Ghost Slayer

Chapter 3

THE PROFESSOR SHOVED HIS GLASSES FARTHER up his nose. Professor Logan usually paced from left to right while he lectured, but now he halted in the middle of the room, his lean frame bowing slightly forward as he placed both hands on his desk.

He was the youngest professor on campus, in his late twenties, just shy of thirty. He had black, curly hair that afforded him a youthful and playful appearance, which was neutralized by his stoic expression. Professor Logan knew only two facial expressions—stoic and angry—and he often switched between the two in a heartbeat.

“You all know about the study trip this weekend,” he said, looking at us pressed together in the front rows of a lecture hall twenty sizes too big for the number of students that had signed up for this class. “I have more details about that.”

Oh great, the study trip. I’d all but forgotten about that. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my weekend in a dusty, molded mansion smelling of rot and mice that was supposedly haunted. I’d been a ghost slayer long enough to know that supposedly haunted meant most definitely haunted.

“We’ll leave Friday morning at nine sharp,” Professor Logan continued. “I’ve rented a minibus to pick us up. We’ll leave from the main entrance of Kennedy Hall,” he said, referring to the psychology hall, one of the largest halls on campus, and the one we were currently sitting in. “We’ll be staying until Monday morning. You don’t need to worry about on-site equipment, we’ve got that covered. You’ll sleep at Mortimer Hall, so there’s no need to worry about lodgings, either.”

Mortimer Hall. It had a spooky ring to it. A large, sprawling mansion dominated by a huge bell tower, stranded in the middle of no man’s land and surrounded by marshes. Professor Logan had shown us a picture in class, and even I had shuddered at the look of the place. It had a history too, filled with accidents, death, murder, mayhem, suicide—everything you could think of. Although Logan insisted that during his previous visits to the Mansion of Doom he’d only picked up on some ghostly voices, once saw a harmless specter, and only had an object move on one single location, I wasn’t convinced this weekend’s trip would pass without incident. I’d seen ghosts in modern apartment buildings, trailers, in the back of taxis—so I was sure there’d be ghosts at Mortimer Hall, too.

“We’ll spend the weekend investigating Mortimer Hall.” The professor stood up straight, pushing his glasses up again. “Our main goal is to try communicate with spirits. We’ll use scientific methods, like EVP meters and cameras, but also less scientific methods like séances and Ouija boards. Afterward, you’ll each have to write a paper about your findings, but your participation during the weekend will be graded as well. You’ll have some spare time each night, but I don’t want to find half of you passed out from alcohol abuse.” He gave us a sharp look. “You’re adults, and I expect you’ll behave as such. If you want to become full-fledged parapsychologists, you’ll have to treat the houses you visit with respect.” He took a step back and straightened his tie.

A hand rose up from the front row, belonging to a freckle-faced boy whose jeans always hung too low, and who’d asked me out for a date on the first day of class. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but I’d blurted out ‘no’ before I realized how rude that was. After that awkward moment, we never spoke again. I didn’t even know his name.

Dating had never been on my agenda. I couldn’t exactly invite guys home, ask them to meet my deceased-but-still-very-much-alive mother, and then stay for dessert.

“Isn’t it dangerous? I mean, I’ve done some research on Mortimer Hall on the side,” the boy said, his voice wavering slightly, as if even the memory of it made him sick to his stomach, “and it sounds like a nasty place.”

The professor shook his head; obviously he’d expected the question. “Ghosts aren’t dangerous. They can’t hurt you, not physically.”

I arched an eyebrow, clenching my hand around the pencil I was holding. The Main Street Basement Ghost would beg to differ. The Rose Lane White Lady would disagree with you, too. And how about the Axe Murderer Ghost case I worked on last year? I could think of an impressive list of ghosts that would dare challenge Logan’s statement.

“But what if they do?” Mary-Ann didn’t even bother raising her hand when she asked the question. She sat several chairs away from me, her long, black hair masking an unnaturally pale face, heavily made-up eyes and lips, and a lip piercing. “You can’t be sure that they won’t. We investigated several cases in which the ghosts turned violent, even murderous.”

“We’ve been visiting Mortimer Hall for several years,” Professor Logan explained. He scratched his chin, looking irritated because of the questions. “Nothing bad has happened so far. Before the hall stood empty, it was an orphanage. There are no reports from there either, at least nothing that had anything to do with ghosts. There may be ghosts hidden in the hall, but they’re not strong enough to do any real harm.”

