Chapter Seven

1

     What else could I do but leave Betty’s Grub.  The stares were too much to handle and I’ve been called on to handle a lot in my life.  My mother’s death, my father’s death, my brother’s…dammit, I promised myself years ago I would forget about that.  My brother.  He died a long time ago.  No sense in trying to remember that.

     My office door was open and being blocked off by a weathered brick.  It was humid out, with a little breeze swirling around the thickness, and sometimes the air conditioner didn’t kick on at the right moments, so I guess this moment called for the door to be propped open with an old brick.

     Pete was the first to greet me when I went in.  Did I really want to go in?  No, but I can’t really ignore my staff or that thing called a job.

     “Hey, Pete, how’s it going?”  I asked just out of courtesy really, not because I cared.

     “Okay.”  Instead of going back to what he was doing, he kept a watchful eye on me.

     Maggie stopped me before I got to my door.

     “Grant, there’s someone in there to see you.”

     “Who?”

     “Don’t know,” she said, shrugging.

     “Well did he introduce himself?  What am I getting into?”

     “I don’t know.  No need to get snippy.”

     “Snippy?  Does anybody use that fucking word anymore?”

     She didn’t respond.  Maggie turned and huffed away.

     I put my hand on the doorknob and could feel the eyes of my staff drilling into my back.  What nerve to they have?  Hell, I didn’t even know who was in my office.  What made them think that I did?

     Sitting in the chair in from of my desk was the man who didn’t introduce himself to Maggie.  He had white hair and a salt-speckle beard peppered his face.  The hair was matted to his head, greasy, like he hadn’t washed it in days.  The man turned and when he saw me, he smiled.

     “Hello, I’m Mavis Jones.”

     As soon as he said his name, it hit me.  “Ah, the ghosthunter.”

     “Yup.”

     I shut the door.  “I’m glad you could make it,” I said.  I stuck out my hand.  “I’m Grant.”

     “Yes, I figured.”

     “Would you like some coffee or something?”

     “Nah.  Let’s get down to the banshee.”

     I sat at my desk.

     “I want to see the site of the first vision.”

     “Now?”

     “Why not?  I want to know the atmosphere where the banshee first appeared.”

     “I suppose.  But what do you think you’ll find?”

     He shrugged.  “I can take some readings and such.”

     I smiled.

     He returned the smile.  “You’re a little skeptical, aren’t you.”

     “A little.”

     “I’ll make you a deal.  After you take me to the site and I take my little readings, I will show you some things that might make you non-skeptical.”

     I waited for a punchline, but he didn’t speak again.  He was serious.

     “Okay,” was all I could say.

2

      I drove Mavis quickly through town so anyone walking wouldn’t get their curiosity, and more importantly, their suspicions up.  It was bad enough that I was already suspect of killing a few beloved townspeople, I didn’t need them wondering about a random stranger I was toting around.  I could hear the whispers now:  “Hey, that killer is driving around an accomplice”, or “The editor is probably going to ‘edit’ that stranger if you know what I mean”, or maybe even “Who do you think he’ll kill next?”  It’s asinine how—

     “Grant?”

     I broke from my ridiculous trance and saw that I veered the car to much to the right and was headed for the shallow ditch.  I jerked the wheels back and got the car completely back on the road.

     “You okay,” Mavis asked.

     “Yeah, just thinking.”

     He paused when I didn’t continue.  “And just what were you thinking about?”

     I shrugged.  “My life in Ilton; Ilton.”

     “Small town blues?”

     And in those three words, I could hear that he knew exactly what and how I was thinking.  My thoughts were ‘blue’ for sure, but he seemed to sense something more.  Something he has either seen before or has experienced personally before.  I wasn’t sure if now was the right time to ask, or pry.

     I looked over and watched him peer out the window.  No, this isn’t the right time, even though my curiosity was peaked.  And no, not because I was a reporter.  Just as a compassionate human being was my curiosity peaked.

     Later I’ll ask him.  We’ll get drunk and I’ll ask him and he’ll spill all.  Just like a drunk girl spilling her clothes.

     “Is this it?” I heard him ask.

     I focused my eyes.  I unknowingly had slowed down.  This was it.  How the hell did I do this without thinking?

     “Yeah this is it.”

     I pulled into the short, grassy field entrance and shut the car off.  Mavis hopped out and opened the rear door.  He pulled out his bag of supernatural investigating goodies.

     Me?  I was still in the car.

     “You coming?” he asked.

     “Give me a sec,” I said.

