Lure (23 page)

"We'll do what investigation we can without the night vision," Sam said.

"You ever try hunting ghosts with the lights on?" Shells asked, and a few people in the lobby turned to watch the scene as it unfolded. Michael didn't seem to care.

"We'll just have to do some audio work," Sam said, and Shells made an annoyed sound but didn't argue with her any further. Instead, she dialed a number on her phone and paced the floor while working up a good attitude. By the time someone answered her call, Sam wondered if they would ever get their illuminators, since Shells had worked herself into a frenzy. It seemed nothing irked Shells more than missing items and hold music. Sam made a note of that for future reference.

The digital audio recorder and flash cards were in good order, and the handheld camcorders were all working properly, which was progress at least. Sam laughed at herself while checking out the new equipment. For years, she'd resisted new technology, but this new quest for evidence of the paranormal had required her to become familiar with the tools of the trade. Now she found she actually enjoyed tinkering with gadgets; something she wouldn't admit to Shells, since she would never hear the end of it. Still, she couldn't help smiling as the tri-field meter registered trace amounts of electromagnetic energy around the reception desk.

"You ever get creeped out when working the desk?" Sam asked Michael.

"All the time," he said. "Especially when Shells is around."

Sam laughed, and Shells gave him the finger without ever pausing in her ranting tirade against the customer service person.

"Listen here,
Bob
, or whatever the hell your name is. I don't know what the custom is in your country, but in the US of A, the customer is always right. Now which one of us is the customer? That's right,
Bob
. I am. Now that we have that cleared up, how soon can you send my four new IR illuminators?"

Sam laughed and Michael shook his head. "You know, you could take all this back to your rooms and handle this in privacy instead of involving all of my customers."

"You signed for it, Mikey," Shells said. "You're just gonna have to deal with it."

Michael just held his hands up in front of him in surrender. "Whatever you say, Michelle."

Greg had been taking a drink of soda, and Michael's comment sent brownish foam shooting from his nose.

Shells paused long enough to cast them both a scathing look, "Bite me, O'Greg. And that goes for you, too, Mikey Mike."

Sam just loaded the equipment back into the mangled box, while Michael and Greg simultaneously gave Shells the finger. It seemed a bit inappropriate, but a few of the other customers seemed to find it amusing while Shells just shook her ass for them while she walked and talked.

Not long after, the group convened in Sam's room. The cleaning crew was just leaving and cast them strange glances as they past.

"Sorry about the sheets," Greg said. "She's a filthy little bitch."

The cleaning ladies practically ran down the hall to get away from them.

"Good one," Shells said, and Maddie smiled in agreement.

"I guess I'm going to have to leave them a tip," Sam said, slightly embarrassed.

"I got a tip for ya, right here," Shells said with her best New Jersey, Italian accent.

"Shut up, Shells," Sam said.

* * *

In near complete darkness, Sam sat with her legs crossed, only the LED on the audio recorder providing any light. The video recorders were tucked away, useless in the darkness without the infrared illuminators.

"Can you give us a sign of your presence?" Sam asked the darkness around her, knowing full well that there were spirits in this hotel; even if they had thus far remained illusive, except times when Sam wasn't prepared to capture evidence of their presence.

"We just want to understand who you are and what you are doing here. Speak into this device I'm holding and we should be able to hear you, but please speak loudly." Silence greeted her requests, and only the occasional creak of the Inn broke the silence.

"I know you're here. Please do something to let us know you are here. Move something. Make a noise. Anything."

For a moment, there was no response, but then Sam heard a low popping sound followed by what sounded like a hiss.

"Was that you?" Sam asked. "Did you guys hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything," Shells said.

"I heard something," Greg said. "It sounded like-oh, damn! Aw, man. What the hell is that?"

Shells giggled.

"Oh, man," Greg said. "It smells like a falafel crawled up your ass and died!"

"Falafel doesn't crawl," Shells said.

