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Claudia gave a soft sigh. "Never."
Grady smiled.
DOWSING ROD FOR EVIL
"I FELT A STRONG PRESENCE down here the other night," Grady said as he led us into the basement. "I know, Becky, that you were simply using the best available space for the party, but you should be careful about bringing spiritualists to subterranean realms. They're simply rife with evil spirits."
"Jaime?" Becky said. "Are you picking up anything?"
"I don't have Mr. Grady's nose for evil, I'm afraid."
"Of course she doesn't," he said. "What evil would dare show its hideousness in the face of such beauty?"
Claudia looked like she couldn't decide whether to gag or scratch my eyes out.
Grady took a compact from his pocket, did a makeup check and hair fluffing, then drew himself up straight.
"Camera, please." He lifted his hands, like a pianist preparing to play. "Robert, are you there?" Pause. "Yes. Yes, he is. Thank you, Bob."
Grady opened his eyes. "I have made contact with my spirit guide."
Huh. That was easy. Eve? Are you taking notes?
"For this session, I have selected Black Robert McGee as my guide," Grady continued. "He was a notorious pirate who terrorized the Caribbean. In the afterlife, he is trying to make amends, seeking redemption by helping my quest against the dark forces. Having lived on that dark side, he is the perfect guide for this segment of my journey."
A pirate spirit guide. Cool. Eve had been known to hang out with pirates, but I don't think that counted. She was, however, well acquainted with dark forces. As for seeking redemption, though...questionable. Very questionable.
Grady and "Bob" proceeded to wander the basement, Grady with his hands out, dowsing rods for evil.
"I see a dark room. Very dark. I--" His head jerked up, eyes closed, and he let out a whimper, then said in a high-pitched voice, "It's dark, Mommy, so dark..."
His head twitched and bobbed like a bird, then his eyes flew open.
"Bob? Yes? Thank you, Bob."
He pivoted and stopped, facing a half-door that led into a crawl space under the stairs. He gave an exaggerated shudder, then looked into the camera.
"Bob tells me we will find the source of th
is great evil under those stairs. Inside there is a room. A room whose walls once ran red with blood. A family slaughtered. The satanic altar is beneath those steps."
"Amityville?" I mouthed to Grady.
"Yes!" Grady's face was feverish now as he spit the word. "Thank you, Bob. Bob has reminded me of another case similar to this. An American case in Maine, I believe."
"Long Island," I mouthed for him.
He nodded his thanks. "Long Island, thank you, Bob. The infamous Amityville horror. I have long believed that the rituals conducted within those walls were part of a wider ring of satanic activity."
"Faked!" I mouthed, gesturing to get his attention.
"Yes, Bob? Bob is trying to tell me about something but--Bob? Are you still there?"
Grady signaled for the camera to stop filming. "He's gone, I fear. This happens from time to time, particularly in places with such intense negative energy." He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck, then looked at me. "Jaime, I believe you were saying something?"
"Amityville was a hoax," I said.
I explained. The house had been the site of infamous killings--a young man who'd murdered his parents and four siblings. A year later, a family bought the house, claimed they saw blood dripping down the walls, demonic pigs, what-have-you, but stayed there--with their terrified kids--until they had enough details for a book. A best-selling book. And the guy who killed his family? His lawyer had been trying for a "devil made me do it" defense, and had been in contact with the haunted homeowners. The lawyer later claimed he and the couple had dreamed up the whole scheme over a bottle of wine. The family had since admitted, in court, that at least some of the things they claimed had never happened.
