Salem's Daughters (23 page)

Ross laughed, which gave Bob a most uncomfortable feeling. “Those are for the Egyptian Room, which is now the Medieval Torture Chamber. Complete with stage props of just about every known usage of torture from that time.”

Ross flagged down one of the workers, waving for him to come over. He did, and Ross took a strange looking implement from the man and held it up with pride.

“Did my homework, too, and found this little beauty. It’s called a Heretic Fork. See?”

Ross turned it this way and that for observation. It had a two pronged sharp fork on each end with a leather collar attached in the middle of the connecting steel stem.

Ross explained. “You strap this device around the victim’s neck, positioning the forks, one jabbed tight under the chin and the other poked into the sternum. Then you hang the poor sap by his hands to where just his toes are touching the floor. Idea is, you have to stay awake—conscious, anyway. If you fall asleep, or pass out, your chin will drop, and—”, Ross paused long, that Joker-like malevolent grin on his face. “Basically, you’re skewered.”

Now Bob was thinking of taking a swig from Erma’s flask. “That’s just plain grotesque. Weirdo occult nut-bag crap.”

Ross was laughing hard. “Hold that thought. It only gets better, Bob my boy. The Safari Room is now officially the Paranormal Room.”

Ross was alive with words. Bob found it vexing he could get so excited over the morbid makeover themes.

“The Disco Room is now the Serial Killer Room. That’s what the chainsaws are for. Dolls will be hung from the ceiling like puppets. We needed some extra ummphh, so we added machetes and other such weapons of choice from horror flicks. They’re props, but I have to admit they look so real.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Ross held up his hand. “But wait. That’s not all. Finally, there’s the Skull and Crossbones Room. This will replace the Neptune Room, or Under the Sea. It’ll be black and gray and complete with its very own graveyard. A zombie wasteland with an underworld theme on Earth. The bed is a giant coffin. Fog is pumped in for special effects. This is meant to strike fear in the hearts of visitors.”

Bob had to ask. “Just out of curiosity. What about the Roadhouse Blues?”

Ross waved off Bob’s question. “Two deaths are attributed to that room. It’ll book solid as is.”

Bob’s head was swirling vortex of maddening images and thoughts. He had to somehow stand his ground. “Look. I understand you feel you need to take drastic measures. The four of us could soon owe a lot of money we may not be able to repay. But changing half the rooms to these bizarre themes? This is outright demented.”

“Maybe so,” Erma said. “But do you have a better idea? Because we sure don’t.”

Ross patted Bob on the shoulders. “Sit down, Bob. We have more to discuss than theme changes.”

Ross paced back and forth with the leadership of a CEO and the showmanship of P.T. Barnum. He used his charm, smile, and hand gestures as he continued. All of which Bob despised as he knew he was going to be sold something he didn’t want.

“You’ll love this. The Paranormal Room was a last minute decision. Erma and I did online research and came up with the other themes. But last night, the cast from
American Ghost Stories
called us. Can you believe it?”

Debbie took another swig from Erma’s flask. “I’ve seen them on TV. They set up in abandoned and so-called haunted places and look for evidence of ghosts.”

Ross stopped and spread his arms wide. “And guess what. They want to spend a few nights here. At Murcat Manor. Can you believe it?”

Bob shot out of his chair. “No. Absolutely not. You’re turning this into a freak show.”

Debbie stood next to Bob. “Grandpa, as much as I love and respect you, I have to back up my husband. We forbid this.”

Ross’s smile got bigger, if that were possible. “We don’t have a choice. They offered us a hundred thousand dollars to do their show live. It’ll be broadcast to over two million viewers in real time, on television and the Internet. Right here at Murcat Manor.”

Debbie fell silent. Bob’s jaw dropped.

“And it’s a check I can deposit as soon as they leave.”

“We need that money,” Erma said. “We talked to the people at the bank. They’re not messing around. They’re getting panicky, thinking this place will go out of business before the summer is over. They want their money.”

“So we accepted
American Ghost Stories
’ offer.” Ross accentuated his statement with a loud clap of his hands.

"This is short term,” Erma said. “Just to get people coming back. I'm sure once a year or so passes, we can go back to the original themes. But for now, we're promoting like hell, no pun intended, to the fringe element.”

Bob took a longing look at Erma’s flask, but resisted the urge and instead had a drink from his coffee. It helped clear the after effects of the wine from the day before. “I know you’re trying to help, but this is an awful idea.”

Ross’s grin disappeared. “No, Bob. I'll tell you what's awful. Having all these bills due with no way to pay them.”

“This'll never work,” Bob countered.

“Wanna bet,” Erma said, turning her laptop to Bob and scrolling down the page. “There have been over one hundred new reservations since you walked into the kitchen.”

