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Spooklunking

By Tana Wolf

John Willoughby let the pungent smell of his coffee waft into his nostrils as he leaned back into the metal patio chair outside the café. The black Lab was trying to put away the lingering effects of a nasty hangover, and felt like anyone who saw him would notice his tired eyes and catch a few whiffs of the whisky from the previous night's party. Ostensibly he was attending a small Halloween weekend convention to explore the real life possibilities of the supernatural, but--who was he kidding-- it was just an excuse for a bunch of geeks to congregate together and get smashed telling each other ghost stories.

"Hey!" came the excited greeting of Lewis, one of the new friends he'd met the previous night.

In fact, Lewis was the reason he was even out here on the Sunday of the con when he should have been in bed sleeping off a hangover into the early evening. Lewis seemed like a nice guy, and it didn't hurt that he was some excellent eye-candy to go along with all the other treats associated with the 31st. Tall, sly, with a warming smile and constant smirk, the cougar just had a certain allure to him. Maybe it was that handsome little black mark that so many of his species were wont to have on their muzzles, or maybe it was those oh-so feline eyes, but whatever it was, John was hooked immediately. It was hard to even say how old the feline was. He looked mid-twenties, but something about him seemed more seasoned then that. For a while that morning he thought maybe those positive impressions were just alcohol-driven, but now that he saw Lewis again it was obviously real. The cat was well dressed, to boot, donning black slacks and a white button up. John felt somewhat out of sorts in his cargo pants and printed T-shirt from the con.

John extended a black canine paw, which was met and shook by a tan and white feline one. "Afternoon, Lewis, it's great to see you, though I suddenly feel underdressed."

The cougar took at seat and leaned forward, letting his thin tail sway behind him. "Just felt like looking good tonight. I'm sure you won't mind." John didn't. "Do you have what we need?"

"Absolutely." The Lab patted the small duffel bag at his feet that contained a few cameras, recorders, and other amateur 'ghost hunting' accouterments.

Lewis clapped his paws together and flashed a toothy grin, "Oh, you really did bring them! One of the fellas I did this with didn't have any of the stuff he said he did." The cougar was all smiles and swishes just like he had been the night before. There was always the risk that a night of 'fun' at a con could become awkward the following day. That didn't seem to be the case this time.

Most folks were at ScareCon 2022 to be a part of the paranormal community. That's how John had started out with cons, back when he first began going to them a few years ago. Occasionally you'd get someone local who was looking for answers, like Lewis. The cougar had heard of the convention and bolted up on Saturday in the hopes of meeting someone who could come by a local haunt. They'd hit it off right away, in more ways than just the mutual interest in the haunted house that they were meeting to discuss. Lewis said he had a haunted house in town, and he was desperate to get an investigator to come take a look at things. Apparently he'd tried in the past, but hadn't been happy with the results. John was more than happy to help, especially if it led to a repeat of the previous night's activities.

John got down to business. "So, you've attempted this before at the location?" He fished a spiral bound notebook out of his pocket to jot down the important information. The paper on pen note taking seemed a little out of place in a side job that was so focused on impressive sounding gear, but the ghost hunter found that writing things down meant he remembered them.

"Yep, brought in two other experts. One last year, and one the year before. Halloween both of those times, as well."

The canine nodded dutifully, remembering from the night before that Lewis had said these hauntings only happened on Halloween night "And you said the other night when we spoke that there had been activity, but that it was not properly documented?" John was surprised he could remember any of the conversation they'd had about this during the convention.

Lewis held up a finger, "Well, the first guy was a total joke and didn't have any equipment and I told him to get lost as soon as I realized I wasn't dealing with a professional, I mean, at least as professional as an amateur investigator can get, right?" That got just enough of a smile to show a few teeth from the Lab, and he went on. "So, the second guy did have some gear, things got a little freaky that night, too."

The investigator's ears perked up as much as their floppy nature would allow. "Freaky how?"

"Footsteps, whispering noises, and just unusual scents in the air at first."

John jotted furiously. All common haunting signs, but his pen paused when he realized that his client--if Lewis could be called that--had froze and was trying to figure out how to word something. He nudged the cougar's arm softly and gave an encouraging nod, "It's okay, I won't think you're crazy."

