Chapter 9

When the sun had finally begun to set on Hennessee House, Georgia announced they needed to leave.

Lucky watched as they packed the van. “So,” she began, aiming for casual. “Am I free to move about the cabin tonight?”

Georgia looked uneasy. “Do you plan to?”

She nodded. “The library piqued my interest. There might be other secrets in the walls to discover.”

“Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Because they’d been quite serious about filming her all day. Not used to having two cameras, a producer, a host, and an intern following her every move, she sort of…sat down. In the living room. And didn’t move until lunch. She switched it up in the afternoon, relocating to the porch to read a book. No one objected or suggested she do something else. They all loitered around watching her be boring.

“I thought it might be better for the show,” she lied. “Chill summer days and frightening summer nights has a ring to it. Like a theme park.”

“If that’s how you want it, we won’t stop you,” Stephen said. “There are some supplies in the closet under the stairs you may find useful.”

“You’re a brave one. Godspeed.” Chase jumped into the driver’s seat.

Georgia gave her a pitying look. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, it was nice to meet you.”

“You’re not coming back?”

“More like you might not be here.” Georgia laughed as she got in the van. “History isn’t on your side.”

“Bye, Lucky!” Rebel waved from the back seat. “I hope I see you tomorrow.”

Maverick stood next to her, stalling. He kept his voice low, no doubt hoping the others didn’t hear. “You don’t have to find anything. It’s okay if you stay in the suite.”

“No, I do. Don’t tell me good luck—it’s in the name.” She pointed to herself and joked, “Now, say goodbye. You can do it.”

“I can’t. I won’t. Because this isn’t goodbye,” he said. “I’ll see you at sunrise.”

She smiled. “Sunrise it is.”

Lucky spent the rest of her evening getting ready to explore Hennessee House after dark. Stephen had been right about the closet. Inside, she found plenty of candles, flashlights, batteries, and, interestingly, a life alert necklace for emergencies. The directions stated that once pressed, it notified Stephen, Xander, local law enforcement, and a neighbor she hadn’t met yet.

For her part, she wanted to keep things low-key, only using items it’d made sense for her to have. Production asking why she had an electromagnetic field radiation detector would only make things awkward for everyone.

She sold a piece of her soul-shaped savings to buy a small camera with excellent infrared and night vision and attached it to a makeshift chest harness (created from a repurposed sweater-vest) to keep her hands free. Her shopping spree also included a backup hard drive with a ridiculous amount of memory, two recorders—digital and analog tape for comparison in case her electronics failed—and a smartwatch to monitor her heart rate and temperature while investigating.

Her body’s response to fear would be an important determinant. Fear altered one’s perception. And according to Rebel, fear was Hennessee House’s aim.

She’d stay upstairs, only exploring the bedrooms. Primarily because she wanted to pace herself. It’d be all too easy to get overexcited, do too much, and miss something. Secondarily because she wanted to get plenty of sleep.

Approximately two hours after sunset, she performed one final equipment check, said her affirmations, and reached for the doorknob, just as her phone rang loud as all hell in her front former-sweater-vest pocket.

“Damn it,” she mumbled and exhaled to calm herself. She’d set the volume to the highest setting with vibration as a safety precaution. If lost, she, or someone else, would be able to find it. “Maverick.”

“Lucky.” He laughed lightly.

“Are you watching me or something?” She whirled around, searching her suite. “How do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me with suspiciously perfect timing.”

“Well. Rebel just went to bed, so this is actually the first chance I had to call. She’s probably not even asleep yet.” He paused. “What are you doing?”

“Fairly positive I’m not supposed to tell you that until our interview tomorrow.”

“I thought so.”

Tense silence stretched between them until she said, “I should get going—”

“Or I could stay on the phone with you. I’ll keep you company while…you do whatever you’re doing.”

Feeling spicy, she joked, “Oh yeah? I could be masturbating. What then? You still want to stay on the phone with me?”

“Uhh—” He stuttered for a few seconds before recovering. “I don’t kink shame. If that’s what you’re into, um, okay. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound too sure.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I’m not doing that.” As she checked the time on her watch, she could’ve sworn she heard him sigh in relief.

“Earlier you mentioned your plans, and after what happened with the flower and in the dining room, I figured—”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I don’t need a babysitter, Maverick.”

Having a clear head felt marvelous. Without his emotions doubling the intensity of her own, focus returned to her. Priorities lined up in order. This was why she moved into Hennessee House—Maverick was a bonus. A very attractive, kind, and considerate bonus, that she would most definitely be thinking about later. But not now.

“I never said you wouldn’t be, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

She sighed. “Why are you worried?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Because Hennessee House is legit. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Not sure if you heard, but that’s the premise of the show.”

“Doesn’t mean I agree with it. There’s safety in numbers. On my show, we stay together for a reason.”

“Well, I’m used to going at it alone. This is what works for me and how I want it on my show.”

When he didn’t immediately reply, she realized her mistake. She could practically feel him processing her words through the phone, putting two and two together and adding one to finally make five. A hot wave of frustration flooded her face and chest. How did he keep tricking the truth out of her?