"Well something sure as hell did."

"C'mon," Sam said. "If you make a noise, you have to tag it; otherwise you're just corrupting the audio."

"Oh she's corrupting more than that," Greg said. "We've now got a serious air quality issue in this joint."

"This is Maddie's first investigation, and I don't want her to think this is all just a joke. Sorry, Maddie. This really is serious business; it's just that sometimes the rest of the crew has a hard time keeping their immaturity in check."

"I understand," Maddie said. "Though I think it might not be a bad idea to open a window. It really does smell like someone ate a dog with gas."

"Seriously, y'all are gonna hurt my feelings," Shells said. "It ain't all that bad. Oh, wait, damn; open a window, y'all, that's pretty foul."

"OK. We can air the room out, but then it's back to serious investigation," Sam said. "There really is something going on here, and I want to find out what it is. I saw an apparition in this very room, and that's just not something that happens every day."

"You were drunk," Shells said.

"Maybe we should have a few drinks," Maddie said.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Sam said.

"Sorry," Maddie said. "I was just thinking maybe we should recreate the situation."

"I'm not so sure that's such a good idea," Shells said. "Even if Greg has had his wheaties today, I'm not so sure I can listen to the O'Greg song again all night."

Greg didn't say anything, but a moment later Shells said, "Ow. Hey. Watch that!" And then she started giggling uncontrollably.

Sam flipped on the lights and saw Greg tickling Shells. Maddie shaded her eyes, "A little warning would've been nice."

"Sorry," Sam said as she opened the window and set the thermostat to high fan. A glance at the clock showed that it was approaching 1am. "What time was last call at the bar?"

"One," Shells said.

"Alright," Sam said. "We haven't found anything the old fashioned way, so maybe we should see if this apparition only appears to those who are slightly inebriated."

"You have to admit," Shells said, "that story would be a lot more fun to tell, and Mikey'll make a fortune at the bar."

"You know he really doesn't like to be called that, right?" Maddie asked.

"Yeah, I know," Shells said. "That's why I do it. It keeps him off balance. He's easier to manipulate that way. Don't you know anything about men?"

"A thing or two," Maddie said. "But I see your point. If you are mean to them most of the time, it makes them giddy whenever you're nice to them."

"You
ladies
realize I'm sitting here, right?" Greg asked.

"No worries," Shells said. "Knowing won't help you. It works anyway. If Maddie were to show you her goodies right now, you'd still start panting like a lap dog."

Maddie just nodded knowingly.

"Prove it," Greg said.

Obliging, Maddie lifted her shirt, and Greg's eyes opened wide.

"Told you," Shells said.

Greg just smiled. "Think what you will. I may have lost that argument, but I'm pretty sure I still won."

Shells ignored him. "If we're gonna get a good buzz on, then we'd better get to the bar. And try not to make any sudden turns there, O'Greg, you're liable to take out the good china."

"Yeah," Maddie said. "And if that thing lasts more than four hours, call a doctor."

"If that thing lasts more than four hours," Sam said. "Call
me
a doctor."

Only a few intrepid souls still sat at the bar, and the bartender saw them coming. "Only fifteen minutes until last call," he said.

"In that case," Shells said. "Make it a quadruple. I'm hunting a ghost that only appears to drunk people, and I'm aiming to catch that sucker."

"It doesn't look like a pink elephant does it?" a man at the bar asked. "I'm pretty sure I've seen that one."

"No," Sam said. "This one is more tall, dark, and gruesome."

"I'll stick with the pink elephants," the man said, though he did buy the next round.

"And I'm pretty sure this one can only be seen when laying down and panting," Shells added.

"That doesn't sound quite as bad," the man admitted.

"Here's to voyeur apparitions that like drunk people!" Maddie said. "Far be it from us to disappoint."

"Hmm. Perhaps you and I should investigate from my room," Shells said as she slid a little closer to Maddie.

"Hmm. Perhaps we should."

