Paranormal Properties Page 11

  The two were fighting on the large foyer steps. Jake inched closer but his father shouted, “Jake, out of the frame!”

  “But Dad!” Jake protested, heart racing to watch the two specters do battle mere feet away from where his own father stood.

  There were paintings on the wall, large murals of fox hunts with leaping hounds and charging stallions. Frank stumbled into one as the young man tossed him down a step; the picture fell and clattered to the floor.

  “Dennis!” Jake’s Mom called, looking up the stairs to see the painting lying on its side. “Are you getting this?”

  Jake blinked his eyes, trying to see what his parents were seeing: dropping candles, crashing pictures, but he could truly see it all: Frank’s hat falling to the ground, the young man stepping on it as he grabbed Frank around the throat.

  Frank broke free, shoving the man’s chest and toppling him all the way down the steps. The man’s shoes would have knocked into Mrs. Weir’s side if Jake hadn’t yanked her out of the way just as he tumbled past.

  “Jake!” she shouted.

  “Sorry,” he spluttered as the ghost landed in a heap at her feet.

  The man stood, dusting off his jacket. Jake noticed it was old; Benjamin Franklin old. The material was thick and dusty, with a ton of tarnished brass buttons all down the front. His shoes were more like half-boots over thin socks.

  Jake stood stock still as the man looked at him. His face was young, younger than a man who could have had a wife and two grown children. “What are you looking at, mortal?” the ghost asked with a vaguely English accent.

  Jake started to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, he carefully edged toward his Mom. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  Frank raced down the stairs, standing next to Jake. “Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Who was that?” Jake blurted to Frank before he could stop himself.

  “Jake, honey?” asked his Mom.

  Rushing over, Tank said, “Mrs. Weir, you’re all dusty,” and started brushing fallen grime off of her hair and shirt.

  “Oh, thank you, dear.”

  Tank shot Jake a look. Frank was putting his hat back on when, out of nowhere, another spirit attacked him.

  “Jake!” Frank gasped, getting tossed across the room by a teenage girl with brown pigtails and a pink hoop skirt. Her face was gray and weathered by time, but her eyes were black and alive with anger.

  “Leave this house!” she screamed, advancing on Frank. With every step, she upset something in her path. The carpet on the marble floor bunched and wrinkled at her feet, a coat rack toppled, another candelabrum flickered and fell to the floor.

  Mr. Weir was as stiff as a board, now. He followed the young woman on her path of destruction through the lobby, his camera recording every single moment. The girl was nearly on top of Frank as he struggled to stand. He looked winded, tired, and the girl looked so fierce. She raised her arms, fingers like claws about to dig into him when he burst into mist, reforming on the other side of her. He grabbed the girl and tossed her over his head, slamming her into the marble tiles at their feet.

  One tile broke apart before the woman burst into mist herself. The young man from before appeared without warning and grabbed Frank from behind.

  They stumbled into a little atrium just off the grand entrance and everyone – Jake, Tank, Mr. and Mrs. Weir – pursued.

  Inside the room were plants and chairs and bookcases lined with ancient, leather-bound volumes. The young man grabbed a handful and tossed them at Frank, their pages flapping as they sailed across the room. One struck Frank on the shoulder before he turned and tossed a standing globe at his attacker’s head.

  “What’s happening?” Jake felt brave enough to ask.

  “I’d say we’re in the midst of a full-blown supernatural incident!” his father answered, thinking Jake was talking to him.

  “It’s the children!” Frank cried. “Rebus and Rebecca! They want you out of here, Jake! They blame me for bringing your parents to disturb their rest!”

  Suddenly a wall of books fell to the ground, landing at Mr. Weir’s feet.

  “You had enough yet?” Tank asked Mrs. Weir, who nodded her head briskly. Her face was deathly white.

  “I’d like to get more—” Mr. Weir started just as a curtain rod sailed into the wall above his head, sticking into the marble like a spear. Jake’s Dad froze.

