Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown (19 page)

Sweet dreams.
That’s what Lyssa’s mom always said.

“Sweet dreams,
”
Lyssa whispered, but what she really meant was,
Please, no dreams at all.

“Lyssa! Lysssaaaa!”

A bloodcurdling voice screaming her name jerked Lyssa wide awake. She bolted upright, her heart hammering. She hurled back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

“Hold on, Angie, I’m coming!” Lyssa shouted.

She raced down the hall toward Angie’s room.

Then she saw something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. Angie’s bedroom door was opening and closing all by itself.

It slammed shut so hard, the pictures in the hallway bounced on the walls. Then it flew back open.

Lyssa skidded to a stop just outside Angie’s bedroom door. In the quick glimpses she got when the door was open, Lyssa saw Angie lying on the bed. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her arms stretched straight up, with her palms flat.
As if she’s trying to push someone away!

Was last night’s dream coming true? The dream of Eloise leaning over her, about to close her hands on Angie’s throat. About to strangle her…

Slam! Crash! Slam! Crash!
Angie’s door pounded open and closed. Lyssa tried to leap into the room, but each time the door slammed shut in her face.

Lyssa stood, frozen, in the hall. Cold sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. Her stomach churned with panic. If she didn’t come up with something soon…

The portrait!
she thought.

Eloise Cavanaugh was the key to what was going on inside this house. And the portrait just might be the key to Eloise Cavanaugh.

Lyssa turned and sprinted back down the hall. She took the
stairs two at a time. Once she reached the main floor, she dashed into the living room.

I’ve got to get Eloise’s attention,
Lyssa thought.
Get her away from Angie. Make her leave Angie alone.

Lyssa dragged a footstool over to the fireplace. She climbed up onto it. Seizing Eloise’s portrait by its heavy gold frame, Lyssa yanked the painting right off the wall.

“I’ve got your portrait, Eloise!” Lyssa shouted. “And I’ll tear it apart, I swear I will, if you don’t
stop this right now!
”

At her words, the house went wild. The window shades banged up to the top of the frames. The living room sliding doors began to slam open and closed. The television came on, sound blaring full blast. Lights flickered on and off. Magazines from the coffee table flew up and through the air straight at Lyssa.

Lyssa held the portrait out in front of her like a shield. She stood on the footstool like a statue on a pedestal.

“I mean it, Eloise!” she yelled. She tightened her grip, fingernails digging into the back of the canvas.

“Keep it up and your portrait is toast. But I’ll make you a bargain. Leave Angie Larson alone.
Let her go right now!
Let her come downstairs to tell me she’s all right, and I’ll put the portrait back. Then I’ll talk her into leaving your house. She will leave and never come back!

“Do we have a deal or not?”

Lyssa heard what sounded like a hurricane wind. The next second, two of the tall windows shattered. Sharp pieces of glass rained down all over the room. Lyssa gave a shriek of alarm, but she didn’t let go of the portrait.

The wind ripped through the room. It toppled chairs, sending one crashing into the coffee table. Then, with a whooshing sound, the logs in the fireplace caught fire.

The fire crackled and danced as the wind fed it. Lyssa watched in horror. Instead of going up the chimney, the fire was reaching out, into the room. Any second now, the whole house would go up in flames. But Lyssa didn’t move.

Then it all stopped. The window shades and doors were still. The wind died. The flames in the fireplace shrank to a red glow.

Lyssa stayed on the footstool. She gripped the picture frame so tightly, she could no longer feel her fingers.

“Angie! Angie,
are you okay?”
she yelled.

Silence.

Then she heard a
thump
from upstairs, followed by the sound of running footsteps. A moment later, Angie appeared in the entrance to the living room. Her eyes were two wide pools of fear. Her hands were at her throat.

“Are you okay?” Lyssa asked.

“Okay,” Angie managed to gasp out.

“Here’s the deal,” Lyssa said. “I promised I would put the
portrait back and that we would leave—if she let you go. But we have to go tonight. How fast can you pack your things?”

“Already on it.” Angie whirled around. Lyssa heard her footsteps again, pounding up the stairs this time.

Lyssa’s knees began to shake. Slowly, she turned around and hung the portrait back on the wall. Then she climbed down from the footstool and sat on the couch. She stayed there, staring up into Eloise Cavanaugh’s icy blue eyes, until Angie came back downstairs to say she was ready to leave.

“You got a postcard, Lyssa,” Jen said a couple of weeks later as she brought in the TAPS mail. It was a bright summer day. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. Everything seemed so bright and alive.

“A postcard,” Lyssa echoed. “Who sent it?”

“See for yourself,” Jen answered with a smile. She handed Lyssa the postcard. There was a beach scene on the front. Lyssa turned the card over.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s from Angie Larson.”

Jason looked up from his desk. “What does she say?”