I snorted out loud. In fact, so loud that several heads turned my way. A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I stared down at my pencil and the blank page in front of me, wishing they’d turn their attention elsewhere.

“Miss Rivers,” Logan said, a soft hint of venom in his voice, “do you have any remarks about that?”

I swallowed the comment I was about to make. Before I started this class, I told myself I couldn’t let on that I knew more about the paranormal than the teacher. No need to go all smarty-pants now. “No.”

“Sounded to me like you did.” The professor crossed his arms in front of his chest. A challenge.

I bit my lip. “Well, that the house is quiet now, doesn’t mean it can’t turn nasty all of a sudden. Renovations. Anniversaries of certain events. The arrival of new faces, especially if it includes someone who is sensitive to ghosts.” Like me. “Anything could trigger the hauntings lingering there. Most probably the only reason it’s quiet right now, is because nobody lives there most of the time.”

Professor Logan’s gaze lingered on me, searching my face for clues, as if he knew I was hiding something. “The house has been perfectly safe the previous years,” he eventually said, “and I’m confident it’ll be safe this year as well. But, if anything bad happens, we leave. End of discussion.”

There were a few agreeable mumbles from the rest of the group. Logan had taught us about hauntings, poltergeists, and how ghost sightings influenced the human mind for the better part of the semester. He was skeptic, but cautious. His theory about most ghost sightings dawdled on the psychological; our mind misinterpreting data, mass hysteria, etcetera. So, it came as no surprise he didn’t believe that a trip to a haunted mansion could be dangerous. But if the sudden arrival of a group of hormonal students didn’t stir up the haunting, the arrival of a ghost slayer most certainly would.

I contemplated not going for the thousandth time. If half of my grade didn’t depend on this school trip, I’d cancel altogether. But I had to stick it out. Besides, how bad could it be? If the house was haunted, and the ghosts were intent in harming me or the others, I could take them out, right?

I pictured Mortimer Hall again; the empty, dwindling halls, the marble stairs leading to the first floor—as I’d seen on the Internet—the rooms where sounds echoed off the walls, and footsteps resonated from behind closed doors. Right. I could handle it.

“Chances are high we won’t find anything,” Professor Logan added. “Or that, if we do find anything, it can be explained in a rational way. That’s okay. Your grade won’t depend on whether or not we find any spirits.”

“Did they find anything last year?” Mary-Ann asked. She rested her head on her arms, her elbows propped on the desk.

“Disembodied voices. Footsteps. Nothing substantial, but we had some leads.” The professor paused for a minute. “Come on, people. This is exciting. Isn’t that why you’re here? To investigate the paranormal? To find out whether or not it’s true, or if it’s all in our minds?”

He erupted into a long, boring lecture about how our generation didn’t have enough curiosity anymore. Then he jumped from ghosts to poltergeists to the Bermuda Triangle, and ended up talking about exorcisms in the seventeenth century. No matter how handsome Logan was, and he was, without a doubt, the most handsome professor on campus, it wasn’t enough to keep me focused on him when he started ranting like that.

I let my thoughts drift back to earlier in the morning, to Alex showing up at my doorstep out of the blue. I’d spent the last five years running away from him. If I’d known he was working on a case close by, I’d have stayed clear of the area. He must’ve called me a dozen times after my hasty departure on the last case we worked together, but I never got back to him. Him finding me again after all this time…either I was getting sloppy, or he’d gone out of his way to bring me here. If the latter was true, I didn’t want to know why. Whatever Alex Miller had planned, it was never good. I doubted he’d done it ‘just’ to help the girl who needed a ghost exorcism.

The bell rang and pulled me out of my daydreaming. Chairs were shoved back, mumbling voices erupted all around me, and the guy sitting next to me gave me a pointed look that said I should move out of the way. I grabbed my blank paper and pencils and shoved them into my backpack, then got up to let the guy rush out of the row of seats.

Mary-Ann walked toward me, her burgundy-red lips pulled back into a smile. Today she wore a black miniskirt, fishnet stockings, tall boots with chains, and a pink top that showed way too much cleavage. It might’ve been okay in a club, but it violated at least three college rules.

“What’s up?” She walked next to me as we made our way down the stairs. “Are we still on for tonight?”

