Free Speed Dating With the Dead by Scott Nicholson Page A

things, and move objects around, but they could damn well keep their hands to themselves in her hotel.
    “Poltergeists tend to play little pranks, rap on the walls, and toss things around. They’re usually associated with adolescent girls getting their first period, psychokinetic powers, that kind of thing.”
    “No wonder. Turning into a woman would make anybody unstable. If you had PMS, you’d throw things around, too.”
    “Then you got your demons,” Cody said, with a mischievous grin.
    Klonggg.
    Janey jumped at the metallic, grinding noise behind her that might have been the snapping jaws of some flesh-eating spawn of Satan.
    Then a buzzer sounded, and Janey realized one of the ancient, commercial-sized dryers had ended its cycle. She pictured Rosalita waiting patiently for the next load, alone with whatever spirits of cotton and dust lay gathered around her.
    “Demons constitute less than 1 percent of all activity,” Cody said. “But it’s the kind of activity that can mess you up.”
    “Mess you up?”
    “I’ve had them throw me across the room. But the real risk is to your noggin. They can plant ideas and make you see things that aren’t exactly family-friendly viewing. And if you get possessed, well, the party really gets out of hand.”
    “And you believe this stuff? What are you, some kind of Bible thumper?”
    Cody moved past her to take another set of readings. “God versus the Devil would be a clean fight. But demons aren’t really interested in either. A boss is a boss, right? They tend to do their own thing.”
    Janey had images of red, pointy-eared creatures fluttering around in caves of fire.
    “You’re looking pretty clean so far,” he said. “We’ll do a complete sweep and get a better idea. But you can never tell what’s going to come out and play in the dead of night.”
    “When things get quiet,” she said. “I wouldn’t–”
    “Whoa.” The row of LED lights on the meter filled and faded in the rhythm of a slow heartbeat. “This is freaky.”
    He moved the meter close to an old cherry wardrobe. The piece wasn’t classy enough to be an antique and wasn’t rustic enough to pass off as primitive handicraft. One splintered door sagged from its hinges while the other door was warped and buckled from dampness. The base of the wardrobe was nicked and scarred, and a strip of trim was missing from the crown. The LED bar continued its steady blinking.
    “What does that mean?” she asked.
    Cody eased the meter through the gap between the doors and Janey cringed, half expecting something to grab his wrist and drag him into the darkness.
    “What’s the story on this?” he asked.
    Janey couldn’t remember where the piece had come from, but she’d been walking past it for many years, cursing its obstruction of the hallway. She wasn’t even sure why she’d never had the wardrobe hauled away. Perhaps she thought it might be restored, so she could concoct a receipt for a new wardrobe, dump the furniture in one of the larger suites, and stick the cost difference in her pocket.
    “Just a pile of junk,” she said.
    “Here, hold this,” Cody said, thrusting the meter into her hands. She gripped it gingerly, as if it were a loaded gun. Cody parted the doors and the dim light of the service alley spilled into the interior. The wardrobe was empty.
    The meter stopped pulsing and the LED’s went dead.
    “It stopped,” Janey said.
    “I think we’ve got us an anomaly.” Cody made notes in his pocket-sized composition book.
    “Haunted furniture?”
    “You need a lot more than an energy fluctuation to make that conclusion. But it’s a data point. I need to check for electrical outlets or pipes behind it.”
    While Janey studied the meter’s display, Cody put his shoulder against the wardrobe and scooted it sideways. Despite her cynicism, Janey found herself craning to see the hidden section of cinder block wall. A frayed sheet of plywood was propped against the wall and cool air