Quickly, Lyssa scanned the few sentences on the postcard’s back. “She says she’s doing well. No more dreams.”

“That’s a relief, I’ll bet,” Grant commented.

“And she’s never going back to that house?” Jason guessed.

“Angie says she’s moving to a new house next week.”

“I’m glad things are working out for her, but I still think what you did was pretty risky,” Grant said.

“I know it was risky,” Lyssa agreed. “But it was the only thing that I could think of.”

“You know what I always say,” Jason said with a smile. “Working for TAPS is a dream come true.”

“Yeah, it’s a real nightmare,” Grant said, and the whole team laughed.

L
ayne Stevens took off his black flat-brimmed hat and fanned himself. The sun was setting, but here in Tombstone, Arizona, it was still sizzling hot. Layne watched as dust swirled around the last group of visitors leaving the O.K. Corral. Nearly everyone has heard of the historic gunfight at the O.K. Corral. There have been books and movies about the famous shoot-out between Wyatt Earp and the Clanton gang in the old Wild West. But Layne got to watch it happen every day, up close and personal.

Layne played Wyatt Earp in a show about the gunfight. Hundreds of visitors came each week to see it. Layne and a crew of other actors would stand across from each other with fake
guns in their holsters, waiting for the right moment to draw them. Then Layne would look left and right and see the actors playing Wyatt Earp’s two brothers, Virgil and Morgan. He felt as if he were in a real standoff. His eyes would focus on the outlaws facing him, and his fingers would twitch, ready for bullets to fly at any second. And then
pop pop pop
! He would hear the guns. As the smoke cleared, some of it would get in his eyes, making them tear. The whole fight lasted only thirty seconds.

After the show the visitors were free to walk around the little town. They took pictures and went into the stores, which, like the rest of the O.K. Corral, looked the way they did on October 26, 1881, the day of the gunfight.

When five o’clock rolled around, Layne would round up everybody and send them on their way home. After that, he would go into each building, making sure no one had been left behind. He took his time going in and out of each building as the sun dipped behind the mountains. He never found anybody hanging around after the tourists had left.

At least, not anybody alive.

Lately Layne had been seeing things around the O.K. Corral after everyone had left. Movements in the corner of his eye, shadows behind windows, bright flashes of light in back of buildings… things he couldn’t explain.

He hadn’t told the other employees about it. He was worried no one would believe him. He thought they would make fun of
him, because they all knew how wrapped up he got playing Wyatt Earp. But he knew what he saw.

So now, on evenings like this one, after the visitors had all left, Layne felt strange. He wondered what he might see.

Or what might be seeing him.

Layne watched the last car filled with tourists drive off and started his nightly rounds. He looked in the alleys between the buildings, filled with long shadows and lizards scurrying for cover. Then he went into the hat store, the telegraph station, and the jailhouse, searching all over and calling to anyone who might have been left behind. There was nothing out of the ordinary in any of those places, but Layne couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It was like his senses were extra-sensitive. Little birds chirping in the brush seemed as loud as a car horn. The dust in the air clung to his skin, making it feel rough as sandpaper.

The last place in that part of town he had to check was the stables. On the side facing the street, there was a tall brick wall with a rickety gate that surrounded a corral. In the center of the corral was a shack with old, dusty windows.

Layne opened the gate and stepped inside the corral. The ground was very dry from being baked by the sun. He could feel the hard dirt through his boots. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

Layne walked around the corral and then made his way to
the shack. He put his hand on the hot metal doorknob and was about to open the door when he stopped. He heard a faint noise. Then it got louder. A gloomy howling sound was carried on the wind. After a minute it went away.

Probably just a coyote out there,
he thought.

Layne stuck his head into the shack and looked around. A long cobweb fluttered in the corner of the room. Nothing else.

He left the shack and walked toward the gate. Out of nowhere he heard that sad coyote cry rise again. It was much closer this time and even louder. It sounded as if it was right behind him.

“Anybody here?” he called out.

He spun around, and suddenly his pulse throbbed in his neck and his throat choked up. A twisting pain shot through his stomach. Squinting at him through the window of the shack was an old man in a flat-brimmed hat, just like his.

The man snarled.

Immediately Layne ran to the door and threw it open. The floorboards squeaked under his feet. The gust from the door caused the big cobweb to break free from the wall and drift down to the floor. As it fell, the cobweb reflected light from the window. It looked like a cloud floating through the sky. Layne felt dizzy. His eyes darted to each corner of the room. He looked to his left and right. But he was alone. There was no one there.

Layne took a deep breath and stepped back out of the shack.
He inched toward the window, getting so close his nose almost touched the glass. He raised an arm and clinked his fingernail on the dusty window. It made a flat pinging sound.

It must have been my reflection,
he thought.
It’s just too hot out. I need to get some water.