Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’d assured Charles—in a dozen and a half different ways—that we’d (a) keep our paraphernalia to a minimum, and (b) ensure no ghosts were left behind after our prodding. To assuage him further, we left the creepier devices out of it. That meant no electronic voice phenomenon detector, but the IR thermometer was fair game.

I fed the mic wire up the back of my shirt and slid it through the buttons on the front, then James clipped it into place.

“Interview first,” he said. “Then maybe a little tour?”

“If Mary’s willing to visit, I’m happy to introduce you.” Faking it was going to be more difficult while indoors, during daylight, and without the handful of clandestine helpers from the night of the bridge. But this was also the most important haunting to get right—I needed Charles to remain convinced the store was haunted. Natalie had stopped in early to hide a desktop AC unit inside one of the store’s wall vent grills. With luck, I could keep the remote in my pocket secret, and the cooler air it pushed would be enough to trick an IR sensor.

“Nervous?” James asked.

I gave him a flirty smile. “After the practice session I had last night? No way, this camera isn’t ready for me.”

The tint that crept into James’s cheeks was exhilarating. If I didn’t have to put on a believable show, I’d tease him a bit about it—and how he hadn’t been bashful the night before. But my head was too full trying to remember the tale I’d told on Haunted Happenings all those years ago.

“Julian’s asking the questions.” James cleared his throat. “He’s better on camera, and I’m not sure I can handle being on camera with you again quite so soon.”

“And I thought you were a professional,” I joked.

“Shall we?” Julian asked, sliding between us and settling into his seat to the left of the camera. He smoothed his jacket, adjusted his mic, and directed minor adjustments of the lighting. When he was satisfied, we dove into the Q and A. After some getting to know you chat and a quick set-up from Julian regarding the purpose of the interview, we got down to the details.

“Dog-Eared Books and More is nestled inside a creaky old building,” Julian prompted.

“Sure is. The creak is part of the draw.”

“Tell me about the building’s history,” he said.

“Love to. The building was completed in 1871, and was first a hardware store—which included the area through the wall behind me, actually.”

“How long has the bookstore been here?”

“The owner, Charles, opened the store in 1975. That’s when the building was divided into two sections, the hardware store downsizing significantly, and Dog-Eared filling this portion. The hardware store has been owned by generations of the same family since it was opened, but the seventies wasn’t a decade known for its booming economy. The owners chose to downsize during the recession—keeping the most popular items in stock, but moving to a by-order method for big-ticket items or products that took up a lot of space.”

“When we asked the bookstore’s owner for an interview, he seemed surprised about the location’s paranormal activity.”

“He’s not comfortable around ghosts, so we hadn’t made him aware.”

“Not a fan of your vlog, then?”

I laughed. “He wouldn’t enjoy a single second of it.”

“Is the hardware store haunted, too?” Julian asked.

I hadn’t considered that part of the interview. I couldn’t fake a haunting over there. But if I were a ghost, I’d stick to the bookshop with impeccable vibes. “Nobody’s mentioned a ghost, but that doesn’t mean Mary doesn’t swing in to check it out every now and then.”

“Mary.” Julian tented his fingers. “Sounds like she has a pretty sweet set-up. What’s her story?”

“We believe she’s Mary, the first owner of the hardware store. She was an active participant in the suffrage movement: She was also one of the state’s first female public library trustees—a position that wasn’t open to women in Vermont until 1900—and fought for women’s right to vote. Based on town records, she lived long enough to see the 19 th Amendment passed in 1920 but died in 1942. So, while she saw white women allowed to vote—and presumably voted herself—she didn’t see legislation remove barriers like literacy tests, denial of citizenship, poll taxes, and other discriminatory practices that would allow women of color to vote.”

“And what links this ghost to this specific, accomplished woman?” Julian asked, in a tone that allowed me to make the connection for the audience, rather than question it.

“We realized there was a ghost here when books by people named Mary started disappearing. Mary Shelley, Mary Higgins Clark, even Louise Meriwether—it seems this ghost isn’t a stickler for spelling. To this day, books by Marys are as likely to disappear as they are to be purchased. She’s assumed Mary until proven otherwise. Regardless, the mischief is minor compared to some of the other spirits that stalk this town. She’s been nice to coexist with.”

