The Headmaster

Spirit Box

The assembly hall was filled with white noise. The crackling static sound had been reverberating on the thick stone walls for over 45 minutes. It was three A.M. Nothing had come through the in the entire three hours of spirit box, the two hours of E.V.P recordings or the individual one-hour sessions of Maria, Kev and Brian the demonologist.

Becca had hit her limit, her hair induced headache throbbed with the shifting radio frequencies, making her wish that she could find some spirits of her own and not the spectral kind.

As the third set of batteries drained within the spirit-box, the gap between the station changes lengthened, allowing more of the radio chatter to interfere with the investigation. Brian used it to his advantage, now he didn't need to manufacture the words or phrases, anything remotely relevant to the fabricated parable was bellowed, increasing the hoarseness of his voice until he had to call quits to the session due to a lack of volume. He gestured dramatically for a glass of water and a chair. Breathing heavily as he mopped the sweat from his brow.

"Are you drained?" Maria crouched down so she was eye level. Her buttocks planted squarely in front of Graeme's camera before slowly dropping out of view.

Becca fought back the laughter that threatened to shake her camera. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. She caught Alan's eye and as he shook his head she realised how close she was to ruining the shot. She sobered quickly.

"I'll be fine, just need to catch my breath." Brian strained to speak.

"It's just gone three A.M., you normally leave about now anyway, let us stop now and pack up for the night." She reached for the spirit-box, flipped it upside down and turned it off. "Alan can drive you back to the B&B, we don't want you driving in this state."

As soon as the white noise stopped the room became heavy, the air felt too thick for Becca to breathe. Cold. Chills spread up her arm, stopping her from calling an end to the recording. She couldn't move. Time stopped. Something crept up her shoulder, neck, and touched her ear.

"Leave." Masculine. Forceful. Demanding.

Everything came back into focus quickly. The warmth hit like a wave, washing all traces of the goosebumps from her skin. Her cheeks burnt hot.

Alan had to grab Becca's arm to get her attention, "Are you Okay?"

"What?" She shook the remnants of her encounter from her mind, blinked twice and shrugged her way out of his grip.

He tried to reassure her with a smile, but she didn't take to it. Her preoccupation with her camera annoyed him, it took a great strength not to pull her back and get her to spill the beans. "What happened back there?"

"I'm busy Alan, I have to get this stuff onto the hard-drive and get all the battery-packs charged and ready to go for tomorrow morning." She kept her head bowed, feigning interest in the myriad of buttons, to hide the embarrassing heat that still lingered in her cheeks. He had seen her react. He saw it.

"Don't try to deny it, I saw you freeze like someone stuck an ice-cube down your shirt." It was a bad choice of words, the image it created in his mind drove him to a brief but enjoyable distraction. "Was it a cold spot? Footsteps? Voices?"

Becca's headache doubled, she longed for a chance to let down her hair and close her eyes. "Nothing happened, I'm tired and I glazed over for a second, it's nothing."

"Everything Okay?" Mike gave Alan a look that made him jump back like a kicked dog. He put himself between the two of them and waited for Alan to walk away before asking the question a second time.

"Just tired." She suddenly felt drained, her body too heavy to hold itself up. She put her arm out to steady herself and felt Mike's guiding arms pulling her gently towards the exit. The cold night air brought with it a release. She could breathe again.

"You do realise I had a sensitive microphone right above your head, right?"

"Huh?" She had momentarily forgotten what had made her feel so terrible. As the brain is inclined to do in traumatic scenarios, self-preservation. The realisation sunk like a stone in her gut. She had been touched. Threatened. "You heard him?"

"I heard a noise that sounded like a whisper."

"It was."

"What did it say?"

"Leave!"

"Are you?"

Becca thought about it for a moment. She had been in worse scenarios, unsafe buildings and suspected demonic activity. So far all there was lurking in the old school was an ominous male presence that targeted women. "No, I'm staying put. It's evidence."