“Dr. Belgium, meet Aabir Gartzke, psychic medium, sensitive, and clairvoyant extraordinaire.”
Aabir stood and gave a theatrical bow. She was a tall woman with dark, Slavic features, her long black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Her dozens of silver and gold bracelets jangled as she moved, and the loose blouse she wore wouldn’t have been out of place on an eighteenth century gypsy.
“I have met you all already, in my dreams and visions. Detective Mankowski, how is Joan’s latest movie coming along?”
Tom played coy. “If you’re clairvoyant, shouldn’t you already know that?”
Aabir smiled. “Indeed. The writer acquiesced, changed the scene as instructed. Right now, your girlfriend is in the star’s trailer, discussing wardrobe. And Sara, no need to worry, my dear. Jack will be returned to you soon.”
“It doesn’t take a psychic to know that,” Sara said.
“Of course not. I could have easily gotten that through the court records. But you will be pleased to know that Jack is walking now. He’s doing well with his foster family, but he still has memories of you and misses how you used to sing to him.”
“I… I need to use the bathroom,” Sara’s voice cracked, and she began to walk off.
“Down that hallway,” Forenzi pointed, “third door on the right.”
“Sara?” Belgium began to go after her. But she stopped him by saying, “I’m fine, Frank, I just need a minute.”
“Dr. Belgium,” Aabir continued, “have your friends Sun and Andy told you yet they’re pregnant?”
He looked at his shoes. “No, they haven’t.”
“If it’s a boy, his middle name will be Frank. And it will be a boy.”
“Impressive, Ms. Gartzke,” Forenzi said. “Aabir’s skills have helped police find four missing children, and two murderers. But, like each of you, she is here at Butler House to face one of her greatest fears.”
“There are many kinds of spirits,” Aabir said. “Ghosts are the residual energy of human beings after they have died. Poltergeists are attached to particular locations. They reenact the same scene, again and again. Usually scenes of violence or death. But the last type of spirit is the dangerous one. The kind that has no earthly counterpart.”
“Demons,” Dr. Forenzi said, nodding.
“Demons are malevolent entities that feed on the energy of the living. I have encountered demons in the past. They are extremely dangerous. In some cases, they can even kill. Demons frighten me deeply.”
“You don’t seem frightened right now,” Tom stated.
Aabir put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin. “I performed a cleansing ritual on this room, so they can’t enter. But there are many demons in this house. I can feel them, like eyes on the back of my neck.”
Tom recalled how he was sure someone had been watching him while he was sitting at Roy’s desk, but no one had been there.
“Have you ever encountered a demon, Mr. Pang?”
“No, I haven’t,” said the Asian man sitting next to Aabir. He had broad shoulders and a compact frame, and a pencil mustache on his upper lip. “That’s because demons, like ghosts and poltergeists, don’t exist.”
“Woo-jin Pang runs a company that specializes in debunking paranormal activity.”
“Science has been unable to prove the existence of a spirit world.”
“Science also hasn’t been able to prove it doesn’t exist,” Aabir countered.
“It isn’t up to science to disprove a wild claim, bro. It is up to the person making the wild claim to show scientific evidence of it. If I say I have a leprechaun in my backpack, the burden of proof is on me.”
“And you’ve never encountered anything you can’t explain?”
“Of course I have. But not being able to explain a phenomenon doesn’t mean it should be automatically attributed to the spirit world. I was using my EMF meter at a client’s home two weeks ago—”
“Excuse me,” Tom said. “That’s the second time I’ve heard those initials. What’s an EMF meter?”
The ghost hunter rolled his eyes. “It tests for electromagnetic fields. Supposedly EMFs are disrupted by supernatural activity. It’s one of many tools used to measure conditions we can’t see, bro. So I was using the meter, and it kept spiking. We ruled out appliances, cell phones, fuse boxes, the air conditioning. We even killed the main power at the breaker. It still kept spiking.”
“And you’re saying that wasn’t a spirit?” Aabir asked.
“It wasn’t a spirit. There was a storm ten miles away. My equipment is so sensitive it was picking up lightning strikes.”
“Mr. Pang claims he’s never been frightened while doing paranormal research,” Forenzi said, smiling politely. “We’ll see if Butler House changes his mind.”
Pang crossed his arms over his chest. “If ghosts do exist and they’re here, I’ll find them.”
“And last,” Forenzi said, “but certainly not least, is perhaps the only person in the world more skeptical than Mr. Pang, bestselling author Cornelius Wellington.”
Cornelius Wellington was in his fifties, wearing a sweater vest, glasses, and a graying Van Dyke beard.
“Pleased to meet you all,” Wellington boomed. He pronounced all as awl, and sounded a lot like John Lennon. “I’m very much looking forward to the proceedings, Dr. Forenzi. I’m sure you have quite the little show concocted for us.”
Forenzi chuckled. “Mr. Wellington is known for his books that debunk the supernatural. Due to his certainty that spirits do not exist, he’s convinced I have turned Butler House into something akin to the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. Animatronic specters and people in masks jumping out to yell ‘Boo!’”
“I certainly hope so, Doctor. That will be exceedingly more exciting than sitting around waiting for ghosts to make contact.”
There was a booming knock on the front doors, and everyone turned to watch as one of the guards opened them up, revealing three people, two women and a man.
“Ah, the rest of our party has arrived.” Dr. Forenzi smiled so broadly Tom could see his molars. “And so it begins.”
Mal
Mal winced at the steak on the plate in front of him. It looked, and smelled, divine.
But try cutting filet mignon with only one hand.
The enormous banquet table everyone sat at was one of the original furnishings, according to Dr. Forenzi, who held court at the head of it. He’d been telling stories about the various ghosts said to haunt Butler House. They included:
Blackjack Reedy, a one-eyed slave master who roamed the hallways with a whip.
Sturgis Butler, who was charred to the bone and smelled like burnt pork.
Jebediah Butler, who floated from room to room on a puddle of his own blood, which constantly leaked from his flayed skin.
Ol’ Jasper, a slave with four arms who dragged a machete around. You knew he was close when you could hear the sound of him dragging his long blade across the floor.
The Giggler, a masked demon who would mutilate himself in order to instill fear.
Colton Butler, carrying his bag of ghastly surgical instruments, still trying to conduct his insane experiments upon the living.
Mal was only half-paying attention. His mood had brightened a little since the awful airport experience, mostly due to Moni Draper’s irrepressible personality. She talked nonstop about unrelated topics—what Mal referred to as diarrhea of the mouth—but was so upbeat and foul-mouthed that it was like watching a stand-up comic.
But Moni’s energy evaporated once they entered Butler House. As pleasant a host as Dr. Forenzi attempted to be, there was a very real and very bad feeling that hung in the air, like a blanket pressing down upon them all. Mal was nervous, boarding on paranoid. He was also hungry, and staring at the slab of meat before him made him depressed as well.
A moment later, his plate was switched with a steak already cut into pieces. He glanced at Deb, sitting next to him, and she was now busily cutting her new steak, not even acknowledging what she’d done.
“A wonderful set-up, Doctor,” Wellington said after patting his lips with a linen napkin. “So now, when we see one of your actors limping through the hallways with a satchel of scalpels, we’re supposed to be terrified. The power of suggestion leaves us more receptive to strange phenomenon, and more susceptible to accepting them.”