The Supernaturals

SIXTEEN

As more security poured into Summer Place, the crowds seemed to sense that their presence was causing the desired effect — UBC was paying them the attention they desired. They became louder and the clash between townies and fans became more boisterous and at times violent — the townfolk of Bright Waters wanted the UBC network and its fans out of Summer Place, and the fans of Hunters of the Paranormal wanted the townies to butt out of everything. The additional security was helping to keep the two sides separated and most thought it would calm down as soon as the district judge in Bright Waters issued his orders for the protesters and the fans to vacate private property under the threat of arrest.

Kennedy and his team, still minus Leonard Sickles and George Cordero, set up their meeting space in a large yellow and blue tent the network had set up just in front of the large pool. The commissary tent, a sixty-five foot long monstrosity, was arranged not far away by the giant red barn and stables. All of the production equipment was off-loaded and sat under tarps for the move into the house. Dalton and Kelly were inside the massive ballroom trying to convince Wallace Lindemann to grant them early access so that the cameras and sound systems could be placed a day early. The expected setup time for Leonard and his experimental equipment was a looming threat to their timetable. He and his technicians still had not left New York.

At four o’clock, Gabriel, Julie, John Lonetree, Jenny Tilden and Jason Sanborn — who had abstained from joining the argument with Wallace Lindemann — left their tent and started walking toward the wooded area behind the pool, following the riding trail that had eventually cost the life of gossip columnist Henrietta Batiste back in 1928. The rain clouds stayed far to the north for now, flooding the small valley with sunshine, something that Jason Sanborn frowned upon. They needed a dark and stormy night, and thus far their own meteorologists at the network were promising nothing but a clear, cold sky.

“Now, according to the stable boys on duty that day, including the caretaker’s father, John Johannson, Miss Batiste left the stables early that morning. By all accounts she was an accomplished rider, backed in tournaments by the likes of John Barrymore and Mary Pickford.”

“How many horses did Summer Place accommodate at any one time?” Jennifer asked. She walked slowly beside John Lonetree.

“During the spring and summer, the Lindemanns emptied their Kentucky stables and brought over fifty horses here — pure thoroughbreds,” Gabriel added.

“Even if she were an accomplished rider, an accident can befall anyone on one of those horses. They can be very finicky,” John said. “Without trying to cast too much aspersion, she just very well could have been lying, trying to cover up the fact that she was thrown from a horse. I mean, no one wants to admit that.”

“I see the point you’re trying to make here, John. The police reports on the attacks and the disappearances are the only facts we have. This story, like all of the rest, is a hand-me-down story.”

“Is this where it happened?” Jenny asked as Gabriel stopped in front of a copse of large pine trees.

“Right in here someplace. I believe she was indeed thrown, and then she claimed the attack came on so suddenly that she was caught totally by surprise.”

“I’m not feeling anything. There’s no residual energy here at all.” Lonetree placed a hand against the trunk of one of the large pines. “I think we will miss having George the most on things like this. He could be better at picking up residuals without having to sleep on it.”

“Well, I thought it worth a try, John,” Gabriel said. He turned back toward the barn and stables.

As the small group walked, they saw Kelly Delaphoy and Harris Dalton coming their way. Kelly didn’t look all that happy, and neither did Harris, but that could have been because he couldn’t stand being around Kelly.

“Julie,” Kelly said, “I thought I gave instructions that Professor Kennedy and his team were not to go anywhere on this property without at least one camera crew accompanying.”

Julie raised the small digital camera from her large bag and held it so Kelly could see it.

“Oh. Well, did you come across anything?”

“Nothing but a bunch of trees,” Julie said.

“Well, at least I have some good news. Wallace Lindemann said he owes us one for allowing in the priest and ghost hunters, so he’s letting us start setting up the equipment.”

“That’s good,” Jason said as he pulled his pipe from his mouth.

“But?” Gabriel asked as he half turned toward Kelly.

“But, we can’t have anyone in the house past midnight; he said he doesn’t want any accidents without independent witnesses.”

“A cautionary, but sane request,” Sanborn said.

“Bullshit. It’s a conman trying to keep his play hidden for as long as he can,” Julie quipped.

Kennedy had to smile. Julie was far more observant than he gave her credit for.

“You do realize the person that let Father Dolan loose in Summer Place was your boss, Lionel Peterson, don’t you?” Gabriel asked Kelly.

The question brought her to a stop.

“I would need proof of that,” she said. “I mean, why would he sabotage himself?”

“After becoming acquainted with you, Kelly,” Julie said, “I think the Professor has a valid point. He would do anything to see you fail. Men like Peterson always squeeze their way out of trouble, but he figures no matter what, if the show fails, you’re gone for sure.”

Again, Julie’s assessment was right on. Gabriel decided that she might not be so bad a partner.

As they strolled through the late afternoon, Lonetree was surprised to see that Gabriel’s attitude and demeanor had changed over from night to day. It was as if he had come home to a welcoming reunion with a long lost family member. It wasn’t only in the way he looked, but the way he carried himself, as if the horror of seven years ago never happened. It was as if he hadn’t recounted to him and the others the nightmare of Kyle Pritchard’s death in a town not an hour and a half away, or the dead animals he and Julie saw on the road in a spot that coincided with an area they had broken-down the night before.

John waited for Gabe to catch up with he and Jenny, and then intentionally slowed his pace until they were shoulder to shoulder. He would not only see how Gabe reacted, but he also wanted to gauge the others as well.

“Since we’ve been on property, Gabe, have you felt it?”

Gabriel looked up at his old friend with a curious look on his face. The others heard the question and listened in, which was exactly what John wanted. He would judge each, especially Kelly Delaphoy, by their reactions to his upcoming statement.

Gabriel didn’t answer right off. He stopped and tilted his head, as if trying to detect something he might have missed.

“You know what I mean,” John said. “Without actually going inside the house. It’s changed, hasn’t it?”

Gabriel turned and looked up at the massive summer home, watching as a light breeze blew the curtains in the third floor windows. Eunice must have been by and opened the windows to air the house out for the big night, he thought.

“It’s not oppressive to you, is it?” John persisted.

“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.

“I mean, for at least the moment, Summer Place is just a bunch of wood and stone,” John answered as he turned to face Kelly. “Does that worry you at all, Ms. Delaphoy?”

“Why do you say that,” Julie Reilly asked, eyeing the concerned look on Kelly’s face.

“Whatever was in there,” he faced Gabriel once more, “and I do believe your story, is gone.”

“Goddamn it!” Kelly said loudly. “I knew that son of a bitch was here to fuck this show up!”

Gabriel wanted to laugh at Kelly’s terror. The others saw his reaction to John’s statement and probably wondered why he would take John’s feeling so lightly.

“You’re right, whatever is in the house, or walking these grounds, isn’t active right now.” He faced Kelly. “And if it doesn’t choose to display its abilities tomorrow night, that’s just what your show is going to report. Is that clear, Ms. Delaphoy? If you try to fake something and we catch it, we’ll humiliate you. If there is one person in the world who can smoke out a rat, it’s my friend Leonard. Don’t try it.”

Kelly closed her eyes and mentally made herself not react to Kennedy’s statement. Instead she turned on her heel and went up the small incline to the large production tent.

“Jesus, I think you just scared her more than Summer Place ever could,” Jennifer said as she watched Kelly leave.

Gabriel smiled. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink. Miss ace reporter, may I assume your people brought the makings of a martini?”

“Oh, I think we can dig something up. If not we’ll break into the ballroom and steal some of Lindemann’s private stock.”

On the way up the hill, Gabriel looked over at the tree line and wondered if anyone had seen what he had. When he locked eyes with Julie Reilly, who was trying hard not to show Gabriel’s hole card, he knew she had seen them also.

Fifteen feet inside the tree line, beneath one of the large and ancient pine trees, Gabriel had counted over twenty dead birds and three dead squirrels.

Summer Place was very much alive, he thought. Alive and waiting for its time.

George Cordero sat in the backseat of the cab as it slowly made its way along the Van Wyck Expressway in bumper to bumper traffic. The turnoff for JFK airport was nowhere in sight. The cab driver looked in his rearview mirror and saw that the dark eyed man hadn’t moved since he had been picked up in front of the Waldorf Astoria an hour before.

The driver reached over and switched on his radio.

“This is the top of the hour news from KWBW, John Stannic reporting. All is going well for one of the strangest television events to be launched in many years over at the UBC television network, as their highly anticipated Hunters of the Paranormal Halloween special is set to go off with wide spread fanfare tomorrow night from the Pocono Mountains. While the outlook is bright for record-setting numbers of viewers to tune into the extended programming, many stockholders are furious over the cost of the program itself. They say that Abraham Feuerstein, CEO of the parent company, has overstepped his bounds in the expensive endeavor. Meanwhile, here in New York, many residents are anticipating a glorious night for all Trick or Treaters and partygoers. Expect some of the nicest evening weather of the year, mild and almost balmy all the way from Washington, D.C. to the Maine border…”

George listened to the news report, thinking about the friend he had left high and dry. He knew he had let Gabriel down. Now he only had John Lonetree as a visionist, and he would only be good if he was asleep. That could be very dangerous, potentially leaving Lonetree vulnerable at the worst possible moment.

