southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits Read Online Free PDF Page B

keychain. "It would be great if you could go in by yourself," I added, with just a hint of desperation. He could find it as well as I could. Maybe.
    "It takes a lot of energy to move anything on your plane," he said, "much less do a full-out search. Don't you know anything?"
    "Not about this," I said, flipping on my light. The watery beam spilled down onto the path in front of me.
    Frankie stared out into the darkness, lost in thought. "If I could, I would have taken the cash already." His brow furrowed. "Not that I could have spent it. It would have been more like a force of habit."
    He turned his back and began gliding toward the cabin. "Wait up," I said, chasing after him. 
    I had a hard time following the path, and my Keds didn't offer great traction, but I didn't dare fall too far behind. I kept as close as I could to Frankie. He was the least creepy thing here.
    How messed up was that?
    The closer we got, the more I wanted to turn back. Seeing the house straight ahead didn't help.
    The rough, wooden boards looked like they'd been pieced together with nails, spit, and not much else. Darkened windows gazed out from both stories and the front door leaned drunkenly on its hinges.
    Weeds invaded the path, winding around my ankles. The entire property felt dark, wrong, like it lay in wait for me to enter and make a mistake.
    "How far in do I have to go?" I whispered to Frankie. 
    Maybe Oskar hid the money by the front door or something.
    He glanced up at the house. "Let's get inside before we worry about that."
    As he spoke, a candle sputtered to life in the upstairs window. I would have screamed if I hadn't been too busy trying not to fall.
    "Don't let that bother you," Frankie said.
    The light flickered even as I stood there, scared out of my wits. "There is a ghost up there," I said, as loud as I dared.
    "It's her house," Frankie said simply.
    Right. A hysterical giggle threatened to burst from me. I could relate to that. If I lost my nerve now, I was going to lose my house tomorrow. Or if not tomorrow…soon. Josephine was nothing but a ghost. A spirit. A remnant from another age, like Frankie. He hadn't harmed me, and I'd actually done something to tick him off. 
    I forced myself to take one step forward, then another, until I made it to the front door and touched my fingers to the latch. "What do I do when I get inside?"
    "Follow your gut," Frankie said.
    My gut told me to run.
    But I knew I could do this. I had to do this. And so, I slipped inside.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    The chill and the dark seeped over me. The wooden floorboards creaked under my feet. Oh my Lord, this place was creepy. It made no sense for it to be colder in here than on the outside. That's right , I told myself. Focus on the logic . 
    I should have run out of there screaming. 
    Instead, I took one more step, then another, until I was all the way inside.
    The thin beam from my flashlight reached tentatively into the blackness. I could barely see two feet in any direction. I had no idea what surrounded me, or which way I should go. 
    I shuddered to think what might lurk just beyond my reach. 
    The whisper of a breeze stole over me and I jerked in surprise.
    It was coming from inside the house.
    I sucked in a breath. "Calm down," I told myself. I wasn't some stupid horror movie heroine going into a dangerous situation for no reason. I was merely taking a gander inside a haunted house in order to help an old widow and save what should have been rightfully mine in the first place. This wasn't the same thing at all. 
    Plus I could run like the dickens.
    I fought to keep my breathing slow and even, to ignore the pounding of my heart.
    There were no axe murderers here. Nothing alive.
    My bangs tickled against my forehead, stirred by an imperceptible force.
    "Frankie?" I asked, my voice catching in my throat. "Please tell me that's you."
    I wouldn't even be mad.
    "It's not," he said quietly. He