Ghost Hunters, Pt. 38

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

Wendy reacted quickly, deciding before JD had his wits about him what she was going to do. She turned hard left, did a quick three-point turn that left Dillon tossed like a sock in a Laundromat dryer and JD clinging to the hanging handle over his door with both hands to keep from being jerked around the car. She went swiftly down the street, and noted the layout of the houses around them as she did.

"Look, JD! Look ... the houses -- they're all kinda set back or obscured by trees. In this neighborhood, he could've parked a truck and not even been noticed!"

"Uh -- y-yes, I see," JD stammered, nervous at how fast she was going. They rounded the gentle curve and he felt the pressure of the G-forces on him. She braked slightly and took the curve fast.

Panicking only slightly, JD checked quickly over his shoulder to make sure there wasn't any oncoming traffic immediately behind them. She roared the short distance to the house and pulled up so close to the curb, JD thought the car would skip its rims along the miniature concrete wall. Instead she brought them to a smooth and swift stop that left them pressed against their seat belts.

"Duuuuude," Dillon whispered. "If JD don't wanna marry you, Wen, I sure as hell do! That was hawt!"

She giggled and opened her door. "C'mon -- we can see this thing from the beginning. He parked the truck up the hill so they wouldn't see him when they got here. Why? Why would he do that? Come on, you guys, hurry up!"

"Uh ... o-okay," JD got out of the car, fighting with the buckle on the taut safety belt. Dillon slowly slid out of the car, and quickly checked himself.

"All the parts're still here ... guess I'm okay ... damn, that was hawt. I never knew driving like a maniac was so sexy 'til a chick did it. Heh."

"Try to focus, Dillon," JD said patiently. "Where are you going, Wen??"

"Come on! Hurry! I want to see him come in! What's he doing here, and why's he hiding!" She raced child-like through the gate and toward the parlor window, then changed direction and headed back toward the porch.

"Wendy, wait! You don't know where ..."

"It doesn't matter, lover! Come on, inside! We'll see him come in the window just like we did before!"

She was exuberant and wild, and JD found himself smiling despite the situation. He ran after her, trying to catch her, and she bounced eagerly on the porch, her hair springing from her shoulders as she waited for JD to come with the keys.

"Hurry, baby, hurry!"

"We still have more than an hour!" JD giggled, unable to stop himself from catching her enthusiasm.

"I don't think so! I think this is it! This is the whole story! Everything the house has to say, we're about to hear!"

"The house?"

"Sure. Don't you think it's the house?"

"Does this mean we ain't gonna eat? I'm friggin' hungry."

"We ate less than three hours ago, Dillon, give me a break."

"I'll give you somethin', all right. Dude."

He finally fumbled the keys into the lock and opened the door. Wendy raced in past him while he disengaged them from the lock, and Dillon pouted.

"Don't worry, Dilly ... we'll get you something. Just not right now. Come on, let's wait by the window!" She darted for the parlor, peeling her coat from her shoulders.

JD chuckled again, and noticed he was trotting after her, wanting to keep pace with her unbridled excitement. Dillon shuffled after them, grumbling.

JD came alongside her as she dropped into one of the chairs in front of the tables, behind the monitors, and watched the windows. The dark outside stared back at them coldly, as blank and unrevealing as a shark's eyes. She took JD's hand and held it between both of hers, and sat at the edge of her seat like a young girl at the movie theater without her parents for the first time.

JD watched the window, and tried to check his watch, but Wendy held the hand on which he wore it. He still thought there was too much time left for the replay to start. He didn't want her to be disappointed. Dillon leaned against the parlor's door jamb, his hands tucked casually into his pants pockets.

"Ain't gonna happen, people," he said. "Not time yet. Big-brain-small-balls said it was all time-triggered or whatever."

JD shot him a glare. "What'd you call me?"

"Have I become your enemy because I tell you the truth?"

JD shook his head and looked away. "That could be considered blasphemy."

"Shh! Shh! I think it's going to happen! I think it will! Just ... wait. Just wait."

"Wendy, we're really early, and it does appear to be time-dependent ..."

"Give it chance, baby, just wait ... okay?"

He looked down on her flashing eyes, her broad, amazing smile, and gently nodded. He looked back at Dillon, who simply shook his head and looked down. JD shrugged.

They all jumped harshly and Dillon squeaked when the window sash screamed open, rising slowly, the screeching wail of the ancient window protesting the movement.

JD quickly took a step, feeling at the table top desperately, finally wrapping his fingers around the tiny digital recorder, and pressed the record button quickly, catching the last several seconds of the loudly crying window movement.

Dillon whimpered behind him, and Wendy was squeezing his hand so tightly he thought she might crush it.

JD shut the recorder off a half-second after the sound died away, and tucked it into his pocket. He was straining for the hand-held video camera, and Wendy finally noticed what he was doing. She handed it to him quickly and released his hand. He felt guiltily relieved and worked it opened and closed to get the blood flowing through his digits, while he powered the camera on with his other hand. He popped open the LCD display and made sure the lens cover was off. Pointing it at the window, he watched as the shadowy figure appeared at the window, just outside.

