The scene could have been amusing if we hadn't been aware of how terrifying it truly was. Her eyes were widened with fear that matched the frantic look on her face. As she hurried through the front door toward us, she suddenly faltered, misjudged her step, and collided with the doorframe, causing her to bounce backward across the porch, stumble down the stairs, and nearly tumble to the ground. Andy and Donovan rushed over immediately, concern etched on their faces, to see if she was hurt. Meanwhile, Zeke and I quickly moved to her sides, gripping her arms firmly to prevent her from falling in the driveway. As soon as Andy reached us, she completely broke down, collapsing into his arms and sobbing loudly against his chest. My heart ached for her; she didn't deserve to be tormented.
"Sharon, honey," Andy spoke softly, "What happened? Are you ok?" She sniffled and raised her head to look into his eyes. It was sweet to see how attentive he was to her. He slowly raised his hand and cupped her face, running his thumb up and down her cheek. He was genuinely worried for her. "Let's go sit on the porch." He guided her back onto the porch and sat her on the wicker love seat, then sat beside her to offer support. The rest of us sat in the remaining chairs, except for me, I sat on Zekes lap because we only had the loveseat and two chairs. Note to self: add more furniture, since my family has now expanded. Sharon kept looking toward the front door with fear written across her face as if whatever had happened would leap out the door and attack us.
"It's ok, Sharon, take your time," Donovan said softly.
"I-i-i-I was 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 with genuine fear uncontrollably. "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 reached over and touched her arm, not thinking the sudden movement would startle her. I only wanted to comfort her. She jumped, grabbing Andy's arm as soon as my hand touched her, making me draw my hand back quickly. I felt bad and typed on my phone, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you again," and pointed it at her.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm still a little tense from everything that happened, but you're fine," she said softly to comfort me, which was somewhat ironic since she seemed to need reassurance herself. Sharon had become a significant figure in my life. She accepted me without obligation and took on a motherly role, which eased my pain from missing my mom.
As we sat waiting for her to continue, I wondered why the house was trying to get her attention. There must be a reason for it. I looked at Zeke and sent him a message on my phone, asking him to come inside with me to see what was going on. He read the message and nodded. I could see the curiosity on his face. After I got up from his lap, he told the other three we were 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 said. Everyone nodded and warned us to be careful. Sharon looked at us with fear, not wanting us to go inside. Zeke took my hand and led me into the house. We didn't pause to check the other rooms; we headed straight for the kitchen. The scene was exactly as Sharon described — the room looked like chaos had erupted.
All of the cabinets and drawers, every single one, were open. The coffee pot was even unplugged and pushed clear down the counter, almost into the sink. I picked it up and put it where it belonged, and we quickly closed everything up and plugged the coffee pot back into the wall. As we waited for it to brew, I started setting out coffee cups for everyone, while Zeke found a tray and put cream and sugar on it with five spoons. As he closed the fridge door, he stopped and stared at our memo board, which we had attached to the front. It was where we wrote messages to each other or lists we needed to get done. He stared at it in confusion, like the words were written in a foreign language, and he was trying to decipher them.
"Rocky, who wrote this? It doesn't look like my handwriting or yours," he said, sounding confused. I quickly approached and looked at the board, which displayed "FIND THEM!" in capital letters. Instinctively, I was sure it was 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 typed quickly and showed him the phone.
"At least now we know who's causing this," he said. I wasn't sure if he meant it for himself or for me. I had stopped fearing the paranormal activity in the house; I thought it was just my mom or grandparents trying to get our attention.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I regretted it, feeling as if I had jinxed myself. The room's atmosphere shifted. It grew heavier, creating a knot in my stomach. Zeke didn't seem to notice; he continued moving around the kitchen. My body had frozen as I watched a scene unfold that felt ominous. Near the back door, a dark cloud appeared to block the sunlight from entering as if someone had thrown a blanket over the windows. It hovered there, swirling, growing thicker with each passing moment; I felt the hairs on my neck stand up, and goosebumps rose—whatever this was, it felt dark, as if all the goodness and light had been sucked out of the room. It was the first time I had been scared since moving in here.
Glancing back at the fridge, I watched the words vanish from the memo board as if someone had swiped them away, only to be replaced by others, strange and unsettling. Each letter slowly appeared, creating a new message. A darker message. Zeke must have sensed my uneasiness, as he noticed me staring between the fridge and the back door, eyes flickering with curiosity. He silently moved behind me, leaning down and mirroring my gaze.
