Ghost Writer - Pandora Pine Page 0,24

Rubbing his hands over his upper arms, Cope walked toward his desk. He reached behind the typewriter grabbing the sheet of paper between his first finger and thumb. He took a deep breath before he started to read the words typed with perfect precision.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll,

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Cope blinked several times to make sure he was really seeing what was printed on the paper. He had no idea what the words were, but it sounded an awful lot like some sort of spiritual song, possibly a hymn, just like Amazing Grace. The Forbes family hadn’t been overly religious, only attending services on Easter and Christmas morning. Cope was sure a quick search on Google would give him the name of this piece and where it came from.

He didn’t feel quite so afraid now that he’d read the words typed on the page. After all, how scary could a Christian hymn be? Although, in his line of work, scary was a relative term. Setting the page down on his desk, Cope grabbed a blank piece of paper and inserted it into the typewriter. “Who are you? Why are you here? Is there something you think I can do to help you?”

Cope’s questions were met by more silence. No one responded. The typewriter lay silent.

Remembering the typing hadn’t begun until Cope turned away from the typewriter, he did the same thing again, walking to the door and placing his hand on the knob. Nothing happened.

His first instinct had been to tell Jude what was going on. Once the biggest skeptic Cope had ever met, Jude believed in him fiercely.

“Listen, my son is asleep in the next room. Do not go near him. Do not look at him. Do not touch him.” That old fear descended over Cope’s body. He shivered with it feeling his flesh break out in chill bumps.

What he needed to do was get the hell out of this room and get to Wolf. Then he needed to renew all of the wards and charms on the house. He must have missed something. Hell, he might even need to call Dempsey McMillan, who was so much better at protection charms than he was.

Cope went to the bedroom door and turned the knob. It wouldn’t budge. His heart started to hammer in his chest. It was beating so fast Cope was sure he was about to have a heart attack. Wolf. I have to get to Wolf, was all Cope could think at the moment. As frightened as he was, he needed a way out of this room to protect his son.

“Let me out!” Cope had the doorknob in both hands and was violently shaking it. The knob wouldn’t turn. The doors in the upstairs bedrooms didn’t have locks on them. Cope had Jude replace them all when they’d brought Wolf home with them. He didn’t want his son to be able to lock himself in any room either by accidentally pressing the button or by using a gift he wasn’t old enough to control. The only reason this doorknob should be not budging was if Jude was standing on the other side of the door holding it still. “If you hurt my son, so help me God…”

The typewriter began to tap and ping again. The invisible hands working the keys was flying. From where Cope was standing, he could see those same lines typed again and again. When the page was full, the rollers clicked backward ejecting the paper onto Cope’s desk.

With shaking hands, Cope picked up the page. Quickly scanning it, he could see it was the same four lines typed again and again. Every word was perfectly spelled. Every line perfectly spaced.

What on earth did this mean? Who was this spirit who was somehow able to speak through his typewriter but not with his voice? Was the spirit dangerous? Was their family in any danger from this person?

Cope had more questions than answers. At first, he thought he would just let this go and see what happened tomorrow, but now he knew he needed to tell Jude everything. He should have told Jude what happened last night. For Wolf’s sake, they might even have to pack up and leave the house for the night or longer. Who knew how long it would take Dempsey and the other psychics to root this spirit out of