12 – Visions Through the Veil are Often Disturbing

The middle row of the minivan’s seats had been removed, resulting in Erika sitting all the way in the rear. In place of the middle seat, a few racks were bolted to the floor, able to slide around for easy access from the outside when the side doors were open.

Upon the racks sat an assortment of equipment. Some were electronic items: EMF readers, motion sensors, microphones with big dishes around them, video cameras of both digital and VHS varieties, flashlights, ultraviolet lights, Geiger counters, medical thermometers, and a number of other things whose purpose Erika was less certain of. Additionally, there were also incense and lighters, crucifixes, candles, boxes of salt, paper talismans with kanji scrawled over them, a little music box, and even an Ouija board.

There was more behind Erika’s seat, accessible when opening the back of the van, but she wasn’t feeling up to craning over the seat to see. She was too busy gripping the handle over the window as if it would save her from the madness that was Rick’s driving.

“You get pulled over often?” Erika snapped as they blew through their second red light of the evening.

Leslie didn’t seem bothered. He sat in the passenger seat, casually snacking on a small bag of deshelled pistachios.

“That light turned red after I entered the intersection.”

“Right. Sure. Just like the last one,” Erika grumbled.

“Look, I warned you—”

“I thought you were talking about ghosts!” Ghosts didn’t frighten her. But this driving? Erika understood that he was worried about his friends, but it wouldn’t help anybody if they plowed into the side of a building at fifty over the speed limit. She deeply regretted the decision not to drive herself.

It came as immense relief when Rick’s phone announced that they were nearing their destination. He slowed, turned a corner, and pulled up to a stop right behind the motorcycle from the arcade. “The Big Buck’s Tap,” he said, leaning forward to read the building’s faded signboard through the window. “They stop for a drink?”

“On a night when we’re working? No,” Leslie added. “Lights are out anyway.”

“And that,” Erika said, pointing to a bright orange notice posted to the side of the building. “City of Chicago Dilapidated Building Demolition Program – Condemned – DO NOT ENTER,” she read aloud.

“Great,” Rick said, grumbling as he undid his seatbelt. “This is almost on the way to Sofia’s place. They must have noticed something and decided to investigate.”

“Without checking in?” Leslie asked, folding over the bag of pistachios. “What do you all carry those phones around for anyway if you’re not going to use them?”

Rick continued grumbling something indistinct under his breath as he twisted and pulled a pair of heavy-duty flashlights from the racks. He passed one to Leslie and the other to Erika before taking a third off the rack for himself, along with a few of the other ghost-hunting items. His belt had little custom hooks to hang them from.

“Right,” Rick said once fully equipped. “Primary goal: Find Sofia and Anna. Secondary goal: Figure out why they came here in the first place. Erika…” He trailed off, frowning in her direction.

“Don’t worry about me. I escaped from a Cyberman and Merlin. I’m sure a ghost is no big deal.”

Rick didn’t look any more at ease than he had before. If anything, he looked more worried. “Anna, at least, would have known how to get away from a ghost. Might be facing something else. Or they might have fallen through a collapsed floor in this condemned building. We don’t know.”

“Point,” Erika said, willing to concede the issue. “Not planning on running off on my own, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It is among the many things I’m worried about.”

“I’ll keep watch on her,” Leslie said, pulling a silver pistol out from his camo jacket. He pushed a small lever on the side, dropping the magazine into his waiting hand. He pulled the slide back, nodded to himself, and then took a glance at the rounds in the magazine. Finding nothing amiss, he slotted it back into the gun and then opened the car door. “All that rush down here and we’re wasting it by yapping.”

Rick sent one last frown in Erika’s direction, probably regretting throwing some random girl he had just met less than a day ago into danger, before he grabbed his cardboard tube, slung it over his back, and got out of the vehicle. Erika quickly followed, hopping out of the van after grabbing one of the EMF readers. They seemed like the easiest of the tools to use.

Before even approaching the pub, the three took a quick walk around the building, examining it for any oddities. To Erika’s untrained eye, it looked like any other abandoned building she had seen around Chicago. Old brickwork, two stories, a narrow gap between it and the next building—also vacant, though with a FOR LEASE sign instead of a condemned notice—and a moderately sized lot in the back with a few tables and chairs that had been left to rot in the weather. A small, waist-high wooden fence separated it from the sidewalk.

“Looks like our best way in,” Leslie said, eying the rear door into the pub. “Unless you want to pick the front door in full view of the street.”

