Chapter Text
The ranch was located far outside of town, nestled at the foot of a mountain. Jimmy pressed his face to the glass of their van as it pulled off the gravel road and onto an even bumpier dirt one.
"Head in the game, there, Timmy?" Grian asked, looking up at him in the rear-view mirror.
"Yeah, sorry." He pulled out his laptop and balanced it on his lap, paging through the documents he'd downloaded. "The family's out of the house. They're staying with family a few towns over. I know you wanted to speak with them, Scar, but—"
"I know, I 'can't be trusted.'" Scar laughed.
"Besides," Grian cut in. "I get the feeling this is going to be a multi-night kind of job. If you need to see them, we can drive out tomorrow."
Jimmy let their idle bickering fall into the background. The property was sprawling, with a new farmhouse set by a small driveway and a few outbuildings off to the side. In the distance, he could see some kind of wreckage sticking out of the otherwise flat ground. He shivered a little and looked away.
Grian pulled the van to a stop with perhaps a little more force than was strictly necessary before jumping out and joining Jimmy in opening the side doors.
“We’re looking at a pretty sustained history of haunting here,” Grian said, starting to pull cameras out of the back of the van while he talked. “This house has been passed around a lot in the past few years. We’re talking thrown objects, scratching, claw marks on the walls, and all kinds of weird sounds. The whole nine yards.”
“You’re forgetting the smoke.” Jimmy handed him a tripod. “They’ve had the fire department out here two or three times, and not one could find any sign of fire.”
“Most active points are the upstairs landing, the kitchen, and apparently also that old cowshed behind the house.” Grian hoisted a tripod beneath each arm with the camera bag on his back. “I want to set up a camera in each, and then we can figure out what other equipment goes where. You’re taking the cowshed, Timmy.”
“Why me?”
“Because I’m not letting Scar touch any of the sensitive stuff alone.” Grian said.
“It’s not my fault that being a fabulous psychic means that technology doesn’t like me very much anymore.” Scar mock pouted.
“Speaking of—” Grian interrupted. “I’ll have you do your first sweep as soon as we’re settled. Might not get much of a response until night, though. That’s when all the alleged activity occurred.”
“Doesn’t it always?”
“More or less.” Grian shoed him off towards the cowshed. “Now. Cameras.”
They reconvened in the living room of the medium-sized two-story farmhouse. It was decorated in a very boring “farmhouse chic” kind of way, as Grian was pointedly narrating his opinions about.
“It’s not even a working farm anymore,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “There are so many more interesting things you could do in this landscape than the same recycled diys off Pinterest.”
“The camera is all set up,” Jimmy said, knocking against the doorframe as he came in. “Are you ready?”
“Anything to get me out of this room.” Grian turned to Scar. “Remember, —”
“No lying, no faking it, no unnecessary drama.” Scar half rolled his eyes. “I know.”
“Well, lead the way, psychic.” Grian gestured him out into the hallway. Jimmy followed too, recording on a small handheld camera. Scar started wandering with no particular pattern, humming to himself as he ran a finger along the banister.
They meandered their way along most of the bottom floor before he stopped to say something, pausing in the kitchen.
“I’d normally expect to feel something,” Scar said, scrunching his eyes closed. “But I don’t in here. And not in the suspicious kind of way, where you can feel the nothing. There’s just nothing outside of ordinary levels of nothing.”
Grian nodded, like what Scar had said made any level of sense. “It might be linked to the time, then. Given we don’t have any reports of activity during the day.”
“Maybe.” Scar hummed again, as though he wasn’t convinced. “I want to go upstairs.”
“We’re following you.”
“Then follow me!” He bounded off, half-jogging up the stairs.
Jimmy and Grian shared one moment of exasperation before running to follow him. Despite having only a second or two of head start, by the time they made it upstairs Scar was already pacing back and forth. He scrunched his eyes again and raised one eyebrow and then the other.
“I’m telling you, I’m not sensing anything up here.” Scar shook his head. “Well—I’m getting fear, like a lot of people have been afraid here, but not what’s causing it.”
“Are you sure?” Jimmy looked around. “I swear I can feel something.”
“Well, you aren’t psychic, Jimmy,” Grian said without looking up at him. “Why don’t we keep moving, Scar?”
“Sure.” Scar forged on down the hallway, poking his head into the main bedroom. “See, this has energy, but I don’t think it’s our spirit. Just something lingering stuck to the dresser.”
“Well, make a note of it anyway, and we’ll keep an eye on it tonight. Do you want to put another camera in here?”
“Might as well, but it’s pretty faint.” Scar wandered further in. “Residual energy on some of this jewelry too.”