“Overnight,” Ross said, “Murcat Manor is gaining a reputation as one of the few real haunted Bed and Breakfasts. Can you believe it? Thanks to us, of course. Bob, we can exploit this. The possibilities are better than they’ve ever been.”

Bob had to laugh. “People won’t buy into this rubbish.”

"Oh? Five deaths in nine weeks? Nineteen deaths from the previous homes here? Wouldn’t you say by now everyone thinks something's going on here? Something strange? Macabre? Even sinister? My boy, this reputation will either make or break Murcat Manor. It’s up to us to decide which direction we take this.”

Erma took one more swig from her flask. She offered Debbie another drink, who emptied the flat metal container Erma called
Old Faithful
.

“Now Bob, there is one more problem. Darrowby's just waiting to bust you. Good thing you lawyered up with that Wilson guy. Not sure how you found him, but consider yourself lucky.”

Bob knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but had to ask. “How did you know?”

“Remember,” Erma said. “We cosigned on a three and a half million dollar loan. We’re not about to let you run this place into the ground.”

Bob had the fleeting thought that Ross and Erma would do well as CIA agents with an Eagle Eye global privacy invasion computer at their disposal.

Ross put on a gentle demeanor. But he placed his hand on Bob’s shoulder, gripping it with surety.

“Listen up. I need to level with you. If this doesn’t go well, we'll have to bring in a new manager for Murcat Manor.”

“Translation,” Erma said, stiffening upright in her seat. “You’ll be out if things don’t turn around.”

Bob stepped away from Ross’s manipulative constraint. “You can't do that. We're part owners. If I go down, you go down.”

Erma glared at Bob. "Do you think we’re stupid? It wouldn't take much to push Darrowby over the edge. He wants to arrest you for murder. And who's to say you're not somehow involved. You have to admit, five deaths makes you look very suspicious.”

“Now Erma, darling, let's not be too hasty. I say we give Bob another chance.”

Unbelievable, Bob thought. They're playing bad cop good cop with me. He wondered if they rehearsed their routine driving to Murcat Manor.

Erma maintained her stare. “This is not a request. It’s a statement. Take it or leave it.”

Erma started to squirm uncomfortably. Bob looked down at the cats rubbing up against her ankles. Scarlett jumped up on her lap. Two more cats were now on the table, nestling their heads into her chest. Bob welcomed the unexpected interruption.

Erma brushed them off and kicked at the ones on the floor. “Get away from me, you good for nothing disease ridden varmints. Go shed somewhere else.”

“Well, I think we’re clear on what we have to do,” Ross said. “We’ve been up all night planning this. Erma and I need to go home and sleep. Then, it’s right back to business.”

“Remember,” Erma said as she stood and stomped her foot to scare the cats away. “This is it. Make it work or we bring in new management.”

Erma gave Debbie a hug and kiss, then took Ross’s arm as they walked to the front door. She looked back into the kitchen.

“Have a good day, Bob.”

Go to hell, Erma.
Bob’s wish followed her out the door.

Chapter 38              American Ghost Stories

Emily lounged on an ottoman in the center of the living room, soaking up the late morning sun light streaming through the open plantation shutters. Her twelve followers lay scattered around the living room on various pieces of furniture.

Emily was more excited than she could remember in this, her sixth life. The novelty of performing the double murder of Sophia and Reginald Johnson with pinpoint precision and the spur-of-the-moment killing of Maria Gonzalez had worn off.

Emily loved the creativity Madelyn conceptualized while watching Maria fill a tub sink in the downstairs laundry room to soak the blood-stained shag carpet rugs from the Disco Room. Jacqueline dropped Maria’s core body temperature to the point she could barely move. Chloe levitated a radio above the sink and plugged it into a socket. Then she simply let the radio drop.

Now they needed a new and bigger challenge to satisfy their lust for more terror.

The energy given off by the wave of new guests surpassed any of the prior visitors. Unlike previous weeks when one or two guests showed up early, today the parking lot was full by eleven o’clock.

Emily looked for, identified, and fed off what people emanated. She wasn’t sure what to expect with the new promotions Ross and Erma devised. But she looked forward to the possibilities of the darker elements invading the bed and breakfast.

She sat up to take notice while her following dozed off. Typical.

A young eclectic group of people strolled through the front door. Disrespectful would be an understatement. The young punks, who looked like they were barely out of high school, acted as if they owned the place. Two girls walked straight to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerators.

Raymond Hettinger, as was part of his job description, hauled their luggage from their cars into the bed and breakfast, then up the stairs to their rooms. Not one had the courtesy to say thank you.

Emily studied the freakish group who were unlike anything she had seen. The incoming guests had pale skin that didn’t look natural. They contrasted their skin tone with stark black clothes and hair that seemed to be the norm within their circle.

