“Could we borrow this spot?” the producer asked in a saccharine way that clearly meantmove your asses.Bach wedged his spoon in his mouth and we stepped to the nearest empty table. The other three members ofDMWwent back to the van while Tad stood where Bach and I had been. The producer then motioned Artemis over. She jumped and hurried past us.
“Keep it short,” the producer told Tad. “But make sure it’s usable.”
Tad waved a hand. “I know the drill.” He turned to Artemis. “What’s your name again?”
“Artemis Wake.”
“What—seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Are you out of a comic book or something? That name is ridiculous.”
Artemis bristled.
“Tad,” the producer said.
“Okay, look,” Tad said. “There’s no introduction. We do that in post. I’m going to start asking you questions.”
Tad turned to the camera. Artemis patted her hair downand smoothed her expression. She had to know how red her cheeks were.
“Artemis, what can you tell us about the ghosts of Addamsville?” Tad’s voice resonated over the patio.
Artemis didn’t look at the camera even once, bless her heart. “We’ve had ghost stories as long as we’ve been a town. Ghosts built this place—ghosts keep it alive now. Most of the stories are meant to scare people, but when you dig into the history, the truth behind the myth is often sad, or even something completely normal that got twisted over time. What’s interesting, though, is that most of the stories are about white townspeople, when there’s an admittedly scant but still documented history of slavery and abuse of native peoples—”
She lost Tad at “white townspeople.” He let her go on for a bit until she finally registered his expression and her voice died off.
“Great,” Tad said flatly. He paused for a moment. “What’s it like to live in such a deeply haunted town?”
“Like living anywhere else. It has its history. I think of myself as a historian—we have just as much to learn from our ghost stories as we do from artifacts and old journals. Addamsville is a good place for that.”
Still no life in Tad Thompson.
“You’ve conducted investigations into locations here yourself?”
“Oh yes. I camped overnight in Maple Hills once.” Artemis had been to a lot of places, but she’d managed to keep this answer to something a general audience would find interesting. Points for Artemis!
“Could you tell us the story behind Maple Hills?”
“It was part of the Firestarter Murders,” Artemis said. “Twenty-eight years ago, an arsonist burned down several houses in town, the old town hall, and one of the cabins in Maple Hills. It was during the off-season, and the only people inside were two local teenagers, Michelle Garrington and Elton Holly. The campground was closed off after that. The burned cabin is only a foundation now, but there are stories that say you can sometimes hear a girl and boy talking quietly to each other nearby. Or, late at night, moans and screams coming from the campground. The police have also gotten calls from residents on the far side of the lake who say they saw what appeared to be a very large fire in the woods, where the cabins are.”
Tad leaned in, one arm crossed over his chest, the other hand at his chin, contemplative.
“What did you experience while you were there?”
“Not much.”
Tad stared at her. Artemis cleared her throat.
“A few orbs,” she said. “And a dark feeling? Like I was being watched.”
Tad nodded his head seriously. Waited a few seconds. Looked at the producer.
“Sure,” the producer said.
Tad broke his pose. “Awesome, thanks.” He slapped Artemis on the shoulder. She watched him walk away with the cameraman and sound guys and the producer, her mouth hanging open and her face beet red.
“Woof,” I said, loud enough for her to hear me. “That was rough, eh?”
