Mike Stevens and Elizabeth Delaroca pulled up in front of the house in a nondescript red Jeep Cherokee. The stepped out, their blue jumpsuits not giving any indication that they worked for an agency designed to fight extradimensional beings. The FBEI, the Federal Bureau of Extradimensional Investigations, had cleaned out more haunted houses than the public would ever hear about.
"Happy Halloween, Liz. Halloween with a real haunted house. Perfect," he said with a grin.
"Thanks, Mike. You too."
Mike stood almost ten full inches taller than his partner, reaching just shy of six foot six. Tall and muscular, he had the scars and markings of someone who had been cleaning houses for a while, though he was only twenty-eight. He had a light complexion and his brown hair was kept in a crew cut.
Delaroca, on the other hand, was slim and attractive, somehow missing the burn marks and white scars that came with the job. Her scars were more mental, being the more sensitive of the two. She stood five foot eight and was muscular without being over muscled. She had a beautiful face, mostly thanks to her model mother, but her eyes were another story, much like the house they now faced: haunted. They were not the eyes of a twenty-four year old former model turned psychic investigator.
They surveyed the lot they stood on now. The house was older, probably built sometime in the late nineteenth century. Dusk was settling over the three-story house, which was light blue with dark trim around the shutters. To the right of the house stood a couple of outbuildings and just behind the house, they could make out a large shed.
"So, Liz," Mike started. "What do we have?"
Liz opened the file that she carried and started reading. "The house was built in eighteen seventy seven. It is now the house of one Mr. David Bronson, born nineteen twenty-nine, died nineteen ninety-seven. He bought the house in nineteen sixty. The late Mr. Bronson left the house to his children. Two boys, Daniel and Donald, and one girl, Denise. The children have tried to sell the house on four separate occasions. Every time a new owner moves in, unexplained things start happening."
"Unexplained? Like what?"
"Furniture moving, doors slamming, voices in the night. The usual."
Mike cocked his head to the side and looked at the house. "And what does the Bureau want?"
"They want a full cleaning with a minimum of damage to the house or property. That means you're on the short leash for this one." She smirked.
"The hell you say, woman. We came here to do a job. You know that."
"I know, Mike. I'm just giving you the rundown."
They stood next to each other and listened to children running a couple of streets away as they started their trick-or-treating. Almost as if she read his mind, Liz said, "Don't worry, Mike. The area kids know the house is haunted. They won't come anywhere near it. Unless they're teenagers." She shrugged her shoulders, knowing how teenagers were. Mike said nothing but headed for the back of the Jeep.
"You getting anything yet," he asked as he opened the rear door.
Liz focused on the house but then shook her head. "Nothing yet. Just a little residual, probably from the last manifestation."
Mike nodded and started hauling boxes out of the Jeep. He set down a couple and then grabbed a golf bag from behind the back seat. He pulled the cover off and took a look at his bag. Instead of golf clubs, it was filled with a shotgun, a sledgehammer, a crowbar and an axe. Extra ammunition and smaller implements of destruction were tucked into the bag's pockets.
Liz chuckled. "What happened to the short leash, Mikey?"
"Hey. They can fire me when we're done. Now, let's get going."
Mike slung his golf bag over his shoulder and hefted two boxes along with it while Liz grabbed her Beretta nine millimeter and slid it into the holster on her hip. She grabbed the last box off the ground and followed Mike, taking a second to kick the door of the Jeep shut.
They climbed the small steps to the front door, Mike trying the doorknob. "You have the key," he asked.
"Yeah. I've got it right...here." As she said this, the front door opened on squeaky hinges like any good haunted house. They looked at each other and Mike moved into the doorway, setting down his boxes and quickly drawing his shotgun, setting the bag down. Liz followed suit, moving next to him and setting the box down, drawing her Beretta and turning slowly in a half-circle. The living room was to the left and led off to the kitchen behind the stairs, which dominated the main entryway. The den was off to the right, following the far wall of the house.
Mike got her attention and pointed at his head, silently asking if she felt anything. When she shook her head no, he pointed her to the right, toward the den, and motioned that he was heading for the kitchen. She nodded and moved slowly toward the door while he got up from his crouch and shuffled toward the kitchen.
Liz passed the stairs and turned quickly and aimed up them, though there was nothing there. She got the sense she was being watched but hadn't felt anything on her 'radar.' She took a deep breath and nudged the den door open with the barrel of her gun. She moved in and looked around, finding nothing out of the ordinary. She holstered her gun and headed back for the front door.
Mike reached the kitchen doorway and peeked in. From where he stood, he was facing a dining nook with the kitchen off to his right, running along the back of the house. He turned and saw Delaroca at the front door. He motioned that he was going in and that she was to stay by the door. When she nodded, he took a tentative step into the dining nook, looking under the table. Nothing.
Mike turned and looked down the length of the kitchen, it's countertops polished so that they reflected what little light was left from outside. He moved over so that the counter was on his left, leaving the rest of the kitchen on his right. As he passed by the sink, which dripped quietly, he heard a small rattle from the cabinet about six feet in front of him. He turned and looked, seeing Liz standing in the doorway. He shook his head, knowing she had just obeyed orders, but feeling safer that she was there for backup.
He moved to the far side of the pantry door and grasped the small wooden handle. Liz moved about four feet into the nook, keeping the counter between her and the door. Mike nodded to her and she nodded back. Mike shifted his weight, stretching his arm out to full length and then jerked the door open.
He was assaulted by a handful of mops and brooms, as well as a couple of rolls of paper towels. He sank to the floor, a mop almost poking him in the face and started to laugh. Liz stepped out from behind the counter, obviously trying not to laugh but with tears welling up in her eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and laugh, Roca," Mike said, a long breath escaping his lips. "I'm sure I'll have something to laugh about to you before this is all over."
"Yeah, probably, partner." She walked over and offered him a hand, grunting as he took it and most of his two hundred and thirty pounds of weight threatened to tip her over.
"Come on, " he said, putting mops and brooms back in the pantry. "Let's get the gear set up and get this over with."
They went back out to the living room and switched on the light. They both noticed the front door was closed but neither said anything since it was expected. They crouched around the three boxes they had brought in and started unloading.
