The scene could be amusing if we weren't aware of how terrifying it truly is. Her eyes are widened with fear that matches the frantic look on her face. As she hurries through the front door toward us, she suddenly falters, misjudges her step, and collides with the doorframe, causing her to bounce backward across the porch, stumble down the stairs, and nearly tumble to the ground. Andy and Donovan rush over immediately, concern etched on their faces, to see if she is hurt. Meanwhile, Zeke and I quickly move to her sides, gripping her arms firmly to prevent her from falling in the driveway. As soon as Andy reaches us, she completely breaks down, collapsing into his arms and sobbing loudly against his chest. My heart aches for her; she doesn't deserve to be tormented.
"Sharon, honey," Andy speaks softly. "What happened? Are you okay?" She sniffles and raises her head to look into his eyes. It is sweet to see how attentive he is to her. He slowly raises his hand and cups her face, running his thumb up and down her cheek. He is genuinely worried for her. "Let's go sit on the porch." He guides her back onto the porch and sits her on the wicker love seat, then sits beside her to offer support.
The rest of us sit in the remaining chairs, except for me. I sit on Zeke's lap because we only have the loveseat and two chairs. Note to self: add more furniture, since my family has now expanded. Sharon keeps looking toward the front door with fear written across her face, as if whatever happened will leap out the door and attack us.
"It's okay, Sharon. Take your time," Donovan says softly.
"I-I-I was m-m-m-m-making coffee when s-s-s-suddenly the kitchen became eerily silent, and a chilling cold enveloped m-m-me. It felt like being in a f-f-freezer, so cold I could see my breath," she stuttered, trembling uncontrollably with genuine fear. "Then, without warning, the cabinets and drawers burst open, as if an unseen force was manipulating them, frightening me so much that I ran away without looking back," she sobbed again.
I reach over and touch her arm, not thinking the sudden movement will startle her. I only want to comfort her. She jumps and grabs Andy's arm as soon as my hand touches her, making me draw my hand back quickly.
I feel bad and type on my phone, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you again," then point it at her.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm still a little tense from everything that happened, but you're fine," she says softly to comfort me, which is somewhat ironic since she seems to need reassurance herself. Sharon has become a significant figure in my life. She accepts me without obligation and takes on a motherly role, which eases my pain from missing my mom.
As we sit waiting for her to continue, I wonder why the house is trying to get her attention. There must be a reason for it.
I look at Zeke and send him a message on my phone, asking him to come inside with me to see what is going on. He reads the message and nods. I can see the curiosity on his face. After I get up from his lap, he tells the other three we are going into the house.
"We'll be right back. We're trying to figure out what's happening and why. Just stay here, and we'll bring coffee when we're done," Zeke says. Everyone nods and warns us to be careful. Sharon looks at us with fear, not wanting us to go inside. Zeke takes my hand and leads me into the house. We don't pause to check the other rooms; we head straight for the kitchen. The scene is exactly as Sharon described—the room looks like chaos has erupted.
All of the cabinets and drawers, every single one, are open. The coffee pot is even unplugged and pushed clear down the counter, almost into the sink. I pick it up and put it where it belongs, and we quickly close everything up and plug the coffee pot back into the wall. As we wait for it to brew, I start setting out coffee cups for everyone, while Zeke finds a tray and puts cream and sugar on it with five spoons. As he closes the fridge door, he stops and stares at our memo board, which we have attached to the front. It is where we write messages to each other or lists we need to get done. He stares at it in confusion, like the words are written in a foreign language, and he is trying to decipher them.
"Rocky, who wrote this? It doesn't look like my handwriting or yours," he says, sounding confused. I quickly approach and look at the board, which displays "FIND THEM!" in capital letters. Instinctively, I am sure it is a message from my grandparents—most likely about my youngest aunt and uncle.
"It has to be my grandparents. They did all this to get our attention. They want us to find my aunt and uncle," I type quickly and show him the phone.
"At least now we know who's causing this," he says. I am not sure if he means it for himself or for me. I have stopped fearing the paranormal activity in the house; I think it is just my mom or grandparents trying to get our attention.
As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I regret it, feeling as if I have jinxed myself.
The room's atmosphere shifts. It grows heavier, creating a knot in my stomach. Zeke doesn't seem to notice; he continues moving around the kitchen. My body freezes as I watch an ominous scene unfold. Near the back door, a dark cloud appears to block the sunlight, as if someone has thrown a blanket over the windows. It hovers there, swirling and growing thicker with each passing moment. The hairs on my neck stand up, and goosebumps rise along my skin. Whatever this is, it feels dark, as if all the goodness and light have been sucked out of the room. It is the first time I have been scared since moving in here.
Glancing back at the fridge, I watch the words vanish from the memo board as if someone has swiped them away, only to be replaced by others, strange and unsettling. Each letter slowly appears, creating a new message. A darker message. Zeke must sense my uneasiness, as he notices me staring between the fridge and the back door, eyes flickering with curiosity. He silently moves behind me, leaning down and mirroring my gaze.
