The After Life: A Ghost Adventures FanFic

Chapter Three

There were no tours scheduled today. Some big, fancy, ghost hunting group is coming through. I decided that if they’re shutting down the tours for about three days, this group must be pretty damned popular.

I was relaxing in the ‘artifact room’ when a big, black, van and a taxi pulled to the front of my house. They parked, and three men stepped out of the van, while one stepped out of the taxi, which drove away after his bags were removed from the rear of the vehicle. Were these men spending the night in here? Nobody’s ever stayed a whole night. Four groups have tried, none have succeeded.

The tallest of the three men got out multiple boxes of what appeared to be equipment for something. They moved to the driveway and sat down, opening the boxes. There were massive cameras inside. They all began to set them up, and test them on random things.

The most muscular of the men appeared to be taking charge of the situation, leading me to believe he is the leader. He stood up, and stood in front of the house. Two men were holding cameras and the fourth went back to the van.

The skinniest man went to the right, while the tallest went directly in front of the leader. He pulled white pieces of paper out of his pocket and began to read them. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he briefly turned around and faced the house, and his lips were moving.

The leader put the paper back into his pocket. He gave a ‘thumbs up’ to the two cameramen. They put the cameras to their eyes and the leader began to make big gestures with his arms. He suddenly turned to face the cameraman on his right, while the one facing the house advanced on him. When he was close, the leader turned back to him and looked into that camera.

I felt a presence in the room with me. I turned and saw that the house owner was standing directly behind me, watching the men. He grinned.

“They’re here!” He yelled. I’ve never seen this man so excited in my existence.

I watched as he turned, and ran out of the room, and I heard the door slam. I turned back to the window, and saw the house owner run onto the front lawn and shake hands with all four of the men. (Number four had run out from the van when he saw the house owner appear.)

The five men chatted for a while, and then the owner gestured to the house. The group members gathered their gear and I heard the door open. I decided to listen to their conversation.

“Would you like to hear the story?” I heard the house owner ask from the kitchen. I glided into the kitchen and listened.

“Would you mind if we recorded it?” The skinniest asked. The house owner shook his head.

“I was expecting you to.” He began. He waited for the cameraman to give him the okay, then he started talking again. “Well, Jimmie Mile and Emily Jones were dating for about three years, and they were engaged. Emily was expecting a child, and Jimmie was not ready for that. This caused much tension between the two. In 1948 Jimmie came home drunk and attacked Emily, forcing her into the bathroom where he entered, and stabbed her nine times. Jimmie was found in the hallway outside the bathroom, dead also. We suspect that guilt caused his suicide. Their chalk outlines are on the floor, marking the spot they died. Shall we go look?”

“Please.” The muscular one said. The house owner motioned for the men to follow, and I did as well. The men took up the whole space of the hallway, and if I wanted to get to the other side, where I wanted to be, I had to walk through them.

No problem.

I walked straight through the group of men.

The reaction was immediate.

The muscular one and the skinny one both got chills up their arms at the same time.

“Whoa, Zak did you feel that?” The skinny one asked the muscular one, Zak.

“Look I have ‘em too!” Zak said, holding his arm directly next to the skinny one’s. They had goose bumps.

I smiled to myself.

“That’s probably Emily. She tends to greet people in her bathroom.” The house owner said. The muscular one took something out of his pocket, and turned to the camera that was recording him.

“We just got some evidence, so we’re going to try a ‘burst’session to see if we can get Emily’s voice.” He turned to face where I happened to be standing and said, “Emily, I want you to talk into this little red dot? Can you do that for me?”

I didn’t feel the need to answer.

“Emily, what year is it?” Zak asked me. I walked up to the dot and said rather loudly, “2011.”

They waited about forty seconds before asking another question. This time it came from the skinny one.

“How did you die?” He asked.

“He stabbed me.” I said. They waited again.

“Who killed you?”

“Jimmie.” I spat. Once again, they waited, this time cutting off the recording. Zak pressed a button and his voice came out of the little box.

“-Ly I want you to talk into this little red dot? Can you do that for me?”

Silence.

“Emily, what year is it?”

Nothing.

I answered that question. Why can’t I hear myself?

“How did you die?”

Silence. I answered that one too!

“Who killed you?”

“Jimmie.” Said a harsh whisper, my harsh whisper. Their eyes all grew with excitement, and they smiled.

“That’s amazing. Thanks Emily.” Zak said. I smiled at his comment. Nobody ever thanked me for ‘providing evidence’.

I’m going to like this group.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*Comment what you think?*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*