Page 19 of Into the Dark

A knock sounded from inside the chute.

Nigel jumped at the knock echoing up the metal sides of the chute. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he glanced over his shoulder, irrationally certain something was sneaking up behind them.

Oscar cleared his throat. “Okay, thank you,” he said in the direction of the chute. “Can you tap twice to let us know you’re there, and it wasn’t just the building settling?”

Knock. Knock.

Nigel glanced at Oscar, whose face had lit up with excitement. Chris kept the camera steady, their expression one of concentration.

“Thank you.” Oscar sobered. “Can we do one knock for ‘no’ and two for ‘yes’?”

Knock. Knock.

The air seemed to grow colder. Nigel pulled out his EMF reader, which included a temperature gauge.

“Fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit,” he read out. Chris swung the camera in his direction. “Fifty-three. Fifty.”

“Remind our viewers what that means,” Oscar urged.

Right—he still wasn’t used to performing for a camera. “Incorporeal personal agencies—that is, ghosts—can draw on the ambient energy in the air, creating cold spots. At the moment, this one is likely doing so in order to gather the strength to communicate with us.”

“They want to talk, whoever they are,” Oscar said, and the camera refocused on him, much to Nigel’s relief. “Were you a patient here?” he asked in the direction of the chute.

Knock. Knock.

“I’m sorry for your suffering. Did being here help you at all?”

KNOCK.

The bang was so loud they all jumped this time. “I’d say that’s an emphatic no,” Nigel muttered.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oscar told the spirit. “We’d like to help you if we can.”

Nigel lifted his hand, signaling Oscar he had a question. When Oscar nodded, he asked, “Can you tell us what year you were brought here? Tap out the numbers if you can.”

If they could find records, they might be able to identify the spirit, which could help them bring it the closure it needed to move on. Of course, given how many people had died in these walls over the years, it might not be much of a clue.

Knock.

“That’s one or no,” Oscar said.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Nigel felt a surge of excitement. It had worked; they were getting what was undeniably an intelligent response. “Nine.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Three.” Oscar met his gaze. “1930-something. What’s the last?—”

Farther down the ward, a door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Oscar’s heart raced as he directed the beam of his head cam toward the noise. The others swung theirs as well, and there came a moment of conflicting shadows—movement or the illusion of movement, he couldn’t tell.

The air felt suddenly heavier. Hostile.

“That was the door to the stairs,” Nigel said. “I don’t feel a breeze or anything that might have pushed it closed, but this is a drafty building.”

Oscar shook his head. The sense of hostility was fading, but still there. “Something doesn’t want us asking questions,” he said. “There’s a second presence here. Stronger than the one we’ve been talking to.”

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