“Running away, George?”

Cordero’s eyes widened. His father was sitting next to him, eating a Nathan’s hotdog and looking straight out through the screen separating the driver from his backseat passengers. His father looked over at him and took a bite of the hotdog, and George watched as the food went through his mouth and into a throat that wasn’t really there. In the time since his father had been buried in New Jersey, his features had more than just deteriorated; they had rotted away to the point where the only thing holding him together was the suit he was wearing. George fixated on the piece of hotdog and bun that rolled from his throat to rest on the seat between them.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about it, outside of the coward part of the equation, you bastard.”

The cab driver looked up and into his rearview mirror.

“You’re so fucking high and mighty, you’re leaving your friends and running away when they need you the most,” his father said. He looked over the hotdog and tossed it on the floor. That was the move George had been waiting for — it confirmed that it wasn’t his father he was seeing, but a manifestation of himself. When he was a kid his father took him to Coney Island on several occasions and they always stopped for hotdogs at Nathan’s. George always refused to eat his, no matter how many times his father thrust the dog into his face. He just never could stomach hotdogs. Now he knew the ghost wasn’t his father at all, but his conscience coming out in the shape and rotting features of his murderous dad.

“All that time your mother was dying of cancer, you never once saw the pain. Oh, you heard it, you saw the tears, but you never in your life would have thought about ending it for her. You waited until I did it.” His father turned and faced him, his cheekbones sticking through blackened and moldy skin. One eye was completely gone and the other had the lid hanging over it. The black hair was how he remembered it, but everything else was a rotten meat sack. “Ah, you knew what I was planning. You can’t be that close to another person and not feel the hate, the desire to kill. She was holding us back from making a fortune with your ability.” His father laughed. “You knew, and did nothing, because deep down inside you were a coward, George. You always were. You wanted to be free of her as much as I, oh for different reasons to be sure, but free nonetheless. So you allowed me to do the dirty work and then acted shocked when you touched me that day. You scum, you hypocrite.”

George tried to look away from his father out the window, but the reflection told him his father was still there. He closed his eyes hard and then opened them. His rotting dad was still watching him.

“Maybe it’s better that you stay out of that house, George. You know why?”

George didn’t move or utter a word. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Because that house is just like me — it despises people like you, George. Everyone who enters that house tomorrow night is on the list to have their ticket punched, just like you punched mine. You could never know what’s waiting for you, and you can never imagine the power of what walks there. You see death for one, but you blocked out far more than you told your friends, didn’t you? That thing is going to protect itself and its secrets, and now you’re running away so it won’t eat you too. How typical.”

“Would you shut the fuck up!” George screamed. The driver slammed on his brakes, startled, and nearly swerved into the back of another car.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” the driver asked, looking in the mirror at the wild-eyed man in the back.

“How fast can you get off this speedway?” George asked, staring at the empty seat beside him.

“What? We’re here for an hour more at least,” the driver said, shaking his head.

George pulled a wad of cash out of his wallet. He shoved three one hundred dollar bills through the glass opening.

“That’s for getting us out of here now.” He added three more hundreds. “And that’s for getting me to Pennsylvania, and there’s another three when you get me to the Poconos. Deal?”

The driver collected the six hundred dollars met George’s eyes in the mirror. “Double. Six hundred when we get there.”

George decided what the hell. He pulled out some more money out and pushed it through.

“In advance. Now go!” His eyes seemed to go back to normal, as did his spirit.

“Can I ask why you have to get there in such an expensive hurry, my friend?”

“Yeah, you can ask. But first, get moving. There’s a storm coming.”

The driver pulled his cab into the breakdown lane and started for the exit more than a half mile ahead. He looked up and saw that there wasn’t a cloud in the late evening sky.

“I’ll get you there, my friend, but I believe you to be wrong about a storm.”

George laughed to himself, then lay back against the seat and closed his eyes.

“I’ve never been more right about anything in my life, fella. A storm is coming and it’s going to be a killer.”

Three trucks wound their way through the small valley pass, forty miles from Summer Place. The vehicles were transporting the small trailers that would be used as dressing rooms and for the one overnight stay for the participants in the Halloween special. Six trailers were on each truck, strapped down tightly for the rough ride. The sun was setting in the west and the lead driver had to drive slowly to negotiate sharp turn after sharp turn.

At a steeply angled downhill grade, the lead driver downshifted to slow even further. As he turned his head suddenly to avert his eyes from the blindingly bright orange ball of the sun at the horizon, he saw that he was no longer alone in the truck. A dark form was sitting next to him in the cab. Reflexively, he slammed on his brakes. As the truck screeched to a stop, the dark form seemed to take a more clarified shape. The head turned toward the bearded driver and the maw of the dark mist opened and then attacked, engulfing him from head to chest.

The second driver in line slammed on his brakes when the first truck’s taillights flared brightly, but it was too late. The second truck, with its load of trailers, slammed into the first, starting a chain reaction that caused the third and final transport to ram the middle truck. The trailers that had been strapped to all three vehicles broke loose. The first truck was pushed over and through the railing, plummeting down the side of the treacherous mountain road. The second driver saw the cab of the first as it left the road, and just before his truck followed the first, he thought he saw the driver screaming and trying his best to fend off something dark and massive. As the first two trucks rolled down the side of the mountain, the third managed to hit an intact section of the guardrail at a slower speed and careen back into the middle of the roadway.

The third truck spun, throwing off its six trailers like a dog shaking off water. The driver started shaking, so shocked at having seen the two trucks slide off the side of the mountain that he didn’t notice the car coming down the road as he stepped out of his truck. Just as his feet touched the roadway, the car saw the stalled vehicle, but it was too late. The car slammed into the driver and then the fuel tank on the side. Both vehicles immediately burst into flames. The trapped driver of the truck screamed, his body on fire. Just before the pain of his shattered legs and the flames sent him into shock, he saw a dark mist ebb and then swirl around his body. As he screamed, he saw a mouth form in the mist, becoming a gaping and foul-smelling pit that seemed to smile just before it closed over his head.

The game had started in earnest. Though Kennedy and his team didn't know it yet, Summer Place had started the murderous rampage that would end on Halloween night.

Inside the commissary tent, Gabriel sat and sipped coffee, watching as Kelly Delaphoy held court with her production team across the large tent. Gabriel could only imagine what the woman was instructing them to do. He suspected she was still upset because Father Dolan had tried to cleanse the house, and wondered if she was inventing new and better tricks to defraud her viewers with. Kennedy knew the type of woman Delaphoy was — driven, the pressures of her job could push her over the edge. Yes, he thought, even now she was showing signs of cracking under the strain. He would have to watch her. Summer Place would sniff out her weakness and use it not only against Kelly, against but all of them.

“I haven’t been a big eater for the last seven years, but that ham and cheese casserole left a lot to be desired.” Jennifer Tilden said as she pushed away her paper plate. It was still half filled with the conglomeration the network cooks had come up with.

“I told you the chicken Kiev looked better,” John said. He drank his coffee.

“Yeah, well I see you didn’t touch much of yours either,” Jenny shot back, looking at John’s full plate.

“I don’t think this atmosphere is conducive to big appetites,” Gabriel said.

The tent was crowded and the voices mostly carried excitement. But Gabriel thought the party atmosphere went a little deeper. He thought it stemmed from the rumor that Summer Place had somehow been cleansed of the entity, and that all they would run into tomorrow night was a dead and silent house, their frights solely dependent on any gags Kelly could come up with. Kennedy made eye contact with Harris Dalton, who sat alone. The two men looked at each other for the briefest of moments, then Harris averted his eyes and lowered his head to the notes he was studying. Gabriel pushed his coffee away and stood.

“By the way, Jenny, any sign of Bobby Lee?”

“I felt him on the car ride up, but as soon as we entered the front gate, he left. It was like turning off a water tap,” she said, looking from Gabriel to John Lonetree. “I never felt anything frighten my little ghost before, but Summer Place — it’s like he’s afraid it’ll keep him if he shows himself.” She sipped her coffee, her small hands wrapping around the cup as if it were a talisman against what she was thinking. “No, Bobby Lee will be a no-show tomorrow night.”

Gabriel nodded. “Will you excuse me; I have something I want to say to the director?”

John turned to Jenny and smiled.

“To hell with Bobby Lee, huh?” he said looking into her green eyes.

“I think he’s afraid of that, too — hell I mean,” Jenny said with a smile, then lost it almost as soon as it had appeared. “But I think he’s far more afraid of this place.” Her eyes went from John to the house, through the mesh screen opening of the commissary tent.

“I’m a little busy at the moment, Professor,” Harris Dalton said as Gabriel approached. He scribbled a note about a camera placement for the subbasement.

“Kelly — do you trust her?” Kennedy asked.

“I don’t trust anyone, Professor Kennedy. That’s why I’m a director, and that’s why I’m good at what I do.” Dalton looked up from his notes and gestured for Kennedy to have a seat. He looked around the large tent and saw only one set of eyes on them: Kelly Delaphoy.

Gabriel sat down and leaned toward him.

“I’ll tell you something up front, Mr. Dalton: if my team catches Kelly laying her special effects gags in the house, we’ll expose her and the network for fraud.”

Harris Dalton spun his pencil between his fingers, looking Kennedy over.

