The Shape of Night(65)

“But I want to, Ava. Who wouldn’t want to believe there’s an afterlife, that there’s something beyond death? But where’s the evidence? No one can prove there’s a ghost in that house.”

I pull out my cellphone. “Maybe there’s someone who can.”





Twenty-Five


Ben may be a skeptic, but he’s curious enough to be at my house Saturday afternoon when Maeve arrives along with her ghost-hunting team.

“This is Todd and Evan, who’ll handle the technical aspects tonight,” she says, introducing the two burly young men who are unloading camera gear from a white van. They are brothers with identical red beards and they look so much alike that I can only tell them apart by their different T-shirts. Evan’s is Star Wars, Todd’s is Alien. I’m surprised that neither is wearing Ghostbusters.

A VW comes up the driveway and parks behind the white van. “And that’ll be Kim, our team sensitive,” says Maeve. Out of the VW emerges a stick-thin blonde with cheeks so hollow that I wonder if she has recently suffered an illness. She takes a few steps toward us and suddenly stops, staring up at the house. She stands motionless for so long that Ben finally asks, “What’s going on with her?”

“She’s fine,” says Maeve. “She’s probably just trying to get a feeling for the place and detect any vibrations.”

    “Before we unload everything, we’re going to take a look around the house, film some baseline footage,” says Todd. He’s already filming and he slowly pans his camera across the porch, then steps into the foyer. Glancing up at the crown molding, he says, “This house looks pretty old. There’s a good chance you’ve got something still lingering in here.”

“Is it okay if I just wander around?” says Kim.

“Of course,” I tell her. “The house is yours.”

Kim heads down the hallway, followed by the two brothers who continue to film. When they’re out of earshot, Maeve turns to Ben and me and confides: “I haven’t told Kim any details about your house. She’s coming in to this assignment blind, because I don’t want to influence her reactions in any way.”

“You called her your team sensitive,” says Ben. “What does that mean, exactly? Is that like a psychic?”

“Kim has the ability to sense energies that still linger in a room, and she’ll tell us which areas need special monitoring. She’s been amazingly accurate.”

“And how exactly does one judge accuracy?” This time, Ben can’t keep the doubt out of his voice, but Maeve smiles, unruffled.

“Ava tells me you’re a medical doctor, so I’m sure this sounds like a foreign language to you. But yes, we’re able to confirm a great deal of what Kim tells us. Last month, she described a deceased child in very specific detail. Only later did we show her the child’s photo, and we were blown away by how every detail matched what she’d described to us. Everything, right down to the lace collar on the little boy’s shirt.” She pauses, reading Ben’s face. “You’re doubtful.”

“I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“What would it take to convince you, Dr. Gordon?”

“Maybe if I saw a ghost myself.”

“Ah, but some people never do. They’re simply not able to. So what can we do to change your mind, short of having the ghost materialize in front of you?”

    “Does it really matter what I believe? I’m just curious about the process, and I wanted to observe.”

Kim reappears in the foyer. “We’d like to go upstairs now.”

“Have you sensed anything yet?” Ben asks.

Kim doesn’t answer, but simply starts up the stairs with Todd and Evan trailing behind her, their cameras recording the ascent.

“How many of these investigations have you conducted?” Ben asks Maeve.

“We’ve visited around sixty or seventy locations, mostly in New England. When people experience disturbing phenomena, whether it’s just creaky floorboards or full-body manifestations, they don’t know where to turn. So they reach out to us.”

“Excuse me?” Evan calls down from the upstairs landing. “There’s a door at the end of the hall up here. Can we look inside?”

“Go right ahead,” I answer.

“The door’s locked. Can we have the key?”

“It can’t be locked.” I head up the stairs to the second floor, where Kim and her colleagues are standing outside the closed door to the turret.

“What’s behind this?” asks Kim.

“It’s just a staircase. It’s never locked. I don’t even know where the key is.” I turn the knob and the door creaks open.

“Hey man, I swear it was locked,” Todd insists. He turns to his brother. “You saw it. I couldn’t get the thing open.”

“It’s the humidity,” says Ben, providing a logical explanation as usual. He leans in to examine the doorjamb. “It’s summertime, and wood tends to swell up. Doors get stuck.”

“It’s never been stuck before,” I say.

“Well, if it is your ghost at work, why is he trying to keep us out of the turret?”

Everyone looks at me. I don’t answer. I don’t want to answer.