the saloon, Abigail whispered to June, “Are these spirits ever—”
“Mean?” June laughed. “We get that question a lot. In all our years of work, we’ve encountered only one aggressive spirit. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’re just confused, lost, and consumed in their own grief. It’s funny, because once you’re dead, all the beliefs you subscribed to while alive don’t mean a thing.”
Abigail turned on her tape recorder. “Tell me about this aggressive experience.”
“Few years ago, we got a call to clear a church outside Monterey. This spirit had been locking doors, moving furniture around, just making a nuisance of itself. So we showed up, and the preacher was there. This hard-core, fire-and-brimstone type of guy. He said, ‘You tell me when you feel the presence, andI’ll get rid of it, show you how it’s done.’ I told him, ‘Well, it’s here right now,’ and he said, ‘By the power of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave.’ A chair went flying across the sanctuary, shattered on the pulpit. That preacher ran out the doors. Scared the hell out of him. He quit the church and everything.”
“What do you think it was? A demon? Do you even believe in angels and demons?”
“Angels, yes. Demons . . . I’m not sure. Come to find out, this church had been converted from a nursing home. This spirit was probably tied up from whatever trauma it had experienced there when it was alive. But it certainly didn’t like the church.”
“How do you think it managed to throw a chair?”
Emmett piped up from across the room: “These spirits, when they die, become pure mind. You know what we could do if we had access to even eighty percent of our brain?”
“You talking about telekinesis?
“That’s right.”
“Have to say, I’m surprised by the lack of equipment you guys brought. I did some research before I flew out, expected to see you using thermal scanners and—”
“Geiger counters, ion detectors, an EMF alarm. Let me tell you something,” Emmett said. “That’s a bunch of garbage. All you need is a camera and film, because if you can’t walk into a room and feel it in your bones, you’re in the wrong business, wasting your time.”
When Emmett turned on his headlamp, Abigail noticed that June had been drawn over to one of the windows, where she stared at something across the street.
“Lawrence,” June whispered. “What happened up there?” They all walked over, peered up to where June pointed. Without light, they could barely make out a bay window on the second floor of a building across the street. “Did something happen in that room?”
“Not that I know of. It was just one of the nicer rooms in the hotel. Why?”
“Someone’s watching me from that window.” Even though she knew it wasn’t real, a subtle chill moved down through the vertebrae of Abigail’s spine.
“Can you get us up there?” Emmett asked.
“Never been, but we can certainly try.”
THIRTEEN
O
ne hundred and nineteen years of rain, snow, and high-altitude sun had bleached the block letters on the side of the building, so all that could be seen by the light of the headlamps was a faint OTEL . Excluding Bartholomew Packer’s mansion, it was the largest, most resilient structure in the ghost town, a two-story brick building with what had once been a lavish dining room on the ground level and seven suites on the second floor. The middle of the three rooms that faced the street was the “Presidential Suite,” identifiable by the large bay window that loomed over the entrance to the hotel.
Lawrence walked through the tall door frame, the others following, and soon the party had gathered in the lobby, a long but narrow room with two archways opposite each other, a front desk, and a wide staircase that ascended into darkness.
“This was the only brick building in Abandon,” Lawrence said, “built when the mine was still producing and people thought
“Mean?” June laughed. “We get that question a lot. In all our years of work, we’ve encountered only one aggressive spirit. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’re just confused, lost, and consumed in their own grief. It’s funny, because once you’re dead, all the beliefs you subscribed to while alive don’t mean a thing.”
Abigail turned on her tape recorder. “Tell me about this aggressive experience.”
“Few years ago, we got a call to clear a church outside Monterey. This spirit had been locking doors, moving furniture around, just making a nuisance of itself. So we showed up, and the preacher was there. This hard-core, fire-and-brimstone type of guy. He said, ‘You tell me when you feel the presence, andI’ll get rid of it, show you how it’s done.’ I told him, ‘Well, it’s here right now,’ and he said, ‘By the power of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave.’ A chair went flying across the sanctuary, shattered on the pulpit. That preacher ran out the doors. Scared the hell out of him. He quit the church and everything.”
“What do you think it was? A demon? Do you even believe in angels and demons?”
“Angels, yes. Demons . . . I’m not sure. Come to find out, this church had been converted from a nursing home. This spirit was probably tied up from whatever trauma it had experienced there when it was alive. But it certainly didn’t like the church.”
“How do you think it managed to throw a chair?”
Emmett piped up from across the room: “These spirits, when they die, become pure mind. You know what we could do if we had access to even eighty percent of our brain?”
“You talking about telekinesis?
“That’s right.”
“Have to say, I’m surprised by the lack of equipment you guys brought. I did some research before I flew out, expected to see you using thermal scanners and—”
“Geiger counters, ion detectors, an EMF alarm. Let me tell you something,” Emmett said. “That’s a bunch of garbage. All you need is a camera and film, because if you can’t walk into a room and feel it in your bones, you’re in the wrong business, wasting your time.”
When Emmett turned on his headlamp, Abigail noticed that June had been drawn over to one of the windows, where she stared at something across the street.
“Lawrence,” June whispered. “What happened up there?” They all walked over, peered up to where June pointed. Without light, they could barely make out a bay window on the second floor of a building across the street. “Did something happen in that room?”
“Not that I know of. It was just one of the nicer rooms in the hotel. Why?”
“Someone’s watching me from that window.” Even though she knew it wasn’t real, a subtle chill moved down through the vertebrae of Abigail’s spine.
“Can you get us up there?” Emmett asked.
“Never been, but we can certainly try.”
THIRTEEN
O
ne hundred and nineteen years of rain, snow, and high-altitude sun had bleached the block letters on the side of the building, so all that could be seen by the light of the headlamps was a faint OTEL . Excluding Bartholomew Packer’s mansion, it was the largest, most resilient structure in the ghost town, a two-story brick building with what had once been a lavish dining room on the ground level and seven suites on the second floor. The middle of the three rooms that faced the street was the “Presidential Suite,” identifiable by the large bay window that loomed over the entrance to the hotel.
Lawrence walked through the tall door frame, the others following, and soon the party had gathered in the lobby, a long but narrow room with two archways opposite each other, a front desk, and a wide staircase that ascended into darkness.
“This was the only brick building in Abandon,” Lawrence said, “built when the mine was still producing and people thought
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