Jimmy followed behind, lingering a little in the hallway. It felt a little like there was something standing behind his shoulder, but without the physical sensation of breath or movement. He shivered and went to film the investigation of the main bedroom.
“You know, out of all the places we’ve hunted, I like the places you can watch the sunset the best,” Jimmy said, leaning back in the camping chair Scar had produced from nowhere.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Grian said with his back turned. “You’re going in first.”
“Thoughts on your last meal?” Scar presented a set of sandwiches. “We’ve got tuna salad, ham and cheese, chicken salad—”
“Very funny, you two.” Jimmy sighed. “Chicken salad please.”
“Very well.” Scar tossed it to him with surprising dexterity. Jimmy fumbled it out of the air, thanking god for the plastic it was wrapped in as he wiped dust off the outside. The sandwich was well seasoned—apparently, Scar had used their last break well, if the cooler had anything to say about it.
“Soon as you’re done with that sandwich, you’re going in,” Grian said pointedly.
“Sure.” Jimmy folded the plastic and wiped his grimy hands on his pants as he stood up. “Anything in particular you want me to do?”
“Let’s keep a patrol going until it gets later.” He paused for a second. “Make sure you hit the cowshed. And keep your camera on! We don’t want a repeat of Boston.”
“I know!” Jimmy grabbed his bag from inside the van and checked the contents. Handheld camera, walkie-talkie, cold iron ring, tiny bottle of holy water, bigger bottle of regular water, spare protein bar, and a large plastic bag filled with Scar’s proprietary blend of rosemary, holly, and salt.
Scar waved at his back as he set his shoulders and walked towards the house. The front door was still unlocked, and it swung open easily. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact it felt wrong all the way to his bones. The door clicked shut behind him.
Jimmy started where they’d begun—in the kitchen. He itched to turn on the lights, but ghosts and various spirits tended to be stronger in the dark, and when they were just trying to figure out what was causing the haunting they wanted to see it as much as possible. That was what Jimmy was for: cannon fodder. He still had the scars on his chest from a particularly nasty demon to show for it.
The only sound was the slow drip of a leaky faucet. He shuddered again and wandered up the stairs. The cowshed would come last. The stairs didn’t creak at all, but it was a fairly new house. Whatever had been on the property before was long-since demolished. It left the new house with a sense of artificiality—like he was walking through a building made of cardboard.
As soon as he crested the top of the stairs, he could feel the presence behind him again. He held his breath for a moment, willing himself to not reach immediately for the salt or a camera. The presence didn’t move either.
“Hello,” Jimmy offered tentatively. As suddenly it had appeared, the oppressive sense of something vanished. He sighed and pulled out his camera. Time to investigate the rest of the property.
He waved to Grian and Scar as he walked out the front door before turning towards the cowshed. It was a little ways out from the house, a low building without walls—really more of a covered bit of fencing. The roof was dotted with holes just big enough he could catch a glimpse of the stars beyond. Being out in the countryside was much nicer than the rickety old buildings in bigger cities that made up most of their work.
The cowshed was old, but it felt more solid than the house did. It had clearly stood the test of a good bit of time—well, a good bit of time for America. Nothing like back home. Still, it was comforting in its own way. Jimmy let out a breath he was only half-aware of holding.
In that instant, a strong burst of wind whipped past him. Jimmy raised one hand to his head as if to hold onto an illusory hat while he whipped around, aiming the camera with the other hand. He saw nothing.
“Guys?” Jimmy pulled out his walkie-talkie. “I think I’m going to stay here for a minute. I have a feeling about this.”
“As long as you don’t fall asleep.” Jimmy could hear the shrug in Grian’s voice. “Don’t linger for too long, though. I want you to escort Scar through again in a bit.”
“Will do.” He stuffed the walkie-talkie into his bag, sliding down to sit on the ground with his back against a post. Sure, it was just rocks and dirt, but his ghost-hunting pants were meant to get covered in mud and dirt and other more questionable substances. That’s what he kept them around for.
After a few moments, the fence next to him creaked as if someone else was settling their weight against it. Jimmy fixed his eyes forward. It was familiar, the sensation of taking a break after a long day in the sun. The presence kicked at the ground a little. Jimmy could hardly breathe.
“Jimmy?” Grian’s voice was distorted both by the walkie-talkie and layers of fabric. “We aren’t getting paid to just sit around, you know.”
The presence vanished. Jimmy sighed and clambered to his feat, pulling the walkie-talkie out. “I’m coming, don’t worry.”
“Then hurry up, will you?”
Jimmy sighed and walked towards the van. Scar was already waiting outside, now wearing his jacket. Jimmy didn’t realize how cold it had gotten until he looked at him.