“Professor, this is my last assignment. I don’t give a flying fuck if you catch her, don’t catch her, or chuck her out of a third floor window. There something wrong with this place, and as much as I hate that woman and her silly show, I really don’t care to find out what it is. I want to get through these eight hours and then take my grandkids fishing for the rest of my life. So, you have at it, Mr. Kennedy. This is your show, not mine.”

Gabriel nodded and stood to return to his own table. The conversation had been enough to tell him that Harris Dalton would not try to whitewash any of the experiments’ findings to suit what the network wanted.

Lionel Peterson and Wallace Lindemann came through the commissary tent’s wide opening, in the middle of an argument. Lindemann was gesturing wildly in the air with an empty glass; it was obvious the alcohol had long since disappeared. Gabriel looked from the scene to his companions. They watched Kelly Delaphoy advance on the two men. When Peterson spoke to her it was with a short hiss. He moved off to a table where he sat alone.

“Ignore me if you want, you can’t stay in the house overnight,” Lindemann said, glaring at Peterson.

Kelly smiled. She followed Peterson to his table, where she leaned over and said something as he took a bite of his salad. He grimaced, using a napkin to cover his distaste for the commissary meal. He looked up at Kelly and then nodded his head. The producer of Hunters of the Paranormal straightened and returned to her production table, issuing orders that sent many of her team members scrambling out of the tent. Then she turned toward Gabriel’s team.

As he stepped up to the table she was writing on her clipboard and tried to act nonchalant.

“It seems there’s been a large accident with a few of our trucks. They were hauling the trailers we were going to use as dressing rooms and bedrooms. Well, they’re nothing but splinters on the roadway now. Mr. Peterson said he wants everyone to bed down in the house tonight.”

Gabriel looked at Kelly in silence.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,” John Lonetree said.

Kelly lowered her clipboard and looked at the group, including her own producer. He was sitting next to Jennifer, shaking his head.

“Oh, we’re not using the bedrooms. I just sent all of my assistants out to Bright Waters to get the hardware store owner to open up. They’re going to get all the cots and air mattresses they can find. The rest of us will sleep with blankets on the floor, inside the ballroom — one central location for all.”

“My team will sleep out here or in the barn. We’ll not be stepping into Summer Place until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Look Professor, this gives us a chance to get our equipment in place and maybe even enough time to have a dry run of the show.”

“We have nothing to do with that. Your cameras will either follow our lead, or you can run around Summer Place all night long on your own, something I would not recommend.”

Harris Dalton was watching from his corner table. Kelly grimaced at him, and that told Gabriel that she was also leery of Dalton watching her every move. Yes, he thought, Dalton would be an asset to the experiment. He wouldn’t let Kelly get away with anything.

“You do what you want, Professor,” she said with a strained smile, “but I, for one, am not sleeping in a barn.”

Gabriel stood and walked away without saying anything more. John, Jenny and finally even Jason Sanborn stood. John and Jenny followed Gabriel from the tent, and Sanborn gave Kelly a pointed look.

“Look, I know we need a hit, and I’m all for being enthusiastic, but please don’t take this extra time inside the house to lay any tricks,” Jason said as he pulled his pipe from his jacket pocket. He placed the cold pipe in his mouth and rubbed the two day growth of beard on his cheek. “If you do, Kelly, I’ll expose you myself.”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, her smile widening. “Have you become a disciple of Professor Kennedy?”

Jason Sanborn turned away and then stopped. He slowly turned and faced his fellow producer. “Maybe not a disciple, but I’ve learned that, while Kennedy may be a lot of things, he is not a liar. What he says happened that night, I believe happened. I’ll be sleeping in the barn with them. And if I were you, Kelly my dear, I would also.”

“Oh, come on—”

“And one last thing. This is my last show.” He placed the pipe into his mouth once more. “After this, I think I’ve had enough of ghosts and ghouls, on both sides of the camera.”

Kelly looked stunned and couldn’t hide it from the men and women watching her. She attempted to smile and then pretended to write something on her clipboard. She tried to figure out where she had lost one of her best friends.

Summer Place was starting to cost far more than she ever thought it would. When she looked up as Jason disappeared through the tent’s opening, she actually did smile, and this time it was genuine. She would go through with her dream and all would be well. They would all sip champagne and declare that they had produced the most watched television event in history. When that happened, she would forgive everyone who had doubted her.

She turned and saw Lionel Peterson looking at her.

“With the exception of a well chosen few,” she mumbled.

Gabriel pulled open the large barn door and found the power box. He turned on the bright overhead lights and looked around the immaculate barn. It was far nicer inside than most of the homes in the rural countryside.

“You feel safe here?” Lonetree asked. He walked over to one of the large stalls and looked inside at the freshly tossed hay.

“No, but there’s no history of anything bad happening here.” He looked up past the loft toward the towering roof of the barn. “So this is as good a place as any to sleep.”

Julie Reilly approached them, carrying her large bag. She had a blanket wrapped around her right arm.

“Common sense tells me I should be crawling in the barn with all of the PhDs, but my inner voice is also telling me not to leave Kelly alone in that house. Harris Dalton will have to fall asleep at some point. He can’t watch her all night long.”

Gabriel nodded. He had also worried about the reporter sleeping inside the house. And the thought that she might tamper with the house had also crossed his mind.

“Stay on the ground floor and around people. If Kelly sneaks out of the ballroom, let her go. Do not try and follow her. If she tricks out one of the floors, we’ll find out tomorrow night — there’s no need to take chances in there.”

“You got it, Doc, no chances,” Julie said. She half-smiled in a nervous way and then looked at Jenny, as if envious of the fact that she now had a real man to watch over her, not just her inner ghost. She finally turned and went toward the house.

Jennifer had never been inside of an actual barn before, and she had decided on the spot that she wasn’t made to be a country girl — even though her profession had kept her in the country wilds most of her career. She had an inkling inside her mind that she was no longer cut out for field work, and that after Summer Place she would officially call it quits. Instead of trying to uncover the mysteries of the collective minds of tribes and peoples, she would learn about Jennifer instead. For the first time in her life she just wanted to be Jenny and nothing more. She looked from the roof above to the men and they were both watching her.

“I think Dr. Tilden has made a decision on something,” John said, smiling at her.

“You think you can figure anyone out, don’t you, Mister Lonetree?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes, eventually,” he answered.

It was obvious to Gabriel that they were forming some sort of attraction, and Gabe didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad. He did, however, decide that it wasn’t up to him to approve or disapprove.

“Jenny,” he said, “since your friend Bobby Lee has vacated the premises, why don’t you take the money the network gave you and get the hell out of here? We can manage fine without you.”

John Lonetree swallowed. Gabriel had voiced just what he had been thinking, but he hadn’t wanted to say the words. Part of him wanted Jenny to stay — not with them, nor even the experiment, but because he just wanted her near.

“Trying to spare the little woman of the horrors of Summer Place, Gabe?” she said, and turned to John. “And you? Is that your opinion?”

“No,” he said, quietly enough that Jenny took a step toward him.

“What was that?” she asked.

“No. I want you to stay. You know, to at least observe. We don’t have very many people around here that we can trust.”

“I see.” She turned to Gabriel. “There you have it. I’m needed, so I’ll stay. Afterwards, I’ll go learn to bake cookies and pick flowers, but for now you’re stuck with me.”

John looked from Jennifer to Kennedy and nodded. He removed his cowboy hat and placed it on the gate to the first stall.

“Well, it ain’t the Waldorf, but it’ll do, I guess,” John said. He opened the polished wooden gate. “I’m calling this stall; it’s closest to the door.”

Two hours later, the sun had completely vanished from the sky and half of the technical crew sat underneath the portico of Summer Place and along its magnificent steps. They were waiting for the argument to settle down so they could move in and get some sleep for the trying day ahead. As it looked right now, it would be quite a while before that could happen. Wallace Lindemann stood his ground like an eagle defending its kill.

“Look, it’s academic until tomorrow morning. I misplaced the keys to the house — I think I left them inside on the bar — and every call I’ve made the Johanssons has gone straight to voicemail. You’ll have to throw your sleeping bags into the tents and trucks, and that’s it.”

“You bastard,” Kelly said, “you’re intentionally keeping us out of the house. All my people want is sleep. Look, Lionel Peterson took thirty of them into Bright Waters — he practically bought the two local hotels out — so it’s only us,” she said gesturing to those men and women sitting and standing on the steps below them. “We’ll stay put in the ballroom and only use the downstairs facilities.”

“As much as I hate to agree with Kelly on anything at this point, I have to say she has a valid point. This group will cause the house no harm. Why would we?” Harris Dalton said. He ran a hand through his hair.

Kelly looked around. Jason Sanborn had abandoned all pretense of being her ally and had vanished with some of the more experienced crew into the large barn and stables with Kennedy and his people. Jason would pay for his disloyalty later; she would make sure of that. Right now, she missed his ability to calm people and force them into making sensible decisions. That was exactly what he had done with a quarter of her tech crew, only that decision had been to trust only Kennedy and sleep in the barn. She frowned.

“Look,” Lindemann said, “there’s nothing I can do about it. Everything is locked up, and when Summer Place is secured like this there isn’t so much as an open window to crawl through. If you’ll excuse me, I have a room waiting for me in Bright Waters, which is where I suggest you go also.”

