Darkhouse (Experiment in Terror #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

I woke up on Friday morning a few minutes before my alarm went off. I tried to remember if I had any dreams during the night and I was coming up blank. Then I remembered the phone call...Dex...the webcast...Google. Everything. Could that have been a dream?

I quickly looked onto my bedside table and saw the piece of paper with his name and number scrawled on it. It was definitely no dream then. Dex was real; the proposition was real. And I knew in the deepest recesses of my being I had to be a part of it, no matter what.

Grabbing my phone, I quickly dialed his number, ignoring the fact that it was early in the morning and he might be sleeping. I was afraid that the longer I waited, the more likely he would be to change his mind.

With each unanswered ring my nerves tightened sharply. All these doubts started to flood my brain: What if he doesn’t remember? What if he had changed his mind? What if his boss, Jimmy Kwan, changed his mind? What if I’m waking him up and it’ll piss him off so much that he’ll cancel?

That last thought scared me most of all. I was entertaining the idea of hanging up when he answered.

“Hello?” Though it sounded groggy, there was no mistaking that voice. My heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, hi, Dex. This is Perry calling,” I said as brightly as possible. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Who?”

My insides swirled. “Perry. Palomino. We spoke yesterday about my blog. The potential webcast. I met you in the lighthouse…”

“I’m sorry, I was absolutely wasted yesterday. I don’t remember talking to anyone about anything. What did you say your name was again?”

I could not breathe. “Um, Perry.”

I was pretty sure he could hear the sadness in my voice.

“Perry,” he repeated. I could almost hear him running my name through his head. “That’s an unusual name. I guess you would know that. Most people think of Matthew Perry, I bet. Or Perry Mason.”

“Yeah…” I trailed off.

“But there’s always Peri Gilpin. You know, Roz from Frasier. She was a real firecracker, that Roz. I would have married that woman, you know, if she was real and didn’t have that horrible ‘90s hair.”

My head started to reel.

“It’s Swedish,” I managed to say.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “That would explain your mother’s accent.”

“You remember talking to my mother?”

“Of course I do. Do you think I’m a tard?”

Yes, I thought. Big time.

“Oh,” he continued, “you must not get that I’m pulling your leg. You know, about being wasted last night. And the whole not remembering thing.”

What the hell was this guy on and so early at that?

“Oh kiddo, you really shouldn’t be so gullible.”

“I’m not gullible,” I said defensively. “I’m just not used to dealing with crazy people.”

Silence. Then a small, awkward laugh from his end. “Well, I am sorry if I misled you, Miss Palomino. I have, in fact, been waiting for your call.”

“I thought I woke you up.”

“I’ve been awake for hours. Already showered, cut my toenails, had pancakes and ten cups of coffee. Now what say you, Miss Palomino?”

I pushed the mental image of toenail cutting out of my head.

“Yes. Yes, I would love to do this,” I said, hoping I projected absolute certainty in my voice.

“Fantastic,” he said in a terrible French accent. “Now, what I need from you is to make sure we can have access to the lighthouse for tomorrow night. Might as well ask if you can stay over as well.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’d be able stay there too, if I am.” Uncle Albert would probably welcome the company.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m set to stay at the motel. Either way, just pack light-colored clothing. Black doesn’t show up so well on film. Perhaps bring some makeup, too, in case I need to doll myself up. I’ll be bringing the equipment in the car and yeah...what’s your address?”

I told him.

“See you tomorrow at ten a.m., sharp. Be sure to have your game face on.”

“Oh, I will,” I said. Nervous prickles (the good kind) shimmered along my spine. The excitement was almost too much.

We hung up. My alarm started blaring. I turned it off inattentively.

You know those times in your life when you feel like you’re in a movie? I have those moments often, usually due to the music I am listening to. Maybe I’m walking down the street in the rain, wind whipping my hair around my head, people passing me by in a quick, faceless blur and I’m listening to something moody (like Massive Attack) and just like that, it feels like I’m being observed by an outside source. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience and watching myself go about my life. Only it’s my life turned infinitely more interesting, like every step I take, every puddle I splash or pair of eyes I meet has more meaning than normal.

Well, I was having that feeling again. There was no music, but I could see myself sitting up in my bed, my black hair in messy strands across my face, staring down at my phone and I, and everyone else in the world, knew that something heavy had just been handed to me. Like I was given a superhero power to save the world.

That, of course, was ridiculous, as the only power I could ever have would be an overactive imagination. But the feeling still remained.

I slowly got out of my bed, enveloped in future mystery and drama, and let myself indulge in the moment.