Oh, right. The drinks. Hanging out with friends. I took a deep breath, trying to buy some time in order to come up with a plausible excuse. Mary-Ann was the only one who went out of her way to talk to me, and I’d already brushed her off half a dozen times. But I promised Alex I’d help out with the banishing…

“Don’t tell me. Something came up?” She paused and sighed dramatically. “Why is it so hard to invite you anywhere, Kaelyn? It’s just drinks.”

Seeing her exasperated was something new. Mary-Ann never lost her cool. We hung around during the day, had lunch together, studied in the library, and had even worked on a group project for behavioral psychology. But she wanted to introduce me to some of her friends. I’d seen them around. They dressed in a similar fashion as Mary-Ann—a style she’d dubbed goth-s***h-punk—and their personalities matched too; curious, laid back, confident. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get to know them better, it was that the whole ‘friends’ thing still confused me, but I couldn’t let her know that.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I said. “But something came up and it’s urgent.”

“It always is.” The smile had vanished from her face, and she was looking down at the floor, which had suddenly become the epicenter of the universe.

“No, but…” Guilt tugged at me. “Well, I’ve got to be somewhere at eight. But I can drop by afterward.”

She looked up again, the smile back, as if it had never left. “Great. We usually hang till past midnight anyway, so you have plenty of time to get there.”

“And where are we meeting again?” She must’ve mentioned the place a dozen times, but it always slipped my mind.

“Crow’s Nest. Just off campus. You can’t miss it. Call me for directions when you head out.”

“All right.” I was about to ask her what I should wear, when a voice interrupted our conversation.

“Miss Rivers, could you stay for a moment?” Professor Logan stood behind his desk, staring at the back of the room, not even turning my way when he spoke.

“Umm…sure.” I arched my eyebrows, and looked at Mary-Ann questioningly.

She shook her head, having no clue, either. “See you.” Then she walked off, leaving me alone with the professor.

“We have a school psychologist if you need to talk to someone, Miss Rivers,” Logan said when the last student, the freckled, red-haired guy I’d been rude to on the first day of college, had left the room.

My jaw dropped to the floor, and for a second, I thought my ears were misleading me. “What—”

“I’m talking about you showing up with fresh bruises to almost every class.” Logan stood up straight, and for the first time since the start of our conversation, he looked at me. “The lights reveal a lot in here,” he added, by way of an explanation. “If someone is hurting you, you should talk to about it. The police. A psychologist. Since you take psychology classes, you must realize how important it is to talk about these things.”

My heart started beating again. I didn’t know what was more ridiculous—Logan worrying about me getting slapped around, or that I was relieved he was worried about this, and not about my reaction in going to Mortimer Hall, or about how I hadn’t paid for the study weekend yet.

“I…there’s nothing like that going on, Professor.” What suitable excuse could I come up with? That I was clumsy? Took karate classes? Anything I mentioned would sound fake, and the truth would sound craziest of all.

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me at all. When he stared at me, it seemed as if he gazed straight into my soul. I turned away before he could expose my secrets.

“You don’t need to confide in me, or in anyone, Miss Rivers. I just wanted to remind you our school has a psychologist to help you, if you are in need of help.” He cleared his throat. “Then there’s the matter about the money for the study weekend…”

“Oh, right.” A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I pulled my backpack to the front and zipped it open. “I’ve got it right here.”

Professor Logan blinked. “We can give you a few weeks to come up with the money, or suggest a payment plan…”

“No, no, I’ve got it right here.” I opened up the envelope I’d received that morning. I was planning on dropping it in the bank, and then asking them to pay the study trip, but I might as well just hand it to him. “Unless you don’t want me to pay in cash?”

“Either way works for me, Miss Rivers.” Logan stared at the envelope, as if paying in cash was the craziest thing he’d ever heard of. “You are…peculiar.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Oh, umm, well…sorry.” What the heck does one say to something like that?

“That’s okay.” He waited until I handed him the two hundred dollars for the trip, then he scribbled my name on the registration paper. “You’re officially registered for our haunted weekend.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” Even though I tried to be polite, I could barely keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“There’s no reason to be afraid, Miss Rivers. Nothing eerie has happened in that house during the past five years we’ve visited. The odds are small something will happen now.”

But as he said it, a cold finger traced down my back, and I wondered if destiny itself wanted to give me a preview of what was to come.