"Aw, yeah. That's right," Shells said, doing a little dance and sliding even closer to Maddie. "Maybe I'll have to get my O'Shells on."

Sam didn't say anything, though she was amazed by exactly how much alcohol the group was able to put away before last call; they had ordered more than most would drink in a night. If this ghost did require a blood alcohol level of 1.0, they were sure to meet the requirement.

* * *

"So did the ghost perv make an appearance last night?" Shells asked when the group gathered near the reception desk in the late morning.

"No," Sam said, wishing her shades were darker as the bright sunlight streamed through nearby windows.

"He must've been watching quietly," Shells said.

"Hey," Greg said. "If I were stuck here as a ghost, I can think of worse ways to spend my time."

"I'm surprised you could sleep at all up there," Michael said from behind the reception desk. "From all the noise complaints I got from the second floor, and people saying it sounded like the ceiling was going to cave in, I thought y'all were having to wrestle the ghosts during your
investigation
last night."

"Don't look at me. I'm smooth like creamery butter," Shells said. "That's right; once you've had butta you don't want no otha! You might want to check with the hammer over there; I'm pretty sure he was testing the build quality of your headboards last night."

"They are indeed of fine quality," Greg said.

"Well. I'm glad we have that mystery cleared up," Michael said, trying to keep from smiling, but Sam could see the mirth in his eyes.

"OK, Mikey. We need a different option for food today. I don't think fatback and livermush are going to do the trick this time. We need some heavy-duty hangover cure. What do you suggest?"

"Barbecue."

"You mean like barbecue chicken?" Shells asked. Michael just looked back with one eyebrow raised. "Or maybe you mean like Sloppy Joes, like barbecue beef or something? Burgers on the grill? What you talkin' 'bout, Willis? You know I'm a strict vegan, right?"

"Strict might not be the term I would use," Greg said under his breath. Sam and Maddie both snickered but Shells pretended not to hear them.

"Just go back into Chimney Rock and look for a place called Duncan's. If you're looking for a vegetarian option, maybe you could try the hushpuppies."

"Hushpuppies, eh?" Shells said. "Sounds like they're made of meat and the tears of little kids. That ain't cool. Do they have a salad bar?"

"I think so," Michael said.

"Alright," Shells said. "Y'all can get some hot dogs off the barbecue and I'll get some of those non-vegan sounding hushpuppies. Let's go."

Michael shook his head but didn't say anything else.

After piling into Sam's car, the group made their way into Chimney Rock. Looking up, Sam recalled their flight from the park and reconsidered the wisdom of coming in her car. As they passed Arrowheads, she had to wonder again about the man who worked there. She assumed he was the owner, but she really had no evidence to back up her hunch. Too many of the things going on here could not be corroborated, and there was no real evidence that anything unusual was going on. Her training as a cop told her that she had nothing, but there was a feeling in her gut that wouldn't be denied. And though a lot of cops acted on feelings in their guts, it was a practice that was often frowned upon and rarely did anyone admit to it. For Sam, too much had changed in her life to rely on her old training, but it felt strange to keep acting on feelings alone. It was like walking in the dark and somehow knowing she was about to stub her toe. It wasn't just the hangover that left a sour feeling in her stomach.

An eclectic collection of tourists crowded the narrow valley floor that was lined with shops, cafes and restaurants. Bikers walked alongside yuppies and rednecks, and Sam thought this might be one of the strangest places she'd ever visited. It was a friendly place, no doubt, but its identity seemed to shift and change like the fluffy clouds that hung overhead. Like some strange cross between a beach town, ski resort, and Sturgis, Chimney Rock and Lake Lure were destinations like nowhere else Sam had ever been. The place was really starting to grow on her. The thought of returning to the flatlands of New Jersey was sounding less and less appealing, despite the fact that she would kill for a good cheesesteak, calzone, or sausage sandwich—things she had yet to find. The thoughts of food made her stomach growl.