Wendy covered her mouth and he heard her soft cry die in her hands as she smothered it. He felt the floor vibrate simultaneously and knew Dillon had jumped. Whether at the sound or the image, he didn't know. Steadily pointing the camera, he watched the figure come into the room, crouching just beneath the window, just out of sight from the exterior.

"Darren Jenkins?" JD called softly. The figure ignored him.

"Who're you, Jennifer Love Hewitt?" Dillon mocked. "This ain't TV, dude!"

"Hey, the other one spoke to us. I thought it was worth a try."

"Good try, baby," Wendy patted his arm. "What's he doing now?"

"He's looking to make sure he wasn't seen or followed. In a couple of seconds he'll ..."

The figure rose and moved to their left one more window, brushing invisible curtains aside to look out on the yard from another perspective. Then he moved toward the wall again, and JD knew this would be where it got tricky.

"He's going to open that door again," Wendy said. "Should we follow him?"

"No! I know where that door used to go! Come on!"

The figure opened the door that seemed to simply morph out of the wall, and vanished inside, pulling it closed behind him.

JD raced across the large space behind the stairs, across the foyer to the kitchen, and turned on a light quickly as he ducked into the pantry. At the back, he turned on another light, and then yanked open the door to the servant's staircase. He felt Wendy right behind her and heard Dillon's distinctive shuffle stumbling after as he pulled on the chain to engage the light at the top of the basement stairs.

He flew down the steps as fast as he could, and felt Wendy trying to keep pace. Before he could worry she was grasping his shoulders, keeping herself from falling as she stumbled down the last few steps. JD came forward, but the basement was pitch black now. No exterior light assisted with the navigation. He knew the space was largely open, now ... but wasn't sure if he could trip on objects that were there 35 years ago.

He fumbled in his pocket, but didn't have his red-lens flashlight.

"Damn," he swore softly, and fumbled with the camera. He finally made the tiny camera light turn on, and it pierced the black as far ahead of them as the camera's night-ability would allow. It was all of about six feet, but showed that the floor was still clear. He began to edge to his left, moving forward slowly, cautiously.

"This way ... there's a concrete wall up there that sits right between the parlor and the den or living room, whatever it is. There was a staircase between those two rooms 35 years ago. I think they expanded the room next to the parlor and took it out to create the space."

Wendy clutched JD tightly, and he was sure Dillon was clutching her just as tightly.

"I'm scared, dude," Dillon whispered softly.

"Don't be. This is the easy part. Just watch."

JD crept forward until the tiny light finally found the first traces of the large concrete barricade in front of them. He stopped then, and felt the others press tightly to his back. He heard Wendy breathing, anxious, quivering, and felt her gentle but rhythmic trembling on his arm as she entwined hers over it like ivy. He squeezed one hand with his free one, and let the camera run.

In a moment, the concrete seemed to be liquid and soft again, and a shadowy, indistinct form seemed to emerge from the gray monolith as if coming out of a wall of oatmeal. Wendy clutched JD tightly, and he felt his heart racing, his body tense, ready to spring.

The shadow moved toward the window, next to where he'd seen the pipe plunge through the wall into the earth under the parlor window. With a last furtive look through the dirty panes spattered with mud, he turned toward the middle of the basement. He bent and seemed to be working on -- or in -- something. The distinct sound of metal clinking and glass bumping filled the damp enclosure.

"What ... what's he doing?" Wendy's whisper was so soft, JD had to strain to hear it.

He shook his head, indicating he didn't know either. He gingerly took another step forward, Wendy moving in unison with him. The tiny camera light seemed to be powerless to illuminate the shadowy figure bent over the floor, but it showed the folds and wrinkles of a large canvas bag, gray with age and frayed with use, lying in front of him.

And suddenly, a diamond necklace appeared as he dropped it beside the bag in the weak ring of light. A golden statuette, a jewelry box, a silver candlestick, a jade figurine ... one by one the shadow placed expensive and rare objects d'art and jewelry beside him, trinkets that, JD was sure, had been taken in the burglaries of the time.

In a moment, the collection seemed to be complete. The figure took the items he'd set aside, and stood up, stretching and moving his legs to allow the circulation to flow freely again. He pulled something white and flimsy from behind his back, and they all jumped, stifling yelps of start, when he snapped the pillow case open. One by one he dropped the tiny treasures into the cotton make-shift carrier, and they clinked and clunked as they fell in. In another few minutes, he hefted the case over his shoulder, the items rattling against his back, the figure grunting with the effort.

JD shone the light on the canvas bag on the floor, but couldn't tell how much had been removed.

"Dude took all the good stuff, I bet," Dillon whispered, and JD was impressed that he could barely hear the statement.

"Is that what he's doing? Taking stuff? Stealing from thieves?"

JD shrugged. "I ... don't know. Sure looks like it." He whispered so softly, he bent low to make sure she heard him. He wasn't sure why he was whispering, though.

The shadowy figure seemed to vanish into the depths of the basement, and when he re-emerged into the dim light, he no longer had his treasure with him. He checked what JD assumed was a watch on his left wrist, and walked back to the basement window beneath the parlor, looking out into the night. Turning slowly, he started for the concrete barrier again.

All of them froze when they heard voices outside.

JD felt himself sweating. He knew what was coming.