Kelly shook her head. She knew Peterson had been behind this little maneuver, as well as the house cleansing earlier. She was about to attack again when something caught her eye. She tilted her head.

“I think you may have misjudged the security of Summer Place, Wallace.” She nodded toward the front of the house.

The doors were wide open, and the glowing golden lights of the massive entrance hall shone through them like an invitation to warmth and comfort.

“What the hell?” Lindemann took two steps down the stairs, bumping into Kelly. She watched him like a cat watching a mouse.

“This time, I’m afraid it was not Summer Place pulling a fast one,” Harris Dalton said. He took the remaining steps up toward the house two at a time.

Just as he reached the entrance, a man stepped into the doorway and tossed Harris a set of keys. Kelly smiled. He was an ex-Marine by the name of Howie Johnson — one of the best cameramen in the business and a close associate of Dalton’s.

“Nothing to it, boss. These old window locks are far from burglar proof.” The big man slapped Harris on the shoulder.

Dalton turned and then underhanded the keys to Wallace Lindemann, who stood fuming on the steps. He was angered not only by the break-in to his property, but also because for a moment he had thought the house had somehow opened up on it own. He swallowed and looked at Kelly.

“The downstairs bathrooms and showers, the ballroom, and that’s it. I know how much liquor is in there, so keep your people in check.”

Lindemann pushed past her. She wanted to laugh as she joined Harris at the doorway. The men and women left on the porch were starting to gather their things to join them inside Summer Place.

“That was pretty smooth,” she said to Harris, admiring the large cameraman.

“I didn’t do it to piss off Lindemann, Kelly, I did it because this crew needs sleep. I don’t want anyone to leave the ballroom tonight, and I’m placing two of the security guards on the stairway to make sure no one gets lost or comes up with a sudden desire to explore. Work begins in the morning.”

Kelly tried her best not to react to the thinly veiled insult. She placed a hand in front of her mouth, pretending to cover a yawn.

“You’ll have no argument out of me, Harris.” She made her way past the two men and into Summer Place.

Harris watched her and then looked at Howie, who was grinning. “Don’t snicker. Lindemann is right, this house is dangerous in more ways than one. Your job is to keep an eye on that woman. She’s slick, and she will attempt to get a jumpstart on equipment placement. And one more thing: It’s not that I don’t want this goddamn place to eat her, I just don’t want it to eat her until after this thing goes straight to hell tomorrow night. This damn place can swallow her up, as long as she humiliates herself on national live TV first.”

Howie laughed. “You got it boss,” he said. He wasn’t thinking about Kelly’s broadcast, but about her tight ass. “Wherever she goes, I’ll be right behind her.”

Gabriel watched from the barn as the crew slowly moved from the front lawn into the house. He also watched as Kelly Delaphoy came to the corner of the house and looked back at the barn. In the darkness of the barn’s doorway, he knew she couldn’t see him standing there, but he felt her gaze anyway. With one last look, Kelly turned and walked away. Gabriel took a deep breath and shook his head. All was quiet in the barn, and he knew that the others were already fast asleep. He wanted to stay near John in case he started a Dream Walk. Being in such proximity to the house, he suspected, might greatly influence his sleep. He hadn’t discussed it with John, but they both knew that it was highly probable.

Gabriel spotted Jenny’s bag and heavy jacket on the partially open door to the same stall John had claimed for himself. He smiled. Instead of heading for the small cot that had been delivered earlier by Kelly’s people, Kennedy stepped outside and looked up at the clear night sky. The clouds that had hovered just a short distance away earlier had vanished with the sun, and the clarity of the sky brought Gabriel a calmness he had never felt before on this property. He walked a distance away, avoiding the house and the windows on the second and third floors. He knew Summer Place watched, no matter how dormant it was at the moment. The house would keep a vigilant eye on him.

As he neared the pool, he wondered when the Johanssons would find the time to drain it in preparation for the winter months ahead. Their schedule had, no doubt, been thrown off by their son’s illness — brought on by the very house that sat solidly watching him from above. As he approached the Olympic sized pool and its cluster of old fashioned deck chairs and folded umbrellas, he saw the dark waters. In the daytime, the pool had sparkled. Now it looked foreboding, as if an inky blackness had replaced the chlorinated, clean-smelling waters of the day.

He stepped to the edge and looked into the pool’s depths. He closed his eyes, thinking about everything in his life that had brought him to this point, this place, this predicament. The house had ruined his life, but he knew he had brought it on himself. It had been his arrogance, trying to prove that hauntings were nothing more than people’s fierce imaginations. A haunting usually occurred around families that had financial troubles, or troubles of a far more personal nature. Money, or an uncle who liked to sneak into the rooms after a child’s bedtime. A father that beat a mother, any stress inside a family. The mind, he knew, was the most powerful instrument in the world at producing effects that looked on the surface like a haunting.

He opened his eyes and smiled. All of his theories had come to a crashing halt that night in Summer Place seven years before. Now he knew that his hypothesis of stress-created hauntings had been full of what his students called PhD bullshit. He half turned and looked at the lower floor of Summer Place. Something walked inside of that house; either that something was evil and it was caught, or it chose to stay where it was. He also knew that the very house itself supported the entity and protected it. It was as if the beams, the brick, the wood and the plaster were all a shield for what stood guard inside the house. It all came together as a grand defense for the protection of evil.

Gabriel looked away from the house and placed his hands in his pockets as he remembered that night — the experiment meant to prove that stress brought on by surroundings could manifest a haunting. His students— grounded, academically sound students — were his choice of guinea pigs. They were volunteers from his classes, and the brightest knew what they were in for. The influence of the house would be brought into play by the stories they were told of its history. Stories were relayed slowly in the days leading up to the experiment, with time enough for them to be absorbed, dissected and swallowed. Then when they arrived at Summer Place, it all came home to them. Each scenario had been documented in the stories he told them, from total non-belief to factual, “I was there” eyewitness accounts. Gabriel had known the students would be affected by Summer Place. They would be convinced by the stories they had heard, the darkness that would surround them, and the influence of the actual house that would close around them as the night wore on. Only, he had never suspected that Summer Place was alive. It came at his kids with its full power and scared them all half to death, and had also murdered one as a gift to Gabriel for his doubt. What a fool he had been to mock what he knew nothing about.

Back then it had been about the theory, the book deal and the power. It all seemed so trivial and mundane now that he knew there was a whole other world that most knew nothing about — a world that hated the world of the living, possibly to the point of open warfare.

Gabriel saw movement at the bottom of the pool — a shadow against a dark background, darker than the night. He went to one knee and watched as the darkness flitted and floated out of view. There was calmness to it that held him riveted in place; a ballet of movement that reached his soul. The shadow would dive and then rise, coming tantalizingly close the surface of the still waters, then hover for a brief moment before settling back into the depths. The form never took shape, but in his mind he felt it was female. It seemed to him like a motherly figure moving about the house as she cleaned, never really stopping to attend one thing, but gracefully moving to cover multiple tasks. It would sway left and then gently roll to the right, and then it would do a complete somersault and retreat back to deeper water.

Kennedy smiled. He reached out and touched the surface of the pool. It felt warm and inviting. He swirled his fingers through the water. He knew that if he went for a swim he would feel much better about the house and its surroundings — if only he could cover himself in the warmth of the black water. Soon his entire hand was in the water, not just his fingers, and he felt the warm, gentle grip of the dark form caressing his hand. He smiled again. He had been invited into the water so he could understand what this was all about. In an instant, he would have a clear and concise understanding of what made Summer Place so special.

The dark form brushed against his hand, and once more he felt the warmth of home. When the darkness within the water slowly withdrew to the deep end of the pool once more, Gabriel thought he heard his name being called. The voice was distant and seemed to come from another time, another place. It wasn’t inviting, like the touch of the darkness was. It was harsh and full of concern and warning. Still, Gabriel placed his hand and arm even deeper into the pool.

As his name was called again, this time by more than one person, the blackness that had coiled in the deepest part of the pool seemed to grow agitated. It swirled as if a wind had churned it into a whirlwind of anger and jealousy. It wrapped itself around and around and then finally took the humanoid form of a beast, growing ever larger. As Kennedy smiled and placed his hand deeper, the blackness charged the shallower end of the pool. The voice grew louder and more insistent, and the entity charged toward him. It was coming on with such power that the surface of the pool parted in a wave as the entity plowed through the blackness. Still Gabriel smiled and waited, even as the front of that blackness opened up like a shark ready to swallow its prey whole.

Gabriel was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled back hard. He fell against the concrete surrounding the pool and a splash of water covered him. He heard a growl and a tremendous hiss as the water settled back into place.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” came the voice.

Gabriel snapped out of the dream-like state.

“As much as you warned us about this fucking place, you start acting like you want to swim at eleven o’clock at night.”

Gabriel shook the water from his face and then turned to see George Cordero. Coming up quickly from the barn were John, Jenny and Jason Sanborn. They all had been calling after him but it had been George, just dropped off by a taxi cab, who had been closest.

“Jesus, did you see that?” Jason Sanborn ran past Gabriel and George and looked into the settling waters of the swimming pool.

