As promised, it was a long drive. Anna called shotgun, and I was stuck in the back seat listening to Anna attempting to make casual conversation with Chris, and Chris doing her best to respond. From my seat it was rather painful, but Anna seemed to be having a blast. I can only assume that Anna enjoys taking care of those who have difficulty with normal interactions or those who have something… Oh. Pardon me for a moment while I turn back to one of the books I packed. I need to repress something.

As far as long drives go it could be much worse, all things considered. Due to what I assume was a stubborn refusal to pay the toll for the turnpike it was a very picturesque drive through the mountains of Appalachia, full of old woods, old houses and old, under-maintained roads. It’s like John Denver sang about, “life is old there…” though he was talking about a state slightly more southern. Still, seeing old, run-down homes was very…. Atmospheric. But I shouldn’t let that color the rest of the trip. At least my burrito from Sheetz was good.

I’ll admit, the stomach full of greasy fast food, the winding drive full of mountains and deep woods, and the comfort of a book made me drowsy. When we pulled off the paved road and onto a rough gravel one the jolt shocked me awake. We were deep in the woods now, with the only breaks being hunting cabins and the occasional small farm. The car bounced over the poorly graded dirt and stone, and struggled through patches made muddy by recent snow melt. It was already warm and sunny in Philadelphia, but up here spring had to fight to make itself known. 

“We should be there soon .”Chris informed us. Not that it was really necessary, with the GPS app on her phone clearly visible. I did appreciate the effort though. 

A short turn later and the quality of the roadway got bafflingly worse. No longer merely bumpy and swampy, the… what I assumed was supposed to be a driveway was rough enough that an expert mountain biker would have difficulty staying upright. A third world country would turn their nose up at the thought of using it as a mere goat path. If we had been in a 4x4 truck we might have been fine. But this was a sedan. 

Our speed slowed to a crawl. Chris, to her credit, seemed experienced with driving in rough conditions. She skillfully guided the car from rock to pump, managing to avoid scraping the underside even once in the half-mile stretch from road to the estate proper. I’ll avoid giving specifics on the slew of expletives she muttered, but it was impressive.

The yard itself wasn’t fancy, but seemed to embody a rustic sort of comfort. Chickens pecked about, with a barn and garage behind the house. The house was decently sized, with several expansions giving it a hodge-podge look. Both porches were cluttered, and various bits and ends were scattered about the yard. 

The multitude of vehicles already parked seemed to suggest that we were the last to arrive. There were several trucks and SUV’s, and one utility van that must have had a much greater struggle up that god-forsaken goat-path of a driveway than Chris’s car ever would. Another muttered curse from Chis was the confirmation I needed. Still, I found myself thinking as I opened the door, It’ll be good to get some fresh air. 

Inhaling brought a fresh scent only slightly soured by the smell of chickens. And the soggy ground felt comforting after the vibrations of the car for those, was it three hours? Longer, since we had to stop for gas and a snack. 

I only had a moment to savor the brief respite. The sound of the slamming car door must have been audible inside, because a stream of people came flowing out of the house. 

Okay,a stream? It was six. Four of them I recognized from the group’s website, one I had met before, and the remaining two, a couple in their early thirties, must have been the homeowners. Scratch my earlier number, it’s seven: the couple was carrying a baby. A girl, most likely, based on all the pink, though in this day and age it’s rude to make assumptions. They held back, while Mrs. Everly made a point of heading to the driver’s seat where Chris was grabbing her phone.

“You’re late.”I wasn’t told of a specific time we needed to be here by, but it figures that there was a schedule. “YOu should have been here forty-five minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t going to take the turnpike. It’s literal highway robbery.” Chris grumbled. Grumbling and mumbling seemed to be her preferred way to speak. I had that impression, but it’s good to know it’s not just exclusive to me. 

“You get a per-de-” She paused as she saw Anna get out of the passenger’s side, her face brightening. “Nice to meet you, Ms. McQueen! Your friend told me all about you. I hea- oof!” 

She was cut off by an elbow in the ribs from a shorter black-haired woman. Much like Chris, her clothing was practical. Cargo pants, jacket, she seemed like someone who didn’t mind doing things herself despite her small stature. Unlike Mrs. Everly in her pricey clothes suited for meetings and discussions, she gave off an air of responsibility. But still, why the elbow? Just for saying hello to- Oh. This must be the partner mentioned earlier. What kind of ghost hunting group have I gotten involved with? 

The two remaining members of the ghost hunting group looked on, bemused. Familiarity with the antics of the pair made it clear this sort of exchange was a regular occurrence. It also was inviting; they were friendly enough to get along at this level, and didn’t need to resort to cold professionalism to bridge the gaps in their interpersonal relations. 

This was in stark contrast to my first impressions. Mrs. Everly had come across as odd when I had met her. More than odd, she had been downright uncanny, with a certain understated eeriness that tickled at the back of awareness. 

