Chapter One

October 31, 1975

“All units, we have a reported disturbance at 1666 Dead Horse Road. The caller said they witnessed flashing lights and several loud explosions near the old President’s mansion at the back of campus.”

Jack smirked at Pete as he grabbed the radio.

“Unit 541 responding. ETA three minutes. Over,” he told Connie. He ignored the familiar crackle of the two-way as he released the button to listen to her response.

“Copy that,” Connie said, a smile audible in her smooth voice. “You boys be careful out there. Don’t want the boogeyman to get you. Over.”

“Happy Halloween to you, too, Con,” Jack laughed. “Over.”

Pete flipped a switch, and the cruiser’s single light began rotating, coloring the trees with long blue streaks of light. Jack pressed his foot down on the gas and replaced the radio. He grinned at his partner, ignoring the way Pete’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the Saint Michael’s medallion hanging around his neck.

“What’s up?” Jack asked.

Pete glanced at him, then shrugged and stared out the passenger window. He didn’t answer for a long minute.

“You know what they say about this place,” he muttered.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, and he slapped the back of his hand again his partner’s chest.

“You mean the ghost stories? C’mon, Pete. You know better than to believe in that BS.” Jack suppressed a sigh when Pete continued to stare out the window.

“Do you honestly think the wife of the first president is haunting that old house? It’s ridiculous,” Jack insisted.

“How do you explain all the weird stuff that happens out there?” Pete asked. His jaw tightened as his face took on a stubborn expression Jack knew all too well.

“Shit happens, Pete. Mostly people happen. But a haunted house? Nah. Ghosts aren’t real, kid.”

After riding together for six months, Jack knew the rookie had the makings of a great cop. Pete had a good head on his shoulders, stayed calm in a crisis, and had an eye for detail that would fast track him to detective. His only big flaw, in Jack’s opinion, was his superstition.

Pete had been mumbling about thinning veils, bad omens, and other such nonsense all month. Worse, he’d been noticeably jittery when he came on shift, convinced that October 31 was more than just another Friday. Jack worried the kid would shoot his foot off jumping at shadows.

Jack slowed the Monaco as he caught sight of the odd tangle of trees that marked the turn onto Dead Horse Road. The car lurched and bumped as they moved off the well-maintained county road onto the gravel drive leading up to the mansion. Jack gritted his teeth as he fought to keep the car steady. 

“They’re gonna need to grade this before winter hits,” he muttered to Pete.

“I hate this side of town,” Pete replied. His eyes searched the thick copse of trees for any disturbance.

Jack agreed but kept his thoughts to himself. Why the university’s founders built the mansion on the farthest corner of the property was beyond him. But then, he didn’t hold a fancy college degree, so what did he know?

“See anything?” Jack asked as they made their way up the tree-lined driveway.

“Like what? It’s dark as a cave up here.” Pete said.

Jack saw a sliver of moon in the clear sky and wished it offered more light. The dark night would make it easier for their mischief-maker to avoid capture, but he suspected it was just some kids messing around. The university’s last president moved out the week before, with no notice, if town gossip was right. An empty mansion, rumored to be haunted, on Halloween night? Yeah, that was too tempting for some teens to resist.

The car slowed to a crawl as the house came into view. Jack rolled his window down to listen, but he didn’t hear any explosions. In fact, it was eerily quiet. Jack frowned and wondered what threat had caused the wildlife and insects to fall silent.

The driveway ended in front of a two-story brick colonial. Jack threw the car into park and scanned the area to get the lay of the land. A covered breezeway connected a converted carriage house on the west side of the property to the mansion. A glass-enclosed greenhouse dominated the right side of the house, and a white picket fence stretched in both directions right up to the tree line.

Pete turned off the overhead light and, without a word, exited the patrol car. He hefted his flashlight in one hand and rested his other on the roof, staring across at Jack.

“No lights,” he said, nodding toward the house. “No explosions, either.”

“None,” Jack agreed, still looking around. “Notice how quiet it is?”

Pete cocked his head, and his frown deepened. He reached for his medallion and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb.

“What’ll it be?” Jack asked.

Pete sighed heavily and started toward the greenhouse, the beam of his flashlight bouncing across the ground with each step.

