Ghost Hunt: Chilling Tales of the Unknown (13 page)

Jen shut the door to Casemate 11. Lyssa felt a little better, a little safer. She followed Jen across the field. All she wanted to do was get inside and warm up. But that face wouldn’t leave her mind. It was there in front of her every time she closed her eyes.

It was vivid in her mind. Because it wasn’t just a face. There was something in the man’s eyes—something terrifying.

But it happened so quickly. And the face was gone so fast, only a split second after she’d first seen it. The farther Lyssa got
from Casemate 11, the less sure she was of what she saw. Was it her imagination? Was it just strange shadows?

Or was it a ghost?

A week later, Lyssa and the rest of the TAPS team headed back to Fort Mifflin to share their evidence. Victor brought them into a room in the officer’s quarters and sat everyone around a table.

“So, what’s the final judgment?” he asked.

“This was a really interesting experience for us,” Jason said. “The fort has so much cool history, and we all caught some evidence of paranormal activity.”

Lyssa listened as Mark described his own experience. “In the dungeon, my brother and I heard a noise that sounded like a person shivering. It was very cold that night, you’ll remember. We then caught an image of what looked like a man warming himself by the fireplace on the IR camera. But there was no one else in the room—and no fire in the fireplace.”

Mike pointed out the image of the man on the screen to Victor.

“And when we were in Elizabeth Pratt’s bedroom,” Grant joined in, “both Jason and I heard this—”

He hit play on the audio recorder in front of him.

After a minute Victor rocked back in surprise. “It sounds like a little girl,” the caretaker said. “It sounds like she’s calling out ‘
Mommy!
’ ”

“That’s what we thought too.”

Grant looked at Lyssa, urging her to tell what she saw.

Lyssa cleared her throat. She was no longer totally sure she had seen that face. She knew very well that investigators had often been fooled. Sometimes they reported seeing faces, but the faces turned out to be just random patterns.

She started with the easy part. “In Casemate 11, I was able to capture sounds of someone crawling with my video camera. When I examined the video back at our headquarters, I was able to see strange moving shadows that matched the sounds.

“And there was something else,” Lyssa went on. “I saw the face of a prisoner staring at me.”

Victor sat up straight. “Do you have video of that too?”

“No, unfortunately I don’t. I was too startled to get to the camera in time.”

“By any chance, did the man have a mustache?” Victor asked.

Lyssa shuddered. “Yes, he did! How did you—”

“I didn’t want to influence your investigation before it even started, so I didn’t say anything. But Casemate 11 held a prisoner named William H. Howe. He was our most famous inmate.
He wrote to President Lincoln on several occasions asking for a pardon. A real nasty guy.”

“What did he do?” Mark asked.

“He was found guilty of murder,” Victor said.

Lyssa felt sick hearing that. No wonder the man looked as if he wanted to kill her. He was a murderer!

“William Howe was kept in Casemate 11 until he was executed,” Victor explained. “We have a picture of him in the archives. He had a big mustache.”

Lyssa nodded. “That sounds like the man I saw.”

“That’s really amazing,” Jason said. “We think with all our evidence, and especially with the history of Casemate 11 and Lyssa’s sighting, we can safely call Fort Mifflin haunted.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to shut this place down,” Grant added. “It’s a great historical site. And the paranormal activity going on is what we call a residual haunting. These ghosts don’t mean you any harm. In fact, they probably don’t even know you’re here. They are just so attached to this place, they can’t leave. So they do the same things over and over.”

“One thing, though,” Lyssa said. “I’d have second thoughts about allowing visitors to go down into Casemate 11. I think William H. Howe might be better off left alone.”

^“
T
his is a really bad idea.”

Ten-year-old Jasmine Anderson tugged on the front of her T-shirt, twisting the end of it around and around. She always did this when she was scared.

Lately, she was scared a
lot
.

“I don’t want to go up to the attic,” she said now. “That’s where all the weird sounds started. Besides, we’re not supposed to. Mom said so.”

Her twelve-year-old sister, Tiffany, glared over her shoulder. The two were creeping up a steep and narrow set of stairs to the Anderson family attic. Tiffany first, then Jasmine. Usually, Jasmine hated it that Tiff always got to go first.

Not today, though.

“That was
before
,” Tiff said. “What are you, still scared? The TAPS team came, you know. Even they couldn’t find anything wrong.”

That’s true,
Jasmine thought.
Sort of.

The Ghost Hunters came last month. Mom called them because of the sounds: the bangs and the pounding. The thumps and the knocks. Sometimes the sounds were so quiet you could hardly hear them. Other times they were so loud you couldn’t hear anything else.

Jasmine had a theory about them. One she hadn’t shared with anyone else. She was sure there was a ghost.