They could hear the sounds, but not make out the words. Rushing, the shadowy figure raced back to his position at the window and peered out, and suddenly a flash of white light traced past the panes and the figure ducked, pressing himself against the wall beneath the window. The voices seemed to fade as the light moved away, and the silhouette slowly stood and looked out the window again.

"Damn!"

The sound startled them all sharply, making them jump and their skin burn with the sudden, hot flush of adrenaline that pounded through them.

"What the fuck are they doin' here already??"

The voice was whispered but harsh, gravelly, gruff. The figure sank to the floor, and went motionless.

They continued to hear the voices outside, so softly now they couldn't be distinguished from one another.

Quickly, another light cut across the panes of the window, and Jenkins jerked his head up, then scrabbled to his feet. He strained to look out, but couldn't see, and then darted across the basement to the window opposite. He strained again, but still couldn't see.

"Aw, Christ!" he groaned softly. "Damn it, is that you, Robbie?? You sonuvabitch, you told me you weren't doin' this!"

He bolted back to the opposite window, then scrambled forward, the three observers nearly leaping to get out of the way as he raced past, trying to find another window at the back of the basement. There was none.

He panted heavily as he went back to the window beneath the parlor, then held his breath, listening. The voices were joined by a third. There was an exchange. The voices grew a bit louder, but were still too indistinct to be understood. The figure bolted to the other window again, and suddenly there was a strange, indecipherable sound, and a voice strained and panicked. Then footfalls, clear, racing and pounding past the window where Jenkins stood, and he ducked quickly, watching them go by.

He waited, watching for a moment, and listened. No sound. Silence.

He tore at the old, rickety latch of the window, and pulled the sash harshly. Paint cracked and splintered away, and the decrepit hinges screamed in protesting agony as the sash was opened for the first time in many, many decades. He scooted up, onto the ledge formed by the basement foundation wall, and wedged his form tightly through the window, and into the yard.

"Come on," JD said softly, "let's go back upstairs. The rest of this will be in the yard."

Technorati Tags: fiction

Has This Ever Happened to You? ...

You come to work.  You sit at your computer.  You do your morning computer thing, which maybe involves a couple of things not directly (or even indirectly) related to work/business.  You know, you read a couple of articles in the online local newspaper, or ESPN.com, or something like that.  Maybe you have a blog and you're looking for a poster to answer, or you've posted a comment on someone else's blog and you want to see if they responded.  Then it happens.

You launch the page, and bam!  The site has been blocked by your company IT department.

That's what I discovered yesterday when I got into work.  I went to try and check on someone I care a lot about yesterday, and found that I wasn't able to.  I mean, technically I can, it's not impossible, but it's a lot harder -- and a lot uglier -- than it was two days ago.

It's an interesting development, because the fact of the matter is, I'm being watched.  I don't know that, out of the couple of thousand people that work here, I'm being singled out, but it IS interesting to note that these sorts of sites -- which have been generically classified as "Personal and/or Social Networking Sites" by the web screening software -- are now blocked.  If you were collaborating with a colleague on a blog, you wouldn't be able to do so now unless it had a private domain name.

That's fine, it doesn't stop me from actually reaching the sites, but it does stop me from being able to see the pretty formatting and pictures.  It's like the early Internet now ... everyone's headers are blue, the only font is TNR, and the only fancy formatting allowed is bulleted lists.  It's bizarre.  It's weird to see my own blog with my custom header and this weird, not-very-well-formatted page.  But, I can still, if necessary, see/read the posts of my friends and respond to them.  For the moment, at least.

So, if I seem unresponsive, or don't seem to be as talkative as I used to, please understand that it's not because I don't like you anymore, it's because I can't respond as I used to (if at all) during business hours.  I'll try to figure a way to get a message to you somehow, but please don't take it personally if it has to wait until my business hours end, okay?

I can't seem to get a message through to my DeviantArt page at all, so I'll have to update those folks when I get a chance.

What about you?  Have you ever been screened out by the company "Big Brother" of sites you've grown accustomed to being able to visit?  Why do you think those sites have been blocked?  Is blogging at the workplace really that big of an issue and time killer?  Have things gone too far?  Is this company just being extreme?  Sound off, blogosphere ... I really want to hear what you think.

Pretty soon we won't be able to use the bathroom until the company-specified break times.  Things are gettin' bad, and I want to do something other than the corporate dance so desperately I can taste it.

Maybe I'll write books for a living instead.  What do you think?

Technorati Tags: random thoughts, work, blogging

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 37

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

They all started blankly at the monitor, jaws slightly agape.

"This ... this is incredible."

"What's in the garage, dude?"

"I don't know, Dill."

"JD, how do we go search for the ... whatever ... if we don't know what it is?"

JD shrugged helplessly. "I ... don't know."

"Well, whiskey tango foxtrot then, bubba?"

"Huh?"

"WTF, dude? What the ... fudge?"

"I wish I could tell you. I have no idea what this means, if anything."

"'If anything'? JD, you're not going to be asinine about this, are you?"

"Wendy, I'm just saying -- I have no clue if this has any meaning, or if it's a weird coincidence, or if it's just a distortion from transferring the recording from the handheld to the PC. I can't answer any questions now."

