Page 1 of Twisted Solstice

Chapter One

“Do you have everything you need, Simone?” My mom handed me, my sleeping bag after I placed the cooler in the back of my Jeep.

“Yeah, I should. We won’t be out there long, promise,” I said, after throwing the bundle next to the cooler. Though we wouldn’t be doing any sleeping out there, I promised my mom I would take it, just in case.

I grew up in Whittier, California. I love it here—even though I’m not home very often. Anyway, I went to school at Lydia Jackson and Longfellow for elementary school. Went to Whittier High school—home of some pretty famous people and, after graduation, went to Rio Hondo Community College. After two years at Rio Hondo, I transferred to Cal State Long Beach and pursued a degree in Paranormal Psychology with a minor in the Occult. It’s why I am going on this trip to Turnbull Canyon. And why I gave a basic resume rundown. Cheesy, I know. But, hey, I’m proud of my accomplishments. Never hurts to brag a little.

"I'm only a phone call away if you need me.” My mom sighed and gave me a disapproving look.

She hated the idea of me and my colleagues going up into the canyon for any length of time. But, it’s another reason why I have to do this. Through my research and from what I heard growing up, I pieced together a list of incidences which took place in or around Turnbull Canyon. From the plane crash in 1952 to the claims of an orphanage being out there, and a cult group. Even an insane asylum was supposedly destroyed by a fire set by the occupants, killing everyone—kind of like that movieHouse on Haunted Hill—the remake, not the original with Vincent Price. (Which is so much better) Every story about Turnbull Canyon has been more frightening than the last and most, with the exception of a few, are just legends. I know this. So, part of my mission, with this project, is to separate fact from fiction.

What actually caught my attention and thrust me into this project full on, was a story I read about on one of those conspiracy theory websites. A couple of years ago, a film crew went up into the canyon to film the destruction of a recent wildfire, and never returned. Speculation at the time was that a flare up from the fire forced them to run and leave their equipment behind, which had been found near the area they were filming. But, the area around it, hadn't been touched by the fire. In fact, the red retardant used by LA County Fire lay in a strategic path along the ridge and coincidentally over the area where they supposedly stood.

On further inspection of their footage, or purported footage, since my team hasn’t been able to authenticate it yet, there were scenes of a sacrifice then the brutal murder of everyone in the film crew. The only female of said crew, in the video, was supposedly raped and mutilated all in the name of the Satan. The site where this supposedly happened... The private property of Anton LaVey—world-renowned leader of the Church of Satan.

The property is surrounded by barbwire fencing, security cameras, and motion detecting sensors. There’s even a German Shepard guarding the place. Yet, for all the speculation about the property, no one can find a stitch of truth to the rumor. It’s all conjecture so far. And, as of a few months ago, all of the surveillance equipment had been removed. The fence has gaping holes in it, as well.

“I will. Don’t worry.” I tried to ease my mother’s fears. She grew up here and knew all the legends too, though she never told them to me—except for, ‘stay out of the canyon after dark.’

“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not what you think.”

“I wouldn’t know what to think, mother. You wouldn’t tell me. Hell, you wouldn’t even take me through the canyon during the day.” Low-blow on my part, but this had been my one chance to prove the other part of my thesis; how the manifestation of urban legends creates a culture of fear and of fascination.

“Fine. Stay home. I’ll tell you everything." She wrung her hands and the palpable terror in her eyes almost made me second guess my plans.

Almost.

“It’s fine, mom. We’ll be safe.” I gave her a hug, trying to reassure her. “We’ll be home in the morning and I’ll have my cell.” I had to reiterate I’d been prepared for anything, because she’d been shaking, and I felt like shit for leaving her.

“If you hear any noises that are strange, promise me you’ll come home.” Her voice was muffled against my shoulder as she clung to me.

“Sure, mom. I will. But, this is kind of my job.” I tried to tease her. It didn’t work. A niggle of unease slithered down my spine and settled in my stomach. “How about I call you when we’re about to start and when we’ve finished.”

“Please,” she said, almost a bit too eager for my liking.

“See you in the morning.” I give her one last wave before jumping in behind the wheel. My partners, Felix and Paul are waiting in Uptown, at a small cafe near Hadley Avenue. (Yeah, I know, kind of a coincidence I have the same last name as a major street in town. Unfortunately, no relation.) Felix and Paul were going to leave their vehicle in the parking lot and go with me, so we’re all together. Safety in numbers and all that good stuff. Plus, it would draw too much attention to what we were doing if we used two vehicles. People might get suspicious and ruin our experiments or worse, call the police on us—not like I don’t know all the officers, but it’s besides the point.

I pulled in next to Felix’s car then got out. From where I stood, I could see them through the window of the cafe. They sat side by side. Felix had his hand over Paul’s. They were laughing about something and I could see the spark of love there.

Kind of made me jealous.

“I know what you’re doing,” someone behind me said.

I turned. No one was there, which wasn’t unusual for me. Surprise, I can see dead people. I can also talk to them. A weird byproduct of a traumatic past. “No one asked you.” I cut my gaze to the side and saw the outline of a figure standing beside me in my periphery. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He shrugged becoming corporal. "Your mom's right. Tonight will be dangerous."

He pulled at the collar of his long sleeve white button-down shirt that he’d rolled up at the elbows. The lines of his tattoos came into focus, becoming a display of vibrant colors and designs. This guy, he’s all sinew, lean but strong. His black hair is slicked back, exposing the sides of his shaved head and the tattoos on his neck. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket while narrowing his brilliant blue eyes at me. I know who he is.

Kael.

“What?” Seeing the dead, started after my third birthday which happened to coincide with the aforementioned traumatic event. In the beginning, it used to scare me. Then I thought I was crazy. I mean, who actually sees dead people, besides scam artists who are trying to make a quick buck off the gullible? Dead family members seem to be my biggest draw along with my protectors, like Kael. I’ve never seen the faces of my three guardians though, only their purple hooded cloaks with golden belts, and their eyes.

They’ve kept the spirits away that meant to do me harm, and they’ve also given me a bit of precognition. Usually, it’s something simple, like an anxious feeling at the back of my neck or a knot in my stomach. Sometimes, it’s a feeling of missing something. I couldn’t tell my mom though. If I did, she’d ship me off to Metro—a mental health facility in Norwalk. Of course, Metro houses the criminally insane, but knowing my mother, she’d figure out some way for me to end up there.

This guy though, his appearance surprised me. I thought for sure my guardians always wore their robes.Guess not.

He placed the tip of his smoke at his full, lush lips and cracked a crooked smile. He was devastatingly handsome. His strong jaw frame hollow cheeks and a straight aquiline nose. He also happens to have dimples as well. “You’re not my usual type and by that, I mean, I don’t usually show my corporal form.” He shrugged after lighting his cigarette.

---