REQUESTING PARTY: Giana Lodi
COMPLAINT: Resident complains of shadow people, seeing movement, misplaced items, rooms appearing “different,” disembodied voices, possible full-bodied apparitions, feelings of being touched.
TESTS PERFORMED: EVP, EMF, video surveillance, motion detection, thermal scan, traditional séance, night vision photography.
INVESTIGATORS: Mallory Leonard, Craig Erickson, Genevieve Lajounesse, Ella Hammond.
FINDINGS: Some static photographs show signs of orbs or orb-like figures. Consistent EMF spikes picked up in various parts of the house, which suggests possible wiring issues, not paranormal entities. Possible laughter on EVP recording (tape 5, 01:34:21), but faint and hard to make out. Nothing on video surveillance or motion detection. Temperature remained between 68–71 degrees Fahrenheit. Séance resulted in multiple instances of feeling a presence by both Genevieve and Ella, but EMF remained steady throughout the sitting. No evidence of items being moved.
CONCLUSION: While results are inconclusive, the house has a history of violence and multiple deaths (see note re: Montlake Massacre of ’83). Resident has been encouraged to reach out to us again if she experiences anything new. Resident has started using pine branches and needles to protect against dark spirits. When asked about this particular method, resident stated it made her “feel safer,” though she wasn’t sure as to why. THMG suspects possible haunting, but has no conclusive evidence at this time.
32
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LUCAS EVENTUALLY MOVED the table and chairs back into the kitchen after hanging up with Mark. He then worked through the entire night scribbling questions he had for Echo and Josh Morales—if the guy ever called him back—rather than going to bed. He did this in the kitchen rather than his study, with lights burning bright above his head. The table had left him properly spooked, and he’d spent a good part of the evening checking the windows and doors for possible points of entry.
He hadn’t been able to find anything that even came close to explaining how a few girls could get inside without him knowing, but it didn’t change the fact that they had. He left himself a note on the kitchen table to call an alarm company first thing in the morning. Money be damned, he’d rather rack up more debt than end up dead.
His head hit the pillow at a little after five in the morning, his brain swimming with interview questions and worries about trespassers. He thought about Caroline and Italy, recalling memories of their less-than-perfect honeymoon—the way they had to stand at every café they came across because the place wanted to charge them to sit; how they had eaten gelato after gelato, unable to pick their favorite flavor; how they had almost lost each other in a mass of people while the pope puttered by in his bulletproof golf cart.
When sleep refused to come, he went back down to the kitchen and continued to work. By the time Jeanie came downstairs a little after nine a.m., Lucas felt as though he could have fallen asleep where he sat.
He watched her walk to the fridge without so much as a hello. There was something skittish about the way she moved, as if trying not to wake something that Lucas couldn’t see. When their eyes finally met, she gave him a bland look—annoyed, as though his mere presence put her off.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” she muttered, pulled open the refrigerator door, and slid a gallon of milk onto the kitchen island. Lucas remained silent as she retrieved a bowl from one of the cabinets and fished out a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the pantry. Wordlessly, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal. Rather than joining him at the kitchen table, she stood at the island to eat. Lucas frowned.
“What’s up, Jeanie?”
She glared at him and he immediately remembered her pretty blue blouse. He looked down at his coffee cup.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, kid,” he told her. “I got caught up.”
She replied by crunching a mouthful of cereal. Story of your life, Dad.
“We’re going to go up to Seattle today, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’m taking the day off.”
Jeanie arched an eyebrow upward, looking dubious. The bruise beneath her right eye was nearly gone, having shifted from a wounded purple to an odd shade of yellowish green.
“I’m serious,” he said. “We can go as soon as you’re ready, but pack a bag. You’re going to stay with Mark and Selma for a few days.”
She stood motionless for a moment, her face a puzzle of confusion.
“It’ll be fun.” He tried to play it up, gave her a smile that was supposed to be jovial but felt entirely stupid. “Selma will—”
“Oh, right, Dad!” The words exploded from her throat. She shoved her cereal bowl away. Tiny toasts rode a wave of milk over the rim of her bowl, splashing across the counter. “Now you’re sending me away?”
“Jeanie, I’m not—”
“You are!” Her fists hit the Formica top.
“Jeanie, stop.” He gave her a stern look. “I’m not sending you away. You said you didn’t want to move and we’re not—”
“Well, good.” She cut him off. “That means I don’t have to stay at Uncle Mark’s, doesn’t it? We’re not moving, so I’ll just stay home.”
“No, kid. I need to get some stuff done and it would be—”
“Better?” Jeanie narrowed her eyes just enough to resemble her mother. He half expected her to do an about-face and stomp through the kitchen and back up to her room. But rather than fleeing the way she normally did, she stared down at the island as if in thought, as though trying to reel it in for once. “What kind of stuff?” she finally asked, and while she was trying to play it cool, he could see the muscles of her jaw clenching from across the room.
“Work stuff.”
“I thought you were giving up,” she murmured.