"Holy shit!" he yells. "The words just rewrote themselves." He is right; we have just watched each new letter form, leaving the message, "THEY ARE DEAD," which is all it says. I start to freak out and make squeaking noises. Zeke quickly grabs my shoulders and spins me around to face him. He starts yelling at the room, "Whoever you are, leave. You're not welcome here." An unsettling laugh bounces off the walls before fading away; it is an evil laugh. The minute it leaves, the atmosphere lightens. The room becomes welcoming again, and the heavy feeling vanishes, letting light stream back through the back door windows. "Let's get the coffee and get out of here for now," Zeke says shakily. He is just as affected by this encounter as I am.
My mind is racing. I hear his words, but nothing registers. I am still trying to process what we just saw and heard. I am in shock. Zeke grabs my arm and leads me to the counter. He pours coffee into each cup and sets them on the tray. Then he walks back to me, holding my cheeks with his large hands to make me focus and look into his eyes.
"Come on, Rocky, let's go," he urges. He lets go of me and signals for me to walk ahead, his way of protecting me because he knows I am in shock. We have never encountered something like this before. Is there active evil here, or is it something darker? I need to find out who is responsible for my grandparents' fate. Someone must know something. As we near the front door, the hall coat closet suddenly swings open, banging against the wall and echoing through the house. A shoebox flies out and drops right next to my feet. I jump, nearly knocking Zeke's tray from his hands. He reacts swiftly and calmly, preventing any spills.
"You okay, Rocky?" he asks, concerned. His gaze moves up and down my body as he tries to see if there are any visible injuries. I'm fine—a little shaken, but fine.
"Yeah, Z. I'm okay. A shoebox fell out of the closet," I try to say, my voice still really hoarse and painful to use. I point to the shoebox on the floor as I bend down to pick it up. It is a worn Nike shoebox, taped at the corners. It seems full but not heavy. I tuck it under my right arm and go to the porch, with Zeke following. As we step onto the porch, we hear the closet door close again, banging shut and rattling the doorknob. We are sure everyone outside heard it, too. Donovan rushes over to us, with concern etched on his face.
"What the hell was that banging about?" he asks.
"We just encountered our friendly ghosts and a not-so-friendly one," Zeke jokes, attempting to lighten the mood as he carefully places the tray on the woven wicker table positioned between the chairs and loveseat. His attempt at humor is met with silence; only awkward smiles are exchanged. Poor Zeke—none of them get the joke except for me. I reach out and pat him reassuringly on the back before sitting down in the chair he retrieved from his truck. He brought along a couple of portable chairs in bags and set one up for me. Sharon appears to feel validated, as she seems to recognize that we have all just experienced something unusual, too.
I open the shoebox to see what is inside. It has been thrown at us for a reason. Inside is rolled-up yellow legal pad paper. One paper has the names of people working for a higher official in the town. It is detailed, with lines linking one person to another, showing how they are connected. It is a man's handwriting; it looks like my grandfather's. The ringleader's name is torn. Only three letters are left: "ill". That doesn't give us much to go on, but it is a clue—another page lists various illegal activities and which of these men are involved. The sheriff and Ted are also on the list under drugs and prostitution.
My mind is reeling. Who are all these other names, and who is the main guy calling the shots? I need to look up county officials in office from the date of my family's disappearance until now. Maybe Agent Williams can help us. I start to hand the papers to Zeke so he can read them and then pass them on to the others. Inside is also a paper clipping of my grandfather's law firm partner being murdered in his home. On the back of it, someone has written, "He knew too much and snitched. If you're not careful, you and your family are next." Someone has been threatening my grandfather, and he never said anything.
I pull out printouts showing the misuse of public funds, from the sheriff's office to the courthouse and mayors' offices. This isn't just a few dollars—over $500,000 is involved in misused funds. These documents prove the corruption in the town. No wonder they wanted to silence my family; he could have taken down half the city officials. Are any of those officials still in office? Most of the names are for secretaries or aides who handled the dirty work. What I really need are the names of the corrupt officials.
"Can you have Agent Williams come here soon? I want to discuss this new information and share what we know about Samuel and Betty. Additionally, I'd like him to find out who was in office at that time and if any of them are still serving." I type quickly, then turn my phone toward Donovan.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I'll call him now," he says calmly before walking off the porch to make the call. We continue rummaging through the box, discovering photos of various men that my grandfather must have taken, with no names written on the backs. As we discuss and examine everything, we hear tires crunch on the driveway.
Looking up, we see a woman stepping out of the sheriff's car and walking toward us. She is short, with wavy blonde hair that reaches the middle of her back. She quickly heads our way, of course, with the sheriff close behind. As they near us, we quickly shove everything we have discovered into the shoebox and slide it beneath the wicker love seat, as if we are mischievous children hiding something from our parents.
"Hello, Miss Sleighton, I am Tammy Chambers, secretary to the mayor. May I have a moment of your time?" she asks. She is neither friendly nor rude, just matter-of-fact. I just stare at her, wondering what she could want.