When the indulgence hit an all-time high, I went to my computer and quickly put in a new blog post. I knew that Ada would have a hissy fit over my impromptu post, but I didn’t care. I wanted to tell the world that the blog posts weren’t for nothing. Something big was going to happen. I didn’t flat out say what it was, lest I jinx it or get Dex in trouble, but I definitely alluded to the fact that I would be revisiting the lighthouse again with a proper ghost-hunting team. I didn’t mention that the team was just Dex and me, but I did say it would possibly be aired on a prominent website.

Then I brushed it aside, got dressed and went to work.

***

I could only see blackness at first. My eyes fluttered upwards; my lashes were wet and thick as they tried to focus. Slowly, light appeared in patches, a damp glow that moved and swirled in all four corners of my sight.

My other senses kicked in lazily. I was wet and cold, and could barely feel my limbs, floating, bobbing up and down with rolling swells of water. A light shone in the distant black and grew bigger with each wave. I felt as if I was gradually being sucked toward a tunnel of brightness.

Was this death? I thought. My thoughts themselves were distant, as if someone else were thinking them for me, someone I had no attachment to or concern for. If it was death, it didn’t seem to matter. Any gravity associated with that concept was lost.

The light continued to get bigger until I found feeling in my body. Pressure was pushing from underneath. My skin was raked. I was lying down on a hard, wet surface. A beach. The waves lapped behind me. I looked down at glistening rocks mere inches from my face. A tiny white crab, luminous against the void, scuttled on top of my arms and headed up a slope. My eyes followed it up and I recognized the source of the light. It was not death or the afterlife. It was coming from the top of the lighthouse.

This lighthouse seemed familiar to me. I felt like I had been there before, as if it had some kind of purpose in my life. But I couldn’t recall how that was possible. I had come from the ocean, from distant lands. This place could not have existed in my life.

I got up slowly. My legs shook with each wave that hit and my feet slipped on top of the smooth, wet rocks. Someone appeared in front of me and blocked the light, causing it to splay outwards into the night. I realized someone had been standing there the whole time, but I just hadn’t allowed myself to see them. The person raised an arm and pointed in my direction. I knew somehow this person wasn’t pointing at me. I turned around and looked back at the ocean.

There was nothing there but inky blackness. Then a weak beam of moving light. There was another lighthouse, perched on a tall rocky mound just offshore. It illuminated the dark waters below, where familiar shapes danced. I strained my eyes. They looked like human bodies floating up and down with the waves. There were at least a dozen of them.

Then the lighthouse shut off. The darkness was sharp, ominous, suffocating.

When it came back on, I was back in the water, the dark shapes floating around me. Something bumped my back.

I quickly splashed around to find myself face to face with a bloated, puny visage. His eyes were missing, his skin was leaking dark liquid from each pore, and slimy kelp oozed from his haphazard jaw. He sank underneath the water and I felt a bony hand clutch both my legs. I screamed just in time to be pulled underwater, the ocean seeping into my open mouth and filling up my lungs. The light on the surface rippled as I was pulled further and further into the depths until darkness filled my eyes once more.

***

It was Saturday morning, nine fifty a.m. I sat outside on our front steps with a huge, scalding hot travel mug of coffee in my hand. Though I didn’t turn around, I knew my mother and father were standing at the kitchen window watching me, watching for Dex, and making sure that their eldest daughter wasn’t going to be picked up by a murderous filmmaker.

To be honest, I wasn’t feeling as 100% positive about this whole thing like I had been the day before. I guess my horrific dream put a damper on things.

The creepiest thing was that I woke up in the middle of the night absolutely drenched in sweat. I was so wet that I couldn’t be sure that I hadn’t just been drowned in the ocean. It was just as sticky and salty, and just as out of place.

And of course, I was naturally as nervous as ever. It didn’t help having breakfast with my parents and hearing their opinions on the matter. My dad was overprotective of me, as most dads should be. My mother was more concerned that I would be made a fool of. Both of their worries were not out of place. I was thinking the same things myself. But I think deep down inside, they knew I was levelheaded and could defend myself if I needed to. Either way, I knew I could defend myself and that’s all that mattered.

Uncle Albert also wasn’t as accepting of our plans as I had thought he would be. He said several ghost hunters had harassed him over the last few days, all wanting access to his lighthouse. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I hadn’t explicitly said the whereabouts of his lighthouse in my blog entries, but I guess there are only a few privately owned lighthouses on the Oregon Coast. Luckily he gave in, but only if I could someday give him royalties. Of course I couldn’t promise him anything, but I figured one day, if this project was a success, you never knew what could happen (I was leading him on a bit).

