When Nature Calls Read online

  When Nature Calls

  Copyright ©2019 Harper Crowley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or

  transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the author.

  Nor can it be circulated in any form

  other than that in which it is published without the written

  consent of the author.

  Published by Kindle Direct Publishing

  Edited by Red Adept Editing

  Cover by Pink Ink Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to locales, events,

  business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  http://www.harpercrowley.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “I hate you with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns for making me go to this godforsaken place,” Jess grumbles, slumping lower into the passenger seat of the van. “And you can post that all over the internet for all I care.” She draws her knees up to her chest and stares at the bleak landscape dotted with scraggly trees that stretches as far as the eye can see.

  “I thought you wanted to go to Oklahoma?” Russ quips, poking his head between us from the back seat.

  She casually extends her middle finger in his direction. “I wanted to go someplace warm. Someplace calm. Someplace without ghosts, for a change. Someplace without someone trying to kill me. Not disappearing hikers and freaking Bigfoots. Bigfeet? What’s the plural of Bigfoot? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I thought we were taking a vacation, not going someplace worse.”

  I chuckle, and my gaze meets Russ’s in the rearview mirror. “It is something different,” I say. “No ghosts. No haunted houses.” No cute, insufferable southern boys haunted by the deaths of their mothers. Okay, so maybe I was kind of getting used to having Graham around, but this is the nature of the job. I don’t get the luxury of relationships.

  The highway curves, and a sign appears: Atopka 2 miles.

  “See? We’re almost there.”

  “Finally.” She glares at the sign as if it too is somehow responsible for her mood. “No wonder we’ve never done a case here before. There’s nothing here.”

  “Some people love Oklahoma,” Russ says. He picks up a well-worn map and spreads it across the seat next to him. “They’re just all in Tulsa and Oklahoma City.”

  “Neither of which we’re visiting.” She huffs out a breath, blowing a lock of purple hair out of her eyes. “At least there’s trees. I thought all of Oklahoma was a flat wasteland.”

  Russ points to a spot on the map. “Looks like we’re in luck. Atopka is just about the only place in the state with an actual forest. See? There’s a bright side.”

  “Hardly,” she says.

  The exit approaches, and I follow it around a curve into a dusty, one-horse town even smaller than Oak Cliff, Georgia. Atopka consists of one street with wooden and brick buildings crowding either side. A gas station perches on the end of the road closest to us, and a 7-Eleven sign glows in the distance. The storefronts in between are half empty except for a couple of thrift and antique shops, a hunting, bait, and tackle shop across from the 7-Eleven, and a three-room motel with a For Sale sign stuck into the ground right in front of the one for Atopka Inn. Across the street from that, a minuscule post office shares the same space as a visitor’s bureau.

  “Oh my God,” Jess says. “How do these people live? At least the last place had that coffee kiosk. Shoot me now.” She sinks down lower into the seat and pulls her phone out.

  Russ snorts. “Come on, Jess. This’ll be fun. Bigfoot’s cool.” He pulls out his phone. “I mean, people have searched for it for hundreds of years. There’re legends all over the world about this thing. Why wouldn’t we want to investigate it?”

  My little black-and-white dog, Bear, perches on the center console, and he licks her elbow in support.

  “Ugh.” She scrubs her arm against the seat. “I love you, dog, but I bet you just licked your butt.”

  Ignoring their banter, I drive slowly through town. A couple of middle-aged people stroll down the sidewalk, peering into shop windows, and they stop to gawk at us as we drive by. Not that I blame them. Around here, where there are more beat-up pickups than there are people, a relatively clean black van with tinted windows and “Brady Paranormal Investigations” emblazoned on the side must be pretty unusual. Then again, this is a town that’s blaming Bigfoot for several missing hikers.

  I pull into the motel’s parking lot and pull out my phone. All of the windows are shuttered, and there aren’t any other vehicles in the parking lot. I search for the website for the motel. “This is weird,” I say, showing Jess and Russ the brightly flashing, ad-filled website for the motel. “It doesn’t say on their website that they’re closed.”

  Jess snorts. “Of course it doesn’t.” She eyes the forlorn building, with its weeds reaching past the windows and darkened rooms. “And I’m assuming there aren’t any other places for us to stay.”

  I don’t even have to look at my phone. “Nope.” I take a deep breath, cringing inwardly at what I know my sister’s reaction will be. “I guess we’ll just have to wing it until we figure out what’s next. We can’t let the fans down.”

  “Uh uh. Not happening. Absolutely not.” Jess snags an empty Mountain Dew bottle from the floor and chucks it at me. It bounces off of the driver’s side window and joins about half a dozen similar bottles on the floor. “I hate you,” she says.

  “With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. Yeah, we know,” Russ quips.