After a deep breath Lewis went on, "Well, fire." It sounded absurd, and he held up a paw to hold off the influx of questions. "There was fire, we saw it, smelled it, felt it, and then it was gone."

That bombshell seemed to sober the Lab up faster than the coffee he was sipping ever could. He'd heard of this kind of thing before, but never first hand--not from anyone he actually believed. Why did he believe this guy he barely knew, anyway? Was it just the pretty face? No, there was some genuine emotion behind Lewis's story. Those alluring feline eyes--which John found himself constantly drawn to--were studying him closely; as if Lewis was looking for some kind of reaction. The cat was probably worried that he'd come off as crazy. Something didn't jive, though. "Tell me, why didn't he report that to anyone, and why hasn't this place become a ghost hunting mecca?"

Lewis grumbled, irritated by that question. "Because, Mister Willoughby, he took off running and refused to ever speak to me again. Moreover, the locals refuse to let people venture into the house. I don't know why a ghost hunter runs from a ghost. Must not have been a good match."

Curious. It didn't really answer the question. What ghost hunter runs from a hunt? More importantly, "Why do they let you in?"

"Because, my canine friend," Lewis produced an old skeleton key from his pocket and waggled it tauntingly, "I own the place."

Sensing that the mood had lightened, John finished his coffee off with a confident swig and stood up; giving a big swish of the tail to add dramatic effect. "Well then, Mister Lewis, let's go Spooklunking!"

The cougar snorted and sighed at the awful pun, and the two shared a moment staring at each other.

"No?" John inquired.

"No," Lewis confirmed, "never call it that again." The cat looked unamused as hell for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, and then finally relaxed and they both laughed, "But really, that's awful."

*

Fresh autumn air and the smell of fallen leaves had done worlds of good for John's hangover. He was glad his Spooklunking buddy--he was still going to call it that in his head--had insisted on walking to the house. It wasn't too far, really, and they'd timed their walk perfectly so that they were getting near just as the sun was starting to fall. Costumed kids were slowly, but steadily starting to fill the sidewalks of the neighborhoods.

John was glad he'd made the trip up north for Berrysville ScareCon this year. He almost called the trip off, seeing as the last few years had just been excuses to get hammered with a bunch of paranormal, likeminded geeks. Not that he had any problem with doing just that, as the weekend had displayed in epic fashion. His hesitation came at the fact that for the 2022 year the con was actually on Halloween weekend, and not the week before as it usually was. John spent Halloween doing one of two things: being the neighborhood good guy and handing out candy, or ghost hunting on the night of the year practically made for it. He was worried he'd not get to do either one while out of town, but he spent the weekend looking for local haunts, and damn if he wasn't onto a great lead.

Their destination was unmistakable as soon as the pair made the turn onto the block. Nestled away from the other houses, alone, like it didn't belong there. Indeed, it had probably been built long before the rigid grids of city blocks had been laid down. The dirty bricks that it was built of stood in contrast to the more modern vinyl siding covered homes that surrounded it. Old iron fences--twisted and covered with overgrown bushes and weeds--lined the property, and peaks of the roof were silhouetted against the sunset. John couldn't help but get a chill at the eerie, yet quite pretty sight.

As they approached the abandoned house John became keenly aware that there were eyes upon him from multiple directions. Lewis hadn't been lying when he warned of the locals, as dozens of them were peeking around blinds or tiptoeing up and glaring out front door windows. The children that were trick or treating crossed the street to the other side when they saw the cougar, and only looked back to see who John might be once they'd passed. He clutched his duffel bag somewhat tighter and quickened his pace. Was he not welcome here, or was it fear? Maybe these people were genuinely afraid of the house, or perhaps they were afraid for him.

"You don't actually live here, do you?" John felt himself asking.

Lewis high stepped over the weeds and opened the creaky gate, chuckling and oblivious to the neighborhood gawkers. "Nah, I pretty much leave it alone." The homeowner walked deliberately towards the front door, now and then avoiding a piece of debris from the unkempt yard.

