Transmission: A Supernatural Thriller (16 page)

“So,” continued Dylan, “it's just like I was saying. Sometimes, the dead can be captured on audio recordings or video. Experts don't know exactly how or why this happens, but they speculate that their energies interfere with the recording equipment, and that they reach out with a message for the living. Of course, they don't have the energy to say a whole lot, so the messages are often condensed, right? A little cryptic, maybe.”

Reggie's gaze hardened as he pondered this. “Like a set of coordinates, you mean.”

Dylan nodded gravely. “I told Kenji over there that this could be some kind of paranormal EVP thing, but he doesn't buy it. I think, though, that it's entirely possible. Just think about it. Maybe this Agnes lady died, right? And she wanted to let someone know about where she died, or the person who killed her, so she shares these coordinates. A string of Maidenhead coordinates like what she shared is brief enough for a spirit to convey, probably. Why not, right?”

Stroking his chin, Reggie glanced over at Kenji, who was hunched over the book, reading feverishly. “We'll see, I guess. I want to know what your friend over there makes of the book first.”

“Nah, think about it, man,” continued Dylan. He was trembling slightly, a mixture of excitement and unease coursing through him. He chewed on his lower lip, going through his theory again. “It's the only thing that makes sense. Her spirit got picked up on these two recordings because she wanted to leave a message for the living.”

“Sure, but then how's this book figure into all of this?” asked Reggie.

“Maybe it doesn't,” countered Dylan. “I
hope
it doesn't. That's some freaky shit in there. What I'm saying is that we're maybe dealing with a ghost trying to reach the living. I don't even want to consider that it could be an evil,
witchy
ghost we're chasing.”

Reggie yawned. He'd brought a thermos of coffee with him, and every now and then he'd take a long pull from it. “I've got a friend, Victor. The book store owner. He had a look at that book there, like I told you. He's kinda eccentric. Likes astrology and all kinds of New Age stuff. But he told me once, when discussing some murder in the local news, that the victim might never rest in such a case. A spirit, in death, is sometimes 'broken', he said. A violent end can scatter pieces of their spirit so that they can't know peace till the end of eternity. And those pieces, you know, they end up in all sorts of places. God knows where they might end up. Maybe in a video or song or somesuch. It's not impossible. Could explain why voices get picked up in these radio recordings, or why our buddy Agnes... you know.”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah... yeah, you might be onto something. I'm telling you,” he said to Kenji, patting his shoulder, “this is an EVP thing. She's a ghost of some kind, and she's reaching out to us from beyond, man. You know I'm right.” Kenji shook him off, focusing hard on the dense text before him.

“You think Agnes was murdered?” asked Reggie. “It's possible she was killed by someone and wanted the world to know what happened to her. When she died, her restless soul got busted like a mirror, into pieces, and those pieces ended up in a song, a documentary, that were released on the day of her death. Those things are examples of EVPs, a spirit caught on video, yeah? Her message was spread, transmitted...”

“Could be...” Dylan trailed off, balling and un-balling his fists. He was glancing repeatedly at the radio on the desk while he paced. He reached over Kenji and toyed with the knobs on it, his forehead dressed in a bit of sweat. “I, uh... once, in a movie, I saw someone try to...” He shook his head, decided not to finish the sentence.

“What's that?” asked Reggie, leaning forward.

Dylan hesitated. “Well, I'm not saying this is legit or anything, but... I saw in a movie once that you can use a radio as a kind of ouija board, to communicate with the dead. Know what I mean? Ghost hunters online use 'spirit boxes'-- they scan the frequencies in search of anomalous noises. They claim it's the voices of the dead. I saw a few videos on that not too long ago when I was researching white noise and EVPs, too.” He gulped, issuing a nervous laugh. “It's dumb. But maybe Agnes lured us here because she wanted us to use the radio, right?”

Reggie sat bolt upright. “Now we're talkin'. You might be onto something there, kid.” He stood and walked over to the radio, brushing a thick layer of dust off the top of the black console. “Think we should give it a try? Maybe switch her on and see what we pick up?” He nudged Kenji's arm, drawing him out of his reading. “What do ya say, Kenji?”