“Meet you around back,” he called over his shoulder.

“Uh, Pete?” Jack said.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t we just ring the bell?”

Pete stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiff. Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched up to the house, ignoring Jack’s amused grin when they met at the base of the brick stairs.

“Shut up,” Pete snapped.

“And miss giving you a little shit? I don’t think so, bud,” Jack said, giving Pete’s shoulder a rough, brotherly slap. “Besides, I’m just busting your chops. I’m not really judging you. Much.”

“Uh huh,” Pete mumbled. He hesitated at the door, and Jack saw him inhale before he pressed the doorbell.

Jack turned away to hide his smile and swept his flashlight over the beautifully landscaped yard. He searched for any sign of the reported disturbance, but nothing looked out of place. He’d bought his wife, Betty, a pretty little home across town in August, and they were hustling to renovate it before their first little one arrived in March.

Despite the circumstances, seeing the president’s mansion up close had given him some ideas for his own place. A thrill of pleasure and fear rippled through Jack as he thought of his pregnant wife. He was a luck SOB, he told himself, that was for sure.

“Nothing,” Pete said, interrupting Jack’s wandering thoughts. “Let’s walk the property, then get the hell out of here.”

Jack nodded and gestured for Pete to go left to the garage while he checked out the greenhouse. He followed a flagstone path straight to the greenhouse door and was about to look inside when an echoing boom shook the ground. He spun around, searching for the source, but saw nothing moving on the grounds, and the awful, deafening silence had returned.

He jogged back to the front steps and met up with his partner.

“What was that?” Pete demanded.

“No idea. I didn’t see anything. You?”

“No. I was just about to look into the garage windows when I heard it,” Pete said.

“Hmm. I was just about to look inside the greenhouse.”

“Someone is messing with us,” Pete grumbled.

“Let’s get this done,” Jack said. “Watch your six.”

“You too.”

Thirty seconds later, Jack peered into the greenhouse, trying to see through the moisture clinging to the inside of the glass. The residents had created a peaceful seating area under a canopy of lush trees and plants. Satisfied nothing was amiss, he continued around the house. He examined the large white gate with its semi-circular arbor that separated the side yard from the back. Betty would love a garden gate like that, Jack thought, and made a mental note to build her one in the spring.

A sprawling expanse of grass stretched behind the house and disappeared into the trees. Jack scanned the yard with his flashlight, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He walked the treeline, then turned back toward the house, glancing at his watch and wondering where the hell Pete was.

He headed for the west end of the property, hoping to intercept his partner on the way. When a bright light flashed on and off in an upper window, Jack froze in his tracks and squinted up at the house, trying to discern any movement inside.

A window at the opposite end of the house glowed for a heartbeat before the light wicked out again. As he broke into a jog, Jack watched a third, fourth, and then fifth room bloom brightly for half a second. When the sixth room lit up, Jack realized it looked like someone inside was playing with a lighter, flicking it on and off.

He rounded the far end of the garage, still telling himself they were being pranked, and searched for Pete. The driveway and patrol car were empty, and his partner was nowhere to be seen.

“Pete?” he whispered, worried the kid was in trouble. “Pete!”

“Jack!” Pete hissed.

“Where are you?” he yelled, relief in every syllable.

“Quiet!”

Jack spotted Pete in the trees just beyond the garage. Seeing the kid healthy and hale morphed his fear into annoyance.

“Where the hell have you been?” he growled. “I just came through here and didn’t see you.”

Pete just shook his head and gestured at Jack’s flashlight.

“Turn that off,” Pete ordered. His eyes stayed fixed on the mansion. 

Jack clicked the flashlight off and followed Pete’s gaze to the small dormer windows on the roof. Most old colonial houses he’d been in had an attic, and he’d bet good money that’s what those windows illuminated.

“Did you see something?” Jack asked.

“Ah…,” Pete hesitated, rubbing his damn medallion with his thumb.

Jack counted to ten, reaching for the last of his patience.

“A woman,” the rookie said.

“Okay,” Jack frowned. “And? What did she look like?” 

Pete hesitated again, his eyes flickering toward Jack, then back to the house. He started forward without answering. 

“Where was she?” Jack asked as he scanned the dark windows. “Was she the one flashing the lights?”