“It damn near got you!” George struggled to his feet and removed his soaked suit jacket.

“It was in the water,” John Lonetree said, staring at the pool.

“John dreamt Gabe was being pulled under the water. He woke up just a moment before we heard you, George, the first time you called out.”

George tossed Jennifer his wet jacket.

“Good thing I came back, huh? Mr. Dream Man here was a little slow.”

Jason Sanborn turned away from the pool “If that thing can do this out in the pool, what kind of power does it have inside there?” he asked, pointing harshly to Summer Place.

Gabriel shook his head and cleared it as best he could. He then reached out and took Cordero’s hand.

“Thanks, buddy. I was in a dream state, or hallucinating I guess.”

“My ass. I saw what was coming after you, and it sure as fuck was no hallucination. The goddamn thing had teeth!”

“Teeth?” Jason sat heavily into one of the deck chairs.

“It seems its power was enhanced this afternoon, not cleansed. I guess Father Dolan and the others only pissed it off.”

They all looked at Gabriel Kennedy, then turned as one. The many windows of Summer Place stared down at them, as blank and foreboding as before, but now there was a kind of sheen to the glass that made the house look as if it were smiling.

“What about the others — the ones inside?” Jason asked, concern showing on his face.

“Let’s hope they have their cameras ready. I think this monstrosity likes to fuck with people.”

They looked away from the house. They all knew that Cordero was right.

Kelly watched as the section of her crew that volunteered to stay inside of Summer Place made up their cots and used the five downstairs restrooms. Luckily for the fifteen men and women, there were also four showers located on the ground floor. The commissary kept hot coffee on the long mahogany bar, and several trays of sandwiches were available for those who could not sleep. Kelly chose to stay awake. Although frightened of the house, she knew she had too much work to do.

A small man with glasses and long black hair tied in a ponytail strolled up to the bar and slapped his hand on the top of it. Kelly looked up from her notes with her eyebrow raised.

“Bar’s closed, through the duration of the shoot,” she said as she lowered her eyes to her clipboard.

“Then I’ll just take one of these,” the small man said as he took a sandwich from the tray before him. He took a bite, grimaced and then leaned forward and spoke low so only Kelly could hear. “Harris assigned me to watch you. I see the way you keep looking at the doors. I hope you’re not planning to take a little tour on your own tonight when most of us go to sleep?”

Kelly looked up from her notes. “Howie, isn’t it?”

“That’s what they call me.”

“You’re one of Dalton’s boys from his sports and entertainment division, right?”

“The best field camera jock the network has,” Howie said. He took another bite of the tuna sandwich.

“Then you know what it’s like to get knocked on your ass, right?”

“I’ve been ran over a few times.”

“If I decide to leave this room and you follow me, I’ll yell rape at the top of my lungs. How’s that for getting knocked on your ass, you macho jerk?”

Howie stopped chewing and eyed the woman, who looked at him as if he were a bug under scrutiny. He tossed the sandwich half in the waste basket behind Kelly, sneered as best he could under the circumstances, and turned from the bar.

The producer watched him leave, and then caught sight of Julie Reilly in the double doorway looking right at her. She let her heavy bag and blanket slip from her arms. She nodded at some of the nervous greetings she received from those making up their cots for the night, and then continued toward the bar. She sat at one of the stools, facing Kelly.

“What was that about?” she asked, watching Howie stalking toward Harris Dalton.

“He’s one of Harris Dalton’s spies. He didn’t like the way I would handle a certain situation,” Kelly said. She pretended to make notes on her clipboard.

“I see,” Julie, like the cameraman before her, reached over and took a sandwich from the tray. Unlike him, she turned her nose up at it and put it back. “Howie’s a good jock. Nice to have in a finesse situation if the chips are falling against the house.”

“And now I suppose this is the veteran field reporter warning the novice about treating her people with respect so they’ll respect you. That right?”

Julie didn’t say anything.

“Let me tell you something. I’ve been through so much with this show, I’ve seen things you would never believe, and now because of one incident I’m labeled a fraud.” Kelly placed the clipboard on the bar and leaned forward. “So when the day comes that I take advice from a person who climbed the ladder the same way, you’ll excuse me if I tell you to go to hell. I’m the best at what I do. My show is the number one rated program at the network — most likely, it contributes more than half of that inflated news salary of yours. I have the CEO backing me, and when this is over I’m going to use the popularity of this special to slam those ladder-climbers back down to earth. And Ms. Reilly, you fall into that category.”

Julie smiled and leaned as far forward as she could. “You want me, you take your best shot. I earned my stripes from Iraq to Afghanistan, from Iran to Saudi Arabia. If you think I’m frightened by your little spook show here or your power with the CEO, you’re highly delusional. You can push me down the ladder, but you’ll beat me to the bottom, because I know you’re going to try something to boost your hypothesis of this place, and I’ll catch you in the act.”

“And on the way, you’ll expose Kennedy for the fraud that he is?”

The sudden change in tactic almost stopped Julie from answering, but she gathered her composure.

“If Professor Kennedy is anyway involved with fraud, I’ll bring him down just as readily as you, or the network.”

“That won’t do much for your personal life, will it?”

Julie was stunned at the comment, but Kelly kept her eyes locked on hers. She had never in her life met anyone with as much gall as the woman before her. Julie could now see that Kelly was indeed as formidable as everyone said she was. She could also see that Lionel Peterson was in way over his head.

“You bitch; I can’t believe you would stand there and accuse me of not separating my job from my personal life.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at Kennedy, any blind person could. I bet it took all of your willpower to come into the house tonight, didn’t it? The desire to keep an eye on me pushed you into it, or you would be out in that horseshit barn right now, wouldn’t you, Ms. Field Reporter?”

Julie slid off the stool under Kelly’s glare. She turned and made her way back to the door, where she gathered her things, and then chose an empty cot in the far corner of the ballroom beyond the billiard table, out of sight of the producer.

Kelly watched until she couldn’t see Julie any longer, and then closed her eyes. Her attack on both the cameraman and Julie left her with a bad taste in her mouth. She knew she was gathering so many enemies into Peterson’s corner that they would fall on her like a pack of hungry hyenas if she failed. If the special went down, her entire career would go down with it and would never make it out alive. And that was exactly why she would not, could not, leave anything to chance.

Kelly looked around the ballroom and was tempted to reach for one of the bottles and break her own self imposed rule about drinking; instead she looked over at one of her assistants — an intern who had witnessed the small confrontation at the bar. Her certificate said that she was a qualified make-up artist; she was also an associate of Kyle Pritchard’s. Kelly gathered her clipboard, turned and made her way from the bar. On the way by the young tech, she allowed her pen to fall from her hand.

“Three o’clock,” she whispered as she stooped to retrieve it.

Kelly continued to the cocktail table where Harris Dalton was working on his notes. She sat down, smiling, and greeted Harris with all the enthusiasm that had been missing from her act for the past two weeks.

All Dalton could do was wonder why the circling vulture had settled on him.

At 12:30 am, Kelly stood at the open double doorway of the ballroom and stared out into the expansive living room. The twenty-foot-wide fireplace was cold and empty. The sixteen couches, chairs and loveseats were arranged neatly and covered with fine white linen in preparation for the yearly ritual of winterizing the interior. Kelly placed her arms over her chest and watched the house as if she were studying a potential ally, or an enemy.

Her eyes settled on the stairs, wide at the bottom and narrowing as the staircase rose to the heights of the second floor. At the base of the wooden banister two electric lamps burned, but all they managed to do was cast eerie shadows on the risers that made their way to the ominous floors above. Kelly was trying to get a visual on how she could play the darkness to the advantage of the show. She smiled, leaning forward until she could see halfway up the broad staircase. She knew the low-light cameras would pick up the way the scene stretched away and then vanished after a certain point. They could use that angle to good effect. Her eyes roamed to the portraits lining the living room walls. Most were brightly painted and colorful — too damn cheery. However, there were several old black and white photos in old fashioned bubble-glass frames that she could get good angles on; possibly get some warped reflections of Kennedy and Julie Reilly off of those for a chill or two.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kelly flinched. She wanted to scream out loud when the voice came from behind her, but she knew she couldn’t admit to any fear, even just fear caused by being caught off guard. Harris Dalton’s hair was a mess and his ever-present vest was missing, leaving only the rumpled flannel shirt that always seemed a part of him.

“Are you kidding? I won’t sleep until I get the ratings in.”

“No matter what happens, I think people are going to tune in. If not to see a ghost, then to see a large network screw-the-pooch and fall all the way from number one to laughing stock.”

“That’s real encouraging,” she said sourly.

“I’m not here to blow smoke up your ass, Kelly, I’m here to direct a show, that’s all.”

Kelly stared at the staircase that rose before them across the room. “In case you don’t, or choose not to realize it, Harris, your reputation is also on the line. You’re a major part of this, and if it fails you’ll go down with the ship. All they’ll know at corporate is that it was you who steered the ship into the iceberg.”

“I think I can handle anything corporate has to throw at me. Besides, dear, they can only fire me, they can’t eat me like they can you.” Harris stepped by Kelly and into the expansive living room. Hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, he looked around and then up into the blackness of the ceiling three hundred feet above. He felt the producer step out with him and stand at his side.

