Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown (29 page)

“Okay, then,” Grant said. He stood up. “Let’s give this a try. But I suggest we try to make contact in the living room.” He smiled at Mrs. McGrath. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be as far away as possible from that knife block.”

A few minutes later, they were all settled in the other room. “Okay, Mrs. McGrath. Ready?” Jason asked.

Mrs. McGrath nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

She and Grant sat side by side on the couch. Jason and Jackie sat just opposite.

“Go ahead, then,” Grant said.

Mrs. McGrath cleared her throat. “My name is Abigail McGrath,” she said in her calm, quiet voice. “I am speaking to the spirit in this house. I think your name might be Frank Thompson. There’s something that I want to tell you, Frank.”

“Keep it up,” Grant murmured. “You’re doing fine.”

“This is
my
house,” Mrs. McGrath went on. “It doesn’t belong to Silas Bryant anymore. He can’t hurt you. He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. He can’t keep you a prisoner anymore.

“I don’t know what you did to get locked up in Bryant House, and I don’t care. I’m sure that, in your heart, you’re a good boy. I know your mother was ill, Frank. I’m sure you wanted to help take care of her. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.

“But if you decide to stay, we have to get along. This has been
my home for more than fifty years. I’m not going to be scared away from it now.

“I think that’s all I have to say. I hope you are listening. I hope you understand.”

“Great,” Grant said quietly after Mrs. McGrath had finished. “You did that really well.”

“But how will we know whether it’s done any good?” Mrs. McGrath asked.

“Well,” Jason began.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! POP!

At that moment, all the lightbulbs in the house began to explode. The sound of the shattering glass echoed throughout the house. Mrs. McGrath cried out and clapped her hands to her ears.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! POP! POP! POP!

With a shower of sparks, the overhead light in the living room burst. Pieces of jagged glass rained down.

“Look out!” Grant cried. He dove toward Mrs. McGrath, trying to protect her. “Keep your head covered!” he cried. “Keep down!”

“It’s all right,” Mrs. McGrath panted. “I’m not hurt.” She took her hands down from her ears as the house fell silent. “I’m fine. But let’s hope that’s the last trick Frank Thompson ever plays.”

“Let’s hope so!” Grant said. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

A few hours later, Jason and Grant prepared to leave. They were happy to say that the house had been quiet.

“Are you sure you feel okay staying here?” Jason asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Mrs. McGrath reassured him. “This is my house. I’m staying.”

“We’ll keep in touch,” Jason said. “Please let us know if anything else happens.”

“And be careful,” Grant added.

“I will. I promise.”

“I just got off the phone with Mrs. McGrath,” Grant said a week later. “Everything is back to normal. She said she repeated her message to Frank for a couple of days, just for good measure. But after the lightbulb explosions, all the activity in the house has stopped.”

“I’m glad to hear everything worked out,” Jason said. “I have to say I think Mrs. McGrath was a pretty cool client.”

“You can say that again,” Grant agreed at once. “She actually said she thought it was a good thing all those old lightbulbs got broken. It gave her the chance to go out and buy those new, longer-lasting, more energy-saving ones!”

“Do you think the spirit in that house really was Frank?” Jason asked.

Grant shook his head. “We’ll probably never know. But whoever it was, I think we helped it move on.”

“What’s up next?” Grant asked.

“Boy, you sure believe in getting right to the
point,
don’t you?” Jason said.

“Ouch!” Grant said with a laugh. “Don’t mention anything pointy or sharp to me for a while, okay?”

“
D
on’t stick around. Don’t stay in the lighthouse after dark.”

Pete Abernathy stood at the base of the St. Augustine Lighthouse. He looked up.
Right,
Pete thought.
As if I have a choice. I
have
to go into the lighthouse. It’s my job.
The lighthouse was so tall, he had to lean backward to see the top. The surrounding park was closed for the night. Pete had already checked everyplace else—visitor center, restrooms. There was only one place left to lock up for the night: the lighthouse itself.

It was the one place he didn’t want to be after dark. But now it was dark, and Pete didn’t have a choice. He was the caretaker at the lighthouse. Going into the lighthouse after dark was his
job—his first real job. What difference did it make if he was afraid?

Okay, make that totally freaked out.

Get moving,
he told himself.
The sooner you go in there, the sooner you can come back out.

Besides, old Mack, the caretaker who trained Pete, didn’t say not to go
into
the lighthouse after dark. He only said not to stick around. No way was Pete going to stick around.

The St. Augustine Lighthouse wasn’t a working lighthouse anymore. It was now like a park. Lots of tourists visited the site, but only during the day. It was scarier at night.

He opened the heavy door and stepped inside. It was cool inside the lighthouse. Everything on the bottom level looked fine. There were exhibits explaining the history of the lighthouse. The big panel of light switches was right by the front door. For a moment, Pete was tempted just to turn them off and go right back out the door.