"Well, we have to search the garage. For something."

"Aw, dudes ... we gotta do that tonight? Can't we do it in th' mornin'?"

"We're going to have to. The garage is downright hazardous. There's a lot of things just thrown in there. Someone could get hurt in the dark."

"Yeah, or a ghost could show up."

"Well, I'm more concerned about someone getting hurt."

"An' I'm more concerned 'bout the ghosts showin' up. That'd blow."

JD sighed. "Either way, we can't go looking around out there now. I don't even know if there are any lights in it."

"Damn," Wendy said, biting her lip nervously. "This feels important to me. I guess ... I guess it has to wait."

JD put his arm over her shoulder and she pressed into him more fully, laying her head on his chest.

"We'll look in the daylight, Wen. I promise."

She nodded.

"Meantime, I needa eat, dudes. Nourishment, y'know?"

"Jeez, has it been two hours already? Time flies when you're flinging mud."

"Two hours since what, dude?"

"Since your last feeding, of course."

"Nah, it's been longer'n that, homes."

"Whatever. You'll have to call for delivery or go get it yourself. I can't miss the events when they start."

"We have a couple of hours, JD. Let's just go get something and bring it back."

"Yeah, dude. I don' know my way 'round this dive anyway."

"Yes, with only one primary road, I can see how that'd be confusing for you."

"You're snippy."

"Snippy?"

"Persnickety."

"Ooh, a fancy word for you."

"'Kay, then, how 'bout an ass? That work better for ya?"

"Guys, can you bag it please? C'mon, let's get some food and get back."

"Pizza."

"No, I don't want pizza," JD said. "How about sandwiches?"

"What kind?"

"I don't know. Subs?"

"How 'bout hoagies?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Are you a pompous ass?"

"I don't think so."

"But I do, so th' answer's yes."

"Guys? I'm seriously going to beat the crap out of both of you. I'll go look for something. There's gotta be a McDonald's or something around here somewhere, right?"

"I wouldn't necessarily count on it, Wen," JD said. "It's a pretty sleepy little town, as far as I can tell."

"Yeah, but come ON, dude. EVERY town's got a McD's."

He shrugged. "All right, let's see what we can find."

"What time do we need to be back again? A little before nine, right?"

"Right. But I want to be back here before that if we can. I have a feeling there's more to the picture than we've seen. I wanted to see where the man coming through the window came from." He opened the front door and then turned to lock it behind them.

"Dude, he came from the other side o' the window. What're you, stupid?"

"I mean BEFORE that, Dillon, thank you."

"Before that the bushes. You seen the footprint same as we did, dumbass." They headed for Wendy's car parked just down the street from the large Victorian.

"Dillon ... do you WANT to be a ghost? I can arrange it for you."

"No thanks. Don't putcherself out."

"It's no trouble. Really."

"Guys? I'm going to kick the hell out of both of you."

"I think JD wants ya to. That's why he's being a dick t'me."

"I'm not. You're being a jerk."

"I'm never a jerk. Am I Wen?"

"Yes, you are, Dilly. Can we all just ... shut up now?"

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. And yes, JD's a dick too. Happy now? Both of you?" She jangled her car keys to find the remote and unlock the doors.

They stopped, noticing JD's face. He was staring down the street that ran along the side of the house where the parlor was. Behind the thick bushes and the tall, stoic trees, a truck was parked, headlights blazing toward them.

"Who's that?" Wendy breathed.

"I don't know," JD answered quietly.

"Dudes, it's a truck. Somebody's getting a delivery or somethin'."

The headlights of the large vehicle, well off the ground and bright enough to obscure its form from their vision in the dark little neighborhood, moved slowly forward.

Toward them.

"Why ... why don't I hear the truck?"

"I don't hear it either."

"Ah, shit dudes. I bet this is more crap."

The headlights pulled forward to the corner of the large lot, then turned and headed away from them. The red glowing tail lights then vanished up another street to the right as they watched it go.

And they never saw the truck. Only its lights.

"JD ... what's going on?"

JD shook his head, watching silently.

They never heard a sound.

"Should ... dude, do we follow? What the heck is that, man?"

"I don't know. I never heard it. Did you hear it?"

They both shook their heads.

"JD, this is weird. TOO weird. Let's see what's going on."

"Uh ... well ... I suppose, but ..."

She looked at him, brows knitting over her flashing eyes. "What, baby?"

"I'm ... I'm a little afraid to follow it, Wen."

"Dude! You don't tell yer woman yer SCARED, man! That's for pussies!"

"I don't care, Dill. I don't want to get caught out here in some weird time-warp situation again and be wandering around in the street for five hours again."

"Do you think it was a ... a ghost truck?"

He nodded. "I do. I think that's the truck Darren Jenkins was supposed to meet the two murders with on the night that Robin Brown was killed. I think he was early, not late, like the others indicated. I just don't know why."

"Well, if he's supposta bring a truck for them two dudes, where's he goin'?"

"I don't know. I'd love to find out, but I'm not willing to follow that truck. I don't know ... what could happen."

"We can't just go ... nowhere, do nothing, JD."

"I know, Wendy, but ..."

"Dude, I'm with you for a change. Let's just get some food an' get outta here."

