Mara Purnhagen - Past Midnight

“That’s it,” I declared. “We’re done.”

I pulled my sister with me, guiding her around the tables and chairs and various crew members. I didn’t stop until we were standing on the front porch of the restaurant, where the frozen feeling from inside instantly melted away in the muggy evening air.

Annalise slumped onto the porch steps and immediately began to cry. “Did you feel it, too?” she asked. “Did you feel how awful it was?”

“I felt something,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t horrible. It was just—unusual, I guess.”

Our parents came outside, and I was surprised to see that they were both smiling. “Great job, girls,” Dad said. “I can’t wait to listen to the EVPs from this one.”

“The ion meter was all over the place,” Mom added. “Highest numbers we’ve had so far.”

“How wonderful for you,” Annalise said bitterly.

Dad looked confused. “Are you okay?”

Annalise stood up. “No, I am not okay,” she said, her voice loud. “You dragged me into something terrible and you don’t even care. Well, I’m through. I’m never doing this again! Ever!” She stormed off before my parents could respond.

“What on earth was that all about?” Mom asked me.

I didn’t have an answer. I’d never seen my sister react so furiously to one of my parents’ sessions. I didn’t know what was happening, but I had the uneasy sense that whatever it was had just begun.

When I was eight, we lived in a house where you could hear the steady squeaking of a rocking chair nearly every night, even though we didn’t own a rocking chair. When I was ten, we lived in a house where the TV changed channels on its own so often that it was useless to sit down to try and watch something. And when I was thirteen, we lived in a house where you could hear violin music drifting up like smoke from the empty basement. I lived in all these places, and none of them truly scared me, although it could feel creepy at times. I would get ready to take a shower and then pause, wondering if something was watching me undress.

Mom and Dad were drawn to these places. The older, the better, and they often rented a house without having ever stepped inside. And although they constantly reassured us that it was all just random energy and nothing that could really hurt us, my sister and I longed for a new house, something completely devoid of history or rumors or sudden, unexplained deaths.

That’s why, when Dad pulled the moving van into the driveway of 1227 Copper Court that August, I had to restrain myself from yelling with joy. It was everything I’d always wanted in a house, right down to the beige aluminum siding.

“We’re home.” Mom sighed. She was less than thrilled and had spent the two-hour drive from Charleston reminiscing about all of the other places we’d lived and how none of them had been less than a hundred years old. I’d spent the drive trying to tune out her stories and take a nap. I must have slept for a little while because I remembered dreaming about a dark-haired girl reading a book. She was wearing a long, old-fashioned dress as she sat against a tree, and I had the distinct impression that it was the same tree where Annalise and I had eaten lunch a month before. It was just a brief vision, but the image of the girl slowly turning the pages of her book stayed in my head until we arrived at our new house.

Both Mom and Dad sat in the van staring at the place we’d call home for the next ten months. It was so new the front yard hadn’t been seeded yet. We’d be the first people to live in it. That thought alone made me smile.

“Who’s got the keys?” I asked from the backseat. I couldn’t wait to look around and claim my bedroom.

I nearly skipped to the front door while my parents slowly followed. Dad tossed me the keys and I stepped inside. Sunlight poured in from the bare windows.

“Smells like new carpet,” I said happily.

“Smells like cheap carpet,” Dad grumbled behind me.

Mom looked around at the taupe walls and white trim and brown doors. “This place has absolutely no personality,” she announced. “I bet the interior of every house on this street looks exactly the same.”

“That would make sense,” Dad said. “All of the exteriors look exactly the same.”

I wasn’t going to allow their sour mood to affect my jubilant one. I ran upstairs, peeking into each of the three bedrooms until I decided on a room overlooking the backyard. It was smaller than the master, but it had more windows and a decent closet. I sat on the pristine carpet, leaned back on my arms and closed my eyes. This would be my room for at least one full school year. I couldn’t believe my luck—or Annalise’s ultimatum.

After her second experience at the Courtyard Café, Annalise retreated to her campus apartment and refused to speak to our parents for a few days. They seemed upset by her reaction, but they were too busy examining video footage and planning their next investigation to really do anything about it. They weren’t prepared when Annalise showed up at their hotel room demanding a family meeting.

“Family meetings” were rare for us. Usually it meant my parents were going to announce the next city we’d be living in. My dad tried to take control right away.

“I know we need to discuss certain things,” he began, “but I’d like to set a few ground rules first.”

Annalise stopped him. “I have only one ground rule. You need to listen to me without interrupting for five minutes. Then you can say whatever you want.”

My sister had never been so assertive. She meant business, and my parents knew it. They nodded and Annalise took a deep breath. She told them that she had always participated in their projects enthusiastically, but she would no longer do so unless they agreed to a few new conditions.

“What kind of conditions?” Mom asked warily.

Annalise reminded her of the five-minute rule, and Mom pretended to zip her mouth shut and throw away the key.

“First, I’m taking a year off from helping with any of your research.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad stiffen. I had overheard enough conversations during the past few days to know that he wanted to focus completely on the findings from the Courtyard Café, which had produced readings beyond their expectations. Instead of compiling all of the Charleston locations into one television special, he planned to dedicate a full hour just to the restaurant—and Annalise. He wanted to go back, and he needed her to go with him.

“Second, I will return to that place only in my own time, when I feel that I’m ready.” Annalise looked directly at Dad when she said this. He sighed.

“Third, I want the three of you to stay in one place this year. Same town, same house, same school for Charlotte.”

I don’t know who was more surprised by the third condition: me or my parents. Annalise and I hadn’t discussed “changing things” since our conversation in Charleston, which I thought was merely my sister venting. I honestly didn’t think she would take action.

Before anyone could respond to her request, Annalise held up her hand.

“I know that may sound strange. But I have my reasons, if you’ll just hear me out.”

She went on to explain that college had proved to her how important it was to have some stability in her life. She had loved traveling when we were kids, but part of her always wanted to stay in one place longer, to make friends and join teams and just generally be a part of something.

“You were part of something,” Dad protested. “You were a part of our crew.”

“Are you saying we’ve been terrible parents?” asked Mom, her brow furrowed with worry.

“I’m saying that I want Charlotte to have a chance at something a little more normal.” She smiled at me. “And no, I don’t think you’re terrible parents.”