  Tank burst into action. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Everybody out!” she shouted while forcing Jake’s parents from the room.

  “Jake?” she called as they tumbled onto the grand hallway tiles that hadn’t been broken by the Great Halloween Ghost Fight yet.

  “I’m coming!” he lied. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I’m yanking you out of here!”

  Jake turned to her and was promptly beaned on the side of the head by a flying book.

  “Jake!” Tank gave him an exasperated look.

  He nodded, rubbing his head. “Just…make sure they’re safe! I promise. I’m right behind you.”

  He turned to find the young man, Rebus Hill, covered in a curtain as Frank shoved him around the room.

  Rebecca Hill shrieked, about to crash an antique writing desk on Frank’s head.

  “Stop!” Jake hollered.

  Rebecca stopped. Frank stopped. Rebus, the angry shape in the burgundy curtain, stopped.

  They looked at each other, the ghosts did. Rebecca put down the desk, Rebus shrugged off the curtain, and Frank straightened his hat.

  “Dear boy,” began Rebecca, walking stiffly toward Jake with a tentative smile on her face. “Can you…can you…see us?”

  “I can, and you’re hurting my friend.”

  “Why,” she paused. “Why are you here?”

  “If you’d taken your hand off my throat long enough,” Frank answered for him, “I could have told you I was just doing the mortal here a little favor.”

  Frank explained about his parents’ show, the Halloween special, the big break a real sighting would have provided. As he spoke, Jake cautiously watched the siblings, waiting for any signs of anger sneaking back up again. But he found none. In fact, they seemed calmer, curious even.

  “You…you help your parents with their professions?” Rebus asked, running a gray hand through his long blond hair.

  Jake saw an opportunity. He saw the apprehension in the ghosts’ eyes at the mention of parents. He couldn’t imagine what life must have been like under the reign of their mother. Maybe if he could appeal to them, he might be able to calm them, soothe them for good.

  “Of course!” Jake answered. “They’re my parents. They want what’s best for me. I want what’s best for them.”

  Frank, picking up on Jake’s theory, straightened his suit and looked at Rebus. “Not all parents are bad, son. You can give the rest of them a chance.”

  The girl crept closer, reaching a frosty hand out to touch his cheek. Jake resisted the urge to flinch, but Rebecca only kept the hand there momentarily. “How is it that you can speak to us, child?

  “I— I don’t know,” Jake stammered. “But I can and, since I can, I’d like to help you.”

  Frank had walked over to the brother and sister and said, “I’m sorry I disturbed you two. I know how important it is to rest in peace. I know the need for closure.”

  Rebecca and Rebus Hill looked at each other for a moment, wavering between their physical presences and their ghostly selves.

  “I was wrong to come here tonight. To… use you for my own gain.” He looked at Jake, and nodded. “But I was only doing so to help this boy. He helped me find peace, you understand?”

  Rebecca Hall nodded, reaching out to touch Frank’s cheek as well. As Jake watched, her very human fingers turned into little tufts of white mist. Her brother Rebus raised his chin in understanding and followed his sister, vanishing into mist.

  “What was that all about?” Jake finally blustered, voice hoarse with nerves.

  Frank chuckle
d weakly. “Apparently the children still feel guilty about helping their mother bury their father. They feel protective of his final resting place. I can’t blame them. I’m sorry I brought you here, Jake.”

  Jake attempted a snort. “I’m sorry I asked you to.”

  He led Frank out through the hallway and onto the front steps. Tank had apparently managed to keep his parents occupied and out of the house, for they were all clustered around the side door of the van, watching the footage raw from the screen attached to Mr. Weir’s camera.

  Even from the steps of the house and over their shoulders, Jake could see that it was powerful stuff: flying chairs, curtains sailing across the room, a planter crashing to the floor; a body wrapped in drapes and stumbling around and a curtain rod nearly impaling his father!

  The Paranormal Properties team was celebrating, clapping their hands and urging Jake over with their arms outstretched. Before hurrying to meet them, he turned and looked back at the mansion. There, on an upper story, the spectral children of Jonas and Margaret Hill floated, waiting for them to leave.

