Speed Dating With the Dead by Scott Nicholson

Author:Scott Nicholson [Nicholson, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Stephen King, Ghost, Horror, Paranormal, Fantasy, Suspense, paranromal, action, Supernatural, Ghosts, haunted house, Thriller
Google: mpiEBAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B003TZLWTG
Publisher: Haunted Computer Books
Published: 2014-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 26

“The jumper is awesome,” Duncan said.

Ann didn’t understand him at first. She’d drowsed after the hurried round of lovemaking, intending to recharge her batteries and be at full alert for the after-midnight hunts. She opened her eyes thinking they were in Duncan’s apartment, a cramped walk-up two blocks from campus. The smell of coffee reminded her of Sunday morning, and she smiled at the thought of those languid hours ahead, with no classes, no responsibilities, and nowhere else to be. Duncan clicked the computer keys, the first out of bed as usual, browsing all his favorite Internet haunts.

This is how a woman should awaken. The only thing missing is breakfast in bed.

She’d been dreaming of horseback riding, an activity she’d pursued in her teens before the high maintenance costs forced her family to sell her pony. The metaphorical connection was so obvious that she jarred fully awake and recalled she was at the White Horse Inn.

Duncan, not realizing she’d been asleep, said, “That footage is so good it almost fooled me. Who shot it for you?”

“What footage?”

“The jumper. The guy who skewered himself on the lamp post. I thought you weren’t going to have time to do that one.”

She kicked the blankets away and reached for her blouse. “All I shot was the Jilted Bride.”

“Come on, Ann. I’m not one of those idiots who believes anything you tell them.”

She grabbed for his coffee mug and took a mouthful of cool, bitter brew. “We’ve already used up all the footage. I told you we’d have to go into replay mode.”

“Well, I don’t know how this got on the hard drive, then.”

Duncan leaned away from the screen to reveal grainy, pixelated movement. She squinted and recognized the room. It was 312, the curtains featuring ornate braided piping that was at odds with the furniture. The room appeared to have been outfitted with leftovers, with imitation Queen Anne chairs, hand-hewn tables, a sagging art-deco vase holding flowers, and an impressionist painting that suggested a wooded lake. Though the picture was monochromatic, her memory filled in the autumnal color scheme of the room.

“We didn’t put a projector in 312,” Ann said. “Remember, we ran out of time.”

Duncan consulted his notes, brow furrowed, face stark and haggard in the lamplight. “You sure that’s 312?”

“That ugly painting. I made a remark about a flea-market find.”

“Yeah,” Duncan said, tapping the keys. “Let me run the program again.”

A window popped up on the bottom of the screen, revealing a video-editing program. He scrolled backward with the mouse and hit “Play.” The footage loop began. The first 10 seconds showed the still room, but then a man entered the camera view and threw the curtains wide, nearly knocking them from the rod in his haste. He wore a bow tie and had slicked-down hair, pouches under his tired eyes. He flipped the window latch and lifted the lower pane, shaking with what appeared to be sobs or rage.

“Check the clothes,” Duncan said. “Izod shirt and LL Bean plaid pants.

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