Wendy sighed, staring up the street. The thick mature trees hid the side street from plain view. It wound away through the tiny neighborhood out of sight. They couldn't see any more from where they were.

"All right. Get in. Let's get Dilly fed and get back. We can worry about it another time, I guess."

She chirped the remote and the door locked clacked open. They piled in, and Dillon sprawled over the back seat, slithering under one of the seat belts.

JD caught her glance at him and smiled. That ridiculously giddy feeling thrilled his innards when she smiled back, tipping her head slightly while she put the car in gear.

"Love you, baby," she winked at him.

"I love you too." It seemed to come so much more easily each time he said it.

She pulled the wheel and pointed the car down the street, and as the car came about, she suddenly jerked the wheel right and took them up the small side street.

"WHOA, HEY!" Dillon protested, the G-forces whipping his wiry body about like a doll on a string. Wendy cackled deviously, and accelerated up the slight incline.

"I knew it," JD sighed.

"You sure did, punkin," she giggled. "Did you really think I was just going to let that go?"

"No."

"You're a smart man, lover-boy."

"What the fu -- Wen, whattaya doin'??"

"Going after that truck, Dilly. We need to know what's going on. I intend to find out."

"Awwwwwwww CRAP."

She laughed wildly as the car sped up the hill, the street bending slightly right. She negotiated the turn quickly and was suddenly blinded by the glaring headlights just around the narrow road's crook.

She gasped and slammed on the brakes, hurling Dillon and JD forward, yanking the wheel to the right to try and avoid the larger vehicle, but it was too late, too suddenly late.

She shut her eyes and Dillon screamed, the high-pitched wail of a person in fear for his life. JD shut his eyes tightly and covered his face with his arms, expecting the sudden slam and sickening crunch of metal and plastic.

The car stopped, jarring them back forcefully against their seats.

Wendy's knuckles were bone-white where she clutched the steering wheel tightly, and slowly, carefully, JD lowered his arms from his face. Dillon whimpered in the back.

"We ... didn't hit."

There was nothing in front of them. Not a car, truck or any other vehicle. The road was empty.

She checked the mirror. Nothing.

"It's ... it wasn't real."

"I ... I guess not," JD agreed, turning to look back over his shoulder out the rear window. "It was a ... ghost truck, I guess."

"Dudes ... please dudes ... can we just go get some frickin' food?? Please?"

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 38?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 36

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

He fished around in the cramped, over-filled quarters of the tiny garage. He was sure the homeowners must hire a gardening service to take care of the yard, but the equipment, apparently, was all their own. Or it was from a time when they did the yard work themselves. A riding mower took up the bulk of the floor space, but there were wheelbarrows, hoses strewn over the jumble of nursery madness, stacks of cedar mulch and fertilizer, seed spreaders, rakes, hedge trimmers, weed trimmers and things JD didn't recognize.

He scanned the dim area, and finally saw a stand of wooden handles rising from the piles of equipment and junk in the far corner. He tried to discern the best path from the door to the tools, but there was no clear way to get there. He'd have to do an interesting ballet of tip-toeing and high-stepping to reach them.

He began the trek, trying not to trip and knock anything over. He teetered uncertainly for a moment, then something skittered away under his foot as he tried to push through the mass of miscellany. He sat back hard onto something solid, regained his balance, and with tremendous effort, pushed something that didn't look as though it weighed as much as it did aside to finally reach the far side of the garage.

He caught his breath for a moment, then examined what was there. The heads of most of the tools were buried beneath the junk piled around them, but he could see some of them. There was a garden rake, a lawn rake with bent and rusted tines, something that looked like a medieval torture device with pointed spikes spiraling down, and a manual lawn edger. He rattled the old brittle handles to move them around, looking for a shovel.

There wasn't one.

He shook his head in disappointment, then scanned the walls. Hanging on them were plastic accordion tubes of some type, copper pipes bound with twine, some things he couldn't identify ...

... and a shovel, hanging from a nail by a hole through the bulb of the handle.

He again did his dance of balance and progress, trying not to fall in the abyss of the debris scattered over the floor. He gingerly took the shovel down, then took a moment to eye his path back to the exit. Picking and prancing he found himself outside a moment later with the rain drumming on him steadily.

He trotted around the back of the house, and came up to the parlor window. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head for the first time. He stared down, trying to identify where the ghost had buried the small section of PVC pipe so many years before. He wasn't sure exactly where it was, but he had a general idea.

He made a decision and planted the shovel's point into the soft ground. He put his foot atop the head and pressed down, sinking it deeply into the soil, to the ferrule. He gripped the handle tightly, and pulled back hard.

A lump of soft, dark earth upturned, and water began to collect in the hole while JD turned the shovel over to empty it.

He looked down, but there was no white plastic revealed. He studied the position of his hole for a moment, then planted the shovel again, a bit farther from the window. Sinking it deeply, he turned another big divot. Still nothing. He considered again. He drove the shovel again, and once more churned the earth out of the way. More nothing but dirt and the translucent roots of grass and weeds, cut clean by the shovel's blade.

Once more he thought. He stepped back, looking at his position to the window carefully. He came forward again, picking a spot between the two of them, and again planted the shovel head. The divot came up as JD worked faster, watching the darkening sky behind the steady tattoo of the rain.