  Epilogue

  Tank ripped off another strip of packing tape and spread it across a cardboard box marked “Books.” Next to her, Jake wiped the sweat off his brow and shut the lid on another box, taking the cap off a black magic marker and writing “More Books” on the side.

  He slid it over for Tank to tape up. Behind her, stacked in three pitiful piles, were the meager possessions of the ghost hunting Weir family. They’d already packed his parents’ bedroom, the kitchen, Jake’s room, and now had just a few final shelves to get rid of in the living room.

  After that, they’d be finished and out of Dusk.

  “And you still have no idea where we’re going?” Tank asked, sitting back to take a break. There was a cooler at her feet, and she tugged out a soda can and opened it.

  He finished off his own cheap root beer and shrugged. “No, but I’m used to it. I never really know where we’re going next until we get there.”

  Tank frowned. “But why leave Dusk now, when you’ve finally found a haunted house? I mean, a real haunted house.”

  Jake shook his head. That was certainly one haunted house he did not want to return too. “I’m hoping that my parents’ meeting with the station manager means we’re moving to someplace with a bigger TV station.”

  Tank gaped. “You mean there’s a channel somewhere bigger than Public Access Channel 438?”

  He tossed the empty can at her. “Very funny—”

  Just then the door burst open, and the smell of garlic and onions filled the room.

  “Papa Pepperoni’s Pizza for everyone!” Mr. Weir announced, loosening the bright red tie he only ever wore to meet with the heads of various small — very small — TV stations.

  “What’s the occasion?” Jake asked while making room on the coffee table for the two giant pizza boxes his father was carrying.

  “We have a special announcement to make,” admitted Mrs. Weir, hugging her husband proudly. Jake’s Mom looked smart in her simple black dress. Her hair was pulled back to emphasize the black, rectangular glasses she always wore to these meetings for reading the fine print should she be offered a contract.

  The chairs had already been shoved to one side of the room, stacked on top of each other, and the picnic table they usually sat at was folded behind them, so they set up camp in the middle of the floor.

  Jake’s parents sat cross-legged as Tank passed out cold cans of root beer from the cooler. “So?” he asked. “What’s the good news?”

  “That’s just it,” his father slumped. “There isn’t any.”

  Mrs. Weir smacked her husband’s shoulder “Don’t tease them, honey. What your father meant to say was that there isn’t any good news, just great news!”

  Tank perked up. “Which is?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Weir looked at each other and then shouted at the same time, “The Scream Channel picked up eighteen episodes of Paranormal Properties!”

  Tank nearly dropped her soda. “You mean...the Scream Channel? My favorite channel...of all time.”

  “The very same,” said Mrs. Weir as she slid a slice of pepperoni and mushroom onto a paper plate marked with the green and red logo of the restaurant.

  “But how?” Jake asked as his mother handed the slice to Tank.

  “They saw our footage from the Halloween special and flipped out!” said Mr. Weir. “They actually made a copy of my tape and had their special effects team analyze it to see if it had been faked, they were that impressed.”

  Jake was quite impressed, himself. In fact, he could hardly believe it.

  “They gave us an advance on the season’s episodes,” his Dad continued, “and when we get to San Francisco, they’ll have a new van, and a crew, and quality equipment waiting for us. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “San Francisco?” Jake and Tank asked in unison, and the excitement began to evaporate. They shared a troubled glance.

  “That’s where the Scream Channel’s home office is,” explained Mr. Weir as he opened his can.

  Mrs. Weir handed Jake a slice of pizza and gushed, “For our first episode, we’ll be investigating the Balthazar Hotel, where, back in 1947, the night clerk started a trash fire that killed over seventy-six guests.”

  “Isn’t that great?” asked Mr. Weir.

  “What, that seventy-six people died?” Jake grumbled.

  Mrs. Weir made a sour face. “You know that’s not what he meant, Jake.”