Dylan shook his head. “Nah, we're... we're not in a great place to do this sort of thing. We're just going to hear what we want to hear in the static, guys. Not wise to mess with spirit boxes in our state of mind.” He'd gone pale again. “Let's just forget I said anything. It's a long shot. Movie rubbish.”

Reggie pressed, however. “No, I think you might have a point. It'll help us kill some time if nothin' else.” He tapped Kenji's shoulder again. “Let's have us a séance, boys. If we're right, and Agnes is really no longer of this world, then we stand a chance. Think about it; she's the one who led us here, and we've got a radio at our disposal. Let's fire her up.”

Kenji massaged his temples and stood up, stretching. “I could use a break, I guess.” He yawned, cracking his knuckles and resting his hands behind his head. “What do we have to do to set this up? I don't want to waste too much time on this, mind you. I've got a lot of reading to do yet.”

“What've you found in there so far?” chanced Dylan, wincing like he wasn't interested in the answer.

“Not much, yet,” replied Kenji. “Nothing that seems to have anything to do with Agnes going missing, anyway.”

Reggie worked through the hypothesis once more. “So, Agnes died ten years ago. Maybe got murdered or had some unfinished business, and we found her in EVPs or what have you. Now that we're here, she wants us to make contact. Let's get the radio going.” He motioned to Dylan. “Do it just like they did in those videos ya saw.”

Dylan laughed, shaking his head. “I don't think this is smart. We're just going to scare ourselves. Most of those videos I saw were fakes, I'm sure-- people hearing gibberish and interpreting it as something profound.” He stood before the radio and glanced at the numerous buttons. Finding the power button, he clicked it. A red light flashed on, and the unit powered up, spitting out a discordant hum of radio static. Turning the volume down and looking not a little spooked for the sudden burst of sound, he tried to voice his reservations one last time. “It looks like the radio works, but... guys, I don't think we oughta mess with this.”

Reggie slurped some coffee from his thermos and plopped down into one of the chairs, crossing his legs. “Worst case, we don't hear nothin'. Best case, I'm right and we make contact with her. Nothing to lose but a little time. And we got plenty of that, young man.”

Kenji reluctantly agreed. “It's worth a shot, if only to finally put this to bed. You think she's a ghost, well, let's see if she wants to talk.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Dylan busied himself with setting up the radio. He lifted it from its dusty perch on the desk and sat it on the floor. The cord was just long enough to extend to an outlet nearby, and the three of them plopped down beside it, sitting in a semi-circle.

So far, everything Kenji had read in the book gave him bad vibes. It wasn't that he believed in magic or ghosts or anything of that sort; he'd always been something of a skeptic, rather even-headed where matters like these were concerned. Perhaps it was merely the strange case he'd found himself wrapped up in-- that of Agnes' disappearance and all of the strange happenings surrounding it; or maybe it was the frightful and graphic artwork that was found in every chapter of that book that opened his mind, however slightly, to the possibility of a supernatural influence. The book spoke of rituals whose currency was human blood. Sacrifice, it seemed, could bestow a devoted killer with myriad benefits if only they knew what to do with the payload.

Among the most unsettling rituals Kenji had read was one roughly translated as
The Forbidden Sustenance
. Its execution was rather simple; one needed only to recite a certain passage from the book, a prayer, and to drink an equivalent to three pints of blood from the body of a freshly-sacrificed victim. This, in turn, would grant the practitioner something like ten years of additional youth. The consumption of human blood as medicine was not unheard of in the myths and legends Kenji knew from around the globe. He was reminded of vampires, chiefly.

There was a troubling thread that seemed to unite these various rituals and incantations, however. One character, called only “The Dark One”, appeared repeatedly. His name was to be uttered during the cryptic proceedings and was to be spoken, it was noted, with the utmost caution. This “Dark One”, it was written, was
always
listening. From whence it listened, or what it was, he hadn't yet found an explanation. Kenji figured that this was a nod to some ancient Romanian deity or demon. Though he didn't put much stock into it, there was no denying that this “Dark One” was an integral figure to the mythos of the
Carte de Umbra Lungi
, and to the magical horrors it claimed to facilitate.