John followed closely. The front porch was what one would expect. The paint was worn off, a few boards were missing and the rest creaked under the stress of any weight. There was something off with the place, already. He couldn't put a finger on it, but the air felt wrong. It was heavy, and felt foreign. He hadn't felt so creeped out in a long time, and they hadn't even started yet. Maybe Lewis wasn't lying when he said the last investigator got scared off.

"You okay?" Again, the cougar was studying him. Lewis seemed nervous about something, or maybe he was just concerned and didn't want to scare the crap out of his investigator. Satisfied with the Lab's nod, Lewis reached for his keychain.

The mechanical clunk sound that the skeleton key made as it unlocked the door snapped the Lab back into his zone. To his surprise, Lewis flipped a switch and the interior lit up--albeit dimly. With the way the place looked he was half expecting to have to navigate by flashlight and candle.

Interior-wise, though, it was exactly what John had expected. There were empty boxes and a big, dusty table scattered around a primarily empty living room as soon as they walked in. On the wall directly opposite the front door was a dusty, generic landscape painting. Lewis led the pair into the kitchen, which was equally barren except for a mini fridge; which was humming with life.

John felt his client watching him as he scanned various spots with his infrared thermometer and jotted down notes. "I'm taking baseline temps, so that when we set up thermal equipment and cameras we'll be able to identify a rise or spike."

"Oh, well, the activity that happens has never been down here. It's always been upstairs in the attic."

Client reports activity concentrated in single area of the house only. Once again, this haunting was looking promising. "Well, then. I guess we're going to the attic."

The first two rooms that John saw exemplified the rest of the ones that he passed on the way to the staircase. Though it did appear that Lewis had made a cozy reading room in one of them--perhaps a secluded getaway when he needed out of his primary residence. The kitchen was as bare as most of the rooms, though the refrigerator was humming with life and a few dusty, partially-full bottles of alcohol were visible in the glass cupboard above the sink. At the back of the house were the stairs.

Something about staircases always got the dog. He suspected most people would agree if they really thought about it. It probably had to do with the mental aspect of leaving a safe, explored area of a supposedly haunted place and venturing up a creaky path towards the unknown. It was kinda-sorta like opening the front door always was, perhaps, but stronger.

John forced his legs to climb against his natural instincts; all of which were all screaming 'get out' to him. He had never been as apprehensive about any haunt so early into things. All over his body he could feel his fur standing on end as though it were saying 'if you're not getting the fuck out of here, we are'. What really didn't help, though, was the silence of his companion. John observed Lewis's body language as they ascended and realized something that terrified him even more: Lewis wasn't afraid at all. No matter how brave a face someone could put on they couldn't hide the scent of fear from a canine nose. It was disconcerting, but it didn't matter. He was already there, and he was far too deep into things to turn tail and run like the last guy. Hell, there hadn't even been any actual paranormal activity at all.

Lewis stopped at the top step. "Okay, so I'm going to warn you, this is where it gets interesting." The cougar turned the lights on in the attic.

He wasn't kidding. Interesting didn't even begin to describe the bizarre scene that greeted them. Old books littered the bare wood floor, and old candles sat atop a dozen small tables. At the far end of the room was a rusty old bedframe supporting a plain mattress. John was drawn to the scent of newsprint and found a stack of papers. The ones on bottom were yellow with age, and he couldn't help but pick up a few to check the dates: October 31st 2021, October 31st 2020, and October 31st 2019. It went on like that from what he could see.

And then he saw it. The wood around the bed was scorched, as though there had been a fire. John remembered his client's earlier words about seeing and smelling fire. It couldn't be coincidence. The bed itself wasn't burned, though. Something radiated from the area, but he couldn't put a finger on the feeling. It was as though John could sense anger and desperation in the air. His fur bristled.

"You see it now, don't you?" The boastful smile was audible in the way Lewis said that. He was proud to be validated, it seemed. "If you're wondering if that's where we saw fire, then yes. The thing is? Those burns have always been there. This entire room has been untouched by me."