     “Okay.  I’ll wait.”

     He made his way to the front of the car, set the bag on the hood, and propped his butt on the grill.

     Life seems to be guttural, and by that I mean that is can sometimes be a low grunt that comes from deep within you to escape through your mouth and then into the air; into nowhere.  Right now, that's what I think life is like.  My life.  I live in my hometown; I am the editor of this hometown's paper which has maybe 100 readers.  I'm including readers that buy the paper at the grocery store and the one gas station and those who have a subscription.  I eat daily at Betty's Grubs while trying to maintain my sanity in this town.  Bobby was right.  Forsaken is the perfect word for this town when you've lived in it all your life.

     That aside, I am now accompanying a man that I called to investigate a fucking banshee.  A banshee in Ilton?  Sounds like bullshit.  But then again, here I am only feet away from the man who was only listed as Ghost Hunter Jones on his website.

     Through the window, I saw him glance at me.  He was probably wondering if I was going crazy in here.  Well, yes, I was, but Mavis "The Ghosthunter" Jones didn't need to know that.  Hell, I didn't even want to know that.

     I removed the keys from the ignition and got out of the car.

     "Everything okay?" He asked.

     "Yep.  Fine."  I shut the door, then peered out into the gathering of trees.  "Let's go check this out."

     I started heading towards the trees and I felt Mavis pause before I heard him pick up his back and slide off the car.  I didn't want to look back and see his curious stare at me, a fellow who wasn't sure he wanted to find out any more about the floating woman who has haunted me the past few days.

     When I heard his feet crunching against the dry leaves and branches, I figured he just wanted to concentrate on the banshee, or whatever she was.

3

     For the third time in a short amount of time, I was at my campsite again.  Everything was still in it's original state since Chief Bobby Hamilton first came out to accuse me of some kind of mayhem.  My tent was still set, my camping chair sat innocently by a long defunct fire area, and the air was admittedly chillier than just a second ago.

     Mavis noticed it too.  He stopped and looked towards the sky.  No clouds, no breeze, no way it was possible.

     "Feel that?"

     I nodded.

     He removed a tape recorder

     --No Grant No—

     And clicked it on.

     "About a ten to fifteen degree drop in temperature," he said into the recorder, "in a twenty foot radius."

     He set down his bag and took out a couple of instruments.  Ghosthunting instruments I assumed.

     The first was a long needle attached to a shoebox size black box with a couple of wires.  The needle looked like one of those knitting needles my mom use to use.  It was silver and about the length of my forearm.  Mavis flipped a switch and it powered to life, a few red lights blinking on.  A gauge, like an audio gauge, lit up and the needled contained within jumped to life.

     The next little ghosthunting tool was already clicking as Mavis pulled it out of the back.  Click-click-cli-cli-cli—

     "Is that a Geiger Counter?" I asked.

     "Yeah.  I want to measure the air."

     "Ghosts give off radiation?"

     "Depends on the species."

     Species?  I didn't know there were species of ghosts.  Mavis talked like he was a fucking scientist collecting samples of animals or shit.  Species of ghosts?  Was it possible this guy was more wacked them me?

     "What's that other thing for?"

     He held up the needle.  "This is for…well…it's hard to explain."

     "For what I've seen?  You can explain it any way you can."

     Mavis searched for words, but nothing was coming.

     "What are you doing to do with it?"

     He stood.  "Well, I'm going to put this needle into the trees, the ground, plants; stuff like that."

     "What?"

     "Keep an open mind."

     "Mavis, trust me on this:  I have an open mind."

     "I'm going to read the area through the fauna."  He sighed.  Probably more for the fact I thought he was as crazy as me, but hey however he gets his shit done.

     "Interesting."

     "Open mind, Grant, open mind."

     He picked up his Geiger Counter again and waved it around.  First up, then to his left, then towards the ground.  It clicked heavy in certain areas, and lightly in others.  Once he got a general reading of the area, he followed the heavier clicking towards my tent.  He stopped, then knelt down and scooped a handful of dirt into a small baggie.  He poked the counter into my tent, but it was silent.

     Mavis headed towards the area where I saw the woman, but the counter barely added any extra clicks.

     "That's where I saw her."

     "Really?"  Mavis swung his counter around, maybe hoping for some other reading, but nothing happened.  "Nothing at all."

     He scrapped some leaves and dirt into another baggie and wrote something on the site with a Sharpie.  Probably, 'Area where weirdo Grant supposedly saw a banshee..oh yeah, Grant's a weirdo'.

