Ghost Town (2 page)

Tonya glanced at a small display table by the front door. A number of books were stacked there, with cheesy titles such as
Taverns of Terror
and
Insidious Inns,
a few sitting propped up the better to show their covers. A small sign enclosed in a clear plastic holder announced that the books' author, Trevor Ward, would be signing at Esotericon the next day. From what Tonya understood, this Trevor guy was a former boyfriend of Jenn's. So maybe she was more into the paranormal than she let on. Or maybe she just had a soft spot for ex-lovers.

Not that Jenn's feelings for Trevor had kept her from setting up a larger display for another writer attending Esotericon. Arthur Carrington, who was also signing the next day, was so famous that even Tonya knew who he was. His books had lurid titles such as
The Horror of Mount Pleasant, Darkness Within and Without,
and
Shattered Innocence: The Haunting of Sarah McKenzie
. Tonya had never read any of his stuff, but a lot of the kids she had known back in high school had devoured his books. From what Jenn had told her, Carrington was in town not only for the conference but also to film a documentary about Exeter. That would be good publicity for the town, Tonya supposed, but it would probably draw even more weirdos.

Tonya had to admit this was a decent job, though, weirdos and all. Jenn was a nice woman and a fair boss, and working there sure beat the hell out of sweating through stressful shifts as a fast-food wage slave, as too many of her friends did. And to be honest, most of the time, working at the store wasn't too bad. Things just got weird during Dead Days, that's all. But she knew the antidote to
that: watching sad movies and enjoying Ben & Jerry's ice cream—assuming the other girls hadn't eaten it all before she got there.

Tonya started toward the rear of the store. Jenn had the place rigged so that all the lights in the building could be controlled by a main switch by the back entrance, something Tonya really appreciated. Although she viewed herself as a strict rationalist, she sometimes got a little creeped out when working alone. And while she would never admit it to anyone, the idea of having to go from room to room turning off all the lights before she could leave did not appeal.

She was walking past the register when she heard a soft thump behind her. The sound made her jump, and she spun around to see what had made it. She scanned the store, heart pumping in her ears, but she saw nothing. She let out a shaky breath and forced a smile.
Just your imagination,
she told herself.

Then she saw the book lying on the floor.

She had heard the expression about the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, but until that moment, she had never experienced the sensation. But she did then, and accompanying it was an almost overwhelming feeling that she should forget about the book, turn around, and get the hell out of the store as fast as she could. She almost did, too, went so far as to slide her left foot to the side and begin pivoting her body to turn. But she stopped herself. A book had fallen off the shelf, that was all.

She walked over to the book and knelt down to pick it up. But she froze with her hand inches away from the cover. It was one of the books the middle-aged creeper in the
Ghostbusters
outfit had left behind:
Spectral Encounters.

She had been in too much of a hurry when reshelving it, and it had slipped and fallen to the floor, that's all. No big mystery. Still, it took her a few seconds to work up the courage to touch the book, and when she did, she half expected to find it suffused with an unearthly cold. But it felt normal. She smiled and shook her head.
She had been working at Forgotten Lore too long. Maybe the next day, she should give Jenn her two weeks' notice and start looking around for another job. Something on campus, maybe.

She picked up the book, replaced it on the shelf, and made sure it was firmly in place before turning and walking away. This time, when she walked by the cash register, she heard
two
thumps. She stopped, adrenaline surging through her chest, and she began to shake.

She turned around and saw that two more books had fallen off the shelves. She didn't have to walk over to them to know their titles:
A Grimoire for the Beginning Warlock
and
Pets from Beyond
. The other two books Mr. Ghostbuster had left.

Tonya gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists as she attempted to make herself stop trembling.
I won't run,
she thought.
I won't!

Music drifted from her cell phone as another text message arrived, the sound startling her and making her let out a little bleat of fear. It was just one of the girls wondering what was taking her so long, she told herself—and probably asking her to stop off on the way and pick up more ice cream. She slipped her phone out of her back pocket and checked the message.

“Yes, you should run. Now.”

There was no sender indicated.

Before she could react, books burst off shelves throughout the store, but instead of falling to the floor, they circled through the air, as if caught in a swirling windstorm. Tonya gaped in shocked disbelief as she found herself at the center of a maelstrom of flying books, their covers open and spread out like wings.
This can't be real,
she told herself. She was having some sort of hallucination, maybe a stroke. No, she was too young for that. Maybe it was an elaborate practical joke. Dead Days pranks were common in Exeter this time of year, although she had never heard of one this complex. Maybe the town's business leaders faked paranormal
events in order to boost tourism. But she couldn't see Jenn going along with something like that, and even if for some reason Jenn had set it up, what good would it do to have it happen so close to closing time? Even if Tonya hadn't locked up early, there probably wouldn't be any customers there. Who else but her would see the flying books?

Jenn couldn't be responsible for this. But who . . . ? Then it came to her. There was a film crew in town, working on some kind of documentary about Exeter. They'd probably set this up, most likely as a “dramatic re-creation” of some supposedly true paranormal event. They'd probably put hidden cameras in the store so they could capture her unrehearsed reaction to their idiotic special-effects show. It was a shitty thing to do, but . . . Then she realized. There were no strings or wires holding the books aloft. Some kind of hologram, maybe? The books looked solid enough, but with the right technology, you could make anything seem real these days. Of course, why someone would spend a ton of money installing holographic projectors in a rinky-dink bookstore—and where they'd conceal the damned things—was beyond her. But that wasn't important right then. What
was
important was proving that it wasn't real.