Impossible. "Except for the newspapers?" John smirked in triumph. He'd caught Lewis in a lie. The cat had owned the house for two years, and the newspaper dates were as recent as one year prior. He stopped smirking, though, when he saw the cold stare from the other.

"No. I haven't been putting them there." His eyes were earnest. Lewis traced a claw along the date on the topmost newspaper. "Tomorrow morning there will be a paper from today. There always is."

John scratched at his whiskers. Client states that newspapers appear after every Halloween.

"If you think that's peculiar then look here," Lewis pointed towards one of the old books. "Open a page, any page, and read."

John picked one near the beginning

October 27th, 1919. Some days I am certain that I can feel the presence, or that he's whispering into my ear from beyond the shadows. Mother assures me that it is only another one of my creative fantasies, but I know that it is real. He will come again on Halloween as he always has.

"Well that was creepy," John muttered quietly as he dug deeper into the pages.

October 31st 1988. Found this old journal awhile back. Thought it was fucking bullshit. It's not fucking bullshit. This man comes out of the attic on Halloween night. I called the police and the fire department when I saw the flames but they didn't even respond. I'm writing this from the Baptist church down the road. Don't believe in God but it can't hurt.

John jumped when he felt the cougar's arm slip around him. It wasn't meant to be menacing, but he couldn't help being skittish. "Set up your stuff and let's head downstairs for a while. We got time before anything happens."

Being away from the bed and back down in the relatively safe feeling of the first floor had immense appeal to John. Mom had always been on about the spiritual mumbo-jumbo around Halloween, like that the veil between worlds was thin and sprits from the other side could slip through for a short time. Most kids would have shied away from that type of motherly talk, but he was drawn in with fascination. This could be it, right here. This could be the real proof of what she believed in, and he was going to set up cameras so that he could go hide from it.

*

John set his half-empty glass down on the floor and laughed. "Really? You asked a girl you hadn't seen in awhile how far along she was?" He had to pause for a moment as the burn of the whiskey hit his mouth. It was pretty good stuff, and while sitting on a hard floor against a hard wall wasn't exactly comfortable the company was nice. "You know you can't ask that."

"I know, I know. Well, I mean, I do now."

"So, was she? Or had she just packed on some pounds?" The Lab gave his client a playful elbow nudge and waggled his brows.

"The latter." The pair chuckled and clinked glasses together.

The investigator finished off his drink like the borderline alcoholic that he was. Truth be told, this was how most of his ghost hunts went: drinking the night away with the client or fellow hunters.

Beep.

John felt as if his heart skipped a beat. His eyes narrowed and fixated on his tablet; which had a live feed from the upstairs bedroom. Again, there was a beep as the cool blues and blacks from the thermal camera turned to hot reds and yellows. The EMF reader was going nuts. This was it.

"Shit! I'm getting some..." The Lab winced and brought his fingers against his temples as his brain froze up. No way that booze was hitting him that hard, especially not at such a momentous moment. "I'm." He felt the wall start to slide away from his back, or so he imagined. In truth he was sliding down to the ground.

The cougar who had been so charming had a completely different look to him as he stood up and glared down at the dog. Those eyes that were so beckoning now seemed venomous. He gave John a gentle kick, and nodded proudly when there was no reaction. "God, finally some peace and quiet. I thought you'd never shut the fuck up." He tapped the empty glass with his foot. "Drugs in the whiskey: works every time."

Lewis's words seemed miles away, and they made no sense. John was lying sideways on the ground, and trying to move just resulted in a weak twitch of his paw. Whatever was going on upstairs didn't even matter to the Lab, anymore. His heart was beating fast though; faster than it ever had. Was he being roofied? No, something else.

He smelled smoke as the world around him went dark.

That same smell was in his nostrils as he came to. He was on a bed. Just a simple mattress on a rusty frame. With some great effort John was able to move his head towards the scents he was picking up. Whatever he'd been drugged with was wrecking havoc because everything beyond a few feet was a total blur, but he could smell two people in the room. One was Lewis, for sure. The other was canine, male, and unfamiliar.

Lewis spoke, and that voice that John had started to love so much was now a thing of torment. "You're awake, good. I'd like you to meet my partner, George. I believe I've mentioned him?"

