The Stroke of Winter(77)

The upstairs hallway was eerily quiet and empty, almost devoid of any sort of human presence, even their own. It was as though whatever was haunting the house had sucked the life completely out of it. As though death reigned there.

A mist seemed to be floating through the air, accumulating in corners, hanging at face height. It was so tangible Tess swished it away with her EMF, and sure enough, the device started clicking.

“There,” Grant whispered to Hunter, and the Scot trained his camera on Tess’s EMF. Tess felt the temperature drop and caught Grant’s eye. He confirmed it with a nod.

“Who are you?” he said. “What do you want from Tess?”

Wyatt held his voice recorder close to her.

The four of them looked at one another—nobody heard anything, except the clicking of the EMF. Tess thought it was deafeningly loud, as though it were coming from inside her own head.

Grant nodded his head toward the studio. Tess’s stomach knotted up. She knew, they all knew, the studio would be the epicenter of it all.

And that was where they found Jane.

She had covered the table in the main room with candles, which flickered in the darkness. Tess detected a pungent yet pleasing scent in the air. She guessed it was sage.

Jane was sitting in the middle of the floor, a ring of candles around her. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were moving slightly. It seemed that she was praying. Or whispering to the dead.

As the group walked into the room, Jane opened her eyes and smiled.

“I was just centering myself and the room,” she said. “Did you find anything?”

Grant nodded and motioned to Wyatt. “He got something on the recorder.” Wyatt rewound it and played the voice for Jane.

“No surprise there,” Jane said, reaching over and squeezing Tess’s hand. “This is your house. Of course you’re the focus of it.”

Grant had said as much before, but Tess didn’t like it any better now.

All at once, Tess heard a scratching sound. Not like the scratching from the studio. Electronic scratching. Like static.

And then, music wafted through the air, a faraway tune from long ago, from another time, another era.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy, when skies are gray

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away

She knew this song. Everyone did. Her father had sung it to her when she was a little girl. Most people thought of it as a sweet love song. But, for Tess, it was impossibly sad and even frightening. She had always hated it, even as a child.

But this wasn’t the upbeat version she knew . . . It was low and slow and threatening, as if each word were being growled out by a demon.

She looked around wildly at the others—they didn’t seem to hear it. Grant was fiddling with his meter. Hunter was saying something to Wyatt. Jane had taken one of the candles and was waving its smoke into the air.

Tess couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. And the air in the room seemed to be hazy, almost as if fog had descended around them. It was as though Tess had been pulled elsewhere, while also still remaining in this room.

Only Jane was looking at Tess. She said something, and then her eyes grew wide. Tess watched her mouth move. “Tess,” she said, but Tess didn’t hear that, either.

It was as though Jane were moving in slow motion. Or underwater. She motioned to the others, and they all turned to Tess, who could see them but could not communicate. She could not break whatever spell had fallen around her, captured her, ensnared her.

And then, the singing became louder. As though it were the only thing in the world, coming from inside Tess and outside of her and all around her. She dropped the devices she was carrying and put her hands over her ears. Wyatt grabbed both of her arms—Tess couldn’t feel that, either.

And then the next verse came, which she did not know and had never heard. It had confirmed what she had always thought about that threatening, terrible song.

I’ll always love you and make you happy

If you will only say the same

But if you leave me and love another

You’ll regret it all someday

Tess was overcome with an intense feeling of being trapped, as though she were in a box. Clawing to get out. She felt herself dropping to the floor. And then everything went black.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX



The next thing Tess knew, she was opening her eyes. She was flat on her back on the floor of the studio. Jane had knelt down beside her and was dabbing at her forehead with a cool cloth. Wyatt was on the other side, holding her hand.

“That’s right,” Jane said. “That’s the way. Come back to us now.”

Tess moaned. The back of her head was aching. “Did I faint?” she asked.

“Yeah, honey, you did,” Jane said, taking her hands and pulling her up to a sitting position. Tess’s head swam with vertigo.

“Whoa,” she murmured.

It was then she noticed all the lights were on in the room. Grant was blowing out the candles, and everyone had taken their headlamps off.

“Are we done?” Tess asked.

“Hell yes, we’re done,” Wyatt said.

“For today,” Jane added. “The ghost-hunting part, at least. Let’s regroup, hook the recorders up to the laptops, and see what we’ve got. But first, Tess, let’s talk about what happened to you.”