  Chapter 2

  I pull out my phone. “I’ll call the viewer who sent the video. What was her name?”

  “Um, just a sec. I’ve got it written down.” Russ rifles through the folder we started on the case. “Ceridwyn Sinclair, or CeriD on the forums.”

  I roll the name around on my tongue. I still don’t recognize it, unlike our last client, ShelleyBelle, who was a viewer before sending us the video of a ghost descending a staircase, who turned out to be her dead mom.

  “Do you have her phone number?”

  Russ rattles it off, and I punch it in my phone. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. Hopefully, this one’s not a teenager like Shelley was.

  The sun beats high and brightly against the glass, baking the faded road and wooden buildings alike. We should probably start scoping out the town. Maybe someone knows of a bed-and-breakfast or vacation rental in town.

  Jess hops out and starts snapping pictures with her phone, both of the town and of herself. She’s recently become obsessed with Instagram and is convinced that we’ll get hundreds of new viewers by appealing to that audience. I’m still skeptical. Then again, I sti
ll use Facebook and Jess says only old people do that.

  “Want to film a short intro, while we’re at it?” Russ asks her. She nods, and they stand in front of the creepy abandoned hotel. Even though the hotel isn’t our case, our audience will love it. Investigating ghosts is in our bones. It’s where we came from, and it’s always good to go back to one’s roots. Well, almost always.

  “Can you take Bear?” I clip his leash on his collar and hand him to Russ. “I’m going to head over to the 7-Eleven and grab a newspaper. Maybe I can get whoever’s working there to talk. They’ll know the latest gossip.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  The dimly lit convenience store is a welcome respite from the glaring sun. After pasting a smile on my face, I approach the fortysomething clerk, who’s counting lottery tickets. She looks up, brushes waist-length hair that’s more gray than blond out of her face, and gives me a good once-over. The crooked name tag on her shirt reads Sheryl.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asks, but I don’t think that’s really the question she’s asking. No, her unspoken question is, “What in the hell are you doing here?” and “Why can’t you me alone?” all rolled into one.

  Don’t worry, Sheryl, I’ll happily oblige as soon as I get a Big Gulp and some answers. “Hi.” I give her my most winning smile. “My name is Meredith Brady, and I was wondering if you knew anything about the missing people around town.” I don’t like beating around the bush. It wastes time, and I have a feeling Sheryl’s like that, too.

  Her eyes narrow into slits, and she purses her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who told you that?”

  Ah, so she’s going to be like that, then. I press on, refusing to back down. “My team and I run an online paranormal investigation show, and we research strange phenomena. We got a call that there might be something strange going on out here, so we thought we’d take a look and see if we can help.”

  “There isn’t anything to help with,” she snaps. “Are you a reporter? I don’t want to be on TV.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” I don’t bother explaining the difference between our online platform and how it’s very different than cable. With some people, it’s just easier to let them assume they’re the same thing. “We won’t film you.” I try another tactic. “Do you know anyone who might have some information about the missing people or the strange creature that’s been seen around here?”

  She considers my words for a long moment. I can tell she knows something, I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. That’s not surprising. A lot of small-town people close up around newcomers. I’ll have to earn their trust first.

  “Nope, not a clue.”

  My shoulders slump. We’re off to a stellar start. The hotel’s closed, and the first person I talk to won’t give me anything.

  The door chimes, and Russ and Jess walk in. I grab a newspaper, and my sister snags a couple bottles of water. Russ has a well-stocked supply of Mountain Dew, so he’s good. Sheryl scowls when she sees Bear tucked under my sister’s arm.

  “Get that dog out of here,” she says. “You can’t have animals in here. Didn’t you see the sign?” She points a chipped red fingernail at the front door. There’s no sign, at least one that I can see, but we pay quickly and hurry out of the store anyway.

  In the parking lot, I try calling CeriD again. We need something positive to happen before the whole day becomes a clusterfuck, but there’s still no answer.

  “Well, this sucks.” Jess climbs into the back seat of the van. “I thought this was going to be an easy case, especially after what happened during the last one.”

  She’s right. Sheryl was our first real contact here, besides the subscriber who sent in the information on the case, and her attitude has left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Do you want to try one of the shops?” Russ gestures down the street.

  I eye the dusty buildings and the few people strolling along the cracked sidewalk. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” It’s not like we have anything left to lose until we hear from our client.

  Jess hands me Bear, and we approach the first building with an Open sign, OK-Thrifty. Russ pulls out his GoPro and glances at me. “How do you want to approach this one? Same as the last?”

  Yeah, because that went well. We’re used to getting lukewarm reactions, but antagonistic ones right in the beginning really bring us down. “Maybe we should operate under the assumption that whoever’s inside will be just like Sheryl. What do you guys think?”

  “At least then we won’t be surprised if they kick us out,” Jess quips, the corners of her lips twitching.

