Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 15 - Something Special

.././.\\.\//.//

With night comes another trip down the dead end toward the cul-de-sac, but without a stop at the vacant lot. This time, Chad drives Zandra and Bexley in Ray's car, even if they could walk it again. At Zandra's direction, Chad kills the headlights as the car enters the dead end. The ambient glow of the streetlights and the moon are enough to show the way. Chad pulls the car over just before the street enters a curve.

"What if the pizza guy comes again?" Bexley says.

He won't. I'm nearly positive.

"No one gets pizza two nights in a row. It's just a fact," Chad says.

OK, Chad.

"Shut the car off," Zandra says.

"We might drain the battery, though," Chad says, referencing the plan they'd discussed back at grandma's house.

"If this works the way it's supposed to, it'll drain the battery anyway," Bexley says. "Spirits feed off electricity. They get their energy from energy."

That was stupid, but nonetheless helpful.

Chad shuts the engine off.

"Yes, Ray's more powerful and knowledgeable than even I realized, child. The reiki was just the tip. He embedded something special in Secret Smells of the Meat Industry," Zandra says, tripping over those last few words. "Press play, Chad."

Chad plays the bass drop from Secret Smells of the Meat Industry. There's no sound, but the car rattles, just as before. Zandra reaches to the dash from the backseat and turns the volume down. The rattling settles into a low vibration. A little quieter, and the vibration is barely perceptible.

Right there. Perfect.

"How long?" Bexley says.

"Let it play on loop as long as we can, child," Zandra says. "Ray knew what he was doing. This is a special sound. It opens a portal for the spirits to come through."

"Whoa. I guess he really knew his shit," Chad says.

I'm not going to give a drug dealer who chokes people with a chain while claiming to be a reiki master the benefit of the doubt when it comes to musicianship. My guess is he messed up the recording and made the bass drop too low.

Below that 20-hertz threshold, at or around 18.98 hertz, is the "ghost frequency." This is common knowledge for those uncommonly in the know.

The "ghost frequency" was discovered by accident—as many interesting discoveries often are—by an engineer named Vic Tandy in the 1980s. He worked in a lab reputed to be haunted. People reported feeling watched, that the hairs stood up on the back of their necks, and sightings of a strange humanoid figure. Was the lab truly haunted? Well, no.

Tandy noticed a sword blade clamped into a vice at the lab vibrated unexpectedly. He traced the source of the vibration to a fan oscillating at 19 revolutions per second—19 hertz. After turning off the fan, the sword blade stopped vibrating. Reports of strange activity ceased, too. The lab became un-haunted.

The "ghost frequency" was born. It's since been fine-tuned to 18.98 hertz.

It isn't precise, though. You don't point it at a target like a sniper. It's more like a smoke bomb. It covers everything. The entire neighborhood might go crazy.

"I feel weird," Chad says.

"Yeah, like soggy. Heavy," Bexley says.

Zandra sparks a fresh cigarette. She doesn't admit it, but she feels the same way as the other two.