“Was a rolling ladder truly to blame for Mary’s death?” Julian asked, leaning in with an elbow on his knee.

“Nobody knows for sure,” I replied. “But I think she likes that there’s a little mystery surrounding her demise.”

I pointed out a section of the store where the temperature was often chillier than the rest of the building and clumsily led him to the cool spot as encouragement to examine it more closely. But the rest of my storytelling was more nuanced. Fifteen minutes of chatting got Julian enough backstory and anomaly anecdotes to support the ghost-spotting portion of the filming. “We’ll keep chatting while we explore. Maybe we’ll get a few flickers, maybe not. Some ghost stories are just stories after all—and this is a fitting location for a disproven tale.”

Disproving Mary would mean Charles would pull the sale. I couldn’t let that happen—not now. I hadn’t gotten funding yet, but I still had time. “She’s real, I’m sure of it,” I grasped.

“If she’s here, we’ll find her,” Julian said. He pulled a cylindrical REM pod from its case and placed it reverently in the center of the room. “This device picks up paranormal interference and includes a temperature sensor, so we can compare the data with our IR camera results. If there’s energy in this space, we’ll find it.” He pressed a button on the REM pod and it flickered to life, cycling through its start-up phase before settling down. “The lights will activate if Mary, or any other ghosts, influence the field.”

If luck was on my side, the AC remote would trigger the REM pod and solve a few problems with one quick click. I waited for Julian to retrieve and power-up his IR reader, which he swept back and forth to get a read on the space. The open space clocked in at an ambient sixty-eight degrees, with higher temperatures where heat poured from the old, clunky radiators along the walls. After some initial readings, Julian began narrating his actions.

“So far, no abnormal findings.” He turned the IR screen toward James, who examined the screen and nodded. “The REM pod is quiet, too. Lex, do you want to do the honors of speaking to Mary? She knows you best, so she might be most willing to respond to you.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Hey there, Mary. Are you around?”

Nothing. Of course I couldn’t count on some unexpected interference popping in at just the right time. We waited a bit, but I had to move things along or risk Julian declaring the story false. Of all the stories, of course it would be this one that didn’t make it through their investigation.

“I’ve brought something you might like to see,” I said. I lifted a book off the desk beside me, Pride and Prejudice . “There’s a sister in this book called Mary. A lot of people overlook her, but she and I? We see eye to eye. It might just be her declaration, ‘I should infinitely prefer a book,’ that I like best.” I set the book back on the desk and slid it toward the edge with a fingertip—giving the cameras something to capture while I fidgeted near my pocket for the AC remote. “It’s here if you want it,” I said. With all eyes on the book on the corner of the desk, and my pocket hidden as best I could, I depressed the power button and waited.

The REM pod flickered to life, an unexpected—but welcome—side-effect of the remote’s electromagnetic waves. The IR sensor displayed a quick burst of purple-blue, picking up the cold air coming from the vent, which was conveniently within range of the pod. A series of gasps came from the crew members, who all turned questioning gazes toward Julian.

“Jeez, Julian, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I said, nudging him with an elbow.

“I, uh, it’s … maybe?” He sputtered. “Are you all getting this?”

The cameras and mics were trained on the IR sensor’s screen, which continued to show a cool stream through the room. I tapped the remote, to end the ghostly wisp. The REM pod flashed once more then went dark.

“Mary?” Julian asked. “Are you there?”

I let the silence hang for a moment, seeing how long I could stretch the suspense. Just like in the vlog days, leading unsuspecting classmates to scare themselves silly in the dark. The power was intoxicating, honestly.

“You try, James,” Julian suggested.

James shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the presence . “Mary?”

Silence.

James nodded toward me; I raised my eyebrows in response, then rested my hand on the remote in my pocket a second before whispering, “Mary?”

Again, I fired up the AC unit, and the flashing lights and infrared imaging “proved” Mary’s presence. There was only so much I could get away with, though, and I didn’t want to push my luck. If they were caught faking their footage, could they even qualify for the prize? I hadn’t read the rules—and digging into the specifics too much could have given me away—but it was a distinct possibility.