Slowly, she extended a shaking hand forward into the whirling mass of books.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Tonya congratulated herself on exposing the flying books as fakes. But then a hardback edition of Montague Summer's
The Vampire: His Kith and Kin,
slammed into the back of her hand, and she cried out in surprise as much as pain. She cradled her throbbing hand to her chest, and without thinking, she took a step back from the mass of books streaking in front of her. Unfortunately, this put her directly in the path of those books flying behind her, and bright light flashed behind her eyes as a pair of volumes smacked into the sides of her head.

She fell to the wooden floor, but despite the fierce pounding in
her head, she managed to pull herself onto her hands and knees. She wanted to stand, wanted to run for the back door, and she tried. But her head hurt too much, she was too dizzy, and instead, she slumped onto her side. Books continued swirling around her, drawing closer with each pass they made. She covered her head with her hands, curled into a ball, and squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard a woman's voice then. Not Jenn. Someone she didn't recognize. It spoke a single word.

“Stop.”

Books began pelting her then—paperbacks and hardbacks—each one slamming into her over and over, striking and then darting away, only to dip back down and strike again. They continued smashing into her long after she was dead.

“No appetite this
morning?”

Amber Lozier gave Trevor Ward a questioning frown, and he nodded toward her plate. Trevor and Drew Pearson had both finished their breakfasts, but she had barely touched her scrambled eggs and wheat toast, although she was working on her third cup of coffee.

Drew answered for her. “Bad dreams.” He reached under the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Really?” Trevor sounded intrigued. “Regular bad dreams or, you know . . .” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “
Dreams?
”

The three of them were sitting in the dining room of Eternal Sleep Bed and Breakfast. Like those of so many businesses in Exeter, its name was designed to appeal to tourists drawn by the town's reputation as a paranormal hot spot. Amber was thankful that its interior didn't match its name. The house looked perfectly normal inside, which suited her just fine. Not that she would have been bothered by spooky décor, but given the sort of dreams she often had, the last thing she needed was any more fuel for the darker side of her imagination.

“Not everything is a paranormal experience,” she said. “Sometimes a dream is just a dream.” She paused. “Still, it
was
weird.”

Drew and Trevor gave her a look, and despite herself, she laughed.

“OK, my dreams usually are weird, but this one was stranger than most. It was about books.”

“Books?” Trevor sounded disappointed. “Doesn't sound all that weird to me.”

“They were flying, their covers spread out like wings. Dozens of them were circling around me.”

Trevor grinned. “I read somewhere that any dream that has flying in it is really about sex.” He looked at Drew. “Is that true?”

“That was Freud's interpretation, but dreams are far too complex for simple diagnoses like that. Besides, wait until you hear the rest of it.”

Amber continued. “The books started attacking, slamming into me over and over. It was one of the most painful and terrifying things I've ever experienced. I wanted to run away, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. The books knocked me to the floor, and I couldn't get up. They just kept hitting me over and over until everything went black.”

No one spoke for a moment after Amber finished. Finally, Trevor said, “You're right. That
is
weird.”

“There was something else.” She frowned as she tried to remember. “Right before everything went black, I heard a voice. A woman's voice, I think. I can't remember what she said, though.”

“The voice might not have said anything,” Drew pointed out. “It was just a dream. And even if the voice did say something intelligible, I doubt it was some cryptic message, full of meaning.”

Trevor scowled. “I thought what we experienced at the Lowry House had cured you of being such a skeptical buzzkill, Drew.”

Drew smiled. “Just because I'm now willing to consider paranormal explanations for strange events doesn't mean I think every bad dream is prophetic.”

“But to dismiss the possibility out of hand . . .”

Amber reached out and patted Trevor's arm to calm him.

“Don't mind Drew. He's a bit ambivalent about being here this weekend.”

Trevor looked at his friend. “Oh?”

Drew took a sip of coffee before speaking. Amber had been dating him long enough to know he did it to stall for a few seconds so he could gather his thoughts.

“I took yesterday off work so I could drive down here. When my supervisor asked why I wanted Friday off, I told her it was because I was presenting at a conference. She asked what conference.”

“Let me guess,” Trevor said. “She was less than thrilled to hear that you were presenting at an event called Esotericon.”

“Her exact words were, ‘Are you out of your mind?' ” Drew took another sip of coffee. “She wanted to deny my leave request, but I had too many vacation days saved up. She did, however, tell me that if I persist in associating with ‘pseudo-scientists and charlatans,' she would have to ‘reevaluate my relationship' with the hospital.”

Trevor had set up the presentation with the conference organizers several weeks ago, and he had invited Drew and Amber to join him. They were to talk about their experiences with the Lowry House, not least because Trevor wanted to do some prepublicity for the book he had written about what the three of them had gone through there, both as teens and as adults.

“I'm sorry about that,” Trevor said. “If I'd known it would cause you trouble at work, I wouldn't have asked you to present with me today.”

“Don't worry about it,” Drew said. “Dr. Flaxman has had it in for me ever since I was hired. She's the stereotype of the cold, unemotional clinician who views human beings as barely one step above lab rats. We've never gotten along, and ever since she was promoted to director of the ward I work on, she's been looking for an excuse to fire me.”

“Maybe so,” Trevor said, “but that doesn't mean you have to give in to her.”

“That's what
I
told him,” Amber said. She turned to Drew. “See? Trevor agrees with me.”

Trevor held up his hands. “Whoa! Hold up there! I'm thrilled that the two of you are an item, but I don't want to get sucked into playing relationship referee for you guys. Just think of me as Switzerland: I don't take sides.”

Amber laughed, and Drew smiled.

“We'll do our best to respect your neutrality,” Drew said. “But I wasn't about to let Dr. Flaxman bully me. That sort of behavior shouldn't be rewarded.” He finished his last sip of coffee and put the cup down on the table.