  I chuckle. “Right. Let’s go.” With Russ filming to catch any reactions and conversation that we might miss before they ask us to leave, I lead the way into the thrift store. OK Thrifty is a narrow building, tucked between the post office and an empty general store. Dusty antiques clutter the shelves from the floor to above my head. Handwritten signs dangle on thin chains from the ceiling, indicating areas that contain everything from antique toys to floral tea sets.

  Huh. I wonder if there’s a market for investigations on haunted toys. It would be kinda cool to be able to control the environment that much. It might be as close as we can get to a pure environment. And if we purchased the item, even if it’s a haunted one, we would have a souvenir of our travels. But filling the van with creepy dolls and possessed coffee pots doesn’t appeal to me. If we had a home base, then maybe, but we don’t. I could always mail our haunted stuff to my aunt’s house. That would be kind of entertaining, but it’s not worth it in the long run, though, and the post office where we have our post-office box won’t store our mail forever. Nope, we’ll just stick to the haunted places.

  The guy leaning back against the wall with his feet on the counter looks nothing like I expect. He is a little older than me and has a bright-red shock of hair that curls lazily past his ears. A wispy mustache makes a vain attempt to grow on his upper lip, and a few straggly red hairs dot his chin. The plaid button-up shirt and blue jeans with dusty work boots complete the ensemble.

  When the young guy sees us, he scrambles to his feet. “Oh, hey. Is there something I can help you with?” His gaze passes over me and Russ but lingers a bit too long on my sister. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Creep.

  “Hi, I’m Meredith Brady, and my team and I are from Brady Paranormal Investigations. We’re investigating some reports of strange sightings in the area.” Russ gives me a look for not introducing them and leaving out the missing hikers, but I shake my head slightly. I’ll explain later. He nods.

  “Paranormal investigators, eh?” the guy says, turning his attention to me. “Like the Ghostbusters?”

  “Pretty much.” I make a mental note to see if I can get Russ and Jess to go in with me for a Ghostbuster-themed Halloween costume this year. My lips twitch at the thought. It’s worth a shot.

  “My name’s Ernie. My mom owns this store. I’m just working here to help her out. Are you cops?” He gazes at my sister. “You don’t look like cops.”

  “Nope,” I say. “We’re just people who specialize in the paranormal. We have a YouTube channel, and one of our subscribers sent us a link about some missing hikers and strange creature sightings.”

  He chews on our words for a moment. “You mean Bigfoot?”

  I nod. Finally, someone has some idea what we’re talking about. “Yes! Do you know anything about that?”

  Ernie throws his head back and laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “There ain’t no such thing as Bigfoot. It’s just a rumor, a legend to sell postcards and T-shirts. The only person who believes that shit is Uncle George, and he’s as crazy as they come.”

  I commit the name to memory, even though I’m sure that either my sister or Russ will be doing the same. We’re thorough like that.

  “What about you?” I ask, feeling Russ turn the camera on Ernie’s face to get his reaction. We’ll worry about perm
issions later. He seems pretty chatty and pleased to be on camera, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Even if we can’t use the video, we could probably spring some audio clips without getting sued, change his name, and record our own recollections of the interview for the broadcast. It’s not as good as an on-camera one, but it’s better than nothing.

  “Do you believe Bigfoot exists? There have been a lot of sightings lately, ones that haven’t made the news, and we’ve heard that some people in town think this creature is related to the missing people.” I’m really reaching here, but by the anger that flashes in Ernie’s eyes, I don’t think I’m far off the mark.

  Ernie’s jaw sets, and his eyes take on a steely glint. “I think people ought to mind their own business. There ain’t nothing going on in Atopka. Now, y’all want to buy something, or not?”

  We do not. Without a word, we hightail it out of OK Thrifty before we get kicked out of a second place in an hour.

  Chapter 3

  Just before we make it back to the van, my phone rings. I glance at the screen. It’s a local number, so I answer.

  “Hi, is this Meredith Brady? I’m Ceridwyn Sinclair, but my friends call me Ceri. I think you called earlier, right” The bubbly, excited voice on the phone sounds way too perky for my current mood.

  I push that aside. “Yeah, that was me. Thanks for returning my call. So, we’re here in Atopka.” I glance around at the empty parking lot and make a mental note to ask her about accommodations when we meet. Jess might kill me in my sleep if I make her stay in the van for the whole investigation.

  “This is so awesome! I can’t believe you’re actually here. I never thought you’d take our case.”

  “Well”—I pause, trying to think of the easiest way to explain what happened in Georgia—“we need a change of pace, something a bit different from what we’ve done before. When you sent us the links to the newspaper articles, we figured why not?”

  “I’m just so glad you’re here. When do you want to meet up? I just got out of work, so my schedule is pretty open.”