There is only one thing that all agents agree on without exception. Poltergeists are the worst possible Visitor to deal with on a job. Sure, they don't have an ectoplasmic manifestation, which means you are safe from ghost touch when fighting one, but that's just about the only advantage an agent has in a situation involving the kinetic type of Visitor.
Because they don't have a physical form, it is impossible to stick a sword into Poltergeists. Throwing flares at them does nothing, and you don't have plasm wisps to determine a vanishing point with, which makes locating the source that more tedious. Not to mention that they are capable of interacting with their environment, more so than regular visitors. Their power can range from a small breeze that ruffles papers or -as I had found out the hard way last winter- a hurricane that could turn an entire department store on its head.
It felt like a hole opened in my stomach, and the panic welling up when I realised what we were dealing with threatened to push me right into it. Lockwood kept me from giving in by grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze.
"Deep breaths, Lucy," he whispered, keeping his voice low and calm, "It feeds off of our emotions. If we stay calm, so will the Visitor."
I managed a nod and focussed on getting back in control of myself.
"Better?"
"Better," I confirmed. It wouldn't do to let my panic overwhelm me. We had a case to take care off.
Lockwood was squinting a little, which he always did when he used his talents, but after a moment he shook his head.
"Can't see anything," he said. "George's theory about the Visitor being a brought-in source is probably right, there are still no Death Glows here."
The Poltergeist hadn't stopped while we took in the truth of the situation. It repeated the tone it played before a few more times, letting it sound for varying lengths of time. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and listened. For a moment I couldn't hear past the physical sounds of my surroundings, and I was about to give up again when psychic sound filtered through suddenly, as if somebody had turned up a radio.
There was a soft feminine laugh in response to another woman's voice, and another piano tone. This time though, a new, higher pitched tone sounded as well. It was sharper, for lack of a better description, and sounded bright and clear. At the same there was an echo to the sound that the piano didn't have.
"In tune" the second woman said. The voice sounded far off and a little distorted as if I was listening to it through one end of a tin can telephone. "Let's begin"
I opened my eyes and tried to focus on my surroundings again. I turned to Lockwood, words to explain what I had heard already on my tongue, when the piano played a loud chord. A fraction of a second later the psychic tones joined in too, and a gentle melody started.
I know little about music. We rarely had a lot of free time, and when we did, we tended to spend it at home, training, reading or generally lazing around. I had never been to a concert before, let a lone a classical one. The only exposure to music I really had was the preppy pop songs that played on the radio in the kitchen. Still, I could recognise that our ghostly performer, (or performers) was a good musician. I could feel the calm atmosphere that belonged to the piece, the soft melancholy that rang through the clear tunes of what I assumed to be a flute.
A squeeze in my hand pulled me out of my cloudy state. Lockwood was looking at me with a worried expression on his face. His eyebrows were knitted together and his lips were pulled tight into a frown.
"Are you okay, Lucy?" he asked quietly. It wasn't a good idea to raise your voice when dealing with a poltergeist; they were drawn to sound as much as to emotions. "You kind of… spaced out for a minute. Are you hearing something?"
"A performance, I think," I whispered back. The piece still continued in my inner ear, and I struggled to push the music to the background of my focus. "There's another instrument playing... You can't hear it then?"
Lockwood shook his head and let go off my hand to reach into his work belt.
"I only hear the piano," he said. He pulled out a small vial of lavender water, a fragrant liquid we sometimes used to deter visitors from coming close if we needed to operate outside of our chain circle. I had no idea whether it would work on a poltergeist, but it wouldn't do any harm.
Lockwood dripped a small amount into his hand and spread it across his skin before offering me the vial.
"I want to do another round of measurements," he whispered as I rubbed the lavender water onto my hands. The strong scent filled my nose, and I struggled not to sneeze. "We need to be careful with this one, just because it can't Ghost touch us, doesn't mean we are safe from its influence."
We stepped out of the circle, clicked on a torch and started our measurements. The visitor forced us to stick close together, unable to raise our voices over the piano for fear of drawing the Poltergeist's attention, so I was forced to whisper my observations into Lockwood's ear. The forced proximity reminded me of the time we'd shared a single spirit cape during our track through the Other Side.
Lockwood had just written down the second temperature reading when the music shifted, rather abruptly. The calm mood of the piece died away, replaced by a more urgent tune. I felt a new unrest creep up on me with the crescendo of the flute, pushing its way through the malaise the Visitor was already spreading. Lockwood must have felt me stiffen because he grabbed my wrist and pulled me close.
"Something changed?" He asked quietly. I nodded and told him about the difference in the psychic music. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean, the sound of the piano changed too. Don't think the threat of the Visitor has though, so let's continue."
When all the readings were done, we found that the overall temperature of the studio hadn't dropped by much, but our breaths now plumed into white clouds in the cold spot near the piano. I took my glove off and turned to the instrument. The ghostly music had returned to its gentle melody again, which made it a lot easier to ignore. When I placed my fingers to the wood, it seemed to suck my body heat right out of me, and I pulled my hand back fast.
"Seems obvious what the source is," Lockwood remarked when we stepped back into the circle. He went straight for the kitbag with our seals, opening it to choose a properly sized silver net.
"It does," I agreed, glancing back at the grand piano. "Do you think one net will be enough, Lockwood? We don't have a net large enough to cover the entire thing."