“Still, you have to admit that this place has angles for some great shots, and you’re the one who can pull it off,” she said.

Harris smiled. He didn’t favor Kelly with a glance, or even a typical roll of his eyes.

“I can make looking at rocks entertaining, Kelly, just as long as that’s what the viewer tuned into see.”

Kelly Delaphoy smiled at the mischievous way Harris toyed with his words.

“Look, you were here and you know what this house is capable of, so why don’t you give the magnanimous director thing a rest; at least when it’s just us.”

Harris nodded. “I need you to change the opening of the script. The house has to be the star, not Julie Reilly. I called in a favor to a friend of mine and he’s going to record a voiceover in Los Angeles tomorrow morning. He’ll recite the history of Summer Place as we show angles of the house, never the full frontal view. We’ll record those instead of doing it live. I’ll have the camera crew out before the sun comes up in the morning and get the shots for editing later. I don’t want the audience to get a full view of Summer Place during the narration scenes, only snippets. That will solve concerns about the damn place not looking haunted.”

Kelly was stunned. She almost panicked when she realized she didn’t have her clipboard or notepad to write Dalton’s ideas down.

“So you are on board, you want to make this work. That is a marvelous opening. Who did you get for the voiceover?” She loved the fact that the opening monologue had just been taken away from Julie Reilly.

“Our retired anchor, John Wesley, is doing it as a favor — but I had to give up my Super Bowl ticket allotment for it,” he said, looking at Kelly sternly.

“I’ll get you a damn suite for the game if we pull this off.”

“You’re damn right you will.”

Both continued to examine the downstairs. Dalton was wondering when Kelly was going to broach the subject heading upstairs, at least to the second floor landing. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Why don’t we see what kind of angles we can get on the stairs? I think that’s a creep factor we’ve yet to explore.”

Harris laughed.

“Well, that didn’t even take as long as I thought it would. We’re staying right here. You couldn’t get me up there tonight with a platoon of fucking Marines backing me.”

“This place has gotten to you, hasn’t it?” Kelly asked, amazed that this man who had been all over the world, was frightened by Summer Place.

Harris looked around, and his tired eyes settled on Kelly’s. “Frightened, yes. Let me tell you something, in case your exterior has grown so tough that you haven’t noticed, or in case you’ve faked so much ghost crap that you’re immune to your own senses: this place is wrong. It’s like touring a battlefield after the fact, and believe me I’ve done that a lot. There is death here, past, present and future. I can feel it. If you brought a combat veteran in this house, he would feel it also. It’s a sense that you’re being watched and the watcher wants nothing more than to do you harm.”

“You’re right. I don’t get that sense. That’s what worries me about tomorrow night. Summer Place could fuck us all and be as dormant as your grandma’s house.”

Dalton removed his hands from his pockets and strolled over to the giant fireplace. He stared into it.

“This place is like an animal; a wild predator I think. It may go all night and just watch, or it could explode into a violent attack against what it may perceive as a threat, even though it’s not hungry. Either way, this place is ruinous Kelly, don’t you understand that? If I hadn’t heard all the stories, I still would have felt it.” He turned away from the cold fireplace. “The one thing I’m not prepared for is for the full potential of this black hearted house to reveal its secrets. I can see Kennedy feels the same and if it weren’t for his missing student seven years ago, I bet he wouldn’t come within a state of this place — ever.”

Kelly was about to respond when they heard a door creak open. She looked at Dalton with her brows raised.

Harris turned away from the fireplace and made his way across the living room to the entrance hall. The front doors were closed and secure. He grimaced, then moved through past the coat check stall and into the passageway that led to the huge kitchen. He pushed open the right side of the swinging doors and stepped inside. The smells of old meals still hung in the air. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, the black and white checkerboard tile stood out as if it were painted in neon bright colors. Everything else was solely illuminated by the light that came through the open door. He felt Kelly behind him, trying to peek around his large frame.

“Look,” Kelly said, squeezing past him.

The basement door, once locked, was standing wide open. The lock that had been used to secure it — the one that Kelly had witnessed Wallace Lindemann remove himself during the tour — was sitting on the large butcher’s block next to the door. “That door is always locked. Lindemann said so himself. He was afraid one of the Johanssons would take a tumble down the steep stairs.”

“Well, obviously things have slipped while Eunice and her husband have been away.” Harris allowed the swinging door to close as he stepped into the large kitchen. He felt around for the old fashioned light switch and turned it on. The light fixture on the ceiling flared to life, casting a brilliant glow over the old appliances and counters. The kitchen was decorated with checkered tile floors, red countertops and white paint on the walls with a belt of black tile halfway up. “I think I would have modernized the paint scheme in here,” he said, stepping toward the basement door.

Kelly followed, watching as Dalton took the old crystal door handle and moved the thick wood door back and forth. It made the exact same squeak they had heard in the living room. Harris looked at Kelly and her brows rose questioningly. Dalton stepped to the open doorway and looked down into the blackness. He reached in and felt around but could find no light switch.

“It’s a string above your head,” Kelly said, remembering Wallace Lindemann clicking on the lights for the tour.

“There’s no string here, or light switch, or fixture,” Harris said.

“It’s there. I saw it the other day,” Kelly said in exasperation as she stepped into the landing.

“Yeah, well tell me where it—”

The loud bang from far below stopped the rest of the words cold in Dalton’s mouth and made both of them jump. The sound reverberated through the kitchen.

“That was the root cellar door,” Kelly said. She quickly stepped away from the steep staircase.

“How do you know?” Harris asked.

“I just do.”

Harris grabbed her by the arm as he heard the first foot fall far below on the staircase. Then suddenly the draft hit him and its force made the hair on his arms stand up. Goose pimples formed across his exposed skin. The landing, the doorway and the entire kitchen felt like a door had been opened to the North Pole. Their breaths fogged in the air before them. Something had changed inside Summer Place, and this time it originated from far below.

“Listen!” he hissed, cocking his head to the right.

Kelly stopped and listened. There was a second step, and whatever was down there stopped. It was as if it were listening to see if it had been heard.

“Okay, that’s it, back to the ballroom.” Dalton pulled on Kelly’s arm. She tried to shrug off his grip but it was like iron. Then she froze as the footfalls started again. This time it seemed they were coming on with a purpose.

“Jesus.” Harris yanked Kelly off the landing and through the door. He slammed it shut and then bent over for the lock as the footsteps rose toward the landing. Kelly could tell that they had rounded the bend in the staircase and were just below in the blackness, just out of her sight. Harris retrieved the lock and fit it into the latch, slamming the mechanism home. A moment later, something that sounded like a bowling ball struck the door from the far side. Harris and Kelly jumped back and watched wide-eyed as the door rattled. The cut glass knob turned rapidly.

“Shit,” Kelly mumbled.

Suddenly the door, just like the one in the network meeting room a few days before, started to bend inward, cracking. Harris knew that if they stayed where they were, they would soon see what was creating such force. He knew that if they left, the power would die.

“Let’s get out of here, now!” Dalton pulled Kelly back through the kitchen door. It swung as he backed out, and he could see that whatever was on the other side of the basement door gave one last powerful push inward. On the swinging door’s rebound, Harris saw that the door had held. Then the door came to a rest, closing the view for good.

Harris didn’t let go of Kelly until they were well away from the kitchen. They passed the coat check station and backed into the large living room. He finally stopped as he felt the heat return to his system. He let go of Kelly and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“What the fuck was that?” he managed to get out.

Kelly, wide-eyed and staring at the small entrance way to the kitchen, kept her eyes on the door.

“Goddamn it, I should have known to have a camera on me.”

Harris straightened up.

“You crazy bitch. When is enough enough?”

“When we have it on tape, Harris. That’s when it’s enough.”

Harris walked toward the ballroom. “I have a feeling you just may find out tomorrow that this fucking house has the final say on that.”

Kelly watched Harris leave the living room and decided that she no longer wanted to be alone inside Summer Place. She started moving in the same direction to force herself to sleep, she would need the rest.

“We’ll see about that.” She turned around and looked at the walls enclosing her. “You’re going to talk to the world, so you better get ready.”

Kelly tossed and turned on the small, uncomfortable cot. She kicked off the itchy blanket and stared up at the darkened ceiling far above her head. She eased her left arm behind her head and then closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the old mansion as it creaked and settled. She wondered in her semi-daze how long it took for a house to settle. She turned over and tried to keep her eyes shut, but the cameraman who had taken the cot nearest her own was snoring so loudly that she lost all thought of listening to the house.

Kelly tried to find a peaceful rhythm to the large man’s snoring, but she couldn’t. She shot the sleeping man an angry glance, then stood and ran a hand through her long hair. Julie Reilly was sitting on one of the stools at the bar, jotting something in her large notebook. Curious, Kelly eased past the sleeping men and women. Julie had the advance script that outlined the first four hours of the show, and it looked like she was furiously crossing things out and writing things in. Kelly cleared her throat.

“Jason and I worked on that thing all day. You’re not even going to consult with us on your changes?”

Julie stopped writing for the briefest of moments and then started up again without answering.

Kelly pulled out the barstool next to Julie.

“Can we be civil for a moment, here?”

Julie added a line to the first page, then placed the pen down and looked at Kelly.