  Jake nodded halfheartedly. “I know. It’s just…so far away.”

  His Mom licked tomato sauce off her thumb and said, “I know, but the good news is that we’ll be traveling in style. No more rundown apartment buildings or sleeping in the van. We’ve got an expense account in each episode for hotel rooms, and a clothing allowance. It’s a great opportunity, don’t you think?”

  “It’s what we’ve been waiting for,” added Mr. Weir.

  Tank nudged Jake for emphasis.

  “I know, I know,” he said, forcing a smile. He raised a frosty can of root beer and said, “Congratulations, guys.”

  They all clinked cans as Mr. and Mrs. Weir chatted eagerly about the show. Tank was just as thrilled, hanging on every word, but Jake could hardly eat. Eventually, he excused himself and drifted into his bedroom.

  Frank was there, waiting for him.

  “You heard?” Jake whispered, easing the door shut as his parents continued to fill Tank in on their recent meeting with the Scream Channel executives.

  Frank nodded, scratching his cheek. “So it worked then?” he asked. “Our little show at the Hill Mansion?”

  “All too well,” Jake muttered, sitting on the windowsill since his bed was already stacked in the corner.

  “But isn’t this what you wanted? For them?”

  Jake forced himself to nod. “It is, for sure, I just…I’m going to miss you, you know?”

  Frank chuckled, tipping the brim of his hat up. Jake scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “Who said I’m going anywhere, kid?”

  “But…” Jake’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you stuck here in Dusk?”

  Frank shook his head. “Why would you say that?”

  “I just— I mean…I don’t know,” he sighed and fidgeted. “I thought you had to stay close to where you died.”

  Frank tilted his head back. “It’s more comforting for a spirit that way, I suppose, but no… Now that I know what I know about what happened to me, I’m free to go anywhere on this earth I choose.”

  “And…?” Jake asked hopefully.

  “I choose to help you.”

  Jake had to keep himself from cheering. “But…but…just look at what happened last time you helped us!”

  “And that’s why we keep trying,” Frank said. He leaned down and looked Jake in the eye. “Let’s make a deal, kid. Let’s promise that, from now on, whenever we find a ghost in the same bind I was, we’ll help them the way you did for me. I help you, you help me.
Remember that.”

  Jake smiled broadly. It sounded like a plan.

  About the author

  Tracy Lane has always wanted to write about the paranormal and make it fun for young readers. She has accomplished that with her middle-grade book, Paranormal Properties and YA book, HIdden Power. Coming from Topeka, Kansas she now resides in Kissimmee, Florida with her two children. Visit her website at authortracylane.weebly.com.

  Also by Tracy Lane

  Hidden Power. A young adult fantasy.

  Aurora Turnleaf has lived her whole life hearing fairy tales of mysterious lands, magical beings, and crystal towers. She thought nothing of them until the day she stumbled upon a magnificent city, deep within the woods, built entirely of see-through crystal. It appeared out of nowhere, in a part of the forest she’s never ventured into before, and suddenly all those stories she heard growing up become much less imaginary.

  Her guide is Iragos, a light mage, who introduces her to Kayne, a mage in training for a dark wizard named Kronos. Unbeknownst to Aurora, Kayne had just stolen the Ythra Orb form the Hallowed Hall on behalf of his master and hidden it in her pack. Suddenly Aurora is thrust into a life or death journey to help Kayne find the mystical land of Morgis, home to the Oracles who first created the Orb, in hopes that they can secure its safety against Kronos.

  The path to Morgis will be treacherous enough, but it is what follows the two teens that is more life threatening. For the dark mage’s fierce legion of vicious minions is on their path, with Kronos himself not far behind, and all of them are intent on intercepting Kayne and Aurora at every turn. Meanwhile Aurora and Kayne must battle both the elements and Kronos’ dark magic to complete their quest. And along the way, the two teens from very different worlds must learn to work together to overcome obstacles, one of them being their mutual attraction.

  Ages 12 and up. ISBN 9781625175724

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