Even so, nobody was more surprised than Jasmine when Mom actually called in TAPS for help. Mom said it was because she was at her wits’ end. She was afraid to go to sleep at night. And it was getting so bad she thought she heard sounds even when there weren’t any. Something had to be done.

The TAPS team came every week for a month. They put cameras and sound recorders all through the house. While Mom and Jasmine and Tiffany went to sleep, the team stayed up all night investigating the sounds. They came up with explanations for all of them. One by one.

One kind of banging was made by old water pipes in the basement. Another only happened when the heat went on. The one that scared Jasmine the most—the sound coming from the attic—was because of a loose shutter.

Mom made a “to-do” list. She got all the problems fixed. The sounds stopped. They hadn’t been back. Not for two whole weeks now.

But Jasmine still wasn’t convinced. She still thought there was a ghost somewhere in the house. Waiting for… she wasn’t sure what. But Jasmine
was
sure she did
not
want to go up into the attic. The attic was where the whole thing started.

There was no way she was telling all that to Tiffany, though.

If Tiffany knew Jasmine was scared, it would only make her sister want to do it more. Tiff was always daring Jasmine to do stuff she didn’t want to. And she never gave up. The fastest way to get Tiffany off her back about exploring the attic was to actually go there.

“Okay,” Jasmine said. “You win. But just for a minute.”

Tiffany smirked. “Right. Like you’re in charge.”

She turned around. The girls continued up. At the very top of the stairs was a door. Tiffany seized the big metal doorknob and turned it with a rattle.

Then she opened the door.

Squeeeaaak.

The door made a sound like fingernails on a blackboard as Tiffany pushed it open. Jasmine shivered. More than anything in the world she wanted to turn around and go back down those creepy, narrow stairs to the safety of her own bedroom.

If she did, Tiffany would never let her live it down.

She kept on going into the attic. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

It was worse.

How long since anyone came up here?
Jasmine wondered.

She didn’t know. The attic was off-limits for as long as she could remember.

I can see why,
Jasmine thought.

The attic was long and narrow. The steep slope of the roof made it hard to stand all the way up. The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. Even the tiniest movement made Jasmine feel like she had to sneeze. She covered her nose.

The only light came from a window at the far end, opposite the door. It was hard to see, but Jasmine thought she could pick out strange shapes pushed back into the corners of the room. Like somebody was trying to hide them.

Hanging down from the ceiling was a single lightbulb.

“There’s got to be a light switch,” Tiffany whispered. “Find it.”

“How come I have to be the one?” Jasmine hissed.

“Because,” Tiffany said. “I said so. Besides, I want to explore.”

“Tiff, wait!” Jasmine protested. But it was too late. Tiffany was already on her way across the attic, her footsteps stirring up the dust.

Jasmine reached out with her right hand and felt along the wall. A light switch was usually right by the door, wasn’t it?

Jasmine’s exploring fingers encountered something soft and sticky. She yanked her hand away with a sharp cry.

“Be quiet!” Tiffany hissed. She spun around. “Mom might hear you and then she—”

BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG!

Tiffany gave a squeal and sprinted back toward the door. Jasmine met her halfway. The two girls clung together as the noise continued.

BANG. BANG BANG!

It was right above their heads. Like someone was throwing enormous rocks onto the roof hard enough to shake the house. Dust rained down onto the girls’ heads.

“It’s not supposed to happen anymore!” Jasmine wailed. “Mom did everything they said to. That was supposed to make it stop!”

As if it heard her, the noises came again, louder than ever.

BANG BANG BANG BANG!

“Girls!” They heard their mother’s worried voice. “I can’t find you! Where are you?”

“Mom!” Jasmine shouted. “Mom, we’re up here! We’re in the attic.”

“Hold on,” their mother shouted. “I’m coming!”

Jasmine could hear her mother’s footsteps coming closer as she climbed up and up and up.
Run!
her mind said. But her legs refused to obey. They held her in place as if they were turned to stone.

She could hear the huff and puff of her mother’s breathing
now. A second later she saw her mother’s frightened face appear on the attic stairs. She was almost to the door.

“Mom,” Jasmine sobbed out. “Mom!”

BANG BANG!

Jasmine let go of Tiffany and covered her ears. The pounding was so loud. Mom was at the door now. She was reaching out toward them.

BANG!

There was a last burst of sound. Then, before Jasmine’s terrified eyes, the attic door slammed shut. She and Tiffany were trapped.

“Noooo!” Jasmine cried.

All of a sudden, her legs worked. She dashed to the door. She seized the doorknob with both hands and yanked with all her might.

The door flew open! Jasmine tumbled forward into her mother’s arms.

“I know what it is, Mom. I know what’s making the sounds,” she sobbed out. “It’s a ghost. It has to be. It has to be a ghost.”