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Beside her, Sully cleared his throat, pushing off from the wall and pulling himself to full height like he did when she disagreed with him.
“You’re the reason we’re all here. Isn’t that right?” Sully said directly to Mason. His hand hovered at Amy’s elbow, professional but unmistakably proprietary.
Amy laughed awkwardly and ducked away from both men. “Let’s just get started, shall we?”
By nine o’clock, the house had slipped fully into night. Electric lanterns in the foyer cast strange pockets of shadow that left the long halls beyond eerily dim. The crew moved with practiced speed, Blair the sound tech whispered into her boom mic while two cameramen adjusted focus at the landing.
“Baseline EMF readings,” Mason intoned for the rolling camera, brandishing a small device that flickered bright green. “Before we disturb the spirits, let us see how still this house is in its silence.” He stalked across the foyer and paused as the light jumped briefly into the red. “Ah… here we are. They’re ready to get rolling.”
One tech shivered exaggeratedly. “Cold spot registering too.”
Amy’s own arms prickled. She told herself it was the draft from the east windows they’d left open to air the paint fumes, but she shivered nonetheless.
Sully muttered something under his breath from just behind her shoulder. His bulk was comforting, and she had to resist leaning back into his steadiness, which surprised her. She must be more tired than she thought and was certain Sully was exhausted as well.
Mason lifted his chin toward the camera, voice dropping half an octave. “Night is upon Widow’s Point, and the restless come awake.”
Mason launched into a narrative of the backstory of Widow’s Point Island. Amy had studied some of their episodes and knew they had a way to drag out the drama, giving pieces of story as their “investigation” played out. It would draw the viewers back into future episodes. And any revelations or ghostly activity was always interrupted by a commercial break so the editors could capitalize on the support of their sponsors. It was good television, but it felt more like playacting.
The filming was much less exciting. There were hours of downtime while they waited for their equipment to react to the environment. Amy realized they must have tons of editing to do after filming to bring together the narrative, interviews, and the actual ghost hunting footage of creeping room to room.
A cameraman backed up quickly to snag a panning shot of Mason speaking and collided with Amy’s shoulder. She stumbled back, only to find Sully’s hand at her arm, anchoring her with rough sureness.
“Watch it,” Sully growled at the cameraman, eyes flashing.
“Sorry!” the young man squeaked and scurried off.
Amy twisted slightly in Sully’s grip until their eyes met. He dropped her arm but didn’t step back.
“You don’t have to hover,” she whispered, embarrassed by the warmth climbing her neck.
“Amy, you’re tottering. You must be dead on your feet after painting all day.”
“Tottering?” Amy giggled. “I haven’t heard that expression before. Makes it sound like I’m a little old lady. And yeah, I’m tired. No more than you, with the hours you’ve been putting in.”
Sully snorted. The sound only made Amy giggle louder, the kind of delirious laughter that came from being exhausted. Mason caught her eye and gave her a scolding frown.
“Now you’re in trouble,” Sully whispered in her ear as she stifled the giggles that threatened to bubble over.
Around midnight, Mason gathered them back under the chandelier in the foyer for what he called “controlled silence.” They stood with only the faint hum of the cameras, the creak of the old timbers, and the sound of the sea in the distance.
Mason held the digital recorder out like a chalice. “If there are any spirits present… speak now.”
Static hissed in the silence.
Nothing.
“We know you’re here. Is there anything you want to tell us?”
Static.
Then, soft as a moth’s wing…
A voice.
High, feminine, blurred by the distortion of static but utterly distinct. Not a word, not exactly. A sound between a hmm and a sigh threaded through the static. Long. Haunting.
Every head lifted at once. Even the techs.