Still nothing.

He looked at the ground again. There were three holes now, spaced apart relatively evenly. He couldn't tell whether his lateral position was accurate though. Shrugging, he plunged the shovel down again and upturned another large divot. Nothing in the hole. He pondered if the holes were deep enough, but Jenkins had used a smaller utensil and his hole wasn't as deep. He should have been turning up big enough chunks of ground even taking into consideration the settling of the ground. It couldn't have sunk that much.

He tried again, and again found nothing. A fifth time, with the same result. Confused, concerned and sopping wet now, he began to break up the divots, searching for the telltale white indicator. He found nothing. Again and again he turned up chunks of ground, breaking them with the shovel head, trying to locate the short pipe. He had developed a large hole, and still didn't find it.

He slammed the shovel into the ground in frustration, and heard a hollow thunk.

He froze. Trying to decide what to do, he carefully, deliberately turned the divot. His heart pounding in his chest he stepped forward, slowly. Peering into the hole, he found a silver gleam staring back at him.

Knitting his brows, he bent down and brushed aside the mud with his fingertips. The iron pipe from the basement sump vanished under the holes he'd dug into the wall of the basement.

He muttered a curse under his breath and stood up. He jogged back to the front porch, leaning the shovel up against the side of the porch before darting up the stairs. He stomped the mud from his feet before pulling his shoes off carefully. Dropping them down softly he opened the front door and tried to shake the excess water from his body.

"That you, JD?" Wendy called. She was still upstairs.

"Yes, Wen, it's me."

"I saw some of what you were doing outside. It didn't look like it was going well."

"No. Not at all well, I'm afraid."

"Dude," Dillon said stepping out from the parlor and coming around the stairs. "You didn't find the pipe-note-thingy?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I just don't remember exactly where it is, how deep it is ... or if it's even still there."

"Well, it's too dark to go out there now. I put Dillon's and my shirt and jacket in the dryer for a few minutes and we're good to go. Want me to do yours too?"

"You put ... all of your clothes ... "

"Not at the same time, goof," she said, glowering at him. "You're the only naked guy I want to see, thanks."

"Gee, thanks, Wen," Dillon said sardonically. "Always nice to know I'm wanted."

"You are, punkin," she cooed, and kissed his cheek. "But I don't want to see you naked, thanks. And dream on if you think you're gonna get to see me naked."

"Aww."

"Um ... sure. I could use a good shower too. I hope this doesn't get too expensive."

"What happened out there?"

"I ... I couldn't find it. I dug up a good portion of the yard in that area, but I couldn't find it. I'll have to come back and look again tomorrow. The ground is soft and it's not hard to dig, but I have to find the location ... and the depth."

"It wasn't all that deep," Wendy said softly. "... at least, I didn't think so."

"No, I didn't think so either, but ..."

"How we gonna find it, man?"

"I don't know. Just ... keep digging, I guess."

"Okay, so ... now what?"

"Well ... we have a few hours to kill. Then the show begins again. Hopefully."

"Hopefully for you, dude. I'm hopin' not."

"I know. But it's the last bit. Until we find the note, or whatever may be in that pipe."

"I'm sure it's the note, hon."

"It could be anything, though. We don't even know if it's really important yet."

"I don't think we'd have seen that portion of the ... whatever ... if it weren't important. Do you?"

He sighed. "No. Not really."

"So how we gonna pass time, dude? Cards? We could play strip poker."

"No thanks," JD said. "I thought we could look over our data. See what we actually have. Make a decision about what to do with the tapes from there."

"Whattaya mean, dude?"

"Well, if they're not going to reveal anything ... no sense in keeping them. I'll use them for other cases, I guess."

Wendy nodded. "I guess if there's no posterity to preserve, preserving them for posterity is pointless."

"Exactly."

"What about that -- you know -- that sound on the recorder, dude?"

"Oh. Well, that's ... interesting. We'll see if we can get it downloaded on the computer and analyze them. If not, I can contact a local university and see if they can analyze it for me. If it's not too expensive."

"Those AV guys ... an' nobody thought they'd be doin' anything after high school, huh?"

JD chuckled. "In the meantime, let me get myself cleaned up and dried off. I'll be able to think more clearly then."

"Go 'head, love," Wendy kissed him on the cheek, "I'll get your clothes rinsed and dried while you're showering."

"I'll play with the water so you get hot, then cold, then hot, then cold ... like that. Okay?"

"Thanks, Dillon ... nothing like being productive. Maybe I'll take a bath instead."

"All right, then, I'll get the recorder thingy outta the car and listen to that scary-ass, wethca-pants sound and see if I can get it on the monitor PC."

"Better. Thanks."

"Go on, babe. Leave your clothes on the floor. Bathroom's up the stairs and third door on the right."

He kissed her softly. "I can do the clothes myself, Wen. You're not a maid."

"But ya oughtta see 'er in a French Maid suit, dude."

"You never have."

"But you oughtta."

"Yes you should," Wendy giggled, shaking her hips at him teasingly. "Now scoot."