"Holy Shit!" he yells. "The words just rewrote themselves," and he was right; we had just watched each new letter form, leaving the message, "THEY ARE DEAD," which was all it said. I started to freak out and made squeaking noises. Zeke quickly grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to him. He started yelling at the room, "Whoever you are, leave, you're not welcome here." An unsettling laugh bounced off the walls before fading away; it was an evil laugh. The minute it left, the atmosphere lightened. The room became welcoming again, and the heavy feeling vanished, letting light stream back through the back door windows. "Let's get the coffee and get out of here for now," Zeke said shakily. He was just as affected by this encounter as I was.
My mind was racing. I heard his words, but nothing registered. I was still trying to process what we just saw and heard. I was in shock. Zeke grabbed my arm and led me to the counter. He poured coffee into each cup and set them on the tray. Then he walked 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 urged. He let go of me and signaled for me to walk ahead, his way of protecting me because he knew I was in shock. We had never encountered something like this before. Was there active evil here, or was it something darker? I needed to find out who was responsible for my grandparents' fate. Someone must have known something. As we neared the front door, the hall coat closet suddenly swung open, banging against the wall and echoing through the house. A shoebox flew out and dropped right next to my feet. I jumped, nearly knocking Zeke's tray from his hands. He reacted swiftly and calmly, preventing any spills.
"You ok Rocky?" He asked, concerned. His gaze was going up and down my body, trying to see if there were any visible injuries. I was fine, a little shaken but fine.
"Yeah, Z. I'm okay. A shoebox fell out of the closet," I tried to say, my voice was still really hoarse and painful to use. I pointed to the shoebox on the floor as I bent down to pick it up. It was a worn Nike shoebox, taped at the corners. It seemed full but not heavy. I tucked it under my right arm and went to the porch, with Zeke following. As we stepped onto the porch, we heard the closet door close again, banging shut, rattling the doorknob. We were sure everyone outside had heard it, too. Donovan rushed over to us, with concern etched on his face.
"What the hell was that banging about?" he asked.
"We just encountered our friendly ghosts and a not-so-friendly one," Zeke joked, attempting to lighten the mood as he carefully placed the tray on the woven wicker table positioned between the chairs and loveseat. His attempt at humor was met with silence; only awkward smiles were exchanged. Poor Zeke—none of them got the joke except for me. I reached out and patted him reassuringly on the back before sitting down in the chair he had retrieved from his truck. He had brought along a couple of portable chairs in bags and set one up for me. Sharon appeared to feel validated, as she seemed to recognize that we had all just experienced something unusual, too.
I opened the shoebox to see what was inside. It had been thrown at us for a reason. Inside was rolled up yellow legal pad paper. One paper had the names of people working for a higher official in the town. It was detailed, with lines linking one person to another, showing how they were connected. It was a man's handwriting; it looked like my grandfather's. The ringleader's name was torn. Only three letters were left: "ill". That didn't give us much to go on, but it was a clue—another page listed various illegal activities and which of these men were involved. The sheriff and Ted were also on the list under drugs and prostitution.
My mind was reeling. Who were all these other names, and who was the main guy calling the shots? I needed to look up county officials in office from the date of my family's disappearance until now. Maybe Agent Williams could help us. I started to hand the papers to Zeke so he could read them and then pass them on to the others. Inside was also a paper clipping of my grandfather's law firm partner being murdered in his home. On the back of it, someone had written "he knew too much and snitched. If you're not careful, you and your family are next." Someone had been threatening my grandfather, and he never said anything.
I pulled out printouts showing the misuse of public funds, from the sheriff's office to the courthouse and mayors' offices. This wasn't just a few dollars—over $500,000 was involved in misused funds. These documents proved 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 were for secretaries or aides who handled the dirty work. What I really needed were 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 typed quickly, then turned my phone toward Donovan.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I'll call him now," he said calmly before walking off the porch to make the call. We continued rummaging through the box, discovering photos of various men that my grandfather must have taken, with no names written on the backs. As we discussed and examined everything, we heard tires crunch on the driveway.
Looking up, we saw a woman stepping out of the sheriff's car and walking toward us. She was short, with wavy blonde hair that reached the middle of her back. She quickly headed our way, of course, with the sheriff close behind. As they neared us, we quickly shoved everything we had discovered into the shoebox and slid it beneath the wicker love seat, as if we were 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 asked. She was neither friendly nor rude, just matter-of-fact. I just stared at her, wondering what she could want.