The Dark One had not been depicted in the book so far. Drawings of torture, of executions and primitive diagrams featuring body parts or rare ingredients were plenty, however the core figure behind these strange rites was never pictured. It was just as well; among the most disturbing things Kenji had read in the volume were descriptions of the Dark One. It was written that the entity could take the shape of a man, but that it was, in reality, a beast. Of its shape only vague things were noted. The writer of the book had taken liberties with the description, rendering the Dark One in eerie, poetic language. It was said to possess a gaseous form like “the smoke of a funeral pyre”, and yet on the same page, there was reference to the thing boasting “a thousand and more searching legs, like those of a spider.” The descriptions were varied, but that the author had intended to describe a creature sordid beyond all imagining was clear.

Further into the book, Kenji noticed a couple of pages that sat apart from the rest. They looked thoroughly dog-eared, as though they'd been referenced a good deal more than the rest by a previous owner. He wished to skip further ahead and have a closer look at this section. Something told him that it was a chapter of particular interest to Agnes, but Dylan's insistence on holding a makeshift séance had distracted him from that goal. The book would have to wait.

Appearing somewhat deflated, Dylan slowly explained the procedure he would be following in conducting the séance. “The way I saw it performed required a continuous scan of the frequencies. We'll use the AM signals exclusively, and we'll scan them in reverse. I don't know why, but several experts agreed this works better for some reason.” Studying the stereo, Dylan allowed his finger to rest on the power button. “Before we start, we have to announce our intent to speak to the dead. That way, any spirits in the area will know we're tuning in.” He cleared his throat, lips quivering, and fought to summon the words. A few moments passed however, and he couldn't muster the nerve.

Eventually, Reggie spoke up, holding his knees and letting his deep voice boom through the pervading stillness. “We're reaching out to anyone out there who's listening-- especially you, Agnes. Agnes Pasztor, if you're listening, we want to have a chat.”

Without even thinking about it, Kenji felt compelled to add, “And the
Dark One
, too. If you're listening, we want to speak to you.”

Reggie and Dylan looked over at him curiously, but said nothing. Returning to the radio, Dylan switched it on and set it to scan the waves in reverse. Out here in this remote spot there were not many signals to lock onto, but the crackle of static and weak, far-off transmissions did begin to turn up. The noise was unpleasant, and he wrestled with the volume knob, settling on a reasonable level that would minimize the more grating screeches coming through the dusty speaker. He then sat down, legs crossed, and dropped his hands into his lap. “Now we wait a bit.”

The trio waited in silence, listening to the radio scan the frequencies over and over again. Once it had cycled through four or five times, Dylan nodded.

Kenji took this as his cue. Licking his lips, he leaned forward and spoke towards the radio as if it were a microphone. “Hey, is... is anyone there?” The crackling of the speaker startled him, and he loosed a little gasp before feeling suddenly ashamed of himself. Once more, he asked, “We want to make contact with the spirits. Is anyone there? We wish to speak to Agnes Pasztor.”

With every passing minute, while the three of them listened closely for any answer, Kenji felt more and more like an idiot for participating.
This is bullshit
, he thought. His time was better spent working on translating the old book.

Dylan spoke up next, his voice half-trapped in his throat and almost unintelligible. “Agnes, are you there?”

For some minutes they sat, but only the occasional pop of distant radio stations met their ears, coming through in one instant and vanishing the next. “This is pointless,” said Kenji, starting to stand. “Let's shut it off. I want to get back to the book.”

Reggie urged him back. “Nah, sit down. Let's give it a real shot before we throw in the towel.” Leaning towards the radio, Reggie spoke. His voice boomed through the cramped shack like the howl of a high priest in some night-shaded shrine of old. “We wish to speak to the spirit of Agnes Pasztor. Are you there, Agnes?”

The three of them sat, waiting for a reply. Kenji's gaze returned to the book on the table. The silvery cover beckoned him; the key to everything was in that tome somewhere. He felt sure of it, though he couldn't say why. This séance was a fool's errand, the kind of thing that bored conspiracy theorists engaged in. The sort of experiment that charlatans posted to the internet in order to rack up more page-views and ad revenue. When a minute went by without a discernible response, Kenji stood up and snickered. “This is crap, guys. Let's quit it.”