psychotronic energy or event that occurs—we’ve got all kinds of sensitive electronic devices; they can pick up the subtlest changes—things impossible to appreciate with the human eye.”
Dr. Lesh nodded agreement. “Ryan filmed an extraordinary episode during a case in Redlands.”
“It was!” said Ryan, his excitement rising at the prospect of more positive results to publish. “A child’s toy—a small matchbox vehicles—rolled seven feet across a linoleum surface. The duration of the event was seven hours.”
“Seven hours for what?” Steve asked, a bit confused.
“For the vehicle to complete the distance. The movement would never have registered on the naked eye, but I got the event on the time-lapse camera.”
Steve nodded as they reached the landing. The hallway was dark. He crossed the carpeted corridor slowly, feeling his way along the wall until he reached the closed door to the children’s room. Lesh and Ryan followed closely behind, though Robbie had second thoughts. When he got to the top of the stairs, he turned right around and ran down again—to light, and mother.
Steve extracted a key from his pocket, bent over, and fumbled at the lock on the door. Casually, Dr. Lesh and Ryan peered around the hallway, noting room positions, structural points. Quietly, Steve turned the lock and swung open the bedroom door. Casually, Ryan and Dr. Lesh looked into the room.
Shattered furniture and toys were everywhere. And everywhere, in motion.
The crippled bed hopped about in circles, as if something were vibrating the floor wildly. Records flew around in great arcs; a lamp careened by, nearly striking Ryan on the head. Toy animals sailed upside down, their stuffing half torn out; picture books flapped through the upper levels. A small plastic horse cruised by, ridden and slapped by a Barbie doll. The window was boarded up with a large piece of plywood, but inside the bedroom, a dark wind blew.
Lesh and Ryan stood motionless in the doorway, paralyzed with incredulity. “This has got to be a hoax,” Ryan whispered. “Right?”
The lamp sailed by again; as it passed, its bulb turned on, then exploded. Several books flew up to the door and hovered there, flapping madly as rabid bats. The books soared away, but were instantly replaced by a flying drawing-compass which rocketed straight at Lesh, its needle point spinning murderously toward her eye. She jumped back a step.
The compass hung there a moment, spinning, when suddenly a record floated by, directly in front of it. The compass point locked down onto the record and rotated over it, producing an eerie, unnatural melody—the sound of spirits wailing.
All at once, the door slammed shut, leaving Lesh and Ryan quaking in the hall.
Behind them, Steve nodded, and spoke quietly. “Like I said, we don’t go in there much any more.”
After a subdued lunch, Robbie went back to school; the others sat around the kitchen table over coffee and devil’s food cake.
Martha’s hands still shook imperceptibly as she lifted her cup to her mouth. Diane, on the other hand, had become totally calm, her frayed ends gathered together: for the first time in two days, she knew she wasn’t crazy; moreover, an expert was here.
“None of us have been much fun to be around,” she said matter-of-factly. “I guess you can tell I haven’t slept very much. Steve’s been staying home from work; he’s really been wonderful. Really.” Nobody said anything—Ryan and Lesh were still both rather shaken—so Diane continued, with genuine interest: “How long have you been investigating haunted houses?”
Dr. Lesh looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, Mrs. Freeling . . .”
“Diane.”
“The determination as to whether your home is ‘haunted’ is not a very easy one.”
At that moment the coffee pot moved, of its own accord, two feet, to the very edge of the table, then stopped. With great force of will, Dr. Lesh overlooked this display, and, as casually as
Dr. Lesh nodded agreement. “Ryan filmed an extraordinary episode during a case in Redlands.”
“It was!” said Ryan, his excitement rising at the prospect of more positive results to publish. “A child’s toy—a small matchbox vehicles—rolled seven feet across a linoleum surface. The duration of the event was seven hours.”
“Seven hours for what?” Steve asked, a bit confused.
“For the vehicle to complete the distance. The movement would never have registered on the naked eye, but I got the event on the time-lapse camera.”
Steve nodded as they reached the landing. The hallway was dark. He crossed the carpeted corridor slowly, feeling his way along the wall until he reached the closed door to the children’s room. Lesh and Ryan followed closely behind, though Robbie had second thoughts. When he got to the top of the stairs, he turned right around and ran down again—to light, and mother.
Steve extracted a key from his pocket, bent over, and fumbled at the lock on the door. Casually, Dr. Lesh and Ryan peered around the hallway, noting room positions, structural points. Quietly, Steve turned the lock and swung open the bedroom door. Casually, Ryan and Dr. Lesh looked into the room.
Shattered furniture and toys were everywhere. And everywhere, in motion.
The crippled bed hopped about in circles, as if something were vibrating the floor wildly. Records flew around in great arcs; a lamp careened by, nearly striking Ryan on the head. Toy animals sailed upside down, their stuffing half torn out; picture books flapped through the upper levels. A small plastic horse cruised by, ridden and slapped by a Barbie doll. The window was boarded up with a large piece of plywood, but inside the bedroom, a dark wind blew.
Lesh and Ryan stood motionless in the doorway, paralyzed with incredulity. “This has got to be a hoax,” Ryan whispered. “Right?”
The lamp sailed by again; as it passed, its bulb turned on, then exploded. Several books flew up to the door and hovered there, flapping madly as rabid bats. The books soared away, but were instantly replaced by a flying drawing-compass which rocketed straight at Lesh, its needle point spinning murderously toward her eye. She jumped back a step.
The compass hung there a moment, spinning, when suddenly a record floated by, directly in front of it. The compass point locked down onto the record and rotated over it, producing an eerie, unnatural melody—the sound of spirits wailing.
All at once, the door slammed shut, leaving Lesh and Ryan quaking in the hall.
Behind them, Steve nodded, and spoke quietly. “Like I said, we don’t go in there much any more.”
After a subdued lunch, Robbie went back to school; the others sat around the kitchen table over coffee and devil’s food cake.
Martha’s hands still shook imperceptibly as she lifted her cup to her mouth. Diane, on the other hand, had become totally calm, her frayed ends gathered together: for the first time in two days, she knew she wasn’t crazy; moreover, an expert was here.
“None of us have been much fun to be around,” she said matter-of-factly. “I guess you can tell I haven’t slept very much. Steve’s been staying home from work; he’s really been wonderful. Really.” Nobody said anything—Ryan and Lesh were still both rather shaken—so Diane continued, with genuine interest: “How long have you been investigating haunted houses?”
Dr. Lesh looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, Mrs. Freeling . . .”
“Diane.”
“The determination as to whether your home is ‘haunted’ is not a very easy one.”
At that moment the coffee pot moved, of its own accord, two feet, to the very edge of the table, then stopped. With great force of will, Dr. Lesh overlooked this display, and, as casually as
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