Spirit Legacy (19 page)

“I don’t know. I was asleep. My roommate took some initiative and played detective,” I admitted.

“Oh. I haven’t met this girl, but I think I like her!” he said. Then he turned back to the waiting team. “Okay, everyone, fan out. Dan, let’s go lights out.”

Chapter 14—Shadows Come Out to Play

Chapter 14—Shadows Come Out to Play

T
he library was plunged into darkness.
I stayed where I was until my eyes began to adjust and the black receded to shades of grey, helped along by the dim light of the monitors. Flashlight beams cut swathes of visibility and bounced along as pairs headed toward their assigned locations.

“Ready, Ballard?” Pierce asked. His voice was calm on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of excitement bubbling beneath it.

“Ready as I’m gonna be,” I said as stoutly as I could. I was very glad to be paired up with him instead of someone I barely knew.

We walked slowly and carefully in the direction of the main staircase. The circulation desk looked particularly creepy as the flashlight beams rippled across it. I had an unexpected flash of childhood memory of the phantom librarian from an old VHS tape of the movie
Ghostbusters
that I’d watched until it wouldn’t rewind anymore, and had to suppress a slightly hysterical giggle. Luckily, Pierce didn’t notice. He had begun a thermal sweep, panning the camera back and forth across the path in front of us.

We ascended the staircase, the ancient wooden banister creaking ominously as we leaned on it. It was easy to see how people could get freaked out even in buildings devoid of ghosts. Shadows played tricks on our eyes, shapeshifting and darting in the wavering beams from our flashlights. Every little sound was enough to make me jump. I stayed just behind Pierce, letting him lead the way.

When we finally arrived in the wide, tiled hallway at the top of the stairs, Pierce stopped so abruptly that I almost walked right into him. He swept the entire area slowly from right to left with the thermal camera, and then holstered it onto his belt. He pulled out an EMF detector identical to the one Iggy had used on me. He turned and pointed it at me like I was some TV program he wanted to mute. A slow grin spread over his face.

“Iggy’s right, you are an EMF factory!”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Pierce said, and turned away from me. “Do me a favor and stay at the top of the stairs, would you? You’ll contaminate my field.”

“Right,” I said, trying not to be offended.

“And if you, y’know, sense anything or see anything, just let me know,” Pierce added.

“Yeah, about that. Is there something special I should be doing?”

Pierce turned back around. “Just do what you did in class with the doll and the other objects we tested. Just try to clear your mind and be receptive. If there’s anything here, it’s likely to come to you.”

I stood in my assigned location and tried to clear my mind, but it wasn’t easy to do with Pierce creeping around like a cat-burglar. It was much more interesting to watch him at work, so that’s what I did. When he had walked the entire perimeter of the space and returned to where I was standing, he pocketed the EMF detector and sighed.

“It’s reading pretty flat right now. Why don’t we try an EVP session?”

I pulled the recorder from its spot, safely wedged in my back pocket. I held it out for Pierce to take, but he shook his head.

“Why don’t you take lead on this, Ballard? Just remember to slate the day, time, location, and team members present before you start.”

“Okay,” I replied uneasily. I’d heard the slating done on the other recordings we’d heard in class. I knew it was done to help organize and pinpoint activity. I was pretty sure I could handle that much.

I walked to the middle of the room and plopped down on the area rug. Setting the recorder on the ground in front of me, I pressed the record button and watched the little red light flash to life.

I took a deep breath. “Investigation of the Culver Library, March twenty-ninth. Location is the second floor, foyer. Dr. David Pierce and Jessica Ballard investigating. It is eleven-oh-seven pm. EVP session starting now.” I looked over at Pierce and he smiled approvingly.

After a brief pause I asked, “What is your name?”

My voice echoed a little against the austere wainscoting and vaulted ceiling. I waited a few seconds to allow for a response, just like Pierce had taught us.

“How long have you been here?”

Silence.

I reminded myself that it was to be expected; the very nature of an EVP meant that we wouldn’t hear it until we played back the tape. Still, I felt a little silly as I continued.

“How did you die?”

I listened intently. And then, a small cold breeze brushed the back of my neck.