“Madelyn, wake up. You’ve been researching these fringe elements Ross and Erma described. Expound on this morbid looking group.”

The splotchy black, brown, and white cat yawned and raised her head. She studied two young couples.

“These persons are what are commonly known as Goth. This is a subculture that is dark and mysterious to the outsider—like Bob for instance, who looks like he wants to frisk them for contraband. He wouldn’t have a clue what makes them the way they are. Basically, it’s counter culture to the one that preceded it, the Disco era of the nineteen-seventies.”

Madelyn stood and stretched, then looked through the living room arched door. “The two in the kitchen rummaging through the refrigerators, they think they’re vampires.”

An inward shiver caused Emily to cringe as she glanced at the pair. “Those two genuinely scare me. Are they really vampires?”

Madelyn half suppressed a chuckle. “No. Not to worry. There are no such things as vampires.”

“Says you. I’m not so sure. They look the part.”

The discussion was interrupted by the sound of two vans pulling into the gravel driveway. It was this group that got Emily’s heart pumping. This is what she was waiting for. Emily cast a wakeup call loud and clear.

“Everyone, this is it. Rise and shine.”

The sleeping cats jumped to attention, confused and groggy, looking around the living room.

“What’s going on?” Jacqueline said. “Why the five alarm wakeup call? Did Rebecca set the house on fire?”

“Not yet,” Rebecca said. “But I just might. Emily, don’t ever wake us up like that again.”

“Sorry about that. But the folks from the TV reality show, they’re here.”

Emily focused her senses. She heard the side doors of the vans open, followed by six individual voices. Five males. One female. Raymond came down the stairs and stepped out to help bring in their gear.

Angel and Scarlett jumped to the top of a sofa to get a better look. Midnight, Chloe and Helen pretended to be interested in Bob and rubbed up against his legs as he stared out the bay window in disbelief. Emily laughed inwardly, knowing Bob thought members of a traveling circus escaped and just invaded Murcat Manor.

“There are two brothers,” Madelyn
continued. “Ned and Henry Leeds. They’re twins, but not identical. The pretty young female with rust colored hair, Denise Forsythe, she’s the face of the show.”

Emily jumped onto the floor and strolled toward the front door. Madelyn followed. “Who are the other three?”

“The scrawny looking one wearing a blue jeans and a white T-shirt is the producer, Johnny Rocket. He’s young and this is only his second year with the group. But he’s very talented and comes from a long line of Hollywood big wigs. He coordinates and arranges everything from financing the program to advertising through all phases of filming and development. He’s taken this show to new heights. It has a huge following and is one of the most watched shows on Cable TV.”

“Fascinating. What about the others?”

“The two cameramen? I don’t know who they are, specifically.”

“What rooms are they staying in,” Emily asked as the crew entered the foyer.

“The Paranormal Room and the Serial Killer Room.”

Midnight interrupted. “Don’t you think we should go for an easier target? Like the Goths?”

Emily instantly hated the Goths and Vamps. They were so disrespectful, and they didn’t strike her as the brightest crayons in the box. But the crew from
American Ghost Stories
, now these people would present not only a challenge, but a threat.

Emily’s heart was still pounding. This could be their biggest score in all of their previous lives. The Turner place was all too easy to burn down. Everyone was stoned out of their minds and offered little resistance. The Amish family was sleeping when Rebecca did her work.

But the crew of
American Ghost Stories
, they offered high risk and high reward. Her following always complained about how bored they were. Problem solved. They just hit the lottery.

“We have to think big here, ladies. Remember, we discussed how we’ve been able to increase our powers as we better understand and use them in more difficult opportunities. Well, look no further than right in front of us. Oh, we’re going to have a great time. Sisters, meet our next targets.”

“Which ones,” Esther asked.

“All of them.”

Emily followed Bob and Debbie into the kitchen. They sat at the table and checked in who she knew Bob thought were really weird guests. The rest of the cats followed and spread out. Rachel, as usual, made her way to Bob’s lap. Isabella and Jacqueline walked across the keyboard of his laptop. Emily chuckled, watching Bob as he digested this dark and diverse group of guests as they overran Murcat Manor.

More than a dozen Goths and Vamps were now raiding the refrigerator and rummaging through the cupboards and pantry. Bob did not look happy.

“Dinner’s at five o’clock for the first crew,” Debbie said, using a merry homecoming tone. “Six thirty for the second. You’re on your own for lunch.”

“I don’t care,” a male Goth said, closing a freezer. “There’s nothing good here. Just a bunch of healthy food. Got any Hot Pockets?”

Bob closed his laptop and stood. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Phil.”

Bob pointed out into the living room. “Phil, get out of my kitchen.”

“Is it true five people were murdered here,” a second young male asked, who looked barely old enough to drive. He was dressed in a black leather jacket with countless studs and pins. Ink black hair fell over his forehead and covered one eye.