     Mavis set down the counter and picked up the other instrument.  Now we are getting to the good stuff.  This was the instrument I had to keep an open mind about.  Let's see what this baby does.

     After picking out a tree, Mavis walked over and jabbed the needle into the tree.  It didn't go in very far.  Mavis then produced a rubber mallet

     --this guy is Swiss Army Ghosthunter Jones—

     And pounded the needle until an inch of it stuck out.  He set the box down and made sure the wires were safe, then turned a dial on the box.  The machine whirred to life again.  Soon, a small ticker-tape started popping out of the end.

     At first, Mavis was motionless, checking the tape and then adjusting the needle.  It took about a minute for him to muster any reaction, but when he did, I thought he had shit himself.

     When there was about ten feet of tape on the ground, he snatched up a portion and ran his finger along the jagged EKG-like lines.  He repeated the same motion over the same portion about five times.

     "Fuck," he muttered.

     I love a Ghosthunter than can curse.  "What's wrong?"  I managed.

     "Nothing's wrong.  Just the readings…" He trailed off as he read more of the tape.  "This is new to me."

     "What do you mean 'new'?"

     Mavis looked up.  "I'll be honest.  I have been using this thing for about 5 years now and this is the first time that I've actually got some sort of reading.  I mean, I guess I can call it a reading.  It's something."

     "First time?"

     He nodded.  "First time.  I am shocked, surprised, amazed, confused…I don't know what to make of this."

     "Are you skeptical of the readings?"

     He didn't answer.  Instead, he plucked out the needle and slammed it into the next tree.  Rubber mallet, pound, and more ticker tape.

     After a minute with that tree, he took a reading from another tree.  And another.  And another.  And another.

     When he seemed finished with the trees, he jammed the needled into the ground near a crowded patch of plants.  Weeds actually.  Tall stalks of grass, dead brush, and those little pricklies you step on when you're mowing the grass.

     Apparently the same kind of readings were coming from them also.

     "Listen, Mavis, you must realize how Goddamn curious I am now," I said.

     "I know, I know."

     Then, the tape stopped.  No lines, no beeps, no clicks.

     "That's it," he said.

     "What's it?"

     "They are telling me nothing more."

     "They?"

     "The fauna.  The trees, the plants. They are done talking."

     I chuckled.  "Well, do we need an interrogation room, a bright light and a good cop, bad cop plan?"

     Mavis smiled.  At least I hadn't offended him.

     "A few years ago, scientists believed that plants can  'talk'.  They can witness things, feel things, and sense everything that is going on around them."

     "So you are saying that when you talk to plants, they are listening?"

     "Sort of."  Mavis gathered up his equipment and placed them back in the bag.  "I'm done here."

     Back at the car, I looked back at the line of trees.  Did they see what I saw?  If they feel, did they feel what I felt?  Fear?  Do plants feel fear?  I mean, I know that I sure fucking felt fear and sad--

     "To prove their theory, the scientists decided to try and solve a murder by pure botanical means," Mavis said.  He laid his bag in the back seat.  "A mother and child had been brutally killed and it had been two weeks with no leads and no clues to go off of.  The scientists took any and all the plants that were in the room where the murder occurred and brought them into their lab.  The police brought all their suspects into a line-up one by one and as the suspects walked through and did their little turnabouts and shit, the scientists took readings of the plants.

     "There was one suspect in particular that elicited similar, chaotic readings from all the plants.  And based on that, the police interrogated the suspect even harder and eventually he confessed to the murders.

     "It sounds odd, but it worked.  The scientists were labeled heros and they have been asked to do investigations all over the world, but there was one problem.  Despite the accurate readings and the lucky interrogation, no court in any country would accept plants as a credible witness.  The scientists were testing a theory and it just so happened that one of the suspects was brought into the line-up and the following interrogation got an admission of guilt.  Circumstance and luck.  That's all it was."

     "Yes, but a theory was tested and proven, right?"

     "Don't you wonder why you haven't heard of this story before I just told it?"

     I nodded.

     "Most of the scientific community laughed at the scientists and they haven't done anything with the testing since."

     "So why do you use it?"

     "I use it to see if plants will relay any recent changes to their environment.  It's a very plausible study."

     "How do you know?  If this is the first time you received any readings, how do you know?"  I was interviewing him like a reporter.  I was in newspaper mode.

     "I don't know.  I guess I just believe."

     "You are a walking X-File episode."

     We both paused, but then broke up in laughter.  We both got into my car.

