.././.\\.\//.//

With night comes another trip down the dead end toward the cul-de-sac, but without a stop at the vacant lot. This time, Chad drives Zandra and Bexley in Ray's car, even if they could walk it again. At Zandra's direction, Chad kills the headlights as the car enters the dead end. The ambient glow of the streetlights and the moon are enough to show the way. Chad pulls the car over just before the street enters a curve.

"What if the pizza guy comes again?" Bexley says.

He won't. I'm nearly positive.

"No one gets pizza two nights in a row. It's just a fact," Chad says.

OK, Chad.

"Shut the car off," Zandra says.

"We might drain the battery, though," Chad says, referencing the plan they'd discussed back at grandma's house.

"If this works the way it's supposed to, it'll drain the battery anyway," Bexley says. "Spirits feed off electricity. They get their energy from energy."

That was stupid, but nonetheless helpful.

Chad shuts the engine off.

"Yes, Ray's more powerful and knowledgeable than even I realized, child. The reiki was just the tip. He embedded something special in Secret Smells of the Meat Industry," Zandra says, tripping over those last few words. "Press play, Chad."

Chad plays the bass drop from Secret Smells of the Meat Industry. There's no sound, but the car rattles, just as before. Zandra reaches to the dash from the backseat and turns the volume down. The rattling settles into a low vibration. A little quieter, and the vibration is barely perceptible.

Right there. Perfect.

"How long?" Bexley says.

"Let it play on loop as long as we can, child," Zandra says. "Ray knew what he was doing. This is a special sound. It opens a portal for the spirits to come through."

"Whoa. I guess he really knew his shit," Chad says.

I'm not going to give a drug dealer who chokes people with a chain while claiming to be a reiki master the benefit of the doubt when it comes to musicianship. My guess is he messed up the recording and made the bass drop too low.

Below that 20-hertz threshold, at or around 18.98 hertz, is the "ghost frequency." This is common knowledge for those uncommonly in the know.

The "ghost frequency" was discovered by accident—as many interesting discoveries often are—by an engineer named Vic Tandy in the 1980s. He worked in a lab reputed to be haunted. People reported feeling watched, that the hairs stood up on the back of their necks, and sightings of a strange humanoid figure. Was the lab truly haunted? Well, no.

Tandy noticed a sword blade clamped into a vice at the lab vibrated unexpectedly. He traced the source of the vibration to a fan oscillating at 19 revolutions per second—19 hertz. After turning off the fan, the sword blade stopped vibrating. Reports of strange activity ceased, too. The lab became un-haunted.

The "ghost frequency" was born. It's since been fine-tuned to 18.98 hertz.

It isn't precise, though. You don't point it at a target like a sniper. It's more like a smoke bomb. It covers everything. The entire neighborhood might go crazy.

"I feel weird," Chad says.

"Yeah, like soggy. Heavy," Bexley says.

Zandra sparks a fresh cigarette. She doesn't admit it, but she feels the same way as the other two.

Uneasy. Anxious. Amazing how fast that happens.

"This is, like, normal, right?" Chad says. He lights a cigarette, too, with shaky hands.

"Stay here," Zandra says and opens the car door. "No matter what, don't stop playing that loop."

Zandra leaves the door open behind her as she hobbles around the curve toward the cul-de-sac. The cool night air combines with her clammy skin to lock in the chill of 19 hertz. She looks over her shoulder to make sure she isn't being followed.

I'll use myself as the guinea pig. If I still feel this way when I get to the house at the cul-de-sac, I'll know the loop is probably affecting the woman inside, too.

The house, as before, is dark in the front. That gives Zandra a clear shot at the garbage can propped against the garage. However, she stops before she crosses the cul-de-sac.

No. Chad should do this. I can't risk being seen. There must be security cameras, right? That would make sense.

Zandra heads back to Ray's car and knocks on Chad's window. He rolls it down halfway, which is as far as it goes.

Fuck. He looks terrible. Well, more terrible than normal.

"You forgot to shut the door when you left, but I didn't want to close it in case the ghosts knew we were here," Chad says.

I didn't forget. I didn't want to make noise.

"I need you to do something for me," Zandra says. "Go to the house. Pull the pizza box out of the garbage can by the garage. Take some other trash with you, though."

"Huh?"

I thought that was pretty clear.

"Make it look like you're dumpster diving, but be sure to bring me the pizza box. Don't open the box, though. Very important. Before you leave, knock the garbage can onto its side. Then, like you're doing it by accident, drop this on the ground. Maybe kick a rock onto it to keep it in place. It's got to be in an obvious spot, but not too obvious," Zandra says. She reaches into her pocket for the flyer she ripped down at the university campus.

