With a cough of static, Julie’s voice issued from the speaker on the table, “Entering east wing.”
“Copy,” Charles replied, toggling the call button at the base of his microphone. “James?”
“Almost to the west wing,” came a crackled reply.
Charles scanned over the patchwork equipment spread on the table. A square grid on a monitor where a green line slowly circled, multiple antenna from different vintages, and his favorite, an old telegraph machine. The room was dimly lit by a dozen or so candles. Looking over to a nearby chair, he said, “Don’t worry Ms. Willoughby, if there are any ghosts, we’ll find them.”
The electronic chirp made Charles jump. On the monitor there was a green blip, blinking at the right side of the screen. He was surprised because all the equipment was nothing more than props.
BEEP …… BEEP … BEEP
More blips appeared all about the screen.
“James? Julie? Are you seeing anything?”
A rip of static followed by what sounded like howling wolves burst from the speaker.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The screen was now filled with blips. The room brightened as blueish mists rose from the floor. From the mist skeletal forms emerged, tattered rags hanging from ragged bones.
Charles leapt from his chair, and looked towards Ms. Willoughby. She was sitting on her chair, a wry smile on her face.
“For ghost hunters, you seem awfully surprised to be seeing ghosts,” she said.
Charles screamed as the skeletal figures converged on him.