“You pick locks?” Erika said, glancing at Rick.

“Well… I’ve practiced a little. Anna is better than I. Sofia too, actually. And Leslie’s eldest…”

“Beth’s been learning,” Leslie said as he reached over the small gate in the waist-high fence, opening it up for them. “She’d probably give you a runaround with how many hours she’s put into it.”

“Leslie’s youngest as well, then,” Rick said with a sigh as he pulled a small cloth roll from one of his cargo pants pockets. Undoing the thin leather drawstring, he revealed a fine set of picks and tension rods. “All of us have our skills. Some of us just don’t have time to put into lockpicking of all things,” he grumbled.

“Mind if I take a crack at it?” Erika said. If she let an amateur try, they could be standing about all evening. If this all turned out to be nothing, she still wanted to at least drive past the old church and see if anyone or anything was around. She pulled her bobby pin from her pocket, earning herself a loud snort from Rick.

“Hairpin lockpicks are a thing of movies and video games,” he said, aiming his flashlight at the bar’s rear door before selecting a few tools to use on it. He did test the handle first, making sure they weren’t about to make fools of themselves by picking an unlocked door.

Apparently expecting this to take a while, Leslie took a seat on one of the chairs around the yard, leaning back.

Disappointed, Erika pocketed her bobby pin and elected to use the time a little more productively. She turned on the EMF reader and started waving it about. It was a little black remote control-looking thing with five little lights at the top. The leftmost green light was always on, but the others would light up more depending on where she waved it. Her phone, for instance, made it jump up to the third light, even flickering number four on and off a bit. The light post at the corner of the lot brightened the second light, though only somewhat.

The back of the pub had a small window beneath a faded Budweiser sign that probably came from the mid-eighties. Just a small thing, likely for employees to check on the patrons in the back. Erika peered inside, but it was too dark to see much of the interior. However, pressing the EMF reader right up against the glass lit up four lights, leaving only the final red light unlit.

“Do windows normally give off electromagnetic fields?” Erika asked, drawing Rick’s attention.

Her voice startled him, making the tension rod flip out of his fingers. “Dammit,” he hissed, groaning. It took a moment for him to sweep his flashlight over the ground, but eventually he found it, pocketed it, and stalked over to Erika. “The thing about EMF is that it is basically everywhere in a city,” he said, taking the reader from Erika. “Any wire with electricity running through it will give a reading.”

He pressed it to the glass, sliding it around to all four corners and along the sides. It lit up in some parts and didn’t in others.

“Could just be a live wire in the wall,” he said, frowning as the lights stayed on even in the dead center of the window. “Or the glass is somehow amplifying a signal from a wire further away. It takes a bit of experience to discern when and where legitimate human-built infrastructure is causing a reading versus something a bit more… Erika?”

Erika, having slipped away while he was distracted with the window, lightly pushed on the door, flashing her bobby pin in the process before slipping it into her pocket. “Well? Shall we head in and see?”

Leslie, chuckling behind his beard, stood and crossed over to Rick. He clapped a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, holding it for a moment, before he walked up to Erika and the open rear door.

“But… a bobby pin?” Rick mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I must have jiggered them into almost the right spots, you raking it just finished it off.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Erika said, watching as Leslie took a wary step into the pub.

Rick shot her a look as he approached, frowning slightly. He handed back the EMF reader, but didn’t let go when she tried to take it. “Know your escape routes. Know your hiding places. If you hear footsteps, get out or hide and turn off anything that makes noise. Ethereal entities can only manifest for a few seconds at a time. So that’s all it takes to stay safe.”

“Right,” Erika said. This was the third time he had explained this. The other two times were during the car ride over. “And bullets help against ghosts?” she couldn’t help but ask, watching as Leslie scanned the corners of the building beyond the door with his gun pointed down at the floor, but ready to raise it.

It was Leslie who answered her. “Not so much,” he said, slowly sweeping his gaze across the pub. “Never know when something else might be afoot. Or when someone’s squatting.”

“You’d just shoot a squatter,” Erika said in a flat tone.

“’Course not. Most are pretty friendly once they realize you aren’t cops or after their stuff. But until they know that, there are plenty who would risk their lives over a perceived threat.”

The implication being that a gun tended to make people back down. Erika didn’t know that she agreed. It seemed like, if the opposing party also possessed a gun, it would only escalate a situation. Walking in with hands open and empty seemed like a better choice. Even the gun in her pocket was for those something elses that Leslie had mentioned, not for people.