Suspiciously, Ada was absent through all of this. I didn’t want to wake her up before I left but I had thought for sure she would have pried herself out of bed to watch the start of it all. You know, just to make sure I wasn’t actually heading off to the Pacific with Beelzebub himself.

I checked the time on my phone. Five minutes to ten. I pulled my leather jacket in closer around me. The weather had stayed cold and dreary for the entire week; our Indian summer was now just a memory.

That said, today was not particularly bad. The wind that had rocked the city recently had become subdued overnight. There was weak sunlight coming from the east that couldn’t quite penetrate the thick mist that sat stoically on the streets and covered the treetops. I loved fog and we had a lot of it at my house, being so close to the Columbia River and all. But it wasn’t helping to lift my spirits.

And its dampness was seeping into my bones despite my attire of leather moto jacket, flared black jeans, grey cowl neck sweater and black Chucks. Yes, I know he specifically said not to wear black, but he obviously didn’t know how anti-white my wardrobe is. This isn’t even a matter of being goth (which I so am not); it’s for practical reasons. White with me won’t last longer than a day—no, an hour—without getting some sort of stain on it. That said, I had brought a light tee and a hip-length yellow pea coat just in case I was ordered to change.

I let out a deep breath and slowly took another one in through my nose, one of my “relaxing” techniques. I have to admit, if you’re having a total freak-out it doesn’t do squat, but the placebo effect was always worth pursuing.

I looked behind me at my parents. They both waved carefully. My mom made the “phone” symbol with her hand. She had told me earlier she would be texting me every hour until we got to Al’s to make sure I was all right and if I didn’t respond to her texts, she would be calling. I felt like I was about to go on a very bad date.

The sound of an engine interrupted my thoughts. A black Toyota Highlander rolled out of the fog and came to a slow halt in front of the house. It had to be him. >

“Really? You know, Adele, Steve, Ashley—actually a whole bunch of us are living downtown now right here in Portland. I would have thought you talked to at least some of the old group.”

I shook my head, wanting the conversation to be over. If she was friends with them, wouldn’t she know that? Oh, but of course, she was proving a point. The truth was I had lost touch with a lot of people after college. It wasn’t on purpose. I just gradually became more of a loner at the end of the final year. The people Debbie mentioned were all fine to party with at the beginning, but I got that awkward feeling whenever I was around them, like they were letting me hang out with them out of pity or something. After a while, it was just easier to hole up in my dorm room by myself and spend my nights listening to tunes and making weird clay sculptures. As you do.

I must have been mulling that over for longer than I thought because Debbie looked over at Dex. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Debbie. I went to college with Perry in Eugene.”

She extended her slender hand, which Dex shook politely.

“Dex,” he said.

When he took his hand back he looked down and grimaced.

“Sorry, I think I got coffee all over your hand.”

She glanced at it and quickly wiped her hand on her jeans, trying not to look disgusted and failing at it.

“So, how long have you two been together?” she asked.

Before either Dex or I could correct her—not that I really wanted to, as I felt that having someone as handsome as Dex by my side was at least doing me some favors, even if he had bad handshaking habits—someone else caught Debbie’s attention.

A tall, meaty-looking fellow came out of the gas station with a case of beer under his wide bicep and stopped beside her with an expectant look on his face. He looked familiar but it took me a few seconds to place him. I thought maybe it was someone I went to college with, as he was apparently there with Debbie, but the moment our eyes locked, I knew who it was.

Patrick Morrison. I went to high school with him. We weren’t friends, but we had mutual friends. He wasn’t the most popular guy in school, but he had wavy dark hair, brilliant hazel eyes and the same taste in music as me. In high school, music was the divider of friends, the sorter of groups, and the way we defined each other. The fact that this cute guy went to the same concerts as I did was like a Godsend, and I was absolutely smitten with him. He was usually nice enough to me, but like all guys back then, he wouldn’t have given me the time of day if he didn’t have to. I remember when he finally signed my senior yearbook; it was the happiest damn day of my life. Pretty pathetic when you think about it.

And yet here he was, five years later, standing beside Debbie Birmingham at a gas station outside of Portland.

“Holy shit!” he said pointing at me. “I know you!”

I quickly looked at Dex. His brows were raised at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. I could tell he was enjoying this little reunion.

“Yeah, hey,” I said shyly at Patrick.

He looked at Debbie. “How do you guys know each other?”

She gestured at me with less enthusiasm than before. “Oh, Perry and I went to college together. I should have realized you went to the same high school.”