Softly, he asked, “Have you done this before?”

She decided to play it cool. “Last night, I stayed in my room, as instructed.”

“And before that?”

“Before that…maybe.”

“Let me be your second,” he said. “You deserve to have someone watching your back.”

Lucky blinked in surprise. She expected him to be mad and threaten to report her to Stephen, not continue to offer his help. “Is that even allowed?”

“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

“Like daughter, like father, I see.”

“Seems that way.” He laughed. “Don’t tell me what you’re doing or anything that happens. I’ll stay on the line as your outside contact until you go back to your suite.”

Nearly all her group expeditions ended in disaster. At the first hint of activity, everyone started screaming, crying, throwing up. Meanwhile, she stood in the middle of it all, staring at them and getting more irritated by the second. What did they expect? That was what they signed up for—the entire point of the trip. What did they think was going to happen?

Solo investigations cleared that issue right up. Some people were meant to be alone. She’d made her peace with being one of them.

“I don’t know if I’m up for that. Other people only hold me back.”

“A good partner wouldn’t.”

“Bold of you to say that, never having worked with me before. My style clashes with literally everyone.” Her tone unfortunately betrayed her beliefs, making her sound bitter. First her honesty, now this. How was he ripping open her healed wounds too?

“I’ll prove it to you, then. Give me tonight. If it doesn’t work, I’ll step aside and let you be.”

One night out of thirty. She bit her lip as she considered it. “Promise you won’t distract me?”

“What counts as distraction?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll play it by ear.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m leaving my suite now.”

Hennessee House had turned off its lights. Either that or they were on a timer. She’d ask Stephen about that tomorrow. The long hallway stretched the darkness past the stairs. Three doors on the left, her door and two more. Four on the right, which included the communal bathroom.

A cloud of peppermint blew into Lucky’s face. She instantly recoiled back into her room. Not doing that again, nope. She swallowed hard against the memory, resisting the urge to blow her nose to get it out. Why could she still smell it? Not as strong, but unmistakably present, it felt pleasant as cooling mint now.

Rebel said the smells didn’t move between rooms unless it wanted to lead someone somewhere. Was that why Hennessee House attacked her earlier? To train her to follow it?

Lucky squeezed her eyes and mouth shut as if that were enough to stop the peppermint from obliterating her senses. She stepped back into the hall, cracked one eye open, then the other, and slowly began to relax. Still tolerable—pleasant. She clicked on her flashlight, took two more steps down the hall, and stopped. The smell vanished. She stepped back—there it was. Forward again—gone. It seemed to want her in front of her suite.

She eyed the bedroom door across from hers. “In there?” she whispered, shining her light on it.

The door slowly drifted open in response.

“Oh, shit.” Her entire body shivered, skin erupting in goose bumps.

“Everything okay?” She’d almost forgotten Maverick was there.

“I am great,” she answered honestly, grinning within an inch of her life.

This bedroom was significantly smaller than hers but furnished almost identically. A bed, a chest, a chair, and two nightstands. Cream-colored bedding and curtains, accented with marigold.

Maverick asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” She felt along the wall for the light switch, keeping her eyes and the light forward.

“Why did you want to be on the show?”

“Hmm, I think I already passed this interview.”

“Considering new developments, I don’t know if I believe your initial answers. Sorry, I meant story.”

“Cute.” When she found the light switch, nothing happened, even after flicking it several times. She even tried the bedside lamp to no success.

Hennessee wanted the lights off—confirmed.

“Why did you apply? Be honest with me, please.”

Lucky made her way farther into the room, sniffing as she went. The peppermint unerringly led her to the window. It reminded her of those old cartoons, where characters would float on the air lured like a fish on a hook by a scent. She pulled back the curtains on the street-facing window to make use of the moonlight. “If I do, can it stay between us?”

“I don’t have any issues with that.”

“I didn’t lie during my interview. This really is the job I want.” Public perception made paranormal investigator synonymous with comedians hunting for ghosts and cryptids. She dubbed herself an academic supernatural researcher. A mouthful for sure, but far more accurate. “Our brains are incredible and there’s more to the world than what we can see. I want to find it—any of it. I want to prove it’s real.”

“There aren’t any ghosts in the house.”

“I’m not looking for ghosts.” From where she stood at the window, she swung her light in a wide arc. Why would it lead her here? “All signs point to Hennessee being sentient, not haunted. Someone must’ve led it to enlightenment. It also wants…something.”

“It wants to scare people away.”

“No. That’s not it. That’s too simple.” She frowned at the room. What was she supposed to find? Do next? “Your turn. Why did you call me?”

“I told you I was worried.”

“Why are you worried about me? There are three caretakers’ worth of history here. What changed your mind?”

“Eunice. I hate the way she left. When they told me they had cast someone new and I saw your picture, I knew I had to do something.”

She checked the closet—empty and unremarkable.

Under the bed—clean, not a single dust bunny to be found.