He didn’t, though. He had to be sure that he was the only living soul in the St. Augustine Lighthouse. He walked to the spiral staircase and began to climb.

One hundred and forty feet up. Round and round and round. Pete’s feet clanged against the metal steps. His footsteps echoed inside the great hollow tube of the lighthouse.

Nine landings until the tenth level at the very top. Pete knew because he counted them every time he climbed the stairs.

Almost there,
he thought. He passed the ninth landing. Everything was quiet. Everything was still.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?
Pete thought.
Because,
his mind answered.
Because sometimes I hear things.

Pete forced himself not to think about those sometimes. Right now, it was quiet. Everything was just the way it should be.

Five minutes later, Pete was at the top of the lighthouse.

Quickly, he made a turn around the big light. It wasn’t on, of course. It was just for display now. Then Pete headed for the door that led to the observation platform outside. Going out onto the narrow deck was Pete’s least favorite part of locking up.

But he had to do it. He had to make sure nobody was out there. He stepped outside and walked along the deck, which circled the very top of the lighthouse. He was so high up that he was afraid to look down.

But it was all clear.

Pete breathed a sigh of relief. There was nobody in the lighthouse but him. He could go back down.

He stepped back inside. He locked the door to the observation deck and gave the padlock an extra tug. Just yesterday, when Pete opened up in the morning, he found the padlock unlocked. And Pete was
absolutely sure
he’d locked it the night before.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
His footsteps echoed on the metal stairs as he hurried down.

Too fast. Don’t go too fast,
he thought.

If he went too fast, he might lose his balance and fall. Pete clutched the curving rail, trying to steady himself. All of a sudden, he felt dizzy. He imagined himself falling—tumbling down, his screams echoing through the lighthouse.

Keep on going. Keep on going. Don’t look down.

Five landings above him, four below. Pete was more than halfway down now. All he had to do was keep going. Keep looking straight ahead. It was a quiet night.

“Help me…”

There were just two words. No more than a whisper of sound. But Pete heard them, clear as the sound of a bell. The sound came drifting down from the top of the lighthouse—where he’d been standing just a few moments before. Impossible. He had just checked, and he knew for sure that no one was there.

No,
he thought.
Not again. Not tonight!

Pete began to run.

Clang. Clump. Clang. Clump.

His feet pounded on the metal stairs. He was taking them two or three steps at a time. Pete’s fingers slid along the rail as he bounded down the stairs. He no longer cared about falling. All he cared about was getting out of the lighthouse.

Don’t stick around… Don’t stay in the lighthouse after dark. That’s what Mack had said.

Two more landings to go now.

“Help me!”
the voice above Pete cried once more.
“Help me!
Help me! Help. Help. HELP!”
The voice got louder. Did that mean it was getting closer?

And then, finally, Pete reached the bottom. He was going so fast that he couldn’t stop himself. He skidded off the stairs and crashed into the curved wall of the lighthouse. Pain shot through Pete’s shoulder. He ignored it and kept on going. He ran straight to the door.

Beside the door was a panel of switches that controlled the lights. Pete seized the handle of the door with one hand and yanked it down. He swept his other hand across the switches, turning them all off at the same time.

“HELP ME!”
the voice in the lighthouse screamed.

Pete pushed on the door with all his might. And then he was outside. Staggering out into the cool autumn air. The door closed with a crash behind him.

Pete stood for a moment, sucking air, leaning against the door to the lighthouse. In front of him, he could see the path that led to his cottage. The path was made of oyster shells. They glowed an eerie white in the darkness.

Like bones,
Pete thought. He shuddered. He took two steps, then stopped cold.

High above his head, from the observation platform, came the sound of a woman crying. She was sobbing as if her heart would break.

That’s when Pete Abernathy began to run.

“So, we’re investigating a lighthouse. How cool is that?” Mike Hammond said.

“Extremely,” Jason answered with a smile. He gave Grant a poke on the arm. Grant was driving one of the TAPS SUVs. Jason sat beside him, with Mike in the backseat. The three had been traveling all day, heading to St. Augustine, Florida.

“How soon till we get there?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, how much longer?” Jason chimed in.

“About another hour,” Grant said. “Hold your horses, guys.”

Mike laughed. “You sound just like my mom. She always did the driving on long car trips. And her favorite thing to say was…”

“ ‘Don’t make me stop this car!’ ” Mike, Grant, and Jason all said at exactly the same time. Then they all laughed.

“Okay, okay, enough road trip fun and games,” Grant said after the laughter died down. “Let’s get down to business and review what we have so far. That way, when we hit the lighthouse, we’ll be ready to roll.”