As usual, Kris unconsciously assumes the lead as we climb the wide stairway to the second floor. Amy and I tend to prefer the background, content to follow and let Kris make most of the decisions. Then again, she's been doing this longer than we have.
"This place is crazy," Kris says now, shining her light around at the battered walls and peeling plaster. "Imagine being locked up in here."
"This wing is a lot different," I comment in surprise, noting the many doorways opening off the hall, each leading to a small room. "The children's wing seemed to be more open and have wards where, I guess, a lot of kids stayed. This area seems to be mostly individual rooms."
Kris directs us into one particular room, that still contains an old bed frame. "According to what the client said when I spoke to him over the phone, a lot of activity seems to be centered in this room. He doesn't seem to know of anything in particular that happened here to cause it, just that people tend to avoid this room a lot."
"Why?" Amy questions. "I mean, what kind of activity are they experiencing?"
"Well, apparently a former staff member was walking down this hall, and when he walked past this room, something tripped him up. He says there was nothing at all on the floor that he could have fallen over, but he felt like someone deliberately stuck out their foot to trip him."
"That's insane," Amy comments.
"Why would you do something like that?" Kris addresses the room loudly, startling me. "Were you trying to hurt the person who was walking down the hall? Did you not like him for some reason?"
"She's at it already," Amy murmurs to me, and I flash her a brief grin. Kris does love provoking.
"Well, why don't you try to trip me up? I dare you," Kris says into the silence. "I'm going to walk down this hall right now, and you go ahead and try to trip me up."
She's as good as her word, and marches out into the hallway, where she walks up and down past the door a number of times. "What's the matter? Are you not strong enough? You did it to that other poor man who was just walking down the hall minding his own business, so why not me?" she persists.
"Maybe he's upset because you just barged into his room and started telling him off," Amy observes mildly.
"Or she. It could be a woman," I put in.
"Go ahead, show yourself," Kris speaks up again. "Make some kind of noise, so we know that you're listening."
A faint thump catches our attention, and all three of us turn reflexively towards the sound. It's so faint, it could be a door closing on the first floor or another loose shutter.
"If that was you, you're going to have to be a lot louder," Amy calls. "We can't quite tell where you are."
Several seconds of silence pass, and then we hear another faint thump.
"Was that any louder?" Kris asks under her breath.
"It sounded about the same to me," Amy observes.
"It could be another shutter banging in the wind," I reply, and quickly regale them with Grant's mishap in the dining hall. The girls both chuckle at that story.
"So sound carries really well in here, then," Amy says. "That thump could have come from anywhere... another floor, another wing... even outside."
"This is your last chance," Kris calls. "We're moving to a different room, so if you're trying to get our attention, now is the time."
We listen intently, but we don't hear the sound again.
"How about moving on?" Kris says, and, finding Amy and I in agreement, she leads the way down the hall.
We're almost at the far end of the wing when I pause and tilt my head to one side. Amy and Kris don't notice at first, and they walk several steps ahead of me before realizing that I've stopped.
"What's wrong?" Amy questions.
I listen for several more seconds before replying. "Nothing, I guess... something electronic."
"Is it EMF again? Like at the house we investigated in Connecticut? Do you feel sick? Or..." I shake my head before Kris can get too wound up.
"It's not EMF, I don't think. It's just... well, you know when you have a computer or TV plugged in? Like that sound."
Kris and Amy exchange blank looks, and I heave a sigh, realizing they have no idea what I'm talking about.
"Just give me a minute... I'll find it."
The girls remain quiet to watch me track down the sound. Frowning in concentration, I take a step forward, and then another. The sound gets fainter. I backtrack, and take a step to the left, and then a step to the right, turning my head frequently to help my ears pinpoint the source of the noise.
"How..." Kris begins, before Amy shushes her loudly.
"It's in here," I finally say decisively, stepping into another one of the small rooms. Shining my light around, I immediately notice one of our IR cameras. "Darn it."
"What?" Kris and Amy step into the room behind me, and I flash the beam of my light at the camera.
"Nothing too exciting. Just one of our cameras. I guess I got a little carried away," I reply sheepishly.
Amy walks right over to the camera and puts her ear next to it. "I can hear it from right here," she says. "But how in the world did you manage to pick that up from all the way out there in the hallway?" She gives her head a slow shake of wonder.
"Are you sure you're not part bat?" Kris teases. "You seem to get along with them well enough."
