Ghost Hunt: Chilling Tales of the Unknown (9 page)

I heard my parents’ footsteps. Any minute, they would come out of the living room. They would spot me in the downstairs hall.

I sprinted for the kitchen, careful to run on the balls of
my feet. That way, I wouldn’t make any noise. I crouched behind the kitchen table. All the chairs were pushed in. Even if Mom and Dad looked into the kitchen, they wouldn’t be able to see me at all.

But they didn’t look. Mom and Dad went upstairs. They turned off the lights. Now I was all alone in the dark.

Where those things hide.

Why did Mom say that? I wondered. What did she mean by “those things”?

I’m not just some kid who’s scared of the dark. Though I am. Kind of. Don’t tell anyone.

I filled up the water bottle and headed back upstairs. I was halfway up when I felt the cold.

Most people think cold is just cold. You put on a sweater and it’s no big deal. But this cold was something more. You know what I mean, right? You’re Ghost Hunters, after all.

The cold came from nowhere. That was the first thing. Sure, it was January. But I was in the middle of the house. Not near a window or a door. One minute it was normal temperature. The next minute I can see my breath, like when I’m outside in the snow.

I spun around.

Nothing.

Of course it’s nothing, Bill, I thought. Dave is right. You are a wimp.

Then why was my heart pounding so fast? So hard? My breath was making big white clouds as I breathed in and out. I kept on going toward my bedroom. Up the stairs. One by one. My teeth were chattering when I got to the top. I don’t know what made me do it, but I turned around.

There was a man behind me at the bottom of the stairs. He was staring straight ahead. I don’t think he saw me. I wanted to scream my head off. To yell for Mom and Dad.

Something stopped me. I can’t explain. It’s like there was this big fist in the middle of my throat. Choking me. Choking off even the possibility of sound.

I backed up.

Step. Step. Step.

The man began to climb the stairs. Coming toward me.

Step. Step. Step.

I was in my bedroom now.

Step. Step. Step.

The back of my knees bumped against my bed. I climbed up on it. But I didn’t turn around. There was no way I was turning my back. I scooted all the way to the head of my bed.

There’s nowhere else to go! I’m trapped!

I could see the man’s head. Then his shoulders. And his chest. He kept on coming up the stairs! Coming straight toward me. He was in the hall now. Almost to my bedroom door. I could see his waist. But his legs…

His legs!

I did scream then. I couldn’t stop myself.

All the way up the stairs he came. Along the hall to the door of my room.

Except he couldn’t have. There was no way he could do that.

He didn’t have any legs.

“Wow!” Jen Shorewood said. “That is so creepy.” She shivered. “Just hearing about it makes
me
cold. So, we’re going to help this kid, right?”

“This could be tricky,” Grant said. “Officially, the family hasn’t asked for any help. By which I mean the parents. We can’t just show up.”

“But there must be something we can do,” Mark said. “We can’t ignore what’s going on.”

“Bill’s letter said he kept a case file,” Jason said.

Mark nodded. “It’s right here.” He spread the papers out and looked them over quickly. “In addition to a stair-climbing guy, there’s also a woman who walks around in the kitchen and a kid about Bill’s little sister’s age who runs back and forth—maybe she’s playing or something—in the downstairs hall.”

“Do any of the others have legs?” Mike asked. “And for the record, I can’t believe I just asked that question.”

“No,” Mark said. “None of them. And here’s something else. They do the same thing, over and over.”

“That’s interesting,” Grant commented.

“At least let me do some research,” Mark said. “Maybe if I can figure out who these ghosts are, I can solve the puzzle of what’s going on. Then we could get in touch with the parents. When we have something solid to tell them.”

“Sounds like a good approach,” Jason said. “Keep us posted.”

“Will do,” Mark promised.

The meeting broke up. Mark put Bill’s letter and case file back in the envelope. He tucked it under his arm.

His brother came to stand beside him. “You okay?” Mike asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Mostly. I just hate to think of that kid all on his own. We saw some pretty freaky stuff when we were kids.”

“We did,” Mike agreed. “But we got through it.”

“I know. That’s why I have to help him. Even if the team can’t take the case. Even if I can’t make the ghosts go away. I want Bill to know he’s not alone in this. He’s got solid backup.”

The brothers fell silent. Both were thinking of their unusual childhood growing up in a haunted house.

“Well,” Mike finally said. He poked Mark in the gut with his index finger. “After that burger and fries you had for lunch, I’d say you’ve got the
solid
part covered.”

