couldn’t even move. But then,” he said with a shrug, “just like that, it vanished.”
“Shit, Sloan.” Mike felt suddenly uncomfortable in his seat. He closed his eyes, but a part of him was afraid to keep them shut for too long. “I know you’re not a religious guy, but you believe in God. Or at least you used to.”
“I still do, Mike… just wonder where He was when I needed Him is all.”
That admission surprised Mike, but he appreciated Sloan’s candor. He wasn’t used to his best friend speaking that way, so earnestly.
“Some things we just can’t explain, man. Sloan, sometimes when I think back on my life, I remember shit that sucked and hurt, but, you know, I realize I still have it better than a lot of people, and that this livin’ thing ain’t so bad.”
Sloan chuckled sadly and nodded in agreement.
“Sometimes I guess the dead aren’t happy being dead, and there are some things we’ll never get, never comprehend, because they’re no longer us, and we’re no longer with them. If you think about it, living and dying overlap. We think we see them as separate states of being, you know, but if there is an afterlife, and I believe there is, then there’s no way the dead can’t watch over us and try to pretend to still be here in their own little way. And there is no way we can’t catch a glimpse of death, as long as they’re still amongst us… and they clearly are. You don’t have to believe in much to know we aren’t alone, man. We have eyes, we have ears, and I’m not crazy. You’re not crazy, that camera ain’t crazy, either. You’re right though; you have to call someone… and now I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head emphatically. “I’m worried, but not enough to leave my house. I put too much work into this place. I’ll figure this out, get to the bottom of it, but I’m staying put. I earned this.” Sloan glanced around the room.
“It’s beautiful, Sloan. You did a kick ass job.”
“Thank you…”
“But no place, no matter how much money you shelled into it, and all the energy you put into it is worth your piece of mind.” After a pause, he added, “I want you to be able to stay here too though, I honestly do.” Sloan nodded, clearly appreciating his words. “I saw big improvements; your mood got better, you started taking care of business again. I attribute it to the move, to this house that you turned into a project. Do uh… do you think that ghost in the office was Peter Jones? I mean, I said it ’cause that’s what came to mind first, but do you agree with me?”