Chapter 7

I woke up the next morning with a headache. Apparently, after my giggle fest from the night before I convinced myself a few more gulps of champagne. I walked to the bathroom across the hall, and jumped when I saw myself in my miniature hangover.

My hair was sticking up in all kinds of odds and ends, my eyes were red, and there was droll on the side of my mouth. I wiped it away, and blinked a few times. I noticed my hands, and was thankful I still had the bandages on. I cracked my neck, and grabbed the hairbrush I threw in the cabinet from when I moved in. I ripped through the tangles and knots in my hair as I opened my closet, scanning for something to wear. However, I saw a small box in the back corner of the closet. I threw my brush on to my bed, and crouched down to grab it.

"Zak must've forgot about this," I said, pulling the box out. I opened it, and saw a bunch of odds and ends that was probably from before his show hit the air. I sifted through it, and found old year book, VHS tapes, and something that put a smile on my face.


I walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge, eyes darting for something to eat. I stayed on my tip toes, seeing Zak was still asleep on the couch. I understood, considering it wasn't even eight in the morning on a Saturday. I always seemed to wake up early they day after a party or an outing. My parents thought I was crazy for it.

I pulled out two frozen waffles from the freezer as slowly and quietly as I could. I would've been successful if a huge chunk of ice didn't fall on the floor and shatter, making Zak almost jump out of his skin. He rubbed his eyes, and looked at me, who was frozen in my spot. I slowly waved with a weak smile on my face.

"Morning," I said, popping the waffles into the toaster. "How'd ya sleep?"

"Why are you up so early?" Zak asked, groggy. I shrugged.

"I always get up early after a party or something. I've done that since I was little, don't know why." Zak got up, and stood next to the fridge, his arms crossed. "I'll clean up the ice." As I reached for a paper towel to soak up the melted ice, he pointed to my hands.

"Where'd you get those gloves?" I chuckled nervously, and looked at my hands. In that box, I had found a pair of black, leather, fingerless gloves that fit me perfectly. I thought they looked great on me.

"I found a box in the back of the closet," I said. I cracked my knuckles, looking at my hands. "They fit like a glove," I said, wearing a fake smile. He chuckled, and shook his head.

"You're just like Aaron: Spewing terrible puns everywhere," he said. I chuckled, and jumped when my waffles popped out of the toaster. Zak laughed, and pointed to the toaster. "You can talk to dead people no problem, but get scared when your breakfast gets done?"

"Welcome to Kalia Crawford's installment of, 'First World Problems for the American Teenager.' Please enjoy the show," I said, motioning my hands towards the world around me. Zak laughed, and I smirked as I burned my fingers on the molten waffles, trying to put them on a paper plate. "When's the next lockdown?"

"In a week or so," he said. I nodded, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

"When should I start packing? I should probably bring jeans or something. Unless it's in a hot place, then-"

"Wait, hold on a sec," he said, interrupting me. "You think you're going?"

"Um, yeah," I said, taking a sip. "You promised. Plus, you can't leave a newly adopted teenager home alone, it could be traumatizing." I smirked as I took another sip.

"When did I promise that?" I held up a finger, and leaned against the counter top.

"When I talked to you guys about convincing my parents about going to Turkey, you said, and I quote, 'If you can get your strict Roman-Catholic mom to let you go to Turkey with us, we'll take you. Plus, we'll make you a member of the team.' So, if you want me to trust you by keeping your promise, don't mind me packing a bag." With that, I patted his shoulder, grabbed my waffles, and went back to my room. I heard him sigh from my room, and laughed. "And that, ladies and gents, is how to get whatever you want in life." I said to myself, opening my closet and grabbing the duffel bag I used for Turkey.


Zak later told me that we would be investigating the Warren Adleson Manner in Newport, Connecticut. From what we've researched, there have been at least four deaths in this place, on top of being on a taken over Native American reservation during colonial times. We planned on getting more into it once the hosts and tenants there, along with some witnesses during the tours they run.

For the plane ride, I decided to bring one other thing that survived the fire: my sketchbook. It was a black leather covered book, filled with 11X14 inch white paper. I kept it with me as much as I could for numerous reasons from doodling, to that annoying urge I got every once in a while to draw. I always had a tendency to be a realist, and was kinda good at it. However, whenever I tried, it looked cartoonish. I always hated that part.

I flipped through the half filled book on the plane during take off with a pencil in my hand, watching doodles and stills flash by my eyes. I stopped at one particular drawing of a little girl holding a teddy bear with one hand that she dragged on the ground, her other hand on the doorjamb she was hiding behind. Memories fled my mind, being it was the doorjamb to my room, and she was Melanie. I smiled, remembering what she looked like. On this particular ride, Aaron was next to me in the aisle seat. He grabbed the book from my hands, and started flipping through it.

