Page 3 of Haunting Salem

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Two months later,we were on the road, quite literally. Adventure Channel wanted us to document the drive to our first "official," location. We all agreed, because, why not. They were also paying us to do this part of the trip, so I thought it was a fair trade-off. Nolan had booked us a hotel in Salem, once we arrived, so we wouldn't have to sleep inside the RV with all of the equipment, which, let me tell you, was a pain in the ass while on this little road trip.

Since we signed the contract, I'd been researching different locations where I wanted to go after our obligatory episodes were up. Every day, while we were on the road, I added another place. Today, I was checking out Mount Washington Hotel, in New Hampshire. The place seemed spooky enough. The hotel was built in 1902 by Joseph Stickney. However, a year later Joseph died, and the rumor is, his wife, Carolyn, supposedly roamed the halls searching for her dead husband. Some of the activity included seeing Carolyn descending the staircase or leaning over the balcony to spy a glance at those who entered her hotel. Carolyn's spirit had also shown up in photographs visitors had taken, along with lights flickering—common ghost activity—and guests reported, the most haunted of the rooms was 314, Carolyn's room.

I put the location in the maybe category then moved on.

“You’re always working, aren’t you,” Owen murmured, drawing my gaze from my laptop screen.

“Well, I know the first half of the trip will kick ass, so I want us prepared for the second half.” I shrugged, closing my computer.

“I’m glad you have a positive outlook.” He sat beside me. His brown hair brushed his forehead in a boyish way. It was hard to believe he was twenty-three sometimes, especially he flipped his hair out of his brown eyes, giving him an innocent quality. Yet, when he opened his mouth and spoke, he was, in my book, wiser than his years.

“You didn’t? You were with me at the Cecil Hotel.” I canted my head. “Are you still not a believer?”

He chuckled softly and rolled his shoulders. "You're right, I was with you. I guess I'm still looking at it from a psychological perspective."

I nodded. “I get that. Are you trying to reconcile what you saw, with what your belief system?”

"Yeah." He scooted in closer to me. Our knees touched and a spark of energy worked through me. If he felt it, he didn't make any outward indications. "I saw Kael. I saw Elise. I saw all of it. But my brain is still pumping out the same question over and over again. Did I see them or was it due to 'wanting,' to see them so bad, I conjured up imagined images of them to satisfy my yearning?"

He had a point. The intent expression on his face matched the determination in his eyes. I noticed in the last couple of months since I met Owen, he had an intensity about him. He went full-on or not at all. I liked that about him, but at the same time, he also wore me out. "Kael only allows those he deems friendly enough to see him." I kept my tone low. So far, only Nolan, Jack, and now Owen had seen Kael. Lucy either ignored him or Kael had a reason for keeping her in the dark. I went for the latter explanation and wondered if it'd been something Gaspar told Kael. "As for the other, we all did. We even captured it on film."

“I know.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s like an overlay, yeah? Our world and theirs. Ours is the bottom layer, while theirs is the top layer. Sometimes they bleed together. I understand the ‘science,’ of it, but again, am I forcing it to happen?”

I chuckled. "No. You can't force a spirit to show up. You can, however, piss one-off or several if you're an asshole." I'd seen it done countless times and hated every show that demanded a ghost pay attention to them. There were only a few paranormal docudramas I'd watch, because of the shit some crews pulled while on location. So far, Amy and Steve fromDead Filesand Amy and Adam fromKindred Spiritswere my favorites. They showed the right amount of compassion and control a site needed when it came to investigating and helping families out.

“So, it’s all real.” He let out a shuddered exhale.

I didn’t answer.

“Do you think the sites we’re going to—Salem in particular—will be as haunted as the Cecil Hotel?” He stared at me half-terrified and half-excited. He practically vibrated beside me. I chalked it up to adrenaline and surprise, maybe a bit of euphoria at realizing we were never truly alone. I enjoyed that feeling—the kid like wonder. It made everything fresh and new and, I wanted to show him everything, as if it were the first time, since his eyes were fully open—in the figurative sense, of course.

“Well, if the minimal research we were given before we left was any indication of what we’re walking into, I think we’re in for a badass trip.” I grinned, watching him light up with amazement.

"Cool." He shoulder checked me playfully then snickered. "You're good at this. I can see why they wanted you so badly."

Heat filled my cheeks and warmth bloomed in my belly. I stared at Owen for a moment longer, studying the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and his lips curved at an angle, always giving him a sly appearance. “I think that’s one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever given me.”

We exited the freeway and the nerves I’d tried to hold at bay swamped me. We were close. Super close. “We’re almost there.”

Owen lifted his chin in my direction. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”

"Happens all the time." It wasn't a lie. I couldn't explain the sensation other than a mix of dread and emotional turmoil. None of it was ever mine, but a mix from all the turmoil surrounding the area. Some people didn't know they put off emotional energy. When a sensitive, like myself, entered a dense area of that energy, we tended to be consumed by it. It became ours and we then projected what they were feeling.

When people say, sometimes, not all the time, they’re not feeling like themselves, they literally aren’t themselves. They’re picking up whatever residual emotion might be around them. It’s also why poltergeist activity can now be traced back to a person in a home or office or any space and it doesn’t have the be the current occupier. A PK manifestation was their feelings come to life. It usually happened when a person was angry or stressed to the max.

“What do you do to fix it?” Owen hedged.

"Usually, I block it out. However, this is Salem. There's too much hate and anger and blood and death seeped into these roads and on those grounds." I peered out the window and frowned. Halloween was a jovial time now for Salem. Everyone decorated. Everyone attended the town festivities. Some people also mourned those who were lost to the trials and paid their respects to the dead. The awful blemish in history wouldn't go away though, no matter how many times people begged for forgiveness.

“What do you see?”

"Nothing," I answered. "I've closed myself off to pretty much everything. I can't prepare properly if I am being bombarded." And, truth be told, I was already being inundated by the spirits twenty miles back. The thick tension surrounding them threatened to swallow me. That's why Kael was sitting to my right at the moment, though no one saw him, and he didn't say a word. He'd been keeping the dearly and not so dearly departed at bay.

“Makes sense.” Owen squeezed my hand. “For what it’s worth, if you need anything on this trip, don’t hesitate to ask, okay Simone?”

Kael glowered at Owen out of pure jealousy more than anything, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the incredulous look on Kael’s face. “I appreciate it. I think the more we work together, the stronger we’ll become as a team.”

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