JD took a luxurious bath, letting the hot water melt over him, soaking into his bones like the warmth of a good brandy on a cold winter's night. He pulled the circular curtain closed around the tub, and could feel his muscles relaxing, sleep threatening him. Wendy came in at some point, though he didn't hear her, and took his clothes. He could hear the rinse cycle of the washer and eventually the dryer running somewhere. He soaked for much longer than he should have, but when he was finished, he had a freshly laundered towel and warm, dry clothes to put on.

He was down the stairs nearly an hour later, yawning lazily as he plodded his way down the stairs. When he entered the parlor, it was dark. The two shadows of Dillon and Wendy were leaning together so closely, they were nearly touching. They weren't speaking. At all.

"Hey," he said softly, and both of them jumped, shouting with the start.

"Dude! Don't do that, dammit!"

"Do what?" JD said, confused.

"Oh, God, babe," Wendy stammered, nervously. "You ... you have to hear this ..."

"Dude. Word."

"What? Hear what?"

"Shaddap and listen, dude."

Dillon pressed the button and that unearthly, bone-chilling wail filled the room, echoing from the plaster walls. JD shuddered violently as the sound twisted its way down his spine like an electric pulse. When it finished, dying off and seeming to echo in the cavities of his mind, Dillon shook his head violently.

"We've ... we've heard it before. It's disturbing, but not new. What's wrong?"

"Jus' listen, dude."

Dillon clicked the mouse a couple of times and reset the recording, then adjusted the GUI controls on the recording program on the PC. "Ready, dude?"

JD shrugged. Dillon clicked the mouse again. The recording played at a much higher speed. JD felt his heart stop and his jaw drop.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, dude. Exactly."

"JD, what does that mean? Does it mean what ... does it mean anything?"

JD slowly shook his head. "I ... I don't know."

"Dilly, play it again. NOT the slow one, please."

He nodded, then clicked the mouse again.

A single phrase came through the speakers, and JD leaned close to the two of them. "Dillon ... did you ... did you alter this somehow?"

"I just sped it up, dude. This program did it. I just changed the speed. Me 'n Wen were freakin' out 'cause that sound ... that horrible sound was just too much, y'know? So we figgered if we played it faster, we wouldn't hafta hear it as long. An' this is what happened."

"My God ... this is ... this is incredible."

Dillon nodded. "I couldn't believe it either, man. Pretty frickin' creepy."

JD nodded. "Yeah. Once more, please."

Dillon sighed, and clicked the play button again. The single phrase came through again, high-pitched from the acceleration, sounding like Alvin and the chipmunks, but the words were crystal clear.

"The garage," the voice said.

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Ready to go on to Part 37?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 35

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

JD went down the length of the wall and saw that the basement extended beyond the large concrete monolith standing where he was certain the staircase used to be. He walked around the rim of the huge block, trying to find pull chains to turn more lights on, but more critically, he was looking for a shovel or spade. He had to dig up the section of PVC pipe, hidden from view for so long, from the plant bed just beyond the parlor windows.

He found some typical basement items -- boxes covered with dust and grime, miscellaneous items that over the decades found their way to shelves and cubby holes, a plastic closet stuffed with clothes that stood on weak casters. He didn't find what he wanted.

He wondered, as he passed it on his way toward the furnace aging in the corner under the stairs he'd come down, if that concrete shell hid any other secrets. He wondered how many the house might know, holding close to its ancient heart.

He could see the pilot light flickering blue and soft beneath the furnace before he got too close. Not far to the left the water heater's pilot glowed as well. He turned the water temperature up to something tolerable and the device roared to life. He went up the stairs to try and locate the thermostat. The dampness in his clothes was cooling his skin rapidly and he felt a shiver gently rattle his frame. He couldn't get dry and warm just yet, though. He still had work to do outside, and could hear the rain coming down steadily.

He trotted up the stairs and heard Wendy still moving around upstairs. There was no sign of Dillon, but that was a good thing.

"Wen?" he called up the stairs. "I ... I think we have what we need now. Before I do anything else, the pilot lights are on for both the furnace and water heater, and we should have some hot water in about an hour or so. I'm ... I think I'm going to dig up that pipe."

She popped quickly into view at the top of the stairs. "What?"

"I said I think we have what we need. To dig the pipe up without ... you know, without it looking like we dug it up because we knew it was there."

"What? What do we have?"

"Yeah, dude, what d'we got?"

JD started sharply as Dillon approached him from behind. "Dammit, don't do that!"

"HA! Don't like it, huh? Now y'know how I always feel."

"JD, what do we have?"

"I ... I found a sump pump in the basement that seems to have some sort of blockage in the pipe leading out into the yard. Some water has come back into the basement. It's been happening for a long time, from what I can see. It's not bad at all, but we can use that as an excuse to ... you know."

"Dig up homey's note inna pipe?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." Wendy stood still, staring into the middle distance between her and JD. "Wow, that's ... that's big."

"Well ... if the pipe's even still there."

"Dude, where does a pipe hafta go?"

"It could've been dug up anytime between now and when he buried it. For all we know, the police found it. I don't see how they couldn't have found it, frankly. With the disturbance of the earth, the location of the body ... how could they not find it?"

"Nobody was lookin', dunce-cap," Dillon spat. "How many times y'gotta hear that, dumb-ass?"

