David Golemon - The Supernaturals

Kennedy paused. This was not the question Harris had just asked Julie to relay to him.

“No. At the time I believed most hauntings revolved around living people. The human mind is capable of many things, including creating things inside a person’s head that would make it seem they are dealing with the paranormal.”

“You’ve stated mass hysteria as one of those causes, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Kennedy said. He wondered where Julie was going with the questions.

“Before we continue our journey to the sewing room and the third floor, Professor, I am sure the viewers would like to know your opinion on what’s happening here tonight. Are we dealing with the theory of mass hysteria?”

Gabriel looked at the others. They waited silently, and in the darkness he could feel them anticipating his answer. He saw a brief reflection of the red, green and blue laser lights off the ambient camera lens and knew that many others, the people Julie and Harris Dalton were playing for, were waiting also.

“This is no mass hysteria, Ms. Reilly. In my opinion, we are dealing with something that has never happened before in the annals of supernatural activity. A haunting such as this, the activity we have experienced tonight, has never been documented before. We may be dealing with an entity that is powerful beyond reason. No, Ms. Reilly, not mass hysteria. Something doesn’t want us here because we are a danger to it. It knows that unlike other visitors to this house, we can cause it harm.”

Julie Reilly swallowed. She heard the prompt from the production van and hoped her voice didn’t crack when she spoke.

“On that note, we’ll take a brief commercial break.”

Inside the production van, the number one monitor faded quickly to black and was replaced by a small green lizard selling auto insurance.

“Jesus, give me a break. That’s some scary shit, Gabe,” George Cordero muttered, pulling his coat tighter around him.

“If I were you, I would have stuck with the mass hysteria theory, Kennedy. When my lawyers get done with you and the CEO of this company, you’ll need a good story to keep your ass out of litigation,” Lionel Peterson said, stepping up from the darkness below. He tilted his head back and took a drink from a silver flask. His earpiece was hanging free, so he didn’t know they weren’t going out live.

Gabriel had already turned down the second floor hallway, toward the stairs to the third floor. He stopped as he felt the breeze of cold air grow even colder. The presence was out of the sewing room and waiting for them — he knew it. He also knew the others could feel it as he stopped and turned. He nodded at each. Then his eyes lingered on the large state policeman.

“Don’t accidentally shoot me with that thing,” he said, nodding to the gun at Damian Jackson’s side.

Jackson looked at the cameraman. He saw that, for the moment, the camera was concentrating his view on the bend in the hallway a few steps away. He didn’t know they were in a two minute commercial break. He smiled at Kennedy.

“If you have someone in a bedsheet up there, Professor, I would warn him that I am just a tad jumpy at the moment. I never said you didn’t have a gift of the narrative.”

Kennedy returned the smile. For the first time, he felt relief that Jackson was along.

“If we come across someone in a bedsheet, Detective, give me the gun and I’ll shoot him.”

Kelly Delaphoy stopped no more than ten steps from the bottom. It had taken almost five minutes to get down the steps in the darkness. The small flashlight only served to cast dangerous-looking turns and drop-offs on the steep stairs. Jason had twisted his ankle, misjudging the turn halfway down. He had to sit and rub his ankle a while before he was sure he was okay to continue, but thus far he hadn’t said a word in complaint.

She stood still, looking into the darkness, seeing the even blacker outline of the audio and visual equipment in the middle of the room pointing toward the trapdoor she knew was there. The hulking shapes of the old kitchen appliances ringed the basement, just as they had before, but they looked far more ominous now. She swallowed and reached behind her, taking Jason’s hand in her own. His, as hers, was ice cold to the touch, but it still felt good to know she wasn’t alone. She used her free hand to adjust the earpiece and then contacted Harris in the van.

“Okay Harris, we’re a few steps from the bottom of stairs. We can see into the basement. Are you picking up the audio?”

“We have you, just a second and we’ll adjust the camera to pick you up as you step into the basement. We’ll lead with you after the break in fifteen seconds.”

“Okay.” Kelly squeezed Jason’s cold hand even tighter, and he reciprocated. “Well, here we go.” As she took another step down the steps, she heard the whine of the small motor on the camera tripod turn the lens their way. “I hope this was a good idea,” she said. Jason didn’t answer, just squeezed her hand tighter.

“Okay,” Harris called out. “We’re back in five, four, three, two…Camera Five, basement…go!”

On the green tinted picture, everyone watching — from the production van to Mr. and Mrs. America — saw Kelly take the first step onto the basement floor. She stood motionless, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She moved her small penlight to the far wall, and then over to the trap door. The basement was silent as a morgue as she took another tentative step. As she moved, she felt Jason become hesitant about going forward, but just as she was about to say something, he squeezed her hand almost to the point of breaking it.

“Hey, Jason, take it easy.” She took another step toward the center of the room. The whine of the tripod motor sounded lightly as it followed her. “Come on, Jason, you’re breaking my hand!”

Inside the production van, everyone watching the monitor froze. Harris tried to speak but couldn’t. He fumbled with the small switch on his mic but missed. Everyone watching the television special saw what they were seeing, but few really picked up on the horror of the moment as Kelly, with her arm behind her, came clear of the wall that had blocked the camera’s view.

“What did you say?” came Jason’s voice from the stairs.

Kelly froze. The pressure on her hand was becoming unbearable. A whimper escaped her lips.

Jason finally made the bottom step and froze. Kelly was standing in front of him with her arm trailing behind her, and holding her hand out.

The black entity was just behind Kelly, and part of that darkness was connected to Kelly’s outstretched hand. The obsidian blackness was enormous, far darker than its surroundings. The illumination of his small penlight penetrated through the towering darkness. Jason saw Kelly slowly turn around and open her eyes wide.

The hand she was holding was not Jason’s.

The small penlight and the power to the camera went out just as Jason and Kelly both screamed.

Gabriel stopped at the top of the third floor staircase. He looked around and made sure the laser designators were working. George Cordero moved up the stairs and stood by Kennedy.

“Gabe, do you feel it?” George said just as Harris Dalton started his countdown for coverage to begin again. “It’s warmer now. I’m not getting the black feeling like I was a few minutes ago.”

Kennedy did feel it. As he looked at the others he saw that there were no more shivers due to the cold.

“Are you saying that the entity has left this floor, Mr. Cordero?” Julie asked for the benefit of the live audience.

“No, I’m just saying something’s different.”