“You’re the one who had the chocolate shake,” Mark came right back. “Not to mention you ate most of my fries.”

The brothers grinned at each other.

“You need any backup yourself, you let me know,” Mike said.

“Thanks. I’ll do that,” Mark replied.

“Where are you going to start?” Mike asked.

“Easy,” Mark said. “I’m going to go back in time.”

“It’s got to be here,” Mark muttered several days later. He was working late at the office. Mark rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He felt as if he had been staring at the computer screen forever.

“Who are these ghosts?” he asked himself. “What are they doing in Bill’s house? There’s got to be an explanation. There’s got to be
something
in the past.”

He hadn’t found it so far.

Mark stopped staring at the computer and stared at Bill’s letter instead. He kept it right beside him on the desk. To remind him of why he shouldn’t give up—why he should keep on going.

I’m not just some kid who’s scared of the dark. Though I am. Kind of. Don’t tell anyone.

That’s what Bill had said. But Mark knew exactly what he meant.

Bill is more than scared,
Mark thought.
Bill Turner is terrified. And it won’t get any better—until I find a way to help him.

Mark’s gaze strayed to the stack of papers beside Bill’s letter. The pile was enormous. Doing the research on where the Turners lived was actually sort of fun. Mark loved going back to the historical record. He loved finding answers in the past when the present stumped everyone else.

Trouble was, both past
and
present were stumping him now.

It wasn’t that the ghosts kept doing the same thing over and over. Mark had seen cases like that before. Not very often, but there were quite a few in the TAPS files. There was one big difference in this case. The spirits in those hauntings had all their body parts.

Why don’t the ghosts in Bill Turner’s house have any legs?
Mark wondered.

There had to be a reason. Mark was sure of it. So why couldn’t he find one?

He pawed through the papers impatiently. Some tumbled off the table and fell to the floor. Mark ignored them.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, what’s the answer?”

He pulled out a paper from the very bottom of the stack.
Go back to the beginning,
he thought. Mark began his search with an
old map. It showed what the area where Bill Turner now lived used to look like. Once the whole area was farm country. One big farm, in fact. The original farmhouse stood in the same spot as Bill’s house.

The farmhouse,
Mark thought. He shuffled through the papers again. He pulled out a second map. This one showed the floor plan of the original farmhouse.

Mark ran his finger through the rooms, as if he were trying to find his way through a maze. Through the front door and into the downstairs hall. Then up a flight of stairs to the second floor.

If Bill lived in the old farmhouse,
Mark thought,
his bedroom would be right at the end of the hall. Right
there.

Mark’s finger froze. His heart began to pound.
Wait a minute. Wait just a minute here,
he thought.

He turned back to his computer. He typed in a command. A moment later, the web page for the housing development where Bill Turner lived appeared on the screen. Mark navigated through the website until he found what he wanted.

That’s it!
he thought.
That’s it right there!

The old farmhouse and Bill Turner’s house looked exactly alike. The new house was bigger. But the layout was the same.

Excited now, Mark printed out what the website showed. Then he checked the time. It was 9:30
PM
. Still okay. Mark’s
mom had this rule when the boys were growing up. No phone calls after ten o’clock. Even now that Mark was grown up, this rule still stuck.

Mark picked up the phone. His first phone call was to Jason.

“Hey, Jason. It’s Mark,” he said. “Good news on the Bill Turner case. I think I figured out what’s going on.”

“That’s great news,” Jason said. “Give me the rundown.”

Quickly, Mark explained.

“That does make sense,” Jason agreed when Mark was finished. “Really great job.”

“I want to contact Bill’s parents,” Mark said. “Now that we have a possible answer, I think the time is right.”

“I agree,” Jason said. “Go for it. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do,” Mark said.

He hung up. Then he pulled out Bill’s letter. The Turner address and phone number were printed at the bottom of the page.

“Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Turner,” Mark said to himself as he punched in the phone number. “Please don’t freak out.”

He listened to the phone ring. “Hello?” he said when a woman’s voice answered the phone. “Is this Mrs. Turner?”

“Yes,” the voice replied. She sounded puzzled. Mark couldn’t blame her. He quickly explained.

“Mrs. Turner, my name is Mark Hammond,” he said. “We’ve never met, but your son Bill wrote to me about a week ago. I work for TAPS, The Atlantic Paranormal Society. I’ve been doing some research.

“I think I know what’s going on inside your house.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Mark said. “I know getting a call from a total stranger might seem, well, kind of strange.”