"As soon as I hear it from someone with a brain, I'll take it."

"Settle down, guys," Wendy said, wagging her head. "How're you going to dig it up? C'mon, Dilly, we need to find some ..."

"No, Wen," JD said. "I don't need help. I've got the keys to the house. I'm sure one of them opens the little garage outside. If there are tools there, I'll use them. If not, I'll have to go buy a shovel. But this is all I really need right now for an excuse to get under the soil there."

"Won't get an argument from me, dude," Dillon said, heading back the way he came. "Didja turn on the heater, man?"

"The furnace is on, but I don't know where the thermostat is. Why don't you look for it while I go outside and see if there's a shovel around here somewhere?"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, Dillon, you. Who else?"

"Wull ... I mean ... what 'bout the ... dude, the place is haunted, man! I don' wanna be roamin' around in here alone!"

"You won't be alone, you sissy," JD spat, "Wendy will be here to protect you from the big, mean specters, okay? JEEZ."

"Dude! You'd put your GF in front o' some ghosts? You are so a lousy BF!"

"I can't be in two places at once. Wen, if you get a chance and have the inclination, turn the heat up for a while until you're comfortable. I don't think I'll be too long."

She nodded. "You don't want me to come with you?"

He smiled. "You can see what I'm doing through the parlor window. I won't be too long, and I want you to get warm and dry."

She nodded, numbly. "Okay, lover. I'll be waiting. Be ... be careful, okay?"

He looked at her confused. "Are you ... are you okay, Wen?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just be careful, okay? Come back to me. We don't know what's in that pipe. That's all."

"It's not a bomb, Wendy. I'll be fine."

"I know. I know ... still. Okay?"

He nodded. "I promise. I may not even find what I need out there. In that case, it's going to have to wait until morning. I'm just too wet and too cold and too tired to work outside in the dark."

She nodded, her face still solemn. "I hope ... just ... hurry back. Okay?"

He nodded again. Marshalling what he had left of his will, he went out the front door with Wendy watching him go the whole way.

A moment later Dillon appeared at the door of the parlor, looking up at her. "You know I ain't gonna letcha do all the work, don'tcha Wen?"

She softened a bit, smiling at him. "I know, Dilly."

"I'm ... gonna go find the thermostat."

"Okay," she said weakly.

"Wen?"

"Yeah, Dilly?"

"He's gonna be okay, y'know. He's just outside."

"I know."

"What's ... what's buggin' ya, then?"

"I don't know. I guess it's the way they ... you know. The way they seem to be ... after him. It makes me nervous. I don't want him to be by himself."

"They can't hurt 'im, hon," Dillon said gently, draping himself over the banister of the staircase and watching her eyes. "He tried t'grab one and went right through. You saw."

"I ... I know. I know it's silly, I just ..."

"OH, you guys got it bad, huh?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, puh-LEEZ, sweetheart," he laughed. "You got it even worse now that he L-worded you back, don'tcha? Now that he said it back, y'can't get over it at all. Wanna be right there wherever he's at all the time, right?"

She dropped her hands on her hips and leveled her eyes at him. "Well, maybe. But is that so wrong?"

Dillon put his hands up defensively. "I'm jus' sayin' is all. He's the same way, y'know. Soon as he said it back, he can't get himself away from ya. You guys just ... just got it bad is all. I'm jus' sayin'."

She drew a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. "I love him. I always have, I guess."

"Uh-huh. And now thatcha know he loves ya back -- 'cause he said it -- you went in even deeper, didn'tcha?"

She nodded slowly.

"It's okay, but ... that usually means best friend's gotta go."

"Don't you dare. I've never given you reason to think I was coming between you. Don't you dare treat me like a shrew now, Dillon. I will so kick your ass for that. I've never come between the two of you, ever."

"No, no ... not you. Him. He's gonna ... be busy now, with you mostly. An' that's cool. I bet he pops the question before too long. I give it three months. Maybe even by Christmas."

"Oh, stop it."

"I'm all sortsa serious, Wen. He's in deep. What's he gonna do without you?"

"Go find the thermostat, goofy."

He smiled and disappeared under the stairs as she went back to gathering towels to dry themselves off with. She also was trying to figure out what to do with their wet clothes. She could hear Dillon shuffling about downstairs, and she quietly padded to a window at the end of the hall. A little, square window looked out over the yard and she saw JD just inside the door of the little single-car garage, converted to a shed sometime in the murky past, looking for the tool he needed to unearth what she was sure would be the last piece of this very old puzzle.

At least, she hoped it was the last piece. The librarian had shown that nothing was certain. Not even in JD's intellectual and rational universe.

She wondered how he was feeling, with his entire existence upended on him. She wondered at his confusion and whether he was in pain from it all. Everything he'd set out to prove had flown in his face. She silently kissed her fingertips and blew it toward him.

"It's okay, lover," she whispered. "I know you're special. And you'll be even more special when this is all over. You'll understand how big the world is, and how small we are in it."

"Wen? I think ... I think I found it. But ... I need help to make sure. Can you come down for a sec?"

"Sure, Dilly, be right there," she called, trying to lift her voice. She was worried about JD though, and wondered if she'd ever be able to be apart from him again.

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Ready to go on to Part 36?