Ghosts at Drayson Schoolhouse Page 3

  “Okay, I’ll be right down.” I wrote a few more notes down. I didn’t expect to see Sarah still standing there three minutes later, after I stood and flipped off the desk lamp. Her face looked pale.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think something terrible happened at that school,” she said. “I don’t know what it is yet. But something bad happened.”

  “You seeing things?”

  She nodded, eyes fixed on the carpet.

  “You’ll be all right,” I said, giving her a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “You always manage to get through these things.” Sarah smiled. “Let’s go eat.”

  Dad walked in the house just after we sat down for dinner.

  “I’ll be down in a minute, hon’,” he told my mom. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She giggled as he rubbed his nose against her ear. My parents were always affectionate toward each other. It made for a strong marriage.

  Dad had come from a funeral and still held his Bible. A young choir girl from the congregation had died.

  “Let’s wait for your father,” my mom said. “Then we can all say grace together.”

  “Okay.”

  The stew was too hot anyway. My dad reappeared five minutes later and took his seat at the head of the table, which faced the great room. He wore a purple-striped Polo shirt and tan cargo shorts.

  “Dear Heavenly Father,” my dad said, as we all bowed our heads. “We thank you for this meal that we’re about to eat, and for the many blessings you’ve bestowed upon us over the years. Keep us safe in the coming days, so we can continue to honor and serve you. In Jesus name, we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the rest of us uttered along with dad.

  “So how was everyone’s day?” said my dad, as he buttered a roll. He then stared at me with that pleasant but stern look, which always seemed to force the truth out of me.

  “I went to that haunted school today,” I told him.

  “School. You didn’t tell me about any school haunting.”

  “I know, sir. I was going to tell you tonight.”

  What’s going on there?” he said, as he bit into his roll. He glanced over at my mom, then looked back at me.

  “Typical paranormal activity,” I said. The first bite of stew burned my tongue, so my words were a bit garbled.

  “Let the stew cool down a little, Dylan,” my mom said.

  “When are you going to investigate?”

  “Sunday night.”

  “Okay. Make sure you all go to church on Sunday. I’ll hold a blessing for you three after the service.”

  “We will.”

  “And, Dylan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Give me a little more warning about these investigations from now on. That way I can better schedule it should you need me.”

  “Okay.” He smiled and tousled my hair.

  “Someone needs a haircut.” I just smiled.

  My dad always advocated the blessings to keep us safe from any evil entities, including bad human spirits. Sometimes demons influenced their behavior, or gave them special powers.

  “Sarah,” my mom said. Up until now, Sarah had not taken one bite of her food. She looked even paler than when I saw her fifteen minutes ago. My attempt at consoling her hadn’t helped.

  Suddenly she started shaking. Her head jerked back. She shot her arms straight down to her chair seat to brace herself.

  “Sarah,” my mom said. “Oh, my God!”

  Sarah looked up, opened her mouth and emitted a guttural sound, then started gagging. Ten seconds later, she sat up and said, “What are you all looking at? I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” said mom. “All this ghost hunting can’t be good for your health.”

  “I’m okay—really!” Sarah smiled, dipped her spoon in the stew and chewed one of the potatoes. She glanced at me for a second, then scooped up some meat and carrots.

  My dad just stared at Sarah. He then sipped his milk.

  “I’m going to bless some holy water for you Sunday,” he said. “And I want you to contact me if you sense anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Sarah.

  Out of the ordinary meant evil or demonic. It was a euphemism my dad used in front of my mom. Heebie-jeebies, you know.

  “You were jumped, weren’t you,” I asked Sarah after dinner. I had followed her to her room, which was decorated in pink and white. Posters of Justin Bieber and several other stars that I didn’t know hung from her walls.

  “Was not. I had a bit of asthma.”

  “No. That wasn’t asthma.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sarah.”

  “Okay, I was jumped. So what.” She stomped her foot and glared at me.

  I could tell what had happened at dinner, and my dad knew, too. A spirit had tried to jump Sarah and communicate with us. Somehow these disembodied entities knew Sarah was coming in advance. And when this happened it usually meant the haunting was severe.

  “How did you ward it off?” Sarah had just turned and placed her hands on the back of her desk chair.

  “A prayer that I use.”

  “Just say the word and I’ll call this whole thing off. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, as she turned around and shot her hands out for emphasis. She then glanced at the door. “You can leave now.”

  “Yes, your highness.” I bowed like a circus performer before I left her room. She giggled and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 4

  “. . . Everyone has his or her own cross to bear in life. Some peoples’ crosses may be heavier or more burdensome than others . . . These burdens are initiated by God to strengthen each and every one of us as Christians. He exercises our spiritual muscles, preparing us for even greater works in this world.”

  Reverend John McCauliffe stood at the pulpit inside the Savior Episcopalian church, delivering his Sunday service. He had everyone’s full attention. Most were dressed in their Sunday best. Some of the older women wore hats and shoulder stoles—clothing articles that were most appropriate for Easter Sunday—not on an eighty-degree June morning. But the dress code was flexible and some people wore jeans and T-shirts.