He nodded, still smiling at me. For a minute there I felt kind of lost in his eyes, eyes that held that same sparkle as they did back in the day. Sometimes I think all the dramatics of high school were exaggerated, all the crushes completely unjustified. But seeing him again, I knew this one wasn’t quite buried yet.

I even started to think that perhaps his smile was a lot more generous than any I had gotten before. The thought that he was actually happy to see me crossed my mind, as well as the pride in the fact that he recognized me.

But that all ended when he opened his mouth again.

“You used to be so fat!” he said, and broke out into laughter.

I stiffened at the comment and felt the blood rushing back to my apple cheeks. There went that. In an instant my self-esteem nosedived (and it was never even high to begin with).

I tried to laugh it off. “Well, I lost a bit of weight since then.”

Patrick kept laughing. “I mean, you look better now, but wow. Good job, Perry. No longer that little chubby girl who used to stare at me all day.”

Oh my God, kill me now. Seriously, who says that to someone?

I watched him laugh and was even more appalled when Debbie joined in too. Not that she knew me back then, but I could see how she’d find that funny. That bitch always hated me.

“You learn something new every day!” Debbie smirked. “But seriously, you look great, Perry.”

Patrick wiped the smile off of his face and gave Dex a quick glance. “So, where are you headed?”

“The coast,” I said quickly before Dex actually filled them in. Not that he was saying much but if he did start to explain what we were really doing, I would have looked even more stupid.

“Us too.” Debbie smiled mischievously. “One-year anniversary celebration at Cannon Beach. Are you guys on a little romantic rendezvous?”

I opened my mouth to say something (what, I wasn’t sure, but it probably wasn’t the truth) but Dex beat me to it.

“Nothing says romance like storm watching,” he winked at them. OK, I was not expecting him to say that. I was suddenly warm with gratefulness. It was a simple thing—he didn’t lie; he just didn’t correct them—but it made me feel like at least one good fa?ade was still intact.

Debbie gave us an approving look. “Oh, very true. Well, good to see you, Perry. Don’t be a stranger.”

Patrick said roughly the same thing and they both waved at us in unison.

As soon as we got in Dex’s SUV, I let out the biggest sigh of relief and thunked my head down on the dash.

Dex patted me lightly on the back.

“You survived,” he said with a chuckle. I looked up at him, feeling both embarrassed and relieved.

“Thank you so much for…well, not telling them the truth. About us. I mean, there is no us, but you know,” I rambled.

He shrugged and started the car. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. You’ll just owe me.”

I straightened up and fastened my seatbelt as Dex brought the car back on the highway.

“Owe you?” I asked with caution.

He thumbed at the backseat. “Those are for you.”

I turned in the seat and looked. There was a stack of books behind me that weren’t there before.

I brought them onto my lap and looked them over. They were from the Seattle Public Library.

“What are these?” I said.

“Books, Perry, books! The backbone of civilization. And our homework.”

I eyed them curiously. Famous Oregon Shipwrecks, Mysteries of the Oregon Coast, Folklore and Myth in 20th Century Oregon, Shanghai City: The True Portland, Lighthouses of the West Coast, Charles Berlitz’s World of Strange Phenomena. It was a veritable treasure trove of local supernatural history.

“This is your homework?” I asked and started flipping through them.

He laughed. “No, it’s your homework. I’ve already read them.”

“Why do I need to read these?”

“Because,” he said sternly. I caught a slight blaze in his eye as his brows swooped down.

“Ohhh, because,” I mocked him. “That’s my favorite reason of all!”

The seriousness behind his eyes faded and he grinned. He had such a lovely smile when he was using it for good and not evil.

“You can’t just head into a situation blind. You have to know the background, the history of a place if you want to exploit it. If we head into that lighthouse and see a bunch of weird whatnots and such and such, it’s not going to make any sense unless we know the how, the why, and the when. Following?”

“Yes,” I lied.

He knew it too. He spoke slower, “If this lighthouse is truly haunted, we won’t be able to make any sense of it until we know why it’s haunted. Things don’t happen without reason. There is a story to be told at this place, and you’ll only recognize it if you’ve read it. Hence, the books. That lighthouse isn’t just a random tower of wood and concrete. It had a birth, it had a death and many comings-of-age in between.”

“Well, you already seem to know so much about it, like Old Roddy and whatever that nonsense was, so why don’t you tell me about it?”

He sighed. “I’m not the host here. You are. And you don’t seem to believe a single word I say.”

“That’s not true,” I said. Of course, he was right.

“Just read them.”

“All of them?”

He reached over and flipped open a page with a Post-It note stuck to it. “I’ve marked and highlighted everything you need to know. We have two hours before we hit your uncle’s place. Now go!”