Read Experiment in Terror 02.5 The Benson for Free Online

explain the next part without seeming batshit crazy.
     
    “Well…” I begin.
     
    She cocks her brow at me and folds her arms. She’s in no hurry.
     
    I let out a burst of air through my nose and say, “We’re ghost hunters.”
     
    She smiles, her teeth blindingly white. She doesn’t sound as amused as she looks. “You’re pulling my chain.”
     
    “No, no sadly I’m not. We have a show, Experiment in Terror. It’s on the Internet.”
     
    “The Internet?”
     
    “I know, it sounds lame but we’ve been doing quite well. I mean, we have advertisers and people actually tune into watch us. Well, watch me. Since I’m the host. Just not a very good one. Actually I think people tune into laugh at me, but whatever gets me a pay check.” I’m rambling now.
     
    “This is a radio show?” she asks.
     
    “No, just on the web.”
     
    She frowns and walks toward me, eying my hands. “What kind of camera is that?”
     
    Though there is nothing menacing at all in her voice, I flinch a little and back up into the door. She pauses and gives me another disbelieving look.
     
    “You never seen a black woman before?”
     
    “Huh?”
     
    “I know we aren’t too common out West here but you best be getting used to us.”
     
    Now it’s my turn to frown. I study her more closely. She’s at least in her early thirties, her pretty face is unlined but she has this authoritative air about her. Everything sounds like an accusation but one that’s filled with a hint of doubt. Though she’s trying hard to hide it, I can see she’s as afraid of me as I am afraid of her.
     
    I raise the infrared to her, slowly, as if she is a skittish cat, and show her the screen, flicking it on.
     
    She looks at it and shakes her head, not getting it.
     
    “It’s infrared,” I explain. “It picks up heat energy.”
     
    “Well my oh my,” she says. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You trying to make a motion picture?”
     
    “No m’am,” I can’t help but say. “Much less than that.”
     
    “And you what? You hunt ghosts?”
     
    “It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way,” I admit.
     
    She snorts and turns around, heading back to the machines. “It sounds ridiculous anyway you put it, child.”
     
    “We’ve just been told the ghost of Parker Hayden is known to haunt this room.”
     
    She stops in mid-stride. Her whole body is tensed up. It makes me tense up too. I must have hit a nerve.
     
    “Have you seen him?” I whisper, making sure the camera is running but not pointing it in her direction just yet. I don’t want to scare her and just getting our dialog recorded would be more than enough for the show.
     
    “Seen who?” she repeats slowly. She still doesn’t turn around.
     
    “Parker Hayden. The ship millionaire. He lost all of his money during the strike and then killed himself – ”
     
    “Don’t you dare speak ill of him,” she threatens in a low voice so raspy and ragged that it almost sounds demonic. “He would never kill himself.”
     
    I bite my lip, unsure of how to proceed. I have no idea what is going on but those hairs are standing up on the back of my neck again.
     
    “Do you know who he was?” I ask carefully.
     
    Finally , she turns around and looks at me with tear-filled eyes.
     
    “He was…my friend.”
     
    I don’t know what to make of that. “Pardon me?”
     
    “He was…my lover. I haven’t seen him for days, not since they threw him out.”
     
    Oh. Dear. God.
     
    “He wouldn’t have killed himself though,” she continues, her voice warbling with emotion. A tear spills down her cheek, leaving a dark trail. “He has troubles but he wouldn’t have done that. Not Parker. Not my Parker.”
     
    “Ummmm,” is all I can say to that. I slowly raise the infrared camera and aim it at her.
     
    “You’re filming me now?”
     
    Yes, I sure am, I think and look at the screen. My breath freezes in my throat. Through the infrared, I can