Shards of Clear Glass (A Ghost Adventures Story)

Coincidental

Saira's POV

Talking about my past to a bunch of strangers weakens me. And Zak can tell.

On the drive back home, he holds my hand, but says nothing, letting his mere presence soothe me, as it always has.

As soon as we enter the house, Aaron looks up from the kitchen counter. His face is scattered with bread crumbs, and a piece of ham hangs out of the side of his mouth.

"Really, Aaron? You had to steal my ham?" Zak says as he walks in behind me. Aaron smiles, then remembers the food in his mouth. He quickly swallows, then smiles again.

"Sorry, bro. I was waiting on you guys and got hungry. Didn't think you'd mind," Aaron says, a grin on his face, which never seems to fade.

"Of course we wouldn't. I mean, you and the others did spy on Zak and me one time, then broke in and ate all our eggs. Why would we mind you doing it again?" I say, walking over to him.

Aaron grins even wider, then says,"Well, I'm actually here because I just got a call about a location that might interest you guys. It's called the Monica Peer's House."

I lean against the counter, watching Aaron. Zak riffles through the fridge, looking for food.

"Apparently, the house itself was burned down then rebuilt. People think it was a personal grudge against the family that lived there," Aaron continues.

Zak and I nod, both of us thinking. Zak looks over his shoulder at me, and I grin.

"Please stop with the telepathic stuff, please. It's creepy," Aaron says, and we laugh.

"We'll do it. Send the word," Zam says to Aaron, who mock salutes as he leaves. I roll my eyes, smiling, as Zak places stuff for sandwhiches before me.

The next day, we prepare to leave. A long drive through several states awaits us.

Journeying with four boys, being the only girl, is hell, just let me say. The number of inappropriate jokes made, bets wagered, and simple testosterone levels is enough to drive anyone crazy.

Somehow, I stay sane. At least for the drive.

When we reach the house the next day, I'm thrown back in time, to a house I used to visit when I was younger.

It was large, with a white fence around it, a dark porch to draw attention from the peeling white paint on the rest of the house. A splendid garden encompassed the front yard, with a gravel path winding through it. This house is the exact same, only with a smiling woman standing out front.

The woman greets each of us, then is interviewed by Zak. What she tells him is the usual: burned house, lost lives, ghosts haunting the place where they died.

Zak nods, then asks where the next interviewee, a historian and docent of the house, is. The woman directs him inside, and we all follow.

The man we interview next goes into detail about the history of the house, particularly the burning of it.

"It was during the night, so everyone for miles could see it. When it burned, people around here claimed that they heard Satan himself laugh in their dreams.

"The entire family burned to ashes except for one. She was the youngest, and had made it out of the house before the fire erupted. For this reason, she was thought to have set the fire."

My chest constricts as the man talks, the words seeming too familiar, the story too coincidental.

"The owner, his wife, their older daughter, and their son all died. After the fire, the living girl was branded a murderer, and was shunned. Eventually, she gave into temptation."

"What happened to her?" My voice shatters the silence over the group as they listen to the story, and everyone turns to look at me. But my eyes are only on the storyteller.

"What happened to the living daughter?" I ask, barely controlling the tremble in my voice.

The man blinks at me, then says softly,"She committed suicide by slicing her wrists open."

Nausea unfurls in my stomach, and I feel the blood rush out of my face.

I turn, not even asking for my leave. I run out of the house, and almost down the gravel pathway before I hear the door open behind me.

Turning, I see Zak looking at me, concern crunching up his eyebrows and forehead.

"Sorry. I just-I couldn't stay in there a moment longer. It's way too similar, Zak. They hate me. I can feel it," I say as Zak walks closer.

Ever since I stepped foot onto the property, I felt the hate and anger and sorrow of the ghosts within the house. They eat away at me, little by little, as my own sorrow and self-hate and anger grow as the man's words and the images from my memories play through my mind.

Zak stops before me, looking at me but not touching me. He knows that I'll only move away from him if he tries to touch me.

"I can't see them, Zak. And it scares me. They hate me, and I can't even see them. This place is alive with emotion, but not movement. It's eerie," I say, still trying to control the tremble in my words.

Zak nods, looking at me with kind, understanding eyes.

I take a deep breath, then say,"Okay. Okay. I'm good now. Sorry. It was just way too much for a second. I'm good."

Zak nods again, then touches my arm briefly. The slight touch is enough to calm me, and we head back inside.

Everyone glances at me warily, with concern, with annoyance. But I pay no attention to them. I simply pick up my camera, and keep filming.

I don't see or hear any spirits for the rest of the day, or the day after. But I can feel their anger and hate. And it explodes during the lockdown.