“Thank you for coming to say hello, Mary. And thank you for fighting for a brighter future for women like me.” I allowed the pod to flicker a bit longer, then gave the ghost an out. “We just wanted to say hello, and we appreciate your time. If you’re busy, we understand.” I clicked the AC unit off, and the cool burst and flickering lights cut away.

“Mary?” I asked.

While we waited for a response, James gripped the back of the chair nearest him, his fingernails scraping at the fabric in his discomfort. Poor guy. I owed him.

“Mary? Are you finished talking for today?”

I kept my hand clear of the remote, letting the ghost rest and hoping Julian had gotten enough out of the encounter.

He scanned the room, swiveling his head slowly from corner to corner. To my relief, he nodded at me, his palms pressed together thankfully at his center, before closing out the scene. “And there we have it: Vermont’s very own suffragette ghost, who haunts a bookstore. No better place for her, from the sound of it.”

He rattled off a quick monologue, then called cut.

“We’re clear,” James said, the color still not quite back in his cheeks.

“You okay?” I asked James, as the crew scurried about to wrap cords, pack sound equipment, and stow away ghost-spotting devices.

“I’ll never get used to that,” he said, tugging at his collar.

“Not used to the totally chill ghosts yet?”

“Even if I’d seen this happen a hundred times, I’d still prefer to run away than stick around and chat. Ironic, right? When the credits roll, I’ll be in there as ‘codirector,’ and I spend most of my time white-knuckling it in the farthest corner from the action.”

I laughed, then rubbed my hands up and down his arms to shake out some of the tension he was holding. “I better get a prime spot in the credits, too. If it weren’t for me, Julian wouldn’t even know about half the places you’ve crammed into this documentary.”

James shook himself out with an exaggerated full-body shiver. “Source credit where it’s due,” he said. “Okay, okay. How about”—he raised his hands like Vanna White—“Location Manager: Alex McCall.”

“Ugh, please, drop the A.”

He smirked. “You got it, Just ‘Lex.’”

I hurled a glare in his direction. He cringed, then flipped on his million-watt smile, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. His chin dimple begged for forgiveness, and I obliged.

“So, what’s next then? Shall this location manager set up our next venue? Julian sounds sure this is the project that’ll make him famous, so we don’t want to skimp.” I began tidying a few stacks of books that we’d set out as props.

“He’s got his heart on one more venue, but he’s basically finished. Just tying up loose ends. Then we submit to the contest and prep for whatever documentary film fests he can talk his way into. Notoriety doesn’t come knocking—you’ve got to chase it with a sizzle reel in-hand.”

“Ah.” I plunked a stack of books onto the table and focused on looking anywhere but at James.

“And, I’ve said something horribly wrong.” He leaned in to grasp my fidgeting hand.

I sighed, and braved eye contact. “Life on the road really means life, out there—on the road—doesn’t it?”

“Got to keep it interesting. Why not try everything before deciding to settle?”

“Branching out is overrated. Why change a good thing?” My stomach dropped as I argued. The drifter and the homebody, what a combination. “Pick-up-and-leave isn’t as easy for me as it is for, well, everyone else on the planet.”

He shrugged. “I get that. Having the courage to try isn’t always enough. But staying put can be just as exciting when you know where you belong.”

“Exactly. I’m working so hard to turn Dog-Eared into something and keep my family home from falling apart. Leaving feels like betraying that effort. Like I’m laughing at past-me for trying.”

“That’s not betrayal. People change, move on, find new things to put effort into. Taking that chance for yourself is always okay. Don’t let your grouchy internal monologue win. If you had the opportunity to make a change, what would it be? You say it, it happens. Like magic.”

“I would convince Charles that the coffee club is a terrible idea because it invites all sorts of trouble.”

“May I remind you that you’re the one who called me .” He raised his eyebrows playfully.

“Like I said. Trouble.” I fixed him with a challenging stare.

He grasped me by the elbow to pull me into a hug and kiss the top of my head. “Like finds like, I suppose.”