"OK, but what does this have to do with spirits and shit? Are there ghosts in there?"

"In the garbage can?"

"Yeah."

"No, child. They've yet to come, but they are coming. That's why you need to hurry. Don't look over your shoulder. It only makes it worse," Zandra says, not bullshitting that last part.

Chad takes the flyer and slips off into the night to fulfill the unusual request.

It's only unusual if you're not me.

The pizza box is the key to a lot of missing pieces, and it's very likely in the garbage can by the garage. Pizza boxes are too bulky for most trash cans in the home. When people are finished with them, they usually bring the boxes outside to the big garbage can. I know the garbage can at the cul-de-sac house isn't empty because I saw the garbage truck running a route in this neighborhood before the pizza was delivered.

That all assumes, of course, that the pizza box isn't still holding leftovers in the fridge inside the house. However, I'm fairly certain that isn't the case, for reasons I still need to stitch together.

Getting the pizza box out of the garbage isn't so simple, though. Let's suppose there are security cameras recording the driveway. What the woman inside will see in the playback is becoming more common in Stevens Point: someone digging through her garbage can for something to eat or pawn. Chad looks the part, and I don't look like anything because I'm not there.

On the other hand, if there aren't security cameras, the woman might take the overturned garbage can as confirmation that there's something more to her 19 hertz of anxiety. She might think "ghost." Or, if she's better versed in the paranormal, "poltergeist."

Either way, she'll have to pick up the garbage in her driveway. That's when she'll see the flyer, but she won't remember ever seeing it before. That'll get her curious.

Zandra smokes in silence next to the car while Bexley shrinks into her chest. After a few minutes, Chad returns with the pizza box, plus an armful of mundane garbage. Apparently, the house's occupant doesn't use trash bags.

"It stunk in there," Chad says, out of breath. He sets the pizza box on the hood of the car and tosses the rest of the garbage into the backseat. The garbage will hardly be noticed against the layer of Ray's random refuse on the floor.

"It's garbage. What did you expect?" Zandra says and takes the pizza box. She opens the top out of view of Chad and Bexley.

Just as I thought. Excellent.

She tosses the box into the backseat along with the rest of the garbage.

Now I need to know the house is getting hit with 19 hertz of fuckery.

"Did you feel the spirits when you were in the driveway, child?" Zandra says.

Chad leans over to wipe his sweaty face on the knee of his pants. "Oh, yeah. It's, uh, like you said. The spirits are coming."

"And you left the flyer?" Zandra says.

"Yeah. Can we leave now? I feel like I'm gonna end up possessed or some shit."

"No. Stay here."

Zandra shuffles into the woods, hoping the ticks keep away from her purple gown and ignoring Bexley's comment of, "I'm getting real tired of being in this car."

Now you two are worried about getting your burger brains a little scrambled? Now?

Try as she might, Zandra can't help the creeping scramble in her own brain. It doesn't get any better the deeper she gets into the woods. She stops at the thick trunk of the tree she used before to get a look at the front of the cul-de-sac house. Whether the front of the house is monitored by security cameras, Zandra still can't tell. However, one thing is certain. Chad made a lot of noise when he knocked the garbage around.

There she is, standing in the driveway. She even noticed the flyer. Oh, this is perfect.

Zandra retreats to the car, where she finds Chad hunched over next to the trunk.

"I can't tell if I'm gonna fucking puke or shit my pants," Chad says. "You OK in there, Bex?"

Bexley doesn't reply. She's curled up in the fetal position in the front passenger seat.

Babies.

"In 15 minutes, turn the loop off. Think you can handle that?" Zandra says. She doesn't get a reply. "This is important. Turn off the loop in 15 minutes. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Fifteen minutes," Chad says. Still clutching his stomach, he slides into the driver's seat so he can watch the clock on the dash. "Can you make it five minutes? Or one? Or now?"

"Fifteen. Then go back to your grandma's house. I'll meet you there when I'm done," Zandra says.

Chad waves Zandra off.

Don't fuck this up. Just do it.

Zandra gives her bad ankle a rub before shuffling off toward the house. This time, she doesn't take the woods. She stays on the street. When she hits the edge of the cul-de-sac, she stops and stuffs her hands into the opposing sleeves. Given the baggy purple gown, she looks like a monk.

Need to get into character.

The garbage can is upright once again, and the woman appears to have gone back inside the house. Zandra crosses the cul-de-sac, limps up the driveway, and knocks three times on the front door.

This should be interesting.