     "I guess that means you believe me, right?" I asked.

     "I do, Grant.  I sure do."

     "Thank you."

     He smiled.  "You guy's got a hole-in-the-wall diner in this shithole town?"

     "You are asking the right man.  We sure fucking do.

4

      The ride back to town was quiet.  I didn't really expect a lot of conversation.  Mavis took some readings and samples and I watched and heard some crazy story about a plant who fingered a murderer.  Did they have witness protection for plants?

     "God, this town is your typical Midwestern town," Mavis said, breaking the silence.  "What the hell do you do here?"

     "I run the newspaper…that's all I do."

     "I mean for fun."

     "I run the newspaper…that's all I do."

     Mavis snickered.  "Yeah, fun times."

     "We don't have the places you Big City folk do."

     "Tell me you have a bar at least."

     "We do have one.  The Tavern."

     "Original."  Mavis sat up in his seat.  "Stop."

     When I didn't stop, he grabbed my arm.

     "Stop," he said forcefully.

     I eased the car next to the sidewalk.  "What?"

     "One house back.  Something in the window," he said.

     I looked back.  Fuck me, Miss Molly's house.  "What did you see?"

     "I don't know.  Something in the upstairs window.  We have to go inside."

     I shook my head.  "We can't.  It's part of a police crime scene."

     "What?  Why?"

     "One of the deaths happened in there.  Miss Molly."

     "Perfect."  He was already starting to get out of the car.

     "We can't get caught in there.  County is on the case."

     "Not your local boy?"

     "Don't get me or him started—"

     Mavis hopped out and grabbed his bag.  His fucking bag again.  More plant readings I suppose.  I did a quick mental inventory of Miss Molly's bedroom.

     "I don't think there were any plants in the room she was killed."

     "Oh," he mumbled.  He put his bag back in my car.  "Well, I still want to check it out."

     I don't think I was going to convince Mavis not to go in there.  I checked the street and it was quiet and uninhabited by anyone at the moment.  "Okay, let's—"

     But Mavis was already in Miss Molly's yard.

5 

     We headed up the porch and peeked into the windows on each side of the front door.  The house took an even darker look in broad daylight.  I remembered what I had found in there the last time I was inside and didn't really want to go back inside.

     "Look, you care if I wait out here?  Just in case some questions why two guys are—"

     "I want you inside.  I need a tour guide."

     A tour guide?  What the fuck?

     "The door's probably already unlocked," I said, defeated.  Looks like I was going back inside.

     The door was unlocked, which goes to show you how careless County was.  They leave the door unlocked and two random guys happen to check it and walk inside.

     The air in the foyer was different.  I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was different somehow.  Colder maybe, but that wasn't it.  Thicker?  Don't know.

     The hall to the kitchen seemed dimmer.  Was someone here before us and after me?  I thought that the hallway light was one[B5]  when I came earlier.  Maybe I turned it off and just forgot.  I was always doing that when I was 7 and I'm still doing it when I'm 28.  My mom would have a fit.  Miss Molly would probably have a fit.

     "The bedroom?" Mavis asked.

     I pointed to the stairs.  Mavis slowly takes the steps one at a time, each time checking the top of the stairs.

     I followed and felt the air getting colder still.

     "Temperature change," Mavis said.  Probably to me, but couldn't tell.

     "I feel it." I needed to respond.  To fill the air with something besides weirdness.

     I was about five steps behind Mavis.  He reached the top of the landing and motioned for me to stop.

     "What?" I whispered.

     "Nothing.  Just being cautious."

     Right.  Cautious.

     I joined him.

     "Lead the way," he said.

     Lead the way.  I didn't want to.  Fucking Ghosthunter Jones got a bug under his hat about something he saw in the window.  Fucking bug.

     Then we heard it.

6

     It wasn't loud.  More of a whisper, like someone's mouth inches from my ear telling me all the things I want to hear.  Turning me on, erotic.  A sound that I really wouldn't mind listening to all night—

     "Grant!"

     My trance broken up by Mavis.

     "Sorry," I said.

     "Then you heard it."

     I nodded.

     Mavis followed the sound, which was coming from the bedroom.  I don't have to lead the way now.

7

      Mavis stepped through first and he moved forward enough for me to stand behind him.

     "This is where that Miss Molly died?" he asked.

     "Not that Miss Molly.  Just Miss Molly."

     "Miss Molly, got it."

     "Yes.  Right over there I believe," I said, pointing.