Then again, he had mentioned that first, so the same was probably—hopefully—true for him as well.

“Seems this place is clear,” Leslie said, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “No sign of anyone living out of this place.”

“What about Anna and Sofia?”

“Some dust is disturbed on the floor. Just not enough for anyone to live here.”

Stepping in behind Leslie, Erika took her own look around with her flashlight. It looked like any old bar she had visited. A number of tables and chairs were scattered around the main floor. One long counter ran up against one wall with an assortment of fountains, sinks, and old bottles still half full. If anything was evidence of a lack of squatters, it was that. No one would leave perfectly good alcohol sitting around, especially not if it was top-shelf stuff. It was a surprise that the owners or workers hadn’t made off with it when this place shut down.

Beyond the actual bar—which Leslie was slowly advancing into, checking beneath the tables and behind the counter for any surprises—there was a set of stairs up to the second floor just next to the back door, a pair of gendered bathrooms, and a small kitchen behind the bar, separated by a flap door.

Erika moved further in, waving around the EMF reader, holding it close to the wooden tables and chairs. If they gave off a reading, something strange was definitely afoot. There was certainly no electricity in them. One or two things beeped, including an ashtray, an empty glass, and one whole stool, all of which were at the counter in fairly close proximity. The chair especially lit up the fifth light of the EMF reader, making a loud buzzing noise that drew Rick’s attention.

He started setting up more of his equipment while Leslie peeked into the bathrooms and then headed upstairs to continue securing the building.

“Where do you suppose they went?” Erika asked as she slipped behind the counter, moving the EMF reader over the various bottles on the shelves, half as an excuse to look for anything good. While alcohol didn’t really turn toxic, it certainly went bad after being opened for potentially years. But a sealed bottle might be nice to swipe. “I mean, even if a ghost is here, they should still be here, right? The motorcycle was outside…”

“Could have gone to one of the other buildings nearby, could have run to an open store nearby, could have fled in panic. Leslie says he once came across a ghost that would cause anyone who got near to dash away in a mad panic until they were about a hundred feet away, at which point they stopped and regained their senses. We—”

A loud buzzing from Erika’s EMF reader cut him off. All five lights were lit once again, this time while she held it over a tall bottle of whiskey. It was on the top shelf, but Erika didn’t know if it was actual top shelf whiskey. She didn’t recognize the brand. She reached up to pull it down.

“Wai—”

The panic in Rick’s voice cut off abruptly as Erika’s fingers touched the smooth glass bottle.

A sudden chill ran through Erika’s fingers, spreading up her arm and causing her to shiver involuntarily. The bottle felt unnaturally cold, as if it had been sitting in a freezer rather than on a dusty shelf.

“Erika!” Rick’s voice was sharp, filled with urgency, but somehow distant. “Put it down!”

Before she could react, the room seemed to shift around her. The bar, lit only by a few flashlights, flickered. For a brief moment, Erika saw the room as it might have been in its heyday—filled with people, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. But it wasn’t right. The glasses were filled with thick, fetid, chunky sludge. The laughter ranged from maniacal to terrified. And the people…

Decayed flesh clung to their bones. Vacant eye sockets stared at nothing. Elongated, grime-covered fingernails grasped at the glasses and bottles. Their jaws flapped and swung as if propelled by random winds.

The air was thick with a musty, oppressive odor, mingling with the faint scent of whiskey and decay. Erika started to gag, each breath coming more difficult than the last.

The vision ripped away as Rick, wearing a pair of oven mittens, yanked the bottle from Erika’s hands. He carefully set it on the counter and backed away, eying Erika with unbridled suspicion as she gasped for breaths of fresh air. Her lungs felt sticky and syrupy.

Erika felt the bile rising. Scrambling, she leaned over the pub counter’s sink and unleashed a torrent of the same black tar that filled the glasses in her vision. The tar filled her airway for longer than was comfortable, but eventually passed, leaving her to draw in a desperate lungful of air.

“Don’t touch anything that gives a strong reading,” Rick said as she slowly calmed down from the panic and… the whatever that had been.

She didn’t answer. Wanting to wash out the taste of death from her mouth, she pulled at the faucet handles. No water came forth. Because of course the city would have shut off the water to an abandoned pub.

