“Dead?” Presley stared at them. “What are you talking about? She was here a few minutes ago.”
Her mother and father had exchanged looks with each other, then Jennifer before her parents each took one of her hands and told her it would be okay.
“It was just a dream,” her mom said. “Everything is okay. You’re safe now.”
But everything hadn’t been okay, and it still wasn’t. Hardly a night passed in the hospital when she didn’t see something weird, something she refused to believe she actually saw. When she told her psychiatrist she sometimes saw things that…disturbed her, the woman frowned and asked for detail even as she wrote out prescriptions for one powerful psychotropic drug after another. That was the last time she’d ever said anything to anyone about the people she saw that no one else did. While she refused to accept what she might be seeing because she was sure it wasn’t possible, she’d left the hospital as soon as they would release her. There’d simply been too many…things to see there.
On the upside, she hadn’t seen anything since leaving the hospital three days ago, but that didn’t mean much. She hadn’t left Jennifer's apartment since coming there.
Grabbing a bottle of Vitamin Water from the fridge, she set it down on the table along with the oatmeal so she could have breakfast while she wrote in her journal she’d started at the urging of her shrink. Writing down her thoughts wasn’t her thing, but if it helped keep her from completely losing her marbles, she was all for it. Of course, if anyone ever looked on her laptop and saw her journal, they’d probably commit her for psychiatric evaluation. For her own protection, of course.
She wrote a few quick thoughts about the most recent dream she had, then noted she hadn’t seen any…people since she’d left the hospital.
People.
That wasn’t the right word for them. But she couldn’t bring herself to call them what they were. Because if she did, it would mean she believed they were real.
But those things didn’t exist, right?
Presley ate her oatmeal slowly as she typed that very question in her journal. The problem with her assumption was that, if these…things…didn't exist, then she truly was insane. And according to her shrink, that would mean a lifetime of drugs and therapy.
The idea made her groan.
She’d already had more than enough therapy already. Dealing with Darla’s death—and her own near death—had more than taken care of that. She sure didn’t need more therapy to deal with imaginary people. And she for double sure didn’t want to lug around a basket full of pharmaceuticals for the rest of her life.
Because she wasn’t crazy.
But if she wasn’t crazy, that meant the people…the ghosts—okay, there, she’d said it—she was seeing were real.
The only problem with that—besides the fact that she didn’t believe in ghosts—meant none of the drugs her psychiatrist wanted to prescribe would help.
She finished her oatmeal and put the bowl in the dishwasher, then sat down on the couch with her laptop. But instead of typing anything else in her journal, she opened Google and typed the word ghosts in the search bar. She felt ridiculous even as she hit the enter button, but if there was something out there that’d help them leave her alone, she didn’t care how absurd it was.
* * * * *
Four hours later, she was still parked on the couch. To say she’d gone down the proverbial rabbit hole was putting it mildly. She hadn’t confirmed the existence of ghosts, but she’d sure as hell had learned a lot about them. Most importantly, she knew what to do about her problem—she was going to find a group of ghost hunting experts and let them prove, or disprove, the existence of ghosts to her. If ghosts weren’t real, she’d tell her shrink everything and take whatever medications the woman prescribed. If ghosts did exist, she’d ask the ghost hunters to help her stop seeing them.
The plan seemed like a good one. Unfortunately, finding ghost hunters who were willing to let her tag along with them was proving more difficult than she’d thought it would be. While there were a lot of ghost hunters in the Connecticut-New York metropolitan area, the first half dozen had hung up on her the moment she told them she was seeing ghosts. You’d think people who supposedly made a living in the supernatural world would be a bit more understanding of the whole I-see-dead-people thing. Maybe they were phonies or maybe she’d sounded like a lunatic.
That was when she decided to lie and tell the next several she called that she was writing a book and wanted to do some research for it. She still didn’t get an immediate yes, but at least they didn’t hang up on her the second she started talking. Half of them thought she was making up the whole thing about being an author and was instead a reporter looking to expose them as fakes, while the rest told her their work was too dangerous to involve an “untrained” civilian.
Riiiiight.
She’d survived an attack from a psycho killer with a knife, but going out with them to chase after Casper was too dangerous? She’d almost laughed.
Presley scrolled down to the next one on the list—Paranormal Investigations Unlimited—and saw that they were located in the little village of Sleepy Hollow, New York. No way could she resist giving them a call.
“Paranormal Investigations Unlimited,” the man answered. “Robert speaking.”
“Hi, this is Presley Kincaid,” she said, quickly launching into her spiel about writing a book and researching ghosts, adding, “I’m hoping I can do some actual ghost hunting with you.”
On the other end of the line, Robert hesitated. “Um, we don’t usually take people on location with us, and if we agreed, we’d have to charge you.”
She sat up straighter. “That’s fine. I’d be happy to pay you. Just tell me how much.”
“Seven fifty.”
Presley did a double take. “Seven-hundred-and-fifty dollars?”
“I know it sounds like a lot of money, but for that amount, you can tag along with us for the whole weekend.”
It was her turn to hesitate. The price was steep for sure, but she needed to figure out if she was actually seeing ghosts or going nuts.
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me where and when to meet you.”
After hanging up, Presley sent him the money using PayPal, then wrote down everything in her journal, including why she thought hanging out with ghost hunters for the weekend would work. Seeing all of it in writing made her wonder if she was seriously messed up in the head. Was she honestly going to put her mental health in the hands of a bunch of ghost hunters from Sleepy Hollow?
She glanced at the clock on the bottom right-hand corner of her laptop, surprised to see it was almost three o’clock. Shutting down her computer, she grabbed another bottle of water and a granola bar, then picked up her purse and headed out to her car. She didn’t want to be late for her first day of ghost hunting.
Fortunately, Sleepy Hollow was only about thirty minutes from the city of Stamford, so it didn’t take long to get there. When she pulled up outside Paranormal Investigations Unlimited, she was disappointed to discover it didn’t look anything at all like she’d pictured. She expected guys who made their living investigating the paranormal to have some kind of creepy, old Victorian mansion with a beat-up hearse outside painted like the one in Ghostbusters, but the brick building was boringly nondescript. With its metal garage door and storefront windows, it blended in with all the other small businesses along the street. At least it would have if it wasn’t for the bright red paint on the front door.