     Mavis kneels down and shakes his head.  County has cleaned the scene up, so there probably wasn't enough of anything for Mavis to go on.

     I looked around.  Just as I remembered, no plants.

     He stood.  "I swear there was something in here."

     "Do you really expect that whatever you saw was just going to casually wait for your arrival?"

     "That would have been nice."

     "You done?"

     But before he could answer:

     Another fucking scream.  And it was a scream this time.  Not that whisper I yearned for when I heard the shrilling

     --fingers scraping against chalkboard a car shrieking when the fan belt isn't working brakes worn and scratching against the rotor incessant alarm at 7 a.m. ehh-ehh-ehh-ehh—

     I wanted to squeeze my head off.  Pop it like a zit so that sound would disappear.  That sound was a blackhead on my brain.

     "Fuck!" Mavis yelled.  He was trying to plug his ears, but I knew that was useless.  The sound knew how to get inside you no matter what you did.

     I was getting dizzy from the pitch of the sound and even though I squinted just to keep from fainting, I still saw her floating towards the window from the outside.

     "Mavis!"  He looked at me.  I pointed a finger to the window.  He turned his head and I thought that, once again, he shit himself.

     The red-headed woman hovered right in front of the window, staring at me.  First me, then Mavis.  She acted confused.  Like what the fuck were we doing here.  This was her place now that Miss Molly was gone.  Her fucking bedroom and her scream was the way she marked her territory.  Her scream was her dog's piss.  Dog's piss that you were being forced to drink.

     Then she came through the window.  As easy as that, as if we had opened the window for her to come on through.  At least the scream subsided and Mavis and myself were looking silly with our fingers in our ears with no sound.

     "Shit, Mavis."

     "That her?"

     "Yes."

     Then he said something, but I didn't hear him.  His mouth moved and dammit if I couldn't even read his lips.  I didn't have that skill.

I felt the air get extremely heavy, like a five ton car had been dropped on my head and chest.

"What?"  But I'm sure he was in the same boat as me.

He realized it.  He pointed at himself, then at the woman.

I shook my head.  I don't think I liked where his head was at.  Maybe the heavy air was quickly getting to him.  Making him delirious.

He ignored me and stepped to the woman anyway.

She floated just inside the window and didn't move as Mavis made his way toward her.  She rose a little, then came back down, eyeing Mavis suspiciously.

That's fine because at least there was no screaming.  I bet that Mavis wished he hadn't listen to me about the plants.  I bet he wished he had his fucking instruments now.

I bet he might be wishing had hadn't come to Ilton.

The woman still didn't move and Mavis continued to get closer.  What was he trying to do?  Pick her up?  Did he have a great first line to use on her?

Hey, come here often?  You are a fucking scream girl, let's get out of this place and get lost in each others' dimension.

Mavis stopped only inches from the woman.  He reached up.  Was he trying to fucking touch her?  Of all the crazy things that have happened in the past week, Ghosthunter Jones trying to touch the alleged banshee has to take the fucking cake.

"No!" I said it before I realized he wasn't going to hear it.

But apparently she didn't appreciate Mavis trying to touch her.  She backed up towards the window.

Then her face changed.

With me, her face had been normal, pretty in fact.  Except for being a damn screaming bitch, she was kinda okay to look at.  But now, all that changed within a few seconds.

Her hair flared out, like a million little snakes ready to strike at a moment's notice.  The face elongated.  I don't know any other way to put it.  It got longer, thin.  Her eyes widened and I swear I saw them dilate, like she was real.

It was her mouth I was most afraid of.

When she opened her mouth, I expected a scream, but instead I saw it expand into an inconceivable gap.  I think I could fit in there if I really tried.  Not that I would, but I could.  Her teeth changed from hard chunks of calcium

--if they were that anyway cavities probably—

Into strings of saliva cascading from her mouth onto Mavis' head.

I dashed to Mavis and grabbed his arm.  I pulled him away, but he didn't seem to want to go right away.  After putting all my weight into it, he stopped resisting and backed up to the door with me.

I reached behind me

--when did the door fucking shut—

And grabbed the doorknob and whipped the door open.  Both of us kept our eyes on the woman, just in case she decided that it was our time to become ghosts.

It wasn't.

As soon as we backed through the door, the woman changed back into her original form and gave us one final scream.  It was short, but loud enough to drop us to our knees in aural pain.

Then, nothing.

We looked up at the same time and only caught the tail end of dissipating mist.

Gone.

"What the hell was that?" Mavis finally said.

"Her.  That was her."