Gasping, I whipped my head around and stared into the blackness. I couldn’t see anything.

“Ballard, what happened? Did you hear something?” Pierce hissed.

“No, I … it was just a draft, I think,” I said. But no draft had ever made my heart leap into my throat like that. I clutched the back of my neck protectively with my hand. The hairs were raised and the skin was covered with goosebumps.

“Do you need me to come over there?”

“No, I’m okay,” I said, and I was. My fear, surprisingly, had given way to curiosity. Had that been a draft, or something else?

Collecting myself, I asked my next question. “Did you just breathe on the back of my neck?”

Nothing happened.

“Why are you still here?”

My question was followed by what was unmistakably a derisive laugh, silvery and clear, from just behind me. This time, I tried not to move, though my instincts were screaming at me to run. Pierce, who had not responded, obviously heard nothing. I couldn’t tell if I recognized the voice. Could it possibly be Evan? I didn’t think so. I took a deep steadying breath and said quietly to Pierce, “Have you got the camera?”

“Yeah. You want it?”

“No. Just do me a favor and take some pictures right now. Concentrate on the area behind me.”

I kept my eyes trained on the opposite wall, and sat very still. Trying to keep my voice from trembling, I asked, “Evan? Is that you?”

Another laugh, louder this time.

I frowned with concentration. This didn’t feel right, it didn’t sound like him. I kept my tone light. “Did I say something funny?”

Only the frantic clicking of the camera broke the silence. I could feel the air behind me growing colder by the second, as though I were standing with my back to an open freezer. My whole body grew chilled.

“Pierce, use the thermal!” I said. I heard Pierce fumbling to unholster the thermal camera, heard the beeping that meant it was turning on.

“Holy shit,” Pierce whispered. “Ballard, don’t move. It’s right behind you.”

“I
know
,” I hissed back. My breath formed a little puff of steam in front of me.

“I asked you why you’re still here!” I repeated.

I’ve been waiting for you.

The voice shivered right beside my ear, and I knew this wasn’t the voice I’d been longing to hear. This was someone else, someone I didn’t know.

§

“PIERCEY! PIERCEY! We got a hit on the basement level!”

Pierce yelped as Oscar’s gravelly voice shouted over the two-way radio on his belt. I scrambled in a panic up off the rug. The sound had scared the life out of both of us and, I realized a moment later, severed the communication with whatever had been behind me. I could sense right away that it was gone; the heat that had been sucked from the atmosphere came gushing back over me as though an invisible dam had been holding it at bay.

“Okay, Oscar, we’ll be right down,” Pierce said into his radio. Then he turned to look at me, his face aglow with excitement. “What happened just now?”

“Someone was answering my questions from right behind me.”

“Well, hell, I could tell
where
it was. Have a look at this.” Pierce waved me over and began fiddling with the camera.

“What, did you catch something?”

I peered over Pierce’s arm at the little digital camera screen. The image it displayed was of me just moments ago, cross-legged on the floor, mouth open in mid-sentence. Behind me was a strange white shape that looked eerily familiar. It was just like the shapes that had appeared in the Polaroid photo Sam took of me on my first day at St. Matt’s. But, unlike that photo, when the misty cloud had taken no identifiable shape, this time the cloudy form of a human figure crouched just behind me, the profile and limbs clearly defined, down to the fingers outstretched as though to caress the back of my head.

“Shit.”

“You said it,” Pierce whispered under his breath. He scanned through the images he had taken in rapid succession. It was like watching a flip book. The figure’s hand reached closer and closer toward me until the moment that the radio had gone off. At that moment the head of the figure had actually turned and looked directly at the spot where Pierce had been standing, as though the sound of the radio had only just alerted it to his presence. It was already fading away, the doorway behind it clearly visible.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, not in over three hundred investigations.” Pierce’s face was mirroring my own feelings. We had been very close to something and it had slipped through our fingers. He was clearly disappointed. I was somewhat relieved, and yet, now that the fear had passed I was exhilarated. The investigation had only just started. What would happen next?

The truth was, not much for a good long time. As Pierce had warned, real paranormal investigation was about one percent action and ninety-nine percent mind-numbing boredom.