“One second, I’m going to get my jacket.” Jimmy walked past him and opened the van door, grabbing it out of his pack and slipping it on. Scar waited mostly patiently.
“I don’t know,” Scar said 30 minutes later, pouring hot cocoa out of a thermos and into three camping mugs. “I just can’t find anything.”
“Have you heard of something concealing itself?” Jimmy asked carefully. “What about shielding?”
“I mean, theoretically possible.” Scar shrugged.
“But highly unlikely,” Grian jumped in. “As much as I hate to admit it, Scar is one of the best.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” Scar handed Grian a mug. Jimmy grabbed his own.
“Maybe we could try to provoke it…” Grian pulled out his notebook and started flipping through it.
“I don’t know about that.” Jimmy bit his lip. “I don’t think it’s hostile.”
“Did you read the briefing?” Grian’s voice pitched higher. “It’s been hurting people.”
“Is provoking it a good idea, then?” Jimmy shrank back a little. “What if it hurts us?”
“Timmy.” Grian stared straight into his eyes. Jimmy flinched even more. “It is literally our job to deal with dangerous supernatural phenomena. That is what we are being paid for. Now stop being a coward, and go yell at the ghost.”
“To be fair, we don’t know it’s a ghost yet.”
“Scar, you aren’t helping either.”
“Why can’t Scar go yell at the ghost? I want to go look at the old building,” Jimmy said, surprising himself.
“I’m happy to be on ghost-yelling duty.” Scar shrugged again. “I could scare a ghost if I had to.”
“I don’t care.” Grian waved them off. “I’ll keep an eye out, and if this doesn’t work I’ll trade out with one of you.”
Jimmy nodded. There was a particular glint in his eyes that suggested he was just itching for the chance to antagonize a spirit. Better not to bother Grian when he was in one of those moods.
The wreckage was out back, off the beaten path. Jimmy had to ford his way through knee-high grass to make it. When he arrived, it was to see timber beams that stick out of the earth like ribs, covered in scorch marks. He felt suddenly, overwhelmingly sad.
The structure would have been small, but possibly two stories—Jimmy could see the remains of the bottom of a staircase. He gingerly stepped up the stairs to a small porch. It’d have just enough room for a pair of rocking chairs.
Jimmy shook his head. Where did that thought come from? Still, he could see it clear as day. Two rocking chairs. A sunlit porch. Late afternoon. The sudden rising scent of smoke. A house—a home—going up in flames like dry hay. He shook his head again, more violently.
The porch creaked with the footsteps of something coming to stand behind him. Jimmy sighed.
“Did you live here once?” He asked what could just be the wind. It whistled back to him. “I bet it was nice.”
The tone turned mournful. His heart sat in his throat. When he spoke, it was barely even a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
They met the next morning at the buffet of the town’s one and only bed and breakfast. Really, calling it a town was generous—the only two buildings were the B&B and the post office. Jimmy cast a glance at the wall with the second amendment sign on it and shuddered. Americans .
Grian stabbed at some eggs. Scar sipped his coffee with an alarming amount of cheerfulness. Jimmy scraped butter over his toast.
“I’m thinking we take today to head back into town and do some research on the property. The library apparently has a collection in the back room, and I’ve already made an appointment,” Grian said, putting his fork down.
“I can talk to people in town.” Scar said.
“Actually,” Jimmy paused. “I want to spend some more time at the ranch today.”
Grian looked at him with a slightly quizzical eye. “We can drop you off, but you’ll have to spend all day there. I’m not coming to pick you up if you get scared.”
“It’s fine.” Jimmy shrugged. “I’ll pack lunch.”
“We’ll bring you back some good food.” Scar patted him on the back. “Try not to die.”
The ranch looked different during the day. It made the black corpse of the old house look much starker, while the pastel farmhouse seemed faded out and blurry by comparison. Jimmy made a beeline out towards the back of the house. On his way, he pulled out half a sandwich and started to unwrap it from the saran wrap.
He sat with his back up against the porch and placed the half sandwich on the wrap next to him. It didn’t take long until he felt the spirit again. This time when it sat down, he could hear a slight hitch in breath. Jimmy still didn’t look towards it.
“I thought we could share,” Jimmy said, gesturing towards the sandwich. “I’ve got my own half here. I hope you like chicken salad.”
There’s no crinkle in the wrapping or sound of eating, but he wasn’t expecting one. An offering was more about the giving than the gift. Jimmy let himself relax a little, the midday sun pleasantly warm with just enough breeze to stir the grass.
“It’s nice out here,” he said, tipping his head towards the sky. “I think I would have liked to live here, in another life.”
The spirit was close enough he could have stretched out his left hand just a handful of centimeters and touched it. Jimmy did not. He did, however, doze off to sleep in the summer sun.