"Well, we do have sharp hearing in common," I tell her. "But I haven't quite developed a taste for moths yet, and I still haven't learned how to fly."
"You might want Steve and Dave to help you with that," Amy snickers, and I blush, remembering the trapdoor incident at the Passamaquoddy Inn. I have the feeling I'm not going to live that one down for a long time... if ever.
"Let's move on," I mutter, pushing past Kris, who's still making a nasty face at my suggestion of eating moths.
"Third floor it is then," Amy replies, following closely behind me as we trek back down the hallway.
We talk quietly as we make our way to the third floor, but once we reach the landing, our conversation comes to an abrupt end. There's something about this floor that feels... different, somehow.
"Does the air feel... heavier, somehow, up here?" Amy questions in a hushed tone of voice. Kris and I are nodding almost before the words are out of her mouth.
We stand still for a moment, trying to take it all in. Outside, the rain is still coming down steadily, but the wind seems to have slackened off. In the resulting quiet, every sound seems to be amplified. Every breath, every sigh, every rustle of clothing or creak of the floor seems ten times louder than usual.
"Let's do some EVP work in here," Kris finally whispers, pointing to a room on her left. Amy and I almost tiptoe as we follow her into a wide, empty room with several small windows placed high up on the walls.
"How about we sit down on the floor, turn off our lights, and just listen for a while?" Amy suggests before Kris can get the voice recorder going.
"Sure, I guess we can do that... there's a lot of strange noises reported on this floor, so maybe we can pick some of them up."
Kris switches on the voice recorder, and the three of us settle down on the floor in a triangular formation. Not one of us is more than an arm's length from any of the others; there's something about this particular floor that makes you not want to be very far from human company.
We switch off our lights and sit silently. I can't help but feel like the darkness is pressing in on us; like it's somehow alive.
"Mr. Blanton says that voices are often heard on this floor," Kris speaks up after a few minutes, startling me so badly that I jolt.
I really wish I could stop doing that... it just doesn't look right for a paranormal investigator to get a fright every time someone says something or a phone rings.
"Does anyone ever understand what they're saying?" I ask, before noticing that Amy doesn't seem to be listening to us. She's staring off into a corner of the room.
"I could have sworn... that I saw a shadow move," she says slowly, and both Kris and I swivel our heads to peer in the same direction.
"Where?" Kris whispers excitedly. "What did it look like? Was it big?"
"I... I couldn't really tell," Amy confesses. "It's so dark that my eyes are playing tricks on me; but I'm positive I saw something move."
"Is that you?" I ask out loud. "You can come closer, if you like. We're friends, and we're here to learn more about you. We're not going to harm you, or ask you to leave."
"You sound like Grant," Kris mutters with amusement in her voice.
I raise an eyebrow at her before remembering that she can't see me. "And that's a bad thing?"
"Of course not," she says hastily. "I just... found it amusing. That's all."
"I have a lot of respect for the way Grant investigates. Jason, too," I tell her, not sure why I feel like I have to defend myself.
Kris sighs. "Summer, it wasn't a criticism. Really. I think it's kind of neat that you look up to Jay and Grant so much."
"I look up to all of you," I protest. "I still have so much to learn about investigating the paranormal."
"After the evidence that you collected in the children's wing, I'd say you're doing fine on your own," Kris counters.
"This isn't helping us find what caused that shadow figure," Amy speaks up, and Kris bobs her head in agreement.
"You're right, Ame. How about we..." Kris breaks off her words with a sudden squeal that makes both Amy and me jump.
"What?" We demand together.
"Something touched me!"
All three of us scramble to our feet and stand panting in the darkness. I fumble for my light, but Amy has already found hers and switched it on. Kris's eyes are wide in the yellow glare.
I finally find the switch on my own flashlight, and we quickly look for anything that might have touched Kris. Something hanging from the ceiling, perhaps, or a mouse or rat... even a piece of plaster falling from the ceiling. We find nothing.
"Something touched my arm," Kris insists, her voice a higher pitch than normal. "It was a firm touch, more like a poke. That's why it made me jump."
"Can you do that again?" I call out to the darkness.
"You can come and touch me, if you want," Amy says, still looking around the room.
After several more minutes, we've still received no response, and none of us have gotten touched again, so we decide to move on.
"This place is so creepy," Amy says under her breath as we meander down the hall. "Like... I can't explain it... I just get a really bad feeling up here."