Jack knew it was impossible for one person to have caused all the flashes he’d seen. Whoever was pranking them wasn’t alone inside the house.

“What lights?” Pete asked, eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t see them?”

“No. Just her.”

“Are you blind?” Jack snapped, gesturing toward the back of the house. “Six flashes in multiple windows in quick succession.” 

Pete shook his head and started toward the mansion again.

“Where are you going?” Jack demanded.

“To search the house.”

“We can’t just go in!”

Pete stopped and stared at the ground. He was breathing hard and rubbed the back of his neck like he had a headache. When he turned to face Jack, he looked ten years older, but his dark blue eyes were clear and direct.

“Do you trust me?” Pete asked.

Jack threw his hands up in the air, exasperated with the unnecessary question.

“Of course I do. You’re my partner. I trust you with my life every day,” he said, annoyed he had to spell it out, but Pete just nodded.

“Then trust me when I say we have to go inside,” Pete said.

Jack ground his teeth together, annoyed with his partner’s weird behavior, but determined to back him up.

“Fine. The greenhouse is probably the easiest way in,” Jack said.

He’d have to explain the broken glass to the Chief, but if the kid was right, it was justified. When they reached the greenhouse, they found the door ajar, as if welcoming them inside. At least he wouldn’t have extra forms to fill out, Jack joked to himself.

Jack stepped forward to lead the way inside, but Pete shook his head. He drew his firearm, gesturing for Jack to do the same, then stepped inside the humid greenhouse.

For long minutes, Jack followed Pete through one empty room after another. His training kicked in, and he mentally logged the antique furniture and expensive artwork hanging on every wall.

They cleared the first two floors and within minutes reached the plain door at the end of the second-floor hall that led to the attic. Pete opened it to reveal a steep, narrow staircase with a short, rough-hewn door at the top.

Every instinct in Jack’s body told him to call for another unit to join them. The staircase was a perfect trap. He thought through his options and discarded them as too risky. He opened his mouth to tell Pete to wait for backup when the kid sprinted up the stairs like a charging bull.

Pete reached out to open the door, but as soon as his fingers touched the metal, an earsplitting scream ricocheted off the walls. Jack and Pete pressed their hands over their ears, trying in vain to block out the piercing noise.

A woman lunged at Pete through the door, and Jack watched in horror as his partner flew backward, his body ricocheting off the walls and stairs. Pete’s gun dropped from his limp hand when he landed in an unconscious heap at Jack’s feet.

“Stop!” Jack yelled at the woman. She kept screaming and flew toward him, clearing intending to attack him as she had Pete. Jack fired his weapon at the same time he realized he could see through her.

A heartbeat later, she slammed into him, and Jack felt time slow to a near stop. He felt the force of her icy-cold form slam into him. Bone-deep cold permeated his body, one cell at a time, stealing the air from his lungs. When his back hit the floor, time returned to normal in a painful rush.

Jack lay still, struggling to pull in a breath as she hovered above him. Her mouth gaped wide in a mocking smile that exposed rotten teeth, and a putrid smell made his stomach roll. She reached out to caress his cheek, then vanished without a sound. A faint whiff of something metallic filled the hall in her wake.

Air rushed back into his lungs, and Jack rolled onto his side, feeling the oxygen slice into him like razor blades. He pushed himself onto his knees and crawled toward his partner.

“Pete?” He gasped but heard no answer.

Spots danced in front of his eyes, and Jack realized he was going to black out. He fumbled with the radio on his shoulder as a wave of nausea rolled through him, grateful for the new technology.

“Unit 541. Officer down,” he rasped, releasing the button as he pushed himself an inch closer to Pete.

“Where are you, Jack? Over.” Connie remained calm, bless her.

“Pres-,” Jack wheezed, “President’s mansion.”

He reached Pete’s side and felt for a pulse. Jack’s eyes closed in relief when he felt its steady beat beneath his fingers. He sagged against the wall and focused on staying conscious, knowing it was a losing battle.

“Second floor,” he rasped. “Hurry.”

“Stay with me, Jack,” Connie urged. “We’re on our way to get you boys.”

It was the last thing Jack remembered as the darkness overtook him.