Chapter 2

 

The answer to her question, if you were curious, is “very fast.” Surprisingly so, considering how much effort my friend Anna puts into her appearance. But she’s always been impulsive, going off to one corner of the state or another if she had a few free days. She often says that “the best inspiration as a designer is life-experiences.” Which is a fair enough idea. It’s immensely easier to grasp something by experiencing it yourself than it is to figure things out through second-hand sources. So going out to gather life experiences the same way a lepidopterist goes to collect butterflies is probably the smart thing for her. 

 

And since I’m usually her go-to travel buddy I’ve gotten used to being dragged off to wherever her whims take her. Honestly it’s rather fun, and a nice break from the usual drudgery of classwork I slog through. Ignoring one or two events that have happened that we still aren”t comfortable talking about, at least, but that doesn't seem relevant to the current trip.

 

Taking the train home, I threw a few changes of clothes in a duffel bag along with basic toiletries. I made sure teh outfits were suited more towards outdoorsy pursuits; habits grown from Anna abruptly deciding to check out nearby hiking trails. I do not want to spend the night shivering in the cold if this ghost hunt takes place in abandoned ruins or something.

 

With that in mind… I added some basic camping supplies to the mix. I was given pretty much no information other than that we were going on a ghost hunt. The smart thing to have done would have been to ask, but I was too shocked by the immediacy of it all to have the presence of mind to gather basic information like “Where are we going.” Not bright, I know, but everyone has occasional lapses. The second smartest thing would be to shoot her an email asking for more information, but I felt a strange hesitation at the thought of doing so. 

 

I also made sure to send Anna a message. She got back to me right away, promising to meet at my place, an apartment rented in the suburbs of the city. She had an apartment close to school, the benefits of rich parents. Meanwhile the only reason I could afford such a decent apartment was due to a legal settlement. What for? Don’t worry about it, I’ll mention it when I’m good and ready. Or rather, I have a lot going on as it is without bringing up events that occurred in the past. As the one song goes, “life is a highway,” and the less polite way to describe my own journey is that I’m God’s drunkest driver, swerving to run over every bump in the road my inebriated eyes can see. Lucky me.

 

Enough of that. I need to finish packing. I’m just a short walk from the train station, so I should at least tidy up a bit before Anna gets here. She does tend to worry, so letting her see how much I’ve been slacking on chores is, well, embarrassing. I suppose I’ve been playing a bit too many video games, reading a few too many books, rather than picking up after myself.

Shuttling cups and dishes from the overflowing sink to the underutilized dishwasher, I could only pray that my appearance-minded friend would be held up just enough for me to clean up the evidence of my increasingly slovenly ways. As I’ve already mentioned, I’ve been having a bit of an existential crisis, no, a spat of uncertainty about my future career. Wallowing in laziness is a perfectly ordinary way to deal with that. Sue me. 

But alas, it was not to be. The doorbell rang, like the bell to inform a boxer that it was too late, the match was lost, and that they had to face the music of whatever mob boss they pissed off or owed money to. Just like a mob boss, my friend wouldn’t be swayed by minor excuses. Is it healthy to be so worried about a friend being concerned for myself? Probably not, but that’s never stopped me. It’s the principle of the thing. 

Letting her wait would be rude. Regretfully, I made my way to the front door, where a silhouette could be seen impatiently tapping its foot through the frosted glass flanking the sides of the door. No escape in sight, I opened the door to greet her.

 

She walked past me. Not that she was being rude ignoring me. Her intention, of course, was to set down the large internal-frame pack she had been carrying, the style commonly used by backpackers on the Appalachian trail. For someone as enamored by fashion as her, she could be quite the tomboy. Her outfit likewise, looked like it had been pieced together from the more stylish side of REI’s stock; not chic enough for a Madison Avenue boutique, but more than presentable despite, or perhaps because of, the underlying practicality of it all. 

 

Topping it off was shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, tied at the nape of her neck with a silk ribbon, clubbed like what would have been the fashion in the late 1700’s. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw gave her an almost androgynous beauty that was downright unfair; she could make anything she wore look good by virtue of it being worn by her. She almost could be a model if she was more than average height. She preferred designing clothing more than selling the designs of others but she could have made it work as a career, both womenswear and menswear. 

 

The pack hit the floor with a thud. The gray eyes in that sharp face bore into me. And she spoke.

 

“Goodness it’s dusty in here. When’s the last time you’ve vacuumed?” Not with an angry tone. But the worry in her voice cut me like a set of shears, snipping away the layers I had built up to protect myself.