"I feel the same way," I admit. "Not much scares me, but... my heart is pounding right now, to be honest. I've never felt this way on an investigation before, even with all the activity that I've seen. I didn't feel nearly this scared over in the East Wing, and there was a lot more activity over there."
"It's strange," Kris muses, shining her light around at the top of the stairs. "I almost get the feeling that... whatever is up here, doesn't want us here. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," Amy murmurs, and I nod.
"Well, last chance," Kris calls to the silent rooms around us. "If there's anything you want to tell us, we're leaving now, so this is the time to speak up."
There's no response, and finally we give up and return to the first floor.
I breathe a sigh of relief as we enter the dimly lit foyer. The heaviness that's been weighing on my shoulders since we entered the third floor seems to have lifted. Kris, Amy and I exchange glances, and without needing to say anything, I know that they feel just the same.
"Well? Any luck?" Grant leans back in his chair to look at us.
Kris and Amy quickly relate our experiences, and I pipe up now and then to add a word.
"Hmm." Jason stands with his hands on his hips, listening thoughtfully. Finally he says, "Well, G., suppose you and I go take a look?"
"Sounds good, Jay." Grant is just getting up from his chair when we hear footsteps out in the hall, and Tango, Joe, and Steve return.
"If the guys are done investigating the children's wing now, can we go take a look?" Amy asks Jason.
"I don't see why not. You going with the girls or staying here, Summer?" He addresses me.
"Um... I actually think I'd like to take a little break and get a snack, if that's okay. Since I've already been up to that wing."
"Sure thing. We'll be back in a bit."
Jason and Grant head out, while I sink down on a folding stool and reach for my water bottle and a pack of cheese and crackers. Not quite a grilled cheese, but it'll have to do, I tell myself, smiling inwardly.
Tango stretches and yawns before wandering over to the window to look out. Steve takes his position in front of the monitor, and Joe sits beside me.
"Trail mix?" he asks, offering me some of his.
"Oh! No, thanks. I'm good."
"No problem. Not a lover of trail mix, are you?"
"Well... I like each of the things in trail mix, but separately. Not all mixed in together. It's a texture thing," I try to explain.
"It's because she's autistic," Tango volunteers, and I raise my eyebrows at him.
"What? Was it supposed to be a secret?" Tango looks genuinely puzzled, and I grin.
"No, of course not."
"Then what's funny?"
"Nothing." I stuff my mouth with cheese and crackers before he has the chance to ask another question, and he shrugs and turns back to the monitor.
"Dustin mentioned that," Joe says casually, popping a handful of trail mix into his mouth.
I look at him in surprise. "He did?"
I wonder what else Dustin told Joe about me... does he know how Dustin helped me when I went non-verbal?
"Yes, he did," Joe confirms. "He mentioned that being autistic gives you a lot of empathy when dealing with spirits. I guess that's why you got such a great response up in the East Wing."
I duck my head at the compliment. That Dustin... I should have known he wouldn't say anything negative about anyone.
"He also mentioned something about a bat," Joe continues. He looks surprised when Tango groans, Steve grumbles, and I giggle.
"Yes, about that," I begin, trying to stifle my laughter.
"Go ahead, rub it in," Steve says under his breath.
Not paying any attention to him, I regale Joe with the bat story. He laughs heartily and counters with his own bat story, from investigating an old castle in Germany with the rest of GHI.
When he finishes that tale, I promptly coax for another. Dustin has talked quite a bit about investigating with Ghost Hunters International, but I want to hear Joe's perspective as well.
Joe promises another story or two, but only if I'll tell him how I got the nickname "Puck". Of course, Tango has the last laugh on that one, butting in and telling the story his own way.
I suppose it's his right to tell it... after all, he's the one that came up with the nickname. I smirk, and then glance over at Steve. He's pretending to be very intent on watching the monitor, but his eyes slide sideways and he gives me a fiendish look.
I almost choke on a giggle, and whip my head in the opposite direction before he can see the flush creeping over my face.
My gosh, Summer, what are you acting so awkward about this time?
Joe starts telling me about a house that GHI recently investigated in Scotland, and I nibble thoughtfully on a cracker as I listen. Maybe I can pick up some pointers on investigating from Joe. He seems to be really good at it.