"I figured that.  What was she doing?"

"Being angry, I think."

"Agree."

"Next time don't try to touch her.  I'm pretty sure that's what made her mad."

"Again, agreed."

"Stop my ass next time."

"I tried.  You couldn't hear me."  I stood, letting my legs get use to standing again.  That last scream nearly did it for me.

"Well, at least I know now that it's a banshee."  He glanced down the hallway.  "Anything I should know about the rest of the house?"

I shook my head.  "Just that room."

8

     "Hello?"

     That greeting came from downstairs.  It was familiar.

     "Hello?  Anyone here?"

     Fuck, it was Bobby.

     "We have to go," I told Mavis.

     He gave me a quizzed look.

     "Police is here."

     "What?"

     "Someone must have called on us.  Saw us go in."

     From below, "Grant, I know you are in here.  I saw your car down the street."

     "There goes our night," I said.

     "Let's just get our whippings," Mavis said.

     How much would Bobby do to us?  We are actually doing him a favor.

     I heard his feet plodding up the stairs.

     "Yeah Bobby!" I yelled down.  "It's Grant."

     Silence, then I saw his shadow appearing at the top of the stairs.

     "Grant?  What the fuck are you doing—"  He came into view and immediately stopped, checking Mavis out.  "Who the hell is this?"

     "This is Mavis Jones."

     "Mmm-hmm."

     Oh, don't start with me Chief Police Bobby Hamilton.

9

     "Okay," Bobby said.  "That's all fine, but who is he."

     I decided to just tell him.  "He's a ghosthunter."

     Bobby didn't know what to say.  I could tell he was processing the last few minutes in his head.  "A ghosthunter?" he finally said.

     "Yes.  I called him."

     "So we got ghosts?  In Miss Molly's house?  You think Miss Molly's ghost is staying behind to be found.  You think she will be able to tell you who killed her?" he said condescendingly.  Bobby was being a bigger ass than normal.  I just wanted to get out of there.

     "It's a personal favor to me," I said.  "Trying to figure out some things."

     "Trying to figure out those screams?" Bobby then said seriously.

     "More or less."

     Mavis stuck his hand out.  "Mavis."

     "Yeah, I know," Bobby said.  He shook Mavis' hand.  "Bobby Hamilton.  Chief of Police."

     "Nice to meet you."

     "Mmm-hmm."  Wow, it was nice to hear that I wasn't the only one Bobby like to say that to.  "You guys can't be here."

     "That is my fault, Chief," Mavis said.  "I thought I saw something and needed to check it out.  I just need a few more minutes.  Check the rest of the house."

     "Did you find out what you saw?"  Bobby asked.

     "No.  Just got ambushed with some screams."  Mavis pointed to the bedroom.  "In there."

     "That's where Miss Molly died."

     "I told him already," I said.

     "Okay."  Bobby glanced at Mavis, then looked back at me.  "Only a few more minutes.  Five.  I'm going to make another round in 10 minutes or so.  You better be gone or I will have to arrest you for trespassing.  The town would love to see that, eh Grant?"

     "Fuck off, Bobby."

     "Thought so."  As he went down the stairs, he added, "Five minutes."

10

     "The Chief is a dick," Mavis said when we heard the front door shut.

     "Tell me about it."

     "I guess spending the night here is out of the question."

     "Yup.  You heard him, we can't be here in 10 minutes."

     Mavis moved down the hall.  "Well, the air has settled."

     "Is that good?"

     "I imagine.  There's probably nothing more that's going to happen in this place tonight anyway."

     If that meant Mavis was looking to leave, that would be fine by me.  I don't know what is actually scarier:  the floating woman, or Bobby sneaking into the house like that.  Depending on the day, I may take my chances with the crazed banshee.

     "Yeah, I don't feel like being here any more than I need too."  I was already heading down the stairs.

11

     Mavis joined me a couple of minutes later and we walked in silence to my car.  Mavis kept sneaking little glances back to the house.

     "You still thinking she'll reappear?"

     "A little part of me."

     "That's the fourth time I've seen her.  I'm beginning to think she likes my attention."

     We got in my car and I asked, "You still hungry?"

     "Nah.  Tired."

     "Yeah.  Let's go back to my house.  I need a drink.  And I got some food we could snack on if we get hungry.  I feel like relaxing for a little."

     "Sounds good.  You have some heavy stuff?"

     "I'm a journalist.  Of course I do," I responded.

     We laughed.

     That would be the last laugh we would share for a couple of days.