Taking up her EMF reader again, Erika turned to the shelves, found a sealed bottle of bourbon, and waved the reader over it. When she didn’t get a response, she pulled the bottle down, popped its cap, and filled her mouth. She swished it back and forth, unable to taste much of anything, and spat it right back into the sink.

“Wait… oh.” Rick sighed, frowning as he stared down at the sink. “I bet Anna would have wanted a sample of that.”

Erika gave Rick her flattest look before taking another mouthful of the bourbon. She gargled it this time. It burned in her raw throat—quite a bit, actually—but was still better than leaving that sticky sensation hanging in the back of her mouth. She spat it out as well before taking one more long swig, actually drinking some this time.

That had her coughing for a moment, but it was a good kind of cough, not a sticky, tar-like cough. That, in and of itself, was refreshing enough. “If Anna is so interested in vomit, she can grab hold of that bottle and throw up herself.”

“Don’t think it will work again,” Rick said, frowning at his own EMF reader. He held it up next to the whiskey bottle Erika originally grabbed and got nothing. He tried a few other devices, including a Geiger counter and a digital thermometer. Nothing abnormal came up.

Slowly, he reached out and tapped the bottle with just the tip of his finger. He pulled back instantly as if shocked, but that was pure anticipation. He tapped it again, resting his finger on it for a moment before fully closing his hand around the neck of the bottle.

“Nothing,” he said, looking disappointed. “Good news is that I think I know what we’re dealing with. A seance spirit.”

Erika moved over toward the bottle, glaring at it as she said to Rick, “I think I saw that in your wiki, but didn’t get a chance to look over it.”

“A type of spirit summoned during a seance. Normally pretty benign, all things considered. The problem comes in when people forget—or don’t know how—to send them back.” He waved a hand at the top-shelf whiskey. “That’s when you start getting things like this.”

Erika stared at the bottle, feeling a sick sensation in her stomach completely unrelated to the black tar. Or, at least, partially unrelated. Erika was well aware that she wasn’t normal. She wasn’t sure why she could do the things she could do. Slowly, she reached her hand out, compelled to find out if this was something unique to her.

Closing her eyes, Erika planted her palm against the bottle, moving slowly not to knock it over.

“It’s warm,” she said, opening her eyes. Everything looked normal. No lively, death-filled pub. Just Rick, watching her movements with some concern. She tested picking it up to no avail. It was just a regular bottle of whiskey. “Room temperature. This thing was freezing just a minute ago. It couldn’t have warmed up this fast.”

“Can’t always rely on rational thinking when ghosts are involved,” Rick said with all the wisdom of a sage.

“So it’s just a normal bottle now?”

“Appears that way.”

“I’m keeping it,” she said, slipping it into the large pocket of her coat. It clanked against the magazines, but Rick didn’t comment on the noise. “No sense letting it go to waste,” she lied.

Erika, while she occasionally got into her mother’s stores of wine, wasn’t that big of a fan of drinking. Instead of drinking it, she wanted to show the bottle to Carter. He could do things that she couldn’t. Things with time. Perhaps he could see what she saw—though she would be close by to help him out if so—or perhaps he would be able to revert the bottle into being something unusual again. Perhaps it would be a clue toward figuring out what was going on with Leah and everything else.

Or perhaps it would be nothing at all. At this point, denied a chance to head to the old church again, she was willing to take whatever she could get.

He shot a disapproving frown at both her pocket and the bottle of bourbon she still held in her other hand. “I wouldn’t drink much more if I were you.”

“I thought you said it was normal.”

“Yes, but you don’t want to be drunk around things like this, now do you?”

Erika opened her mouth, hesitated, then slowly nodded her head. “Point,” she conceded. “Are we—”

“Found the girls,” Leslie said, boots thumping against the stairs as he descended. “They’re upstairs, safe and sound. Trying to figure out how to reverse a seance.”

“Ah. They figured it out already,” Rick said, grabbing some of his gear again. “Good. I’ll want a full report on what you just experienced, Erika, but that will wait until the threat has been dealt with.”

Erika nodded, surprised he didn’t want her account while it was still fresh in her mind. A slight shudder wracked her body as she thought back to that brief scene she witnessed. Maybe it would have been better if they had waited.

Taking a small drink before finding the bourbon bottle’s cap, a cork stopper with a wooden top, and pressed it back into place. The only pocket large enough for the bottle was the one with the gun, so she simply held onto it as she followed Leslie and Rick up the stairs, interested to see exactly how these ghost hunters would deal with this wayward spirit.