Steve is quietly watching the monitor, turning around to comment on Joe's story now and then, while Tango slips on his headphones and starts reviewing some of the audio evidence that's already been recorded. None of us is paying much attention to him, until he blurts, "Whoa, whoa... what?!"
Joe stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and we all turn to look at Tango in amazement.
"What's the matter, Tango?" Steve wonders.
Tango shoves the headphones at him. "Listen to this."
For once, Steve doesn't rib Tango about his candy-apple red headphones. I think we can all tell that Tango is serious... whatever he heard must have really startled him.
Steve presses the headphones tightly against his ears, as if to amplify the sound even more. We all wait breathlessly.
For what seems an interminable length of time, Steve's face remains blank. Then suddenly, his broad shoulders jerk as if he's been shot at, and he quickly looks at Tango, his eyes wide.
"Did you hear it? Did you hear it?" Tango is so excited that he almost tips his chair over.
"Play it again," Steve demands.
Joe and I exchange a quick glance, and wordlessly get up to stand next to the monitor. Whatever is going on, we want to know about it too.
Steve's eyes are bouncing from place to place as he tries to make sense of what he's hearing. Finally he takes off the headphones and hands them to Joe. "Why don't you take a listen, Joe, and tell me what you hear?"
"Sure. When was this recorded?" Joe pauses with the headphones half on, waiting for Steve's reply.
Tango answers for him. "This is from when we were on the third floor, in the West Wing."
"Oh, where we felt that sort of heavy feeling," Joe says with a nod, settling the headphones on his head.
I look at him wide-eyed. I hadn't realized that anyone else besides Kris, Amy, and I had had a personal experience on that floor too. Now I'm dying to know what it is that Tango picked up, but I wait more or less patiently for my turn.
I can tell the exact moment Joe hears whatever it is. His eyes widen, and he straightens his shoulders with a look of disbelief.
"You hear it too?" Tango is on his feet now, too excited to stay sitting.
"Let me listen," I beg Joe, and he obligingly hands me the headphones.
At first, there's a jumbled mess of sound that I can't quite make out. Then I hear Tango's voice, faintly, as if he's standing on the other side of the room from the recording device. "How do you feel about us being here?" he asks.
I don't need anyone to point out to me what's gotten everyone so worked up... I can hear it as clear as a bell.
"Get out," a gravelly voice mutters. The voice is low, but perfectly audible, as if whoever has spoken is right beside the recorder.
It's so sudden that it scares me, and I yank the headphones off and hand them to Steve, my hands shaking. "What in the... what?" is all I can manage to get out.
We look at each other, wide eyed, until Steve finally expresses what all of us are thinking. "Wait until Jay and Grant hear this."
It's impossible to concentrate on anything else after this startling piece of evidence, and we talk animatedly until Jason and Grant return from the West Wing themselves, closely followed by the arrival of Kris and Amy from the children's wing.
Everyone takes a turn listening. Amy and Kris are as wide-eyed as the rest of us. Jason rocks back thoughtfully on his heels, arms crossed and eyebrows scrunched down over his deep-set eyes. Grant's reaction, of course, is predictable.
"Wild," he mutters, handing the headphones back to Tango.
"I'm kind of interested to hear what our client thinks about that," Steve comments. "After we go over the rest of the evidence, of course."
"See if you guys can clean up the background noise and boost the audio a bit, when you start evidence review tomorrow," Jason directs, and both Steve and Tango nod in agreement.
Then Jason checks his watch. "Well guys, it's getting late. I'd say we've done about as thorough a job as we're going to do, so what say we get the lights back on and start packing it in."
It's a statement, not a question, and we leap into action.
As much as I hate to admit it, I feel a sense of relief sweep over me as we switch the lights on. As much as I've enjoyed investigating the asylum, that gravelly voice and the odd feeling of unease on the third floor have left me glancing over my shoulders.
I do my best to shake the feeling off as we collect equipment from various rooms and start packing it away. The empty hallways echo with the voices of TAPS members calling out to each other.
"Can you hand me that stand, please?"
"Has anyone seen the lid that goes with this tote? I thought I put it right here."
"Hey, did you remember to label that last tape?"
"Guys, did anyone remember to get the camcorder from the dining hall?"
"Where's Steve?" This last question comes from Jason, as he drops a load of gear next to where I'm carefully coiling a long cable.
"Haven't seen him," I volunteer. "I thought he went upstairs to the East Wing, but I'm not positive."