Oscar’s “hit” on the basement level turned out to be nothing more than a well-concealed circuitry box that was making his EMF detector go haywire. When Pierce showed him what we’d captured upstairs, his jaw dropped.

“Why the hell didn’t you just ignore me?” Oscar asked. “Nothing we were getting could possibly have compared to that!”

“No point, old man. Your call scared it away, whatever it was,” Pierce replied. It was a testament to his affection for his mentor that he kept the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. Oscar looked appropriately ashamed at this news, and offered to head up with his equipment and blanket the area. Pierce let him, but I knew whatever was up there was gone. If it was going to show up again, I realized, it was going to be wherever I was.

Eager to review the footage further, Pierce suggested we head down to central command. The picture quality on the monitors was far superior to the tiny little camera screen, but the creep factor rose in proportion to the clarity of the image; by the time Dan had blown up the photos and fiddled with the contrast, I could barely look at it. Pierce, however, was eagerly analyzing and picking out details.

“The form seems male to me,” Pierce said, his finger tracing it on the screen. “The face seems almost to have a shadow here, like a beard or something.”

“The voice sounded male, too,” I said. “But if it’s male, what’s with the dress?”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. The bottom of the garment has a flowing shape to it, like a gown or a cape or something.”

“Or a robe,” Neil suggested, making me jump out of my skin again. He was right behind me, leaning over toward the screen.

“Seriously, stop doing that!” I cried, throwing my hands up. “Can’t you clear your throat or drag your feet or something? You’re like a goddamn ninja!”

“Pardon?” Neil asked, brow furrowed. Apparently he didn’t get my reference. Dan was snorting amusedly, but Pierce seemed not to have noticed the exchange. He was studying the picture further.

“A robe, huh? Yeah, I can see that,” he said.

“The shape of the sleeve supports it, too,” Neil continued, sliding into the seat beside Dan, and pointing with the tip of a pen. “It hangs down here, too wide for a typical shirt or coat. And see the slight bulge at the back? It looks like it could be a hood.”

“A robed figure in the library. Hmm. I guess that would make sense,” Pierce said.

“Um, how does that make sense? Why would anyone wear a robe in a library?” I asked.

Neil pulled a pile of files toward him and beckoned me over to him. “It makes sense because of the history of the library building itself. It is built on the site of an old monastery, so there is always the possibility that what you saw was the spirit of a monk, tied to the area from hundreds of years ago.”

Somehow, an ancient monk didn’t fit my vague perception of the presence that had spoken to me, but I listened. Anything was possible at this point.

“Or there was the Swords Brotherhood, which would be much more recent,” Pierce suggested, and then turned to explain before I could even frame the obvious question. “They were this secret society on campus, back at the beginning of the 1900’s, when the school was still an all-male institution. It was kind of like the Skull and Bones at Yale, a privileged fraternity of sorts. Not many records of its activities exist, but we know that it met in this building.”

“A secret society? Wow, I didn’t think this could get much weirder,” I murmured, but something about it fit. I was finally starting to understand what Pierce had meant all those weeks ago when he’d first spoken of the vague certainty of the sixth sense. I hadn’t seen the ghost with my own eyes, nor had he said anything to confirm or deny the idea of the Swords Brotherhood, but something in me was whispering that this was right. Instead of trying to ignore this whispering, I decided to start listening to it.

“Neil, you start going through those files and see if the photos can offer anything concrete on either possibility,” Pierce said.

“Focus on that brotherhood. That’s the right track,” I added.

Pierce turned to look at me. His expression was surprised, but pleased. “You feel confident about that, Ballard?”

I nodded solemnly.

“Good. Good for you.” Pierce unholstered his radio and called all of the teams back to central command to regroup. From the depths of the stacks, bouncing flashlight beams led the investigators back to us. Batteries were changed, equipment was swapped out, and memory cards were emptied with impressive efficiency onto Dan’s computers. Pierce decided to reorganize as we entered into the second phase of the investigation. We all chugged some of Pierce’s atomic blend coffee, but I didn’t feel particularly tired, despite the fact that it was now approaching three o’clock, a time Neil eagerly referred to as “the witching hour”.