He hesitated for a moment and then shook his head.
"Better not to take risks with this one," he said while pulling out a second large net.
I shook out the net so that it expanded to its full size as we walked towards the piano, trying not to wince at the soft jangle of the metal links. Lockwood took up a position near the keyboard, and I walked to the other end. We raised the nets simultaneously and Lockwood mouthed a countdown. In a moment of perfect cooperation we threw our nets across the piano, and as we finished draping the nets so they covered the majority of the instrument, the music stopped.
"Clear?" Lockwood asked out loud. The sound of his voice broke the tension that lingered, and a grin spread on my face.
"Yeah, the psychic sound is go-" My sentence was cut off by a sudden displacement of air. I barely managed to pull my hands back in time to avoid the lid of the grand piano that slammed down, saving myself from a couple broken fingers. I did not manage to keep quiet. The surprise pulled a yelp from me, which was taken over by a psychic shout that tore through the studio. With that, the second part of the haunting set off.
I didn't have time to contemplate how incredibly, foolishly wrong we had been about what the source was, because the poltergeist had turned its powers outwards now. The papers on the desk ruffled as if an invisible hand was leafing through them, and as I watched, one of the music stands toppled. It hung suspended at a 45-degree angle for a moment before crashing down to the linoleum in a deafening crash. Lockwood swore under his breath and quickly ducked around the piano, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward our circle.
The distance between the piano and the circle wasn't great, I estimate 10 feet, at the most. And yet it took us ages to cross because the poltergeist was doing everything in its power to work against us. It didn't just chuck stuff around at random, but took deliberate aim. We were battered with pens, pencils, dry markers and the whiteboard erasers, and from the corner of my eyes I could see the thin booklets in the book cases tremble. I watched in disdain as they slowly slid forwards on their shelves one by one before falling off. None of them hit the floor, instead they were whisked up and whirled around us in an intimidating tornado of soft yellow paper, cutting us off from the rest of the room.
The surrounding air crackled with psychic energy, and I sensed items flying around beyond the wall of paper that cut us off from the room. Our torch was among them; I could see the circle of light move around the papers, whirling in an odd pattern that disoriented me completely. The linoleum beneath my feet seemed to vibrate, and it threw me back into the memory of that other poltergeist.
For a moment I thought the ground would open and swallow me again, and I froze. My world seemed to shrink until all I could sense was the rapid beating of my heart, and my stomach dropped as if to prepare for the fall I was sure would come next.
Instead of the floor disappearing from under me, a sudden impact forced me off my feet and I fell forwards through the paper hurricane.
Lockwood had tackled me just in time to avoid a metal object that was hurled at our heads by the poltergeist, and we fell onto the chains in a mess of limbs and paper cuts. Lockwood was back upright in an instant and pulled me into the circle fully by wrapping his arms around my torso.
Even when we were both safe in our circle, he didn't let go off me. I could feel his chest rise and fall quickly against my back, and no doubt his heart was beating just as fast as mine was right then. I kept quiet, deciding to enjoy the fact we weren't dead for a moment.
Outside the circle, the poltergeist's rage slowly petered out. As we watched, the sheet music fluttered down to the floor, covering the open space around our circle like a speckled rug. Another metal object – which I now recognised as a folded music stand – fell out of its trajectory and half heartedly rolled a few more inches before lying still.
"Lockwood, you can let go off me now," I whispered.
"…Right, sorry." Lockwood released his hold on me and took a quick step back. When I glanced up at him, he avoided my gaze. I was about to open my mouth to say something (what I didn't know) but a loud tone from the piano ringing i through the room interrupted me. While we tried to regain our bearings, the poltergeist restarted its little concert.
"We're out of our depth," Lockwood reluctantly admitted, "obviously we were wrong about the piano, but I don't know what else could be the source."
"Me neither," I said. "Perhaps we should go home and come back tomorrow to talk things over with Mrs Jefferson." I cast a glance around the studio. "We've got quite a mess to explain to her too…"
Lockwood wasn't happy about it, but he did agree with me. We silently started gathering our supplies, and when we had everything but the chains packed back up again, we tried to leave. The moment Lockwood stepped over the chains, the sheet music on the floor started rustling. The sound was loud and rhythmic, and mixed with the psychic music coming to a close again. It was hard not to flinch when pens lifted from beneath the papers, twirling around and floating in place in a threatening manner.
The piano finished and Lockwood took another step. The rustling grew louder; the pens rose a little further. We were caught in a stalemate. Any movement on our part resulted in a swell of the power of the poltergeist. We would never be able to reach the door without getting battered again. Lockwood stood still, looking back at me over his shoulder in the silence. The expectant silence.
Feeling like an absolute fool, I shouldered my kitbag to free my hands and clapped. The sound was dry and weak, not at all like the thunderous applause a musician probably got after a concert, but the pens stopped twirling. "Applaud," I hissed at Lockwood, who was watching me in confusion. "It gave a concert, it wants recognition." Lockwood's frown deepened, but slowly he brought his hands together too.
When he started clapping, the pens fell back to the floor, and the rustling stopped. I kept clapping as I stepped out of the circle and walked through the aisle between the rows of chairs that had been jumbled. Lockwood followed close behind, and we safely made it out of the studio.