"Hey, Steve?" Jason picks up a walkie talkie from the table and attempts to contact Steve. After several repetitions, he tosses the radio down in disgust. "Of course he never takes a walkie," Jason gripes under his breath. "I need the keys to the tech van so we can start getting this stuff loaded."
Jason stalks off, and I return to coiling the cable around my forearm, keeping it neat and making sure it's not twisted.
"Aw, shoot," I hear Tango mumble, and I glance over to where he's kneeling next to another pile of gear.
"What's up, Tang'?"
He glances up at me distractedly. "The quick-release plate. You know, the one that screws on to the head of the tripod? It must have dropped off when I detached the IR camera to bring it downstairs. Steve'll bite my head off if he finds out I lost it. The tripod can't be used without it."
He stops packing away the camera and rocks back on his heels, looking up at me hopefully. "Summer, would you mind looking for it? It shouldn't be too hard to find."
"Where was the tripod set up?" I ask, laying down the neatly coiled cable.
"Well, I brought down two tripods from the West Wing in one trip, one from the third floor and one from the second floor. The thing is, I don't remember which tripod was set up on which floor, so you might have to look in both places."
"The third floor?" I repeat, glancing nervously at the stairway. I really don't want to go back up there... alone.
"Second or third," Tango reiterates, oblivious to my discomfort. "Thanks, Puck. I really owe you one."
Jason enters the foyer again in time to catch the last part of our conversation. "If you happen to run into Steve while you're up there, Summer, tell him to get his behind down here with the van keys, pronto," he grumbles, and I quickly bob my head in agreement.
Well, that settles it. I guess I'm going up there whether I want to or not.
Taking a deep breath, I march quickly towards the stairs before anyone can see me hesitate. If I let on that I'm afraid to go up to the third floor by myself, Tango would never let me hear the end of it.
Maybe I'll be lucky and find that stupid part on this floor.
Reaching the second floor, I quickly scout around the area where I know the IR camera was located, as well as searching up and down the hallway in case it dropped there. I don't find a trace of the quick-release plate, however, and soon I'm standing at the bottom of the stairway, peering up at the third floor.
At least there's one thing to be thankful for, and that's the fact that this wing has electricity. I sure as heck wouldn't want to go up there in the dark.
"Hey, Steve?" I holler up the stairway, hoping with all my might that he can hear me. I wouldn't mind going up so much if I knew another TAPS member was already up there.
Only silence greets me, and I finally place my foot on the bottom tread of the stairs and start trudging upwards. Well, here goes nothing.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I call out again. "Hey, Steve, you up here?" There's still no answer, and I peer nervously into the brightly lighted room on my left.
I have no idea why this floor makes me feel so weird, but I'm seized with a sudden desire to bolt back down the stairway. I squash the urge, however, and cautiously start searching for the tripod part that I've come to find.
"If there's anyone up here," I call softly, "I don't want to bother you... I just need to find a camera part, and then I will get out, I promise."
I stop in my tracks as I hear a faint shuffle coming from one of the rooms.
My heart is pounding, and I stand in silence for what feels like hours, but is really only about thirty seconds.
Get a grip, Summer. You've never been afraid of the supernatural before. Weren't you talking with an entity through the K2 meter just a short time ago? That didn't faze you a bit.
Finally, deciding that the sound was just my imagination, I start forward again. Coming to the doorway of a large room, I recognize it as the same room where Kris was touched and Amy saw the shadow figure. And lying in a corner, as if taunting me, is the quick-release plate I've been seeking.
Finally. Now I just have to grab it, and high-tail it out of here!
Breathing a sigh of relief, I start across the room to pick up the tripod part.
The lights go out.
I freeze, my heart hammering in my throat. No light comes through the doorway behind me, either. It's as if every light on the third floor has suddenly gone out, leaving me in the pitch blackness.
I fumble at my waist, and quietly curse myself as I realize I've left my flashlight downstairs. Summer, you idiot!
I strain to see through the darkness.
Wait, was that a sound?
I try to quiet my breathing. I'm not sure if the thumping I hear is footsteps, my heart pounding, or my knees knocking.
I inhale deeply and open my mouth to call out, when some faint noise behind me makes me shut my jaw hard enough that my teeth click together.
My blood turns to ice as an arm slowly slips around my waist, and a hand reaches to cover my mouth.
I'm too terrified to even scream.