Adventures Of An Amateur Ghost Hunter: Riverhaven Sanatorium

09 October - Fieldwork: Location Two - The Farmhouse

What do a hellish sanatorium, a spine-tingling cemetery, and an eerie farmhouse have in common? Apparently, me. A recurring theme, my new life revolved around exploring abandoned, derelict places. What joy. Jackson's every day, he thrived in the chaotic atmosphere of the unexplained but me? Yeah, this was something else. A new normal? Perhaps. Something I'd have to get accustomed to if I was going to be spending my time with Jackson? A definite. Hopefully, I'd eventually find the same thrills as he, investigating undiscovered realms, but the singular goal of saving my skin put a damper on the adventure.

Mounting the farmhouse's rickety porch stairs proved easier than the day before and, yet, exceedingly more difficult. An oxymoron of bumbled graceful actions. Though previous disorientation evaporated beneath the dawn of a new day, the world weighed heavily. It felt as if I had a ton of rocks in my pockets. Confession, I did. Gemstones for this. Gemstones for that. Jackson really came prepared, ensuring I possessed everything needed to defend myself against the unknown. The heavy stones rattled and swayed with every step, like two bags of marbles saddled to my hips.

Jackson's messenger bag hung, limply, from his shoulder, as it always did, seemingly made of paper. He strutted across the porch, practically gliding on air, while I, the pack mule of gemstones, brought up the rear. I groaned, tugging against the belt loops to resituate my jeans. Jackson shifted his gaze towards me, eyes brimmed with curiosity, before he chuckled and patted my shoulder.

"Better safe than sorry," he consoled, offering a sympathetic smile.

I rolled my eyes and protruded my tongue in response.

"Ready to go in?" Jackson inquired, using a finger to shove my tongue back into my mouth.

I gagged, lurching backward, and smacked my lips. A wide toothed grin contorted Jackson's sincere expression, cloaking his face behind a mischievous mask.

"Weirdo," I sputtered.

"True, I am," Jackson admitted, releasing a playful growl. "So, I ask again, ready to go in?"

Cracking my knuckles, I put on my best game face and stood tall.

"Round Two. Fight."

Jackson arched a brow and snorted.

"Cute." He chuckled, patting my head.

Pushing past him, I attempted to enter but he snagged the sleeve of my hoodie. Jackson yanked me from the doorway, holding up a hand.

"Wait, before we go in," he paused, closing the distance between us, "I just remembered there's something else that you need."

Heat radiated from him as he broke the boundaries of personal space. My body soaked it in. I shivered, startled by the abrupt warmth. Jackson smirked, glancing at me from head to toe, before his gaze pierced mine. The smile faded. A sea of emotion stormed in his eyes. Passionate hunger encouraged me to reach towards him but doubt caged my fingers. Uncharted waters, I lost myself, suddenly uncertain of my own actions.

Jackson emanated a perfume of sage and cinnamon, a subtle observation previously gone unnoticed. A hint of minty mouthwash mingled the blend, exuded with every exhale from his parted lips. He tilted his chin down. Movement slow and deliberate, he raised his hand.

My heart pounded. I could hear ringing in my ears. These behaviors resembled the fear behind my nightmares but somehow different. Instead of wanting to run, pleasurable anticipation tingled my skin. My gaze lasered in on his lips and I gulped.

Shrouded in mystery, Jackson swirled his fingers above the opening to his messenger bag. Confusion enveloped as I felt my heart drop to my stomach. Disappointment followed.