  Sarah, Mark and I sat toward the back of the sanctuary as my father preached his sermon. The brilliant morning sun shone through the large stained glass windows, streaking the walls and floors with a golden cast.

  “. . . Christ was crucified on the cross. And no servant is greater than his master. Therefore, we can all expect to go through certain trials and tribulations on earth, just as Jesus did. But rest assured that we will someday arise and be with Jesus—if we endure. So let us rejoice on this beautiful June day, realizing that Christ will never leave us, if we believe in His Word and follow Him as long as we live. Let us pray.”

  Dad led us through the Lord’s Prayer. The congregation then stood and sang as the organist played the doxology.

  “Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

  Praise Him, all creatures here below;

  Praise Him above, ye heav’nly host;

  Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

  After the service, we watched as my father walked down the aisle, followed by the choir and front pews. Dad then greeted people outside the door, as everyone made their way out of the sanctuary. Sarah, Mark and I were the last to leave our seats. Five minutes after everyone departed, we walked to the parlor and sat down on the plush chairs.

  “What time are we meeting the lady?” asked Mark. He wore a thin red tie and black pants. His legs were crossed in a figure-four on the beige wingback chair.

  “Nine.”

  “Why so late?”

  “Because the construction workers are working today until dark. They’re putting in overtime to get all the remodeling completed by mid-August.”

  “Kind of late, isn’t it?”

  Mark was right. We usually arrived two hours earlier to
get the layout of a location and set up the equipment. Not only that, it was a lot less spooky getting to see a building or house during the day. That way if we lost our way in the darkness, we’d have a better understanding of how to get out of a room or basement should something freak us out. Old buildings could also be dangerous if there were any holes or gaps in the floors or walls. The investigations were done in complete darkness, but we had night vision goggles and cameras to see our way around locations.

  “We can still get setup in time.”

  The sanctuary doors were still open. I watched as the custodian flipped off the main lights in the sanctuary, leaving just the security lights on. The heels of his work shoes clopped against the tiles—which was the lone sound in the church—as he strode down the aisle and exited the left door. He then shut the door he walked through as well as all of the others.

  “You all ready?” said my father, as he appeared through the open section of the parlor twenty minutes later. He still wore his white robe.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Okay. Everything is set up.”

  We walked down the middle aisle toward the altar steps, where my father had set up a basin of holy water. He blessed us with the water as we all knelt before the altar.

  “Here’s some holy water to take with you,” my father said, handing me a small plastic bottle with “Holy Water” inscribed in faint gold letters. “And make sure you take a Bible with you, just in case.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay. I guess I’ll see you back at the house for dinner. I have a few hospital rounds to make today.”

  Mark and I started loading the equipment in my Jeep Cherokee at seven, while Sarah talked to one of her friends on her cell. She stood near the bottom step of the porch.

  “You could help, you know,” I told her, as I walked passed her on the way back inside. She frowned and waved me off. She and Hannah, I assumed, were talking about boys from what I gathered. I grabbed my bag of cameras and batteries, passed Sarah again and placed them in the back of my Jeep.

  “He’s so cute,” said Sarah, as Mike toted a couple boxes of REM-Pods and set them down on the driveway. He rolled his eyes as he listened to Sarah’s conversation. Just last year, she hated boys.

  “Kissy, kissy,” said Mike, as he approached Sarah. He turned and pretended to kiss someone, hands fondling his neck and back.

  “Shut up,” said Sarah. She smiled and blushed as she resumed her conversation.

  We finished loading the truck and walked back in the house. Mom had fixed us a few roast beef and turkey sandwiches, which she placed in a cooler along with some soft drinks and bottled waters

  “We’re not going on a picnic,” I said, as she placed some paper plates, plastic utensils, a jar of Jif and some cookies in a bag.

  “But you might get hungry.”

  “True. Thanks, mom.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve got to take care of my little ghost hunters.” She reached up and patted me on the head like she had when I was in Kindergarten.

  “I’m six feet tall,” I said. “I think I know how to take care of myself.” She smiled, waving me off.

  She was always overdoing things, just like when we were sick. But the food and drinks would come in handy on the overnight.

  “Call me when you get there,” my mom said, as I typed and sent a text to Joyce at the school, telling her we were just now leaving. It was eight o’clock. Mom hugged Mike and me and walked outside to hug Sarah. My sister was already sitting in the car with her arms folded across her lap. She stared through the front windshield.

  “You okay?” my mom asked.

  “Yeah. I just . . .”

  “She’s fine,” I said, knowing Sarah was seeing something or someone again. I cut her off because I didn’t want my mother worrying about her. But she would anyway.