“Number one, I don’t like you. We’ve been through this already, and just because we’ve entered your war zone, doesn’t mean we’re going to become foxhole buddies. Second, I know what you have in mind and I—”

Julie stopped when she saw her breath condensate as she spoke the words. She looked around and saw those closest to the long bar were also breathing out a fine fog while they slept. Several people sat up and looked around, even more drew their blankets closer around them. In the corner, Harris Dalton sat up and put his jacket on. He stood up and nudged the man sleeping next to him.

“Get up, I want this recorded,” he said. The ambiance in the enormous ballroom had changed from one minute to the next. The room temperature had fallen by forty degrees and it had awakened everyone. Julie slipped from her chair and wrapped her arms across her chest as she looked around. She saw the double doors and the living room beyond with its antique lighting, and saw nothing there. She looked at Kelly, who was actually smiling — Harris Dalton had three cameramen each videotaping the event.

“I’ll tell you something, Ms. Reilly, this stuff you can’t fake,” Kelly said as she stepped away from the bar.

The ballroom grew colder still. People were starting to huddle together for warmth, if not for safety. They all had heard the strange tales about the house, and now many were becoming concerned that this wasn’t just a network stunt.

“Someone get a temperature gauge and hold it so we can get an image for broadcast tomorrow,” Kelly said as she moved to her own cot and found her jacket.

Harris Dalton nodded. “You heard her, get moving. Get me a temp reading in the living room.”

Just before the cameraman reached the opening, the heavy oaken doors slammed shut, making several of the women — and not just a few of the men — shout and jump.

“Jesus,” Kelly said. Harris Dalton reached out and felt the wood, and then pulled his hand back.

“Cold,” he said.

The cameraman, a veteran of the Gulf War, stepped closer to get a better shot.

“Look!” a woman shouted. She stumbled over her cot, falling backward and hitting the floor hard.

A deep shadow had parted from the far wall, and it swept up and over the ceiling. It moved to the far side of the ballroom and then disappeared into the corner, joining the shadow there.

“We’re down to twenty-two degrees in here,” a man said. “Still dropping.”

Julie assisted the woman who had fallen to her feet. She could feel the young girl, a script assistant if she remembered correctly, shaking beneath her sweater. Julie reached down to her cot for the blanket and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders.

“It’s here,” Kelly said.

“No, there isn’t just one. I think there’s more,” Harris said, backing away from the door.

Julie looked back at where the shadow had been, just as it broke away from the corner. This time another came with it. As they watched the shadows sweep across the ceiling, the lights in the room started to dim.

“We’re losing power here,” one of the techs said. “It’s like the batteries are draining.”

A they listened and watched, several more shadows broke free and started floating throughout the room. Julie held the young girl, but for some reason she didn’t feel the least bit threatened by what was happening.

“Harris is right. This isn’t the power behind Summer Place, this is something else.”

As Julie spoke, Kelly knew that she was right. The sweeping shadows moved like someone swishing black sheets through the air — bulky at the head and trailing off to nothing, floating like spectral figures in a macabre dance.

“We’re losing the camera lights,” the man next to Dalton called out. “Losing batteries.”

The shadows moved and danced high above them. The lights in the room dimmed to near nothing.

The shadows swooped and came closer to the amazed onlookers.

Kelly and Julie smelled the odor at the same time. It was a loamy smell, like freshly dug earth, full of dirt, leaves and mildew. Julie flinched as one of the shadows swooped low. It seemed to hover around her and the young girl she was holding. Julie swallowed. The shadow seemed to reach out a tendril to the script girl. The girl flinched away, and that quick motion made the shadowy arm and hand withdraw, but only momentarily. It reached again, this time for Julie Reilly. The reporter stood her ground, although she flinched as the icy fingers, not more than tendrils of shadow, reached out and slid along her cheek. She could have sworn she could see a small opening where the mouth of a person would have been. It seemed to be smiling at her.

“God, are you seeing this? It’s actually touching you.” Kelly couldn’t help but break out in a large smile. That changed in an instant when she saw the cameraman next to Dalton lower his camera. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“We’re dead here, no juice, no lights,” the bearded man said. One by one the other cameramen lowered their cameras; they were just as useless as the first.

“Goddamn it,” Kelly said.

“Shut up,” Julie hissed. The shadow kept in contact.

“What are you feeling?” Kelly asked, taking a step closer.

“It’s not danger. I don’t know. It’s like my mother’s checking on me.”

“Remember everything you can so we can—”

The boom sounded from outside of the ballroom. The shadow before Julie pulled back like it had touched a hot stove, making the reporter and the girl flinch simultaneously. The other shadows became agitated, flying faster around the room. The boom sounded again, up higher than the beams of the ceiling, as if it had come from the very apex of the roof.

All in the ballroom felt the change in atmosphere; it became heavy, burdened. The shadows swept high and low, as if afraid of the sound they had heard.

The boom came again, and then again, and again. It was as if something was walking the third floor hallway above, and coming closer.

“Jesus Christ, Harris, what do you have up there, a fucking elephant?” the camera man asked.

The booms started sounding louder and were coming with rapid frequency.

“God, where is Kennedy? Don’t tell me they can’t hear that!” Kelly said, watching the shadows above her head.

“Look!” the cameraman shouted.

The ballroom’s double doors were icing over. The sounds upstairs grew even louder, and now there was a sound like crying; like a group of people whimpering in fear. No one in the room would claim it came from anything other than the panicking shadows above their heads.

The shadows flew to every dark corner of the ballroom and vanished. As they disappeared, the atmosphere changed dramatically. The room started to warm and the sounds of the giant footsteps above them stopped. The double oak doors looked normal, as if they had never accumulated the slick coldness a moment before.

Power came back on, the lights glowing intensely before settling down to their original dimmed state. Several people jumped and gasped as the camera lights flared to life.

“What the hell did we just witness?” Harris reached for the camera and checked its power settings.

“Something upstairs chased off the…the…” Kelly stopped short.

“Yeah, I would say something upstairs was pissed at something down here. And for the first time, I don’t think we had anything to do with it.” Dalton handed the camera back to its operator. “Audio, did we get anything?”

“Nothing. The damn recorders wouldn’t even turn on.” The audio tech let the recorder fall to his cot.

“The cameras didn’t get dick,” the man next to Harris said.

“Then we got nothing?” Kelly said as she looked around from face to face.

“Oh, I think we got something.” Harris Dalton opened the double doors to reveal a quiet, warm living room. “I think we got the hell scared out of us.”

More than thirty people slept just beyond the large wooden gate of Summer Place. The network had tried to get the State Police to move the crowd off of the Lindemann property, but with Wallace Lindemann spending the night in Bright Waters they had no one to officially declare them trespassers. Twenty of the group that laid low against the chill inside of sleeping bags were protesters against Hunters of the Paranormal from Bright River and Bright Waters, mostly made up of religious men and women who saw the show as an affront to their beliefs. The other ten, sleeping only forty feet away, were staunch supporters of the show, fans since its cable inception many years before. They had all calmed down as many had left for the more comforting confines of the local motels, hotels and off-season ski resorts. The shouting and yelling stopped just as the moon rose into the night sky. At four-thirty in the morning there wasn’t so much as the glow of a flashlight to say that anyone was outside the gates at all.

Across the road, watching from the woods, was a large buck. Its antlers moved left and then right as it turned its large head, as if it studied the strange scene across the way: the tents, the people on the ground nestled in sleeping bags. The buck sniffed the air. Then its eyes moved over the two State Police cruisers parked in the gravel drive, blocking the front gates. The men inside dozed with their hats pulled down over their eyes. Out of the four men, only one was awake. He pulled open the cruiser’s door and stepped outside for some needed air. The trooper adjusted his belt and stopped, seeing the pair of glowing eyes in the woods across the street. It was a deer — a large one to be sure, but just a deer nonetheless.

The deer made no move to come forward from the tree line or recede into its protection. It watched the man as he stretched, yawning and shaking his head to clear it of sleep. As it watched, two more deer joined it inside the tree line. At first they playfully brushed the male, but when the play wasn’t returned, they too looked across the way, first at the slumbering men and women, and then at the man who walked around the two police cruisers. Then the eyes of all three deer settled on the house. The large buck’s eyes moved as a light came on in the large tent not far from the swimming pool. The chef and his two assistants the network had hired for the catering stepped from the large enclosure and looked around. As the two assistants fired up the stoves and ovens at the back of the large commissary tent, the chef made a beeline for the port-o-potty fifty feet away. Three more deer joined the group watching the house. Far off, an owl hooted and then settled back down to silence.

The male deer stepped free of the tree line and advanced four steps onto the shoulder of the road. The movement caught the attention of the man as he turned the corner of his police cruiser. He froze, but made no move to frighten the buck away. The male was soon joined by a female, cautiously stepping free of the trees. It sniffed the gravel lining the road, and then the male, before looking across the street at the man who stood next to the driver’s door with his thumbs in his gun belt.

The trooper moved his left hand slowly away from his body and tapped on the glass of the driver’s side door. Not enough of a tap to frighten away the beautiful creature across the way, but enough to get the driver’s attention. He pushed his hat back up and out of his face.

“Sid, look at this,” the man standing outside the car said. Two more deer moved forward to join the first two.