This humanized her, if you pardon my extreme language. This group felt professional for the most part, but keeping up the facade for too long was creepy. Mrs. Everly managed to keep that mask during my whole meeting with her, with the only slips showing something unfathomable. Now that the mask was almost completely off, she just seemed goofy, a bit nerdy, exactly like my initial impression of her. It was somehow endearing. One of my other friends has mentioned the odd appeal of a gap between someone's normal self and their deeper quirks, and this seemed like a prime example. 

The remaining pair seemed pretty close-knit as well, in more of a friends sort of way. Like partners in a buddy cop movie. The taller of them, a slim African-American guy, was clearly struggling to stifle his laughter as the shorter woman dragged Mrs. Everly by the sleeve back towards the house. The shorter of the two, muscular and tanned, wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. He seemed to notice my gaze, and answered a question I hadn’t even thought to ask. 

“Yes, they’re always like that. Joan tries to talk a big talk, but she’s helpless when it comes to dealing with Cathleen. Good thing too, who knows how much more trouble she’d get into if she didn’t have a babysitter.” Despite the muscles he seemed well-spoken and sharp. His close-cropped hair and his assured manner of speaking felt almost military in nature. But that didn’t hide his innate friendliness.”

“Sorry, are they…?”

“Practically made for each-other. The flirty gets almost unbearable at times, but since Joan is technically in charge…you get used to it. Or you learn to ignore it. But you’ll learn that soon enough. I’m told you’re supposed to be interning, Miss-”

“Jessica. Being called ‘Miss Chanel’ would be unbearable. Way too normal for me. It would beat being called ‘Mrs.” but not by much.” This got another laugh out of him, a sure sign that he’s way too friendly for his own good. It wasn’t that funny.

“‘Aye ma’am. I’ll do my best to remember that, Jessica. You can call me John. I can’t make you go around calling me ‘Mr. Sanchez after that.” More laughter. That “Aye ma’am” definitely makes him seem like former military. “So, should we head inside? I can introduce you to Smith and Cat later. I think Joan is getting impatient to get a start on work.”

I looked around. In the short amount of time we had been talking, everyone else had gone inside, leaving us out here talking amidst the soft pops of cooling vehicles and the clucking chickens strutting about the yard. Even my steadfast friend Anna had left me, probably keeping an eye on her new “project.” 

“After you.” I graciously extended a hand towards the door, affecting the accent of some upper-class snob. I even managed a slight bow at the waist. My efforts were rewarded with yet more laughter. He seemed like a nice guy. And far more normal than the boss of their group, or the awkward woman who drove us here. 

He even held the door for me, imitating my own gesture. The smug grin on his face turned to panic as a pair of cats took advantage of his chivalry to escape. John began to give chase, when a voice inside called him back.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re outdoor cats. They’ll come back when they’re good and ready.” It was a younger voice than I’d have expected given the children. Maybe that’s just my bias speaking. 

“If you say so sir, I don’t know much about cats myself.” John shrugged.

“You don’t need to ‘sir’ me. I was enlisted just like you probably were. Miss, feel free to come in, we don’t bite, at least we don’t bite guests.”

Nodding to John as I passed, I ducked into the house. It was well kept, ignoring the kids toys scattered everywhere. It’d be crass to expect those to be tidied up when we were the ones intruding on their home. The ceiling was lower than I was used to, with the ax marks where the beams were hand-hewn visible through the white paint. 

Everyone else was already seated around a long table, our host at one end, Mrs. Everly at the other. Everyone from the society had notebooks out and pens at the ready, excluding Mrs. Everly herself, who had a Lager. Really/ I like beer as much as the next girl but aren’t we supposed to be acting at least a bit professional? Besides, her outfit didn’t really match with the working-class Yuengling.

I looked for a seat, but from what I could see there were none available. I guess that’s what I get for dawdling. With no other choice I stood off to the side, soon joined by John. Mrs. Everly glanced at the two of us, before taking a swig of beer and leaning forward over the table. 

“So, I understand you have a bit of a problem with strange stuff happening?” 

“Uhhh, yes?”Despite being the one to ask for our help, the man on the other end of the table seemed unsure of how to react to Mrs. Everly’s demeanor. I can’t blame him. Should she really be drinking on the job like that? I guess she is the boss, but still. 

“Your request mentioned you think the house is haunted, but in what way specifically?

The man’s brow furrowed. “Almost too many to list. Footsteps where there should be none is the first to come to mind. My two oldest, they’re staying with a friend from church right now, they say they’ve seen a pale woman. There’s also a voice…”

“A voice, Mr. Patrick?” Thank you Mrs. Everly. You never actually told us his name. 