John would have growled if he'd had the energy. This was all a sick joke. If they'd wanted some kinky threesome they should have asked. He heard footsteps, and then saw the cougar and his undoubtedly better half. George looked familiar, not because John knew him, but because he, too was a Black Lab. There was something wrong about the stranger, though. It was almost as if he was glowing--not enough to be obvious, but just enough to be perceptible. Then there were the eyes. Those eyes were inviting, alluring, and John found it hard to wrest his attention away from them. Lewis's eyes were like that too, but to a lesser degree.

"I've waited a long time for this." George spoke oddly. There was an accent on his words that was hard to place. "One would be surprised how difficult it is to lure a compatible match."

"It was easy, love," Lewis rejoined. "All I had to do was tell the truth." Those sinister feline eyes glared at their paralyzed prey. "This fool wanted to find a ghost."

What John intended as a shout came out barely as a whisper, "I don't understand what you want."

Lewis kissed his lover gently, lost in George's eyes in a way that seemed unnatural. "What I want is to see the man I love more than once a year, and what he wants is to exist in this world for more than once a year. What you wanted was to explore the unknown. Seems a fair deal, no?"

It didn't seem a fair deal at all, if what he thought the 'deal' was was actually what he feared it was. Those journals! George must be the man that appeared every year, but what did any of this have to do with him? How did Lewis fall in love with a spirit that he'd only seen a few times, if George actually only appeared once a year? The elaborate deception, the unnatural kiss, and the whole creepy feeling that everything gave off just wasn't right. Maybe this spirit was using Lewis just as Lewis was apparently using John. That's it! Those eyes that they both shared: so entrancing! He was afraid. It would have just been better if the drug that had knocked him out for a short while had kept him out for forever.

John felt a tender touch on his head. Lewis was petting him. "I'm sorry, I really am, dear. I've spent years trying to find an alternative way to bring George into the real world, but there isn't any." The cat lifted John's head by the jaw tenderly and pointed towards all the books. "We've scoured every mystical and spiritual text out there about this. There's just no other way." Lewis had tears coming from his eyes, though whether they were tears of regret or tears of joy John couldn't tell. "I lied to you every step of the way. We couldn't risk you getting wise at any point." Lewis placed his paw on John's chest and ran a finger down his abdomen. "You really are the perfect match, unlike the last two lemmings that came here to 'hunt' the ghost."

John didn't know what to think. He couldn't think, anyway. He had only his survival instinct screaming at his body, and his body could not respond to it.

The other lab stood next to his partner. "Do not worry, Mister Willoughby, I assure you that being on the other side is not so bad. Who knows, perhaps one day you'll find a way to leave, too."

George got close, too close, and the two Labs touched. It was fire. John tried to thrash and scream as the primal knowledge of what it felt to be burning covered his entire body. This was a dream; it had to be a dream. Wake up. In desperation he resorted to clenching his eyes shut and opening them; hoping to find himself in the waking world. He saw nothing but fire, but the pain subsided and once again darkness fell.

*

The canine's eyelids were heavy and slow to open. His muscles yearned to be stretched, and so he let them do just that while letting out an impressive yawn. There were nightmares, and then there were nightmares. John Willoughby shook his head as he remembered his. He always remembered his dreams better than most, but that was just plain fucked. He did still have to meet Lewis though later on for the ghost hunt that he'd just dreamed about.

A few more minutes of shuteye wouldn't hurt, though, and he grabbed for his blanket. There wasn't any. In fact, he suddenly realized just how cold he was. He saw the cheap mattress he was on and the rusty bedframe.

No, it couldn't have been real. The Lab suddenly felt awake as he scurried off the bed and tripped on what felt like a book. Right by his head laid the equipment he had set up the night before. Panic overtook his senses as he reached for the camera. Whatever happened in that room was at least caught on tape for evidence. That's when the Lab noticed how dusty his camera was; as if it had been sitting there for ages. Frustrated, he stabbed repeatedly at the power button to no avail.

He got back up slowly and looked around for any other clues as to what happened. There was a stack of newspapers. The one on top made his stomach drop.

October 31st 202_3_.