Free Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown by Jason Hawes, Grant Wilson Page A

had been the night they saw the man. Whoever he was.
    “I’m going to try to make contact,” Lyssa said.
    “Go ahead.” Grant nodded.
    Lyssa cleared her throat. No matter how many times she did it, this moment always gave her a thrill—the moment she tried to talk to a ghost.
    “Hello?” Lyssa called in a firm, clear voice. “My name is Lyssa Frye. The person with me is Grant Wilson. If there’s someone here with us, can you give us a sign?”
    She paused.
Slow down, Lyssa,
she reminded herself.
Remember to take it slow.
    Lyssa knelt where Ron and Dave had. She set the flashlight on the floor.
    “If there’s somebody here, can you try to move this flashlight? Just give it a push. It will roll.” Lyssa stood up and stepped back toward the window. “Can you make it roll toward me?” She waited, her eyes on the flashlight. It didn’t move. “Anything?” she asked Grant in a low voice.
    Grant scanned the fireplace area with the EMF detector. “No,” he answered. “Nothing.”
    “There are two boys who live in this house,” Lyssa continued.“Ron and Dave. Maybe you have seen them. The boys think you are sad. They want to find out why. They want to help you. Can you tell us what you need?”
    “Whoa,” Grant whispered. “Big energy spike. I think you’re reaching him!”
    A chill ran down Lyssa’s back. The room was definitely colder.
    “Oh, yeah,” Grant said. “And we’ve got six lights now.”
    Grant stepped away from the fireplace, toward the center of the room. He held the EMF detector out in front of him. He was trying to see where the surge in energy was coming from.
    Lyssa knelt to pick up the flashlight.
    The second she touched it—the flashlight went out!
    Lyssa gasped and straightened up. Was this the ghost’s sign Lyssa had asked for earlier? Was the man about to appear?
    “Lyssa,” Grant whispered. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
    She froze.
    Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
    Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
    “Footsteps,” Lyssa choked out. She fought back her fear. “Like someone limping. Dragging one leg. Where is it coming from? Can you tell?”
    The room felt so cold now, goose bumps tingled up and down her arms.
    “From the entrance to the room,” Grant said. “Just like in the boys’ drawing.”
    Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
    “That means he’s probably heading for the fireplace!” Lyssa cried. “Better move, Grant! Get out of the way!”
    Lyssa darted toward Grant. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward her, behind the couch. Away from the fireplace.
    Step, drag. Step, drag. Step.
    The scraping footsteps kept coming.
    Lyssa whacked the flashlight against the palm of one hand, desperately trying to get it to come back on.
    “I just wish we could see something,” she said.
    Step, drag. Step, drag.
    Then silence.
    “They’ve stopped,” she breathed. “The footsteps have stopped.”
    “At the corner of the fireplace,” Grant whispered. “Right where they did before.”
    “So what do we do now?”
    “Well, we were trying to reach out to him,” Grant said. “I’d say we got a pretty big response, so let’s keep it up. How about if I try?”
    “Go for it,” Lyssa said.
    “Hello, my name is Grant,” Grant said in a low, firm voice. “We heard your footsteps just now. It sounds as if you’re having trouble walking. Are you injured?”
    Lyssa wrapped her fingers around Grant’s arm.
    “Do you hear that?” she whispered.
    “I hear it,” Grant replied.
    A sigh. One long sigh of weariness and pain.
    Suddenly, Lyssa realized she was crying. Huge, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. No investigation she’d ever been a part of had made her feel this way.
    She was in motion almost before she realized what she was doing. She moved around the far end of the couch to the coffee table. There was a straight-backed chair on the other side of the table. Lyssa remembered it because that’s where she’d sat when she first met the Sandstrom family.
    Lyssa