Bob placed his hands on hips and looked at the delinquents dressed completely in black. Their faces were covered with white makeup. Their dark hair, black lipstick, eye liner, and fingernails made them look like death microwaved. He was clearly disturbed this was the kid’s first question.

“Five people died here. Yes. But they were not murdered,” Bob said deadpanned. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

Phil made a disrespectful facial expression and looked around the kitchen, then out to the living room. “This house, it’s not so scary,” he said in a sniveling tone. “Looks like my mom’s home. Only bigger.”

A female elbowed her way in front of him. “Hi. I’m Brooke. Phil and I are staying in the Medieval Torture Chamber.” There was much excitement her voice. “How many people died there?”

Bob looked down into dark yet anticipating eyes. She wore a spiked dog collar and matching wrist bands.

“None.”

Their faces and shoulders dropped.

A sneer formed across Bob’s mouth. “Tell you what. You two can be the first, okay?”

That wisecrack remark appeared to re-excite them, much to Bob’s consternation.

Debbie gave an askance look at Bob, then handed the guests their room keys. “Raymond already took your luggage upstairs. Your rooms are at the far end of the hall.”

Emily sat upright just inside the kitchen door and watched with vigilance. Next to check in were the six people from
American Ghost Stories
. The Goths and Vamps remained, mesmerized as the crew entered the kitchen. It was as if they were in the presences of demigods.

Madelyn researched the group, and had set up Bob’s laptop while he slept so they all could watch episodes on YouTube. Was the crew for real? Or were they all show and in it for the money?

Emily’s verdict: inconclusive. The fact they initially walked past without noticing her didn’t help their credibility.

But Emily wasn’t letting her guard down. They may have supernatural gifts of discernment. Regardless, she would remain patient. Since
American Ghost Stories
was broadcasting their show live, Emily and the others would give their two million viewers a show they would never forget.

The producer stepped forward and shook Bob’s hand. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. My name is Johnny Rocket. Thank you for allowing us to stay here. We’re truly grateful, especially on such short notice.”

Johnny introduced the rest of the crew. “This is Ned Leeds. To his left is his brother Henry. And this is Denise Forsythe.”

Bob received Ned’s handshake. “We’ve seen your show. Welcome to Murcat Manor.”

“You and your crew will stay in the Paranormal Room and the Serial Killer Room,” Debbie said with more enthusiasm. “I still find it hard to believe you’re taping a live show here. After seeing you in person, I have to admit this is so exciting.”

Johnny Rocket scrolled through notes in his iPad without looking up. “The Paranormal Room is where the Johnsons died last week. It used to be the Disco Room, right?”

Emily could see Bob fighting the urge to throw up. “That’s right.”

“Very good. We’ll get right to work,” Johnny said. “Mr. Stevens, I assure you we won’t disrupt your normal business. We use two cameramen that follow us around and a dozen or so stationary cameras. That’s it. We’ll be as discreet and respectful to your property and guests as possible.”

“Thank you,” Debbie said. “As much as we’d like to be a part of this, Bob and I are locking ourselves in our bedroom with a couple bottles of wine. We don’t want to get in the way of your show.”

Denise Forsythe, the face of the show, smiled approvingly. But Emily sensed she was glad Bob and Debbie would be secluded in their room. The first thing Emily discerned about the incredibly popular hostess of one of Cable TVs biggest shows was Denise had an immense problem with pride. Emily had found a great weakness, and would exploit this against her and the crew in incredible ways.

“I understand,” Denise said, stepping forward and brushing her fingers through her long flowing rust colored hair. “Just be sure to watch the show. After all, you live here. If there’s anything paranormal going on, you’ll want to see me and my cast expose it.”

Bob let out a laugh but caught himself. “I’m not superstitious. No offense, but I really don’t expect anything to happen here tonight.”

Ned Leeds, the host of the show, stepped forward. “Mr. Stevens, we’re a lot alike. We’re skeptics at heart, as are most paranormal detectives. We do our best to weed out the instances of people imagining—or even staging, making up—what they’ve experienced as real. Then, if anything remains, we’ll explore that as possible paranormal activity.”

Bob sat and fidgeted in his chair, staring into his half empty glass of Coca Cola. Emily knew he was trying to be polite, while at the same time letting the crew know he thought they were full of shit. Emily appreciated the conflict. Sometimes, Boring Bob surprised her.

“Well, I’m still not a believer,” Bob continued. “I mean, I am. But, just not in what you’re promoting.”

“I can understand your reluctance,” Denise said. “But there is far more to our world than what we can perceive with our five senses.”

Bob lifted his glass in salutation. “If you can prove that tonight and present your findings to Detective Darrowby, I’d greatly appreciate it.”