The chest—also empty.

The nightstands—Kleenex, a pen, and a notepad. Amazing. Incredible. Life-changing.

Lucky sighed. “And?”

“And”—he paused—“I swore to myself I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you on my watch.”

She was about to give up when she passed in front of the window again and heard a solid click under her left foot. Her thoughts immediately went to booby trap, preparing for the worst. She froze in place, heart pounding as she slowly looked down.

A square of flooring had sunk about an inch below the other slats. She kneeled quickly, investigating with hesitant touches to figure out if she’d accidentally damaged the floor or—was it a handle? The entire slat came free with a hard upward yank. And then she did it again.

Lucky sat on the ground, holding all four displaced slats on her lap. The resulting rectangle was two by two feet wide, three feet deep, and extended into a passageway leading clear under the floorboards toward the door. She breathed in—peppermint once again indicating the way.

Her brain screamed crawl space!!!, urging her to go inside.

I can’t fit in there.

Yes, you can!! You won’t know until you try!!

…shut up.

She could fit. She could fit.

But this was one of those times where common sense needed to have its day. Even with Maverick on the phone, it’d be immensely stupid to wriggle in there and army-crawl her way around the house, with no one around to cut her out if she got stuck.

She’d wait. She had to wait.

…right?

She’d been wrong before—she absolutely needed a distraction to keep her out of that crawl space. “Why do you do it?” she asked Maverick, common sense barely hanging on. “Why are you interested in the supernatural?”

“Originally? Money.”

Shock snapped her out of her indecision. “Money?”

“Yep.” He laughed. “I usually don’t tell people that, but I asked you to be honest. It’s only fair I do the same. I started my podcast on a shoestring budget of zero dollars, a hope, a prayer, and the strange stories I pulled out of my dreams.”

“I loved it. I listened to it all the time.”

Lucky came across Maverick’s podcast Hypnopompic Remnants while in college. She always listened right before bed, purposefully trying to scare herself. Any self-respecting supernatural researcher had to be ready for anything, which she’d erroneously interpreted to mean desensitizing herself to fear. Nightmares would be nothing.

Two episodes later she was basically addicted to Maverick’s smooth and emotive narration. Wearing headphones, she’d drift off to sleep, comforted by his voice telling her his unusual and enthralling supernatural tales.

He continued, “The details are a little fuzzy now, but I remember thinking five hundred dollars. I’d moved out of my parents’ house. I had primary custody of Rebel. I was working full-time at a warehouse. We just needed an extra five hundred dollars a month and we’d be okay. Things wouldn’t be so tight all the time. I couldn’t get another job and still be a dad, you know? I had to find something I could do at home at odd hours. So, I started writing. I wrote in the mornings during my commute, recorded at night in a closet after Rebel went to bed, and edited on the weekends during her quiet time.”

Lucky glanced at the crawl space entrance before forcing herself to look out the window. “Then what happened?”

“My audience grew steadily until the snowball effect took over. Timing was on my side, I guess,” he said. “The right person on the right day boosted one of my episodes and almost two years’ worth of weekly content went viral overnight. That’s how Xander found me. A couple of meetings later, he offered me a job.”

“I remember that announcement post. I was so happy for you.”

“It was a good day.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I really did start on this path because of money but it isn’t what keeps me here. I’m not sure when it—I changed but I think I’ve known it for a while. I hadn’t actively thought about it until this afternoon because of you.”

“What?”

“You said ‘truth’ but I realized that wasn’t quite the right word. It should’ve been stories. Their stories. My stories.”

“Oh yeah, that happens,” she said, hot with embarrassment. “It’s really easy to get lost in translation. Sorry.”

“I’m not correcting you,” he said gently. “You were right. I write stories to help me process my truths and to make sense of the monsters I dream about. On my show, it doesn’t matter if the ghosts or hauntings are real because that’s not the point. The people are the point. Finding ways to help them tell their stories about their lives is the point. Everything else is just fascinating noise because that’s my true purpose. Thank you for helping me see that.”

Lucky was utterly speechless. She’d never been thanked for one of her readings before. Ever.

Most people didn’t like hearing the truth about themselves. Trying to translate what she’d seen was hard enough. Add people snapping at her, thinking she was weird, talking about her behind her back, and she’d given up on telling anyone anything. It’d been so long since she tried, she honestly didn’t know if she’d even be able to handle trying to convince production without panicking, but she needed to do it—for her career and for herself. So, she’d started small. She’d started with Maverick.

And he thanked her. He thought she’d helped him.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was less than a whisper. Stunned beyond all hope for recovery, she locked the slats back into place to reseal the crawl space. Peppermint escorted her the entire walk back to the suite. “Change of plans. I think I’m just gonna go to sleep tonight.”

“Really?” He sounded skeptical. “Are you okay?”

No.“Yeah. I’m just tired. Today was a lot. I don’t want to push myself too hard.” And she desperately needed to hang up before she started crying. “Thank you for wanting to look out for me.”

“Of course,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”