Free The Dark Man by Desmond Doane Page A

conscience. It needs a little light now and then.
    “Give us one night,” I say. “There’s more here than that.”
    “Look, Ford, that little hint is enough. I got what I needed.”
    “One night. Sundown to sunup. That’s all I’m asking. Give us twelve, eighteen hours, max. Noon tomorrow.”
    I listen to him grunt in resignation. “It won’t be on my dime. I’m sitting here getting my ass chewed for bringing you on in the first place.”
    I check my watch. It’s three minutes to five. “Pro bono from now on. We can get you more. I know we can.”
    “Fine,” he says. “I doubt any of this will be admissible in court, but if you come away with something solid, it’ll help.”
    “You won’t regret it.”
    We hang up, and I stand there feeling good about this. It’s cliché, I know, but I feel like the band is back together. Well, minus all the lights, cameras, crew, and a catered service cart with a giant bowl of M&Ms and finger sandwiches. Just Mike and me, back into the breach. Old days come ‘round again. History repeats itself.
    A jogger trudges past me, her ponytail limp in the heat and humidity, much like the rest of her. She’s cute and trim, and like a gawking fool, I’m standing there admiring her physique when I manage to tear my eyes away from her fantastic calves long enough to notice she’s wearing one of the original Graveyard: Classified T-shirts, back from the first season when we had that cheesy font that looked like the letters were made out of tombstones.
    It’s a blatant reminder of the days when things were going well.
    A good omen.
    Right?

CHAPTER NINE
    CHELSEA HOPPER
    TWO YEARS AGO
    A Very Special Live Halloween Episode
    “ Enjoy Tiger Puffs, the cereal with bite! ”
    The commercial ended with the large, orange cat giving a wink and a thumbs up. Off camera, Ambrosia the intern said, “You’re on, Mr. Ford. Go live in four, three—”
    In my head, I counted out “ Two, one, ” and then:
    “Welcome back to those of you at home here in the US and the millions watching around the world. That’s our one and only commercial break because we’ve just gotten word from our producers that we’re absolutely shattering all sorts of viewership records tonight. The final numbers for our live television broadcast won’t be in until later this week, but I can officially say that as of right now, we have over six point three million viewers tuned into our live-stream Internet broadcast on TheParanormalChannel.com. We can’t thank our fans enough, and we certainly would not be where we are today without the Gravediggers. You’re the best.”
    I walked down the hall of the Hopper house, my thick-soled boots clunking on the hardwood floors. The cameraman followed me, inching slowly forward.
    “If you’re just tuning in, we’ve been investigating the Hopper home, which you guys voted the Most Haunted House in America. So far, it’s been wild. You heard those footsteps, you heard that faucet turn on by itself in the bathroom, and if you were paying attention, you probably noticed Mike’s shirt being tugged when he was walking through the kitchen. Have another look.”
    A quick fifteen-second recap played on repeat three times, shown in the black-and-green light of our night-vision cameras. In the video, Mike walked across the linoleum floor, holding a digital voice recorder. He asked if the entity who made the footsteps, or turned on the faucet, would give him any further sign of his presence. Clear as could be, there was a visible tug on his collar, and it was strong enough to make Mike jump and accuse me of screwing with him, asking me why I did that, even though you could easily see that my hands were down at my sides.
    It was such a great capture and we were positive that, indubitably, the doubters would be all over the Internet the next day proclaiming our heresy, trying to show how we could’ve pulled it off using filament line in an elaborate hoax. Whatever. It happened,