Note: There really is such a place as Myra, Maine, out off the Stud Mill Road. I’m told it’s more or less where I put it, but I can’t swear to that, because every time I drive out there I go right on by. On Google Maps there’s a few small buildings hidden by the trees, and I know of one staunch fellow that’s building a small farm out there. Ghost hunters do visit the Jackson Cemetery, reputed to be one of the most haunted in the state, but there’s no gate nor even a fence. It’s on private property, so if you feel the urge to visit do be courteous — and very careful.
He hummed quietly to himself as he adjusted the last of the videocameras. They were VHS; the now-antique analog recorders were absolutely essential for his purposes. Digital technology always but always futzed up on him, and he stayed with the tried-and-true.
“How long do ya think they’ll be?” his partner asked for the third time. No patience, these young kids. Not all that young either, he thought; Gillis had been with him for three years, and he’d been out of college when he joined. God, I’m getting old.
“They’ll be here,” he said with quiet certainty. “This is a big chunk of their grade; they won’t miss it.”
“Wish they’d hurry. It’s past eleven now. If they aren’t here by midnight–”
“We’re here ’till dawn whether they come or not. It’s the best chance to record this one before snow flies. A warm day today and no moon tonight; can’t ask for more. Hey, you got the coffee?”
Gillis grunted, pouring. “Sure ain’t warm tonight. Overcast, too. If it rains–”
“It won’t rain! I checked before we left. A chance of fog toward morning, that’s all. There — that should do it; test the feed.”
“Hrm. That’s one… two… Yep, all three cameras recording. Motion sensors are green; tri-meters all OK. We’re good to go, Boss.”
“Right; good enough. Let’s go wait in the van, at least until the kids come.” They walked together through the rusty gate, following the cables down the overgrown drive to where the van was parked.
“I’d feel better if we could get a signal, is all. If they get lost coming out here, you know.”
“You kids and your cell phones! Look, there’s no way they can miss that big sign, and there’s only the one turn-off for damn near five miles each way. Besides, what does it matter? The school paid us good money, and in advance.” He sighed happily, sipping his coffee. “Hunting ghosts at an abandoned graveyard, and getting paid too. It don’t get no better.”
The next installment has been posted; to read it, just click here.
Image credit: Junior Libby, by way of PublicDomainPictures.net