"Hey," I semi-yelled, the plane being more quiet than I thought. I tried to grab it back, but he bent over the arm rest to keep it from me. "Give it back!"

"You never told us you were an artist," he said. He gave the book to Nick, who shared it with Zak. My face flushed red as they flipped through the pages.

"Can I have it back, please?" I asked, holding my hand out. They paused when they saw the picture of Melanie.

"Is this her?" Nick asked. I sighed, and nodded, opening and closing my hand, wanting the book back. "Damn." Suddenly, he had an idea. "I think I just found a new job up for grabs."

"That is?" Zak asked. Nick nodded his head towards the sketchbook, then at me. He smirked. "You think she'll be able to draw the spirits we're lookin' for?" Zak looked at me, an eyebrow. "Could you?"

"I guess," I muttered, looking down. "I mean, I could try if they didn't want to be seen. For the ones that don't mind, I totally could. But they'd be rough sketches. That one took me, like, three hours."

"It would've taken me three years." Aaron said. "I think it's a good idea!"

"Alright," Zak said. "Kalia is now our Professional Spiritual Artist." I chuckled, and snatched my sketchbook back.

"Next time you better ask," I said, smirking. "Or else I'll send some nasty stuff after you three."


We got to the house the day after landing, considering it was super late. The house was huge. Like, it had at least four floors, not including a basement. It had a colonial feel to it, and I felt the negative energy just radiating off it. Out of they corner of my eye when I entered through the dark brown double doors, I saw a boy about my age hiding by the gigantic oak tree on the side of the house.

The boy had brown, shaggy hair, and was dressed like he was from an 1850's farm. He had light brown and slightly baggy overalls, with a cotton shirt underneath. He must've been about six feet tall, maybe a bit shorter. I knew he had to be one of the four deaths. I lowered my head, and walked into the house, opening to a blank page in my book. I zoned out after I shook the host's hand, engulfed in my urged to draw. The four of them asked me if I wanted to take the tour with them, but I declined. I sat on the main staircase, and drew the boy.

I had a rough sketch of him in about a half hour. They weren't back yet, so I tried to pick up on anything else. I couldn't get certain feelings out of my head until I drew them, like a noose and breathing problems. I ended up drawing a mouth drooling blood, sending chills down my spine as I sketched. When the crew came back, cameras rolling, they were astonished at what I drew. Mrs. Channing, the manner caretaker and tour guide, wasn't surprised.

"Oh, you drew Connor," she said. The three guys and I looked at her confused. "Connor Adelson."

"I saw him by the oak tree on the side of the house," I said, pointing out the window. I scribbled his name at the top of the page by his head. "I couldn't get the noose out of my head, either."

"That's amazing," she said, putting a hand to her mouth. "You picked up his suicide."

"He killed himself?" I asked. Zak nodded.

"Records say he hung himself on the oak tree," he said. "Rumors from the family say that he did it because his crazed father caught him with the priest's daughter, Kayla, and killed her in the basement of the church after mass. He was never proven guilty of murdering her.

"Adam Adelson believed that the death of his young daughter, Marcie, was because of the priest's family, since they had tuberculosis first. She eventually contracted it, and passed away at the age of seven.

"Soon enough, after the death of both his children, he went even crazier. His wife, Haley, tried to snap him out of it. She was killed by Adam as well by a knife after they got into a fight about his sanity. Adam ended up dying by falling down the third floor staircase, tripping over a whiskey bottle."

"Jesus," I said, looking at my sketchbook. "No wonder it feels so dark here. Suicide, tuberculosis, murder, alcohol, this place has everything." I clutched it to my chest, and looked at Mrs. Channing. "Ya think he'll talk to me?"

"Maybe," she said sweetly. "You are his and Kayla's age. Ironically, you look like her as well. Connor might see his Kayla Crawford tonight." My stomach dropped, remembering my father's family history of his distant great aunt being slaughtered by a mad man.

I decided to keep my sketches with me during the lockdown, maybe using it as a trigger object. Well, other than my face this time.


Author's Note: DISCLAIMER: This manner is NOT a real place! These people are a product of my imagination :P If they resemble anyone, any thing, or any situation, it is purely by coincidence.

Anyway, I've been listening to Alone In This Bed by Framing Hanley as I wrote this, so that cute Romeo-Juliet love story between Connor and Kayla kinda poured out from that. Plus, I've been wanting to do a relative twist in a lockdown since I wrote about Turkey :3 Oh! I won't be posting on Saturday because I'm going to a wedding. My dad and his fiancé's wedding, that is! It's my first ever that I'll actually remember :3! Super excited! Remember: Read, Review, and Enjoy!

~ Nicole