“Yes, a voice. My wife was the first to hear it. She thought I had called to her while she was in the barn. It wouldn’t have been anything unusual except she remembered I should have been dropping the kids off at tae-kwon-do in town. From then on, it’d happen every so often, a voice calling out using one of our  voices. Damn frustrating.”

“That does sound concerning. Anything else in particular?”

Things going missing only to reappear later, nothing major in its own. Scratching noises, but again, this house is old so it’s probably rats. A few times objects have flown off the shelves while we were watching, that was fun explaining to the kids.”

“I can imagine.” Mrs. Everly punctuated this with a sip from a beer. “What can you tell me about the house itself?”

“One of the oldest houses in the county. The original farmstead which we’re currently sitting in was made in the late 1700’s, I can’t recall the exact date but it’s on the deed. We don’t do any farming ourselves, on account of my arm; I work as an antique dealer…”

“The house?”

“Oh right. Yeah, most of the old fields are covered in blueberry bushes. I can’t imagine how much it must have sucked to actually farm, the soil is full of rocks. I mostly use the barn to store antiques I’ve picked up to sell, and the garage likewise is full of product. The deed probably also says when they were built, but most likely later in the 1800’s. Anything else?”

Mrs. Everly reached into her purse, pulling out another beer. What the hell? It had a faint sheen of condensation, making me a tad jealous imagining how delicious it’d taste. But seriously/ There were already two cans, presumably empty, in front of her. She pulled back the tab, the can letting out a satisfying hiss, the slight vapor emphasizing just how perfectly chilled the beer was. She took a long gulp, letting out a satisfying sigh as she placed the can down. Very not appropriate while interviewing a client. 

“Can you tell me if there were any burials on the property? 

Mr. Patrick stared at her, mouth agape. Everyone else around the table just looked at her in tired resignation. 

“Uh, probably? They were less strict about that back in the day. I haven’t found any grave markers myself, but knowing the way things worked in the area back then, it’s more than likely. Uhm, Miss…”

“It’s Mrs.”

“Yeah, Mrs… your group was highly recommended by a buddy of mine from the Guard so I don’t exactly doubt your credentials, but should you really be drinking that much while carrying? You’re blatantly printing…”

Mrs. Everly looked as composed as a painting, taking yet another sip of beer.

“‘Train as you fight,’ isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Fair enough. I don’t really trust this place that much myself with all the weird shit we’ve had going on. I was just surprised.”

Hold on.

All of a sudden, the odd fit of Mrs. Everly’s blazer made sense. Why, though? Why was she armed? Maybe it was just for self defense, that much was understandable. I had a friend a while back who’d always carry a big handgun, a 1911, and Anna has one of those small handguns she usually keeps tucked in her waistband. But here? Even more odd, everyone else seems to be writing it off as expected. Even Anna- Oh, never- mind, she’s just too busy paying attention to her new “project.” figures. 

“Mind if I see it?” Mr. Patrick asked.

“Go ahead.” She reached under her jacket, pulling out a large, black handgun. Much larger than I would have expected to be hiding under her jacket even given the odd fit. It must have been tailored with the expectation that she’d be carrying a gun.  She ejected the magazine and racked by the slide, the three-ish drinks in her system not hindering her in the slightest as she caught the round out of the air. She then handed the gun, butt first, across the table to Mr. Patrick. He nodded after looking it over.

“M9A3?”

“I’ve done a bit of work to it.”

“I can see. Suppressor-height sights… is that tritium?

“You never know who you might run into in a dark alley. Better safe than sorry.”

“Wait, is this-” He shouted, shocked, as his fingers ran over a switch on the side of the pistol’s slide. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Mrs. Everly’s smile exuded an uncomfortable level of smug as she leaned back in her seat, sipping at her lager. “I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

“God damn… I can see why you were recommended.”

“By this time tomorrow we likely will have you issues with ghosts and spooks taken care of. If not… Eh, shit happens. You know how it can go.” Has she dropped all semblance of professionalism? Yet somehow, the client seemed reassured. 

“We’ll leave you to it then. We need to pick up the two from the Shreiber’s, then we’ll be at my parents for the weekend. You know, just in case ‘shit happens.’ I’d say there’s beer in the fridge you can help yourself to but, well, at least Mrs. Everly here seems like she doesn’t need it. Good luck. We’ll pray for you.”

He rose, his wife following. I had never caught her name, or even heard her speak. Based on the glares she gave Anna and Chis, and the sniff she gave upon seeing the rings on Mrs. Everly’s and… Mrs. Everly’s fingers, I feel we dodged a bullet there. Speaking of bullets…

As Mr. Patrick left, the boss reached across the table for her handgun. She dropped the round still in her and into the chamber and released the slide, Then she took a second magazine from her purse, much longer than the previous one. She inserted it, and placed the gun back under her blazer. The extended magazine completely threw off the fit. 

Not concerning in the slightest.