 

“It’s been a while. I’ve been busy.” Technically true is the best kind of true. 

 

“Bullshit. You’ve been brooding again. No, you don’t ‘brood.’you push everything down and distract yourself. You could at least try distracting yourself by tidying up every once in a while.” That last sentence came out as more of a grumble. She knew how I could get at times, and she knew a full-blown lecture would be counterproductive. Obstitant? Maybe, but I’m blessed to have such an understanding friend. 

 

“So, ghost-hunting.” I skillfully directed the conversation away from the less comfortable topic of my unfortunate tendency towards sloth. We all have our sins, and it’s not like mine hurt anyone other than myself. 

 

“Yes, ghost hunting. I did say I’d go along with you, but I’m surprised you managed to get things arranged so fast. They’re a reputable group, right?” I had told her the basics through text, but her doubts were completely reasonable. I myself found the whole thing on the smellier side of fishy. But still, it didn’t seem like they were going to induct us into a cult or murder us. Totally not truly bad. The devil wears Prada, not Dior, right?”

 

“You realize you just said all of that out loud, right> Are you sure you weren”t just overanalyzing things again? You tend to do that a lot.” And I do.

 

“She was weird. I don’t know how to explain it. Like if Emma watson grew up looking like she did in the first couple Harry Potter movies: all mousey and nerdy. She took the ‘sexy librarian’ trope, dressed it up to high-fashion, then removed the ‘sexy.’ Like a fashion show in the stacks of the Library of Congress's warehouse. No, more like if…” I’ll admit, I was having a lot of fun with this. Unfortunately, Anna disagreed.

 

“Isn’t it rude to roast someone who isn’t even here to defend themselves? I get what you’re trying to say, I think, but it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more polite. Letting your mouth run like that can’t end well, especially if you want to keep volunteering with this group. How are the other members though?” Oddly practical, Anna, for someone with a tendency for impulsive road trips. Or maybe it’s more because of that trait that she tends to keep the other areas of her life so squared-away. It wouldn’t do to get yourself into trouble hundreds of miles from home. 

 

“Haven’t actually met any of them yet. One’s supposed to be picking us up soon though.” They didn’t give an exact time, saying it was contingent on a few things like traffic. Anna seemed less than pleased with my lack of information. She wasn’t angry, just visibly disappointed. You know the look.

 

“You could have asked.” She said finally. 

 

“We’ll find out soon enough.”I gestured to the window, towards the car pulling into the driveway. What perfect timing. A haggard-looking woman, about our age, got out. She looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I’m daily sure she wasn’t on the group’s website. She seemed rather high-strung, jumping a good few inches when I opened the door. No need to make her go through the trouble of ringing the doorbell when we knew she was there.

 

“Are you Jessica Chanel?” Her sleepy tone was further emphasized by the dark circles beneath her sunken eyes. Her hoodie was as generic as it gets, and the only money put towards wardrobe seemed to be the hiking boots sticking out from beneath baggy Wranglers. Yes, Wranglers. 

 

 Another member of this group with a bookish air, although this one didn’t even give the impression of trying to hide it. Despite being around the same age, she seemed to live in a vastly different world from Anna and myself. Not that I wasn’t immune to the occasional energy drink binge while reading or gaming, but she looked like she was allergic to the very thought of going outside. 

“Yes. I assume you’re from the ghost hunting group?”She grimaced at that. How odd. Most people would be excited to share a hobby. It could just be part of her personality not to be social, but still, you can only be so introverted. 

 

“Of course. Mrs. S- Everly asked me to give you a ride. You probably could drive yourself, but saving gas and all that. Good for the environment.” Her manner of speaking really did make her seem like peak introvert. Like the kind of person to sit in the back of class avoiding everyone. Like…

 

“Didn’t we have a class together last semester? Yes, we did! Which one was it again… one of the bio ones? Actually, aren’t we both in the same philosophy class this semester? The one about esotericism? We totally are! What a coincidence!” Who would have thought I’d run into a classmate in a place like this? Circumstances like this, to be more accurate. The entrance to my house is kind of mundane. Somehow she looked less than thrilled by this development. Maybe she’s actually more antisocial than introverted? That would make sense, actually. Several classes together and I never even caught her name. Oh, where are my manners?

 

“Sorry. This may seem kind of rude, but what’s your name again?” Another scowl, then an answer. 

 

“Christina Bacon. Blease don’t be an asshole about my name. I didn’t choose it.” What an odd choice of words.