“What?” the driver asked, irritated at being awakened.

“The damndest thing I’ve ever seen. Look at these deer. They’re just standing there staring at us.”

“Jesus, Jessup, let me sleep, I don’t need a nature lesson right now.”

Three more smaller deer exited the woods and joined the others. Now he counted seven deer. A little unnerved, the trooper slowly removed the large-handled flashlight from his belt. He brought up the instrument and clicked it on as fast as he could, knowing the sudden flare of light would frighten the deer away. It didn’t. The deer just stood there, watching him. The most frightening thing, and the trooper had decided that it was indeed frightening, was the way they made no move, other than to keep chewing on whatever it was they were chewing on.

“Shit,” the trooper whispered. “Sid, wake up and look at this.”

“Shit. I guess you’re not going to let me sleep.” The driver threw open his door and stepped from the cruiser. He adjusted his gun belt and then looked at his younger partner. “We’re not out here to watch the animal population, we’re here to—”

The driver stopped as a raccoon passed directly in front of the deer as it sniffed its way out of the trees. The trooper reached in and pulled on the headlight switch. The bright beams of light caught the deer and raccoon dead on, but the animals didn’t so much as flinch in the bright lights.

“Damn. Have you ever seen anything like that before?” the first trooper asked.

“They must be, you know, like deer caught in the headlights or something. You know, too scared to move.”

“Yeah, too scared. Is that why that larger male keeps coming, because it’s scared?”

As the two troopers watched, the male advanced two slow steps forward. As it moved it lowered its antlers, and one actually scraped the roadway as it moved off the shoulder of the road. The two troopers took an involuntary step backward.

“You men have to get those people out of there.”

Both policemen jumped at the sound of the deep voice behind them.

Standing at the gate were four men and a woman. They were watching the scene through the heavy slats of the wooden gate. The woman looked worried, rubbing her hands together.

Gabriel Kennedy had been awakened from an uneasy sleep by George Cordero five minutes before. He had gestured to the next stall where John Lonetree and Jennifer Tilden slept. As Kennedy came awake, George placed his right index finger to his lips, shushing Gabe before he could talk. A questioning look crossed Kennedy’s features when George pointed to the stall across the way. As Gabriel listened, he could hear John moaning and stumbling, and then the stall door had shot open and Jennifer came through, supporting John, who staggered. It was obvious the large Indian had been Dream Walking.

“What is it?” Kennedy asked as he shook free of the blanket.

“John says something’s going to happen outside,” Jenny said.

“What is it, John?” Kennedy assisted Jenny with some of John’s weight.

“Don’t remember. Something was in the woods earlier, but it’s no longer there. It’s watching people and growing angrier by the minute.”

Kennedy had led the way from the barn and had immediately seen the headlights of the police cruiser come on near the front gate.

As the two troopers had turned and saw the strange looking group of people watching them, the second cruiser’s doors opened. They were joined by the other two men.

“What’s going on?” one of them asked.

“Don’t know. The animals are acting strange.” The deer had come forward another three feet, and was fully in the road. The other six moseyed out with it, heads swinging from side to side.

“I’m going to get the key to this gate so you can get those sleeping people behind it,” Kennedy said. He fumbled with the large chain that was wrapped around the main beams of the wooden gate.

“We don’t have a key, and Lindemann isn’t here,” Jennifer said.

“Damn it!” Gabriel hissed.

“Wake those people up and tell them to wait it out inside their cars until the sun comes up,” Lonetree said. He had regained a little more of his strength.

“Hey, cut out those damn lights!” someone shouted from the darkness of the grass quad in front of the gate.

A man and a woman had popped free of their sleeping bags and were shading their eyes from the harsh glare of the cruiser’s headlights.

“What’s going to happen, John?” Jenny said.

George Cordero stepped closer to the gate and placed his hands through the wooden beams. He splayed his fingers apart and closed his eyes.

“Jesus, I’m not picking up the slow thoughts of animals over there. Whatever is approaching is something totally different.” He opened his eyes and pulled his arms back through the gate as if he had touched a hot stove.

The first state trooper to have seen the deer turned to the men and women who had come awake.

“Uh, can you people wake those next to you and move to your vehicles, please? Please move away from the area.”

“Oh, come on Jessup, they’re deer for Christ’s sake,” the second policeman said.

That was when the seven deer charged. The buck moved so fast that the man standing next to his wife never saw him coming. The antlers struck the man just below the buttocks and lifted him high into the air, then struck him again before he came to rest on the man lying on the ground next to his sleeping bag. The other deer made for the astonished state troopers. The four men scattered as the rest of the protesters and fans came awake to a melee of sight and sound. Soon their screams and shouts were added to those of the state troopers as they ran to avoid the deer stampede.

John Lonetree climbed the fence and held his hand out toward the scrambling men and women on the ground below. As one of the state troopers reached up to take the offered help, one of the smaller deer plowed into his back, twirling the large trooper like he was a doll. He came to rest at the base of the fence, alive but badly bruised. Another, a woman, screamed as a male deer with large antlers charged from behind one of the parked state cars. She scrambled and dove for cover underneath the wheel base of the car, narrowly escaping the sharp antlers which missed her leg and punctured one of the tires.

Suddenly several bright lights flared to life behind Kennedy and the others. Two film teams and Julie Reilly approached the fence. The cameras lights froze the deer in place, some skidding and sliding to a halt as the camera lenses zoomed in on the animal attack outside the gates. Harris Dalton pushed through the two cameramen and past Gabriel. He raised a set of bolt cutters to the chain and snapped it into two pieces. Gabriel pushed the right side of the gate open while the deer were frozen like statuary, shouting for everyone to get inside.

Men and women who had taken refuge further away from the gate saw their opportunity to scramble to their cars, while the closest ran, stumbled and tripped their way inside. Lonetree had hopped down from the gate and was in the process of helping the injured trooper to his feet. In that split second, the deer all came out of their startled trance. The large buck saw John and Jennifer and charged. Two others saw the slow moving trio and they also lowered their heads and came forward at a run.

Gabriel shouted a warning but he knew he was too late. The buck was almost on them. Suddenly, a brighter than normal set of headlights swerved off the road and into the short drive. While the truck didn’t strike any of the deer, it made them veer away at the last, most horrifying second. The buck turned and actually hit the large wooden gate as John and the others dove through. Gabriel and Dalton slammed the gate closed before any of the deer could recover.

The deer seemed to settle down once the gate was closed and the people safe inside. The large buck looked around as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The other deer started to wander around, sniffing at this and that. Then, as if they realized for the first time that they were no longer in the covering blanket of trees, the deer looked startled and bounded away. Only the buck stood for a moment, chewing, and stared at the gate and the humans watching it. Then it shook its large head and slowly moved away, past the large truck with the headlights that had saved John and Jennifer.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Kennedy smiled when he saw Leonard Sickles looking out of the open passenger side window.

“You piss off the Bambi family or what?”

An hour later, with the Bright Waters police on hand, the fans and protesters were treated for scrapes and bruises. The injured state trooper was the worst case as he had his ass punctured with one of the bucks lethal antlers, and that seemed to be fine by his partner and the other two troopers as they laughed and teased the man to no end as the network first aid man applied tape and gauze to the wound. After the strange attack by the local wildlife, the police had no trouble moving the protesters and fans off of Summer Place property, while Wallace Lindemann, who had been alerted in his motel room, warned everyone that they couldn’t sue him because they had officially been trespassing on his property.

Gabriel stood next to the members of his team near the front gate. John Lonetree was responsible for saving a few lives, but if you saw him he looked more worried than relieved.

“What is it?” Kennedy asked as he made sure Julie Reilly and her camera people were far enough away as not to hear.

“The warning I received in my dream.” John looked through the gate at the mayhem. There were sleeping bags and tents strewn all around the ground; people had not had time to care about their belongings. “It was a woman’s voice, Gabe. She said that there was trouble in the woods. She said get to the main gate, and that was it.”

“A woman’s voice, you say?” Jennifer asked.

“With a German accent.”

“Well, that may help us in the long run.”

“How the hell is that helpful?” Leonard asked.

“The boy, Jim Johansson, he may have been helped by the same…” Gabe looked around again at the faces watching him, “entity.”

“You mean we’re dealing with more than one?” Leonard asked.

“Possibly, and that’s where you and your computer friends at USC are going to come in handy, Leonard. We need to know what the connection between the German opera star and Summer Place really is. We need to know why her entity is helping us.”

“You’re kidding, right?” the small black man asked.

Kennedy smiled as he turned and looked at the house.

“You take allies where you can find them.”

As they all turned and looked at the façade of Summer Place, the first rays of Halloween morning sun peeked through the gap between two mountaintops from the east, casting the gorgeous house in a warm glow.

Upstairs on the third floor, as the first light of the new day entered the large window at the opposite end of the long hallway, the sewing room door stood open and cold air swirled around the open space. The darkness at that end of the hallway hid the spectral shape that stood motionless, reaching out to feel the fear of those awake downstairs and those meandering after its brief display outside. The small chuckle sounded on the third floor. Satisfied, the darkness moved back into the confines of the sewing room. The door eased closed and a soft humming sounded throughout the third floor hallway.

Summer Place was now resting.

The war was about to begin.