  CHAPTER 5

  A cool breeze wafted across the Drayson Schoolhouse parking lot as I got out of the car and opened the back door of my Jeep. The sun was just setting in the West, painting the sky a brilliant paillette of pink, turquoise and magenta. I scanned the grounds of the school and the road below and saw only a few cars moving along the road. Most folks in this small town were celebrating at a local festival several miles away, according to Ms. Fletcher. By eleven, about the time we’d begin our investigation, the town people would be at home preparing and retiring for the Monday workday ahead.

  I grabbed my tape and notes and closed the hatchback. Mike was already halfway up the school steps. Sarah sat in the car in a hypnotic trance. She had started mumbling to herself about halfway here, and hadn’t spoken one word on the forty-five minute trip. Mike and I usually left her alone during these fugues, because she was sensing spirits for our investigation. Her sixth sense and insight would also help Mike in researching the history of Drayson, and unearthing any unfortunate events—even those that went unrecorded.

  “Sarah’s really mesmerized at the moment,” said Mike, as I buzzed the school guard.

  “She’ll be okay,” I said. “Someone or multiple entities are just looking forward to her arrival. They’ll let up once she communicates with them.” The burly guard appeared two minutes later, clad in the same black pants and gray shirt as before. But he had since fixed the busted button on his shirt.

  “Joyce is in her office,” he said, as he turned his head and gazed down the hall. He seemed a bit fidgety this evening and had a nervous edge to his voice. “I have to leave in thirty minutes, and Joyce asked me to escort her to her car.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We should be able to complete our walkthrough in that timeframe.”

  A walkthrough was like a tour of the location, where the employee or owner familiarized us with the building’s layout. This school had at least eight hallways that intersected or ran parallel to the main one. We also had to investigate the basement, locker rooms and any other isolated sections of the school.

  The guard followed us down the semi-dark hallway to the office. Only the security lights shone, casting a vast number of shadows along the floor in the distance.

  “We’ll need to know how to turn off those lights before we start investigating,” I told the guard, as he opened the office door. He nodded. “I’ll show you where the switch is before I leave.”

  “Hello, Dylan,” said Joyce, as she arose from her chair and greeted me on my side of the counter. “This must be Mike.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Mike, as she extended her thin hand. Mike applied a loose grip and shook it.

  “Phil has to leave. Did he tell you?” I nodded.

  “So, what do we need to do?”

  “Give us the grand tour,” I said. “We’ll then mark the locations where we’ll set up our equipment. But I have to get my sister first.”

  “You mentioned something about a contract.”

  “Yes, I have it right here.” I pulled the three-page contract out from a manila folder, which was under my notepad. “Nothing formal. It’s just to protect us from any damages that are out of our control.”

  “I see,” said Joyce. She read through the contract and signed it.

  Just then, something beeped. Joyce turned around toward Phil, who held the office door open.

  “Did you leave the front door open?”

  “No,” said Phil. “It latched after the boys entered. But that did sound like the front door. Let me check.”

  Phil walked into the hall. Instead of hustling down the hallway, as I expected—given the short timeframe until his departure—he stared into the distance. His throat churned.

  “Can I help you little girl,” he said—arms stiffened and fingers twitching to use his baton, Taser, gun or whatever he opted for on his utility belt.

  My pulse rate soared as I peeked in the hall, expecting to see our first apparition at the school. Mike grabbed my shoulder. As I stared down the hall, I saw Sarah ambling toward the office with her palms extended and eyes closed. She was still ten feet away.

  “Ho
w did you get in here?” the guard asked.

  “Wait,” I said. “That’s my sister. She may be getting a read on the place.”

  “A what?”

  “A read. She’s a psychic.”

  The guard furrowed his brow in confusion. “But the door was locked. How did she get in?”

  “The door was open,” said Sarah, as she made her way toward the office doorway.

  “I thought it was locked, Phil,” said Joyce.

  “It was. It locks automatically. I guess I’ll have to get it checked.”

  I introduced Sarah to Joyce.

  “Well, I guess we should get started,” said Joyce. She held her hand out for us to exit. Once Joyce exited the office, we followed her down the hallway; Phil trailed behind us. Joyce led us to the front of the school and around the anterior hallway.

  “We have a small annex down this hallway,” said Joyce, as we made our way to the end of the far left hallway—when facing away from the entrance—and turned right. “It’s about halfway down.”

  I stared down the dark hallway when we reached it, noticing the lone security light above. It was located about a third of the way down. Beyond the light, the ceiling lowered a couple feet and extended the length of the corridor, giving way to complete darkness.

  “Can we access the annex from the hallway?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Joyce. “No one’s been in there for years. The custodians took a bunch of old desks and tables down there about five years ago and just piled them against the wall.”

  “Any activity down there?” Mike asked, his hands stuffed in his jeans.

  Joyce hesitated. She started to offer an explanation but just said, “No.”

  “We should still check it out,” I said.

  “For liability reasons, I’ll have to say no.” That never stopped us. If Sarah sensed something, we’d scour the annex building. What Joyce didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  We walked around the right side of the building. Joyce then pointed to all the intersecting hallways that led to the main hallway.