Dead Air, Michelle Schusterman [mobile ebook reader .TXT] 📗

later, I swiped the key to room 301, then pushed the door open a crack. “Hello?” I stuck my head inside. The room was deserted.

Both beds and the floor were covered in camera bags and cables, mics and tripods, thermal scanners and EMF detectors. Propping the door open behind me, I scanned the room quickly and spotted a closed laptop next to the TV. “Hallelujah,” I whispered, hurrying over and pulling up a chair. I opened the laptop, powered it on, and waited impatiently for it to load.

And waited. And waited.

I frowned, tapping my fingers on the table. This show seriously needed some better equipment. Finally, the desktop appeared. But before I could click on anything, a video popped up and began to play.

“Are you ready?”

I recognized Sam’s voice immediately. The camera sat perfectly still at eye level—on a tripod, I figured—in front of a tiny table in a cramped, circular room. Sam sat between Lidia and a blond, round-faced woman wearing a ton of makeup—Emily Rosinski, the first host. All three were holding hands. The only light came from a single, dim bulb over their heads.

Lidia nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

I tapped the escape key several times, then held down the power button. Nothing. The video just kept playing.

Sam tilted his head back, his expression serene. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. Lidia obeyed immediately, but Emily continued to stare at him, her expression rapt. Sam started to speak so softly, I couldn’t catch all the words.

“We invite you to join . . . present, let us know you’re . . . our energies, if you wish . . .”

Lidia drew a slow, steady breath, her hands visibly trembling. Emily leaned closer to Sam. “Are you sensing a presence?” she said in a loud, exaggerated whisper.

Sam didn’t respond. “If you’re willing . . . communicate, we ask that you . . . let Lidia know you’re present . . .”

I’d seen every episode of Passport to Paranormal, but this scene didn’t look familiar. The bulb hanging overhead flickered once, very briefly. Emily gasped.

“Did you see that, Sam?” she cried shrilly. “I think you’ve made contact!”

I snorted. No wonder they’d never used this footage. Uber-cheesy.

Sam didn’t even open his eyes. “Focus, Emily,” he said dreamily.

He continued murmuring, his voice barely audible. Lidia’s breathing grew heavier and heavier, while Emily just gazed adoringly at Sam. The lightbulb flickered again, and she squirmed in her chair.

“Sam, I think—”

Suddenly, Lidia’s eyes flew open. She sucked in a sharp breath just as the lightbulb exploded. Emily’s shriek cut off abruptly.

I blinked in the sudden darkness, goose bumps breaking out all over my arms. The laptop had powered off, and the hotel room was pitch-black.

Heart thudding in my ears, I got to my feet. I hadn’t turned on the lights when I came in, but I’d definitely left the door wide open.

Now it was closed.

“Hello?” I whispered. Feeling for the desk lamp, I flipped the switch. Nothing.

I felt a flicker of fear, quickly replaced by irritation. “Oscar,” I said firmly, turning in a full circle. “Knock it off, this isn’t funny.”

No response.

I made my way slowly across the room, carefully navigating around the bags and coils of cables on the floor. Twice I paused and listened, but the room remained silent. When I reached the door, I yanked it open. Light from the hallway flooded the room. I spotted a light switch next to the bathroom door and flipped it on.

“Where are you hiding?” I muttered, poking my head inside the bathroom before checking the closet. “Oscar, come on . . .”

But he wasn’t there. Hands on my hips, I stared at the laptop. Oscar must have been walking down the hall, seen me using the laptop, and shut the door. And the lamp . . .

Crossing the room, I flipped the lamp switch a few times. Then I saw the cord lying across the table. Someone’s phone charger was plugged into the socket instead. Well, that explained that.

I shook my head, my relief mixed with annoyance. Apparently Oscar was determined to scare me. He could have set it up so that the video automatically started playing when someone turned the laptop on. Although . . .

How could he have fixed it so that the laptop turned off right when the bulb exploded in the video?

I shivered, remembering the creepy way Lidia’s eyes had flown open. Before I could talk myself out of it, I powered the laptop back on and held my breath. The desktop looked normal—no videos, nothing unusual. I waited a few seconds, but nothing happened.

So that made three weird glitches: the printer, the camera, and the laptop. I sat down and opened the web browser. I wasn’t ready to believe the glitches were all thanks to a restless spirit haunting the show, but at least now I had something to write about for my second blog post.

At a quarter to ten the next morning, I stumbled off the elevator and into the lobby. Mi Jin waved at me from where she sat curled up in an armchair with her laptop. “Morning!”

“Mmmph,” I mumbled, eyeing the bagel in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

She pointed to a door by the front desk. “Breakfast room.” “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, I returned carrying a bagel smeared with grape jelly and a paper cup filled with chocolate milk. I started to take a sip as I sat in the chair next to Mi Jin, then yawned widely.

“You look dead,” Mi Jin observed. “Bad night’s sleep?”

“I don’t think it qualified as sleep.” I balanced my cup on the armrest and took a bite of bagel. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Your dad and Jess went to check out Crimptown for tonight,” she replied. “Roland might’ve gone with them, I’m not sure. Lidia’s on the phone setting up stuff for Brussels next week. And Sam’s having a tea party with Sonja Hillebrandt and the pirate who killed her.”

I choked on my bagel, giggling. “He’s what?”

Mi Jin grinned. “Sorry, that was mean. He’s . . . you know, doing his medium thing. Trying to contact Sonja and Red Leer by sitting at a table in a dark room.” She shrugged. “Whenever