Page 18 of Into the Dark

He quickened his step to catch up with Oscar and Chris. They halted again at the foot of the stairs, as did Zeek and Adrienne.

“Be careful,” Nigel said. “If the previous team did encounter an angry spirit…well, it shouldn’t have gathered enough strength yet to actually do anything. But we should be cautious nonetheless.”

“You got it.” Zeek gave him a thumbs-up. “See you all on the flip side!”

He bounded up the stairs and held open the door for Adrienne. When they were gone, Chris said, “Do you think they might run into trouble up there?”

“Hopefully not.” Nigel craned his head back to see the upper stories.

“Let’s just worry about our investigation for now,” Oscar said. “Everyone ready? Mics on, cams on? Then let’s go.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Oscar tooka deep breath as they entered the asylum for the second time. Grounding was one of the basics of mediumship, both to have a clear mind to receive what the ghosts wanted to share with him, and also to keep his emotions level to avoid giving the spirits too much strength.

Ghosts fed on the ambient energy generated by the living, but strong emotions worked like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Any would do, but negative entities preferred fear.

Without the light of the sun to filter through the windows, the entryway was black as pitch. Their headlamps played over the peeling wallpaper and empty doorways, making shadows jump and swing.

“Yuck,” said Chris, pointing their shoulder cam at the wall. A large splotch of mold discolored the exposed plaster near the entrance to the superintendent’s office. “I didn’t notice that before. No wonder Nigel is sneezing.”

The elevator lurked at the end of the wide hall, festooned with cobwebs that seemed to shift in the beams from their lights. From the right-hand stairway came the faint sound of voices as Zeek and Adrienne climbed to the north wing’s fourth floor.

Through the double doors on the left, the women’s ward lay quiet before them. Chris paused to swap out the batteries on the static cam, even though nothing of interest had shown up on it yet.

That could be about to change. Oscar stopped in front of the laundry chute. “I’d like to try a spirit box session here.”

Nigel adjusted his glasses. “Are you sensing anything?”

“Not at the moment.” Oscar shrugged. “We might not get anything, tonight at least, but it’s worth a try.”

Chris took up position for the shot, and Nigel stepped back so as not to be in it. Oscar took the spirit box off his belt and held it up for the camera.

“Our subscribers already know this, but for anyone new here, this is a spirit box. It switches rapidly between radio frequencies. Normally, we should just hear static punctuated by the occasional word fragment if it happens to hit the frequency of an actual station.” Which didn’t seem likely, given the remoteness of the asylum, not to mention the surrounding mountains which would block most signals. “Spirits can manipulate the frequencies to form words. So if we hear more than one or two words in a row, it should be from them.”

That was the theory anyway, and it had worked before. Oscar switched the device on, wincing as a loud burst of static filled the air.

“Is anyone here with us?” he asked, then paused to give any spirits time to answer.

Nothing but static.

He took a deep breath. Was he sensing something?

No. Maybe the spirits here were more shy than the ones they’d encountered before. If they’d died here in fear and pain, tormented by their own minds, locked in that horrible Utica crib or something similar…well, in their place, he wouldn’t be particularly eager to approach strangers either.

That, or there was nothing to sense. Or, worse, he just wasn’t good enough to sense it.

He tried to push the thought aside. “My name’s Oscar,” he said. “We just want to talk to you. I’d like to hear your story, if you’ll tell us.”

Sometimes that alone was enough to release a ghost to the afterlife. But again, the only reply was static.

He frowned. Maybe he was using the wrong tool. Letting the spirit box run, just in case any ghosts changed their minds, he said, “Earlier, you made a sound in the laundry chute. Can you do that again?”

Another pause. Nothing again.

Oscar switched off the box. “I don’t think?—”

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