 

“Ooooh, Bacon. That’s cool!” Anna finally butted in. My savior. “Like Francis Bacon! You know some people think he might have been the person who really wrote Shakespeare’s plays. It’s probably not true, but it’s still a neat name.” She earned herself a blank stare for her trouble, but a minor thing like that wasn’t enough to discourage her. 

 

“So, Christina,” Anna continued, acting unaware of Ms. Bacon’s clear dislike of her surname. “Or may I call you Chis? I find nicknames always make things easier, unless that would make you uncomfortable…” Anna’s voice trailed off in a manner that implied it was up to Christina what she would go by, but anyone could tell that said named individual clearly wasn’t used to dealing with the Type-A personality shooting her an unexpectant look.

 

“Call me whatever.” Chris gave in, clearly not overly attached to her given name. But by conceding this she was on the back foot in a battle she likely didn’t even know she was fighting.

 

“If I may ask, would you mind telling me more about your ghost-hunting group? I wasn’t with my friend here when she met with your leader.” She sounded as though she were just making polite conversation, if you didn’t pay close attention. Anyone capable of any sort of normal interaction with others could tell she was clearly fishing for more information out of concern, but as I said, if you were the kind of person to avoid interacting with others and hole up in front of your computer, it might go over your head.

 

Chris- I’ll be honest I already found myself thinking of her with Anna’s nickname that she so abruptly imposed upon the poor girl- seemed to freeze like a deer in the headlights. Making conversation didn’t seem to be part of her repertoire. Finally, a blank look washed over her face and she recited as if by rote.

 

“The Eastern Pennsylvania Anomalous Research Society is an organization dedicated to the scientific research of events that seemingly fall outside of what’s generally accepted in the more traditional setting of academia. Most of our research is focused on so-called ‘hauntings,’ although we also investigate other incidents such as reported cryptid sightings, unusual disappearances, and the occasional claims of extra-sensory perception when validation or disapproval of such claims by a third party is required for legal or moral reasons. Despite our relatively recent founding, we have received accolades from both private citizens as well as municipal, state and, most recently, one federal agency in a case that has yet to be finished. I’m their newest intern.” An impressive sales pitch ruined by the nervous quaver in her voice, making it clear that the last thing she’d want is to be the face of the group. Poor thing. It feels like Anna pushed her too hard. 

 

I suppose an introvert can only do so much in the face of the force that is Anna. Really, I myself have no idea how I survive around her. Despite her forcefulness she is a kind person at her core, so she does eventually grasp when she has gone too far. And she could tell she had made Chris way too nervous. The comforting hand she placed on the girl’s shoulder showed that much. And would you look at that, it worked, based on the smile she was directing towards Anna. Wait, no, I recognize that smile. From antisocial to smitten in what, five minutes? Not even. Those looks are practically cheating.

 

It’s probably the usual introvert deal. They’re so isolated that they feel affection the first time someone shows them kindness. That’s probably the best way to explain this. It may sound cynical, but if you spend enough time around Anna you’ll witness it eventually. This girl totally has a crush, even though Anna was the one to scare her in the first place. Tough luck for her. I’ve never seen Anna ever actually date anyone.

 

Anna, being smart enough to realize this girl was just awkward, and probably not some weirdo trying to induct us into a cult, finally softened her approach. Keeping her hand on Chris’s shoulder, she asked one more question.

 

“Where exactly are we going?” Yeah… I really should have asked that one much sooner. 

 

“A farm in the northern part of the state. They’ve had a few of the ‘typical’ signs of a haunting. You know, footsteps, disembodied voices, stuff not being where they put it, scratching noises in the walls, and supposedly a full-body apparition. Typical haunted house, and the property was settled in the late 1700’s so there’s plenty of time for history and other stuff to build up in the house. It’s a bit of a drive though, so…” She hefted her car keys. 

 

Based on her initial description it sounded almost too good to be true. I wonder if it'd turn out to be a hoax? Whether we find actual spooks or villainous developers in a ghost costume, it was sure to be exciting. The thought of an hours-long drive only put a slight damper on my eagerness to explore. Still, despite wanting to avoid spoilers, I just had to ask.

 

“So Chris,”I began as we carried our luggage out to her car, a sensible four-door sedan. “In your experience, how likely do you think it’ll be that we’ll find a ghost?”

 

“Very,” she answered with a confidence-filled smile reminiscent of a parent teasing a child. “The odds are very good.”