That's A Rap Chapter One

The first narrow rays of early morning sunshine began to pierce the thread-bare curtains and cut into the semi-darkness of the large wood paneled sitting room. The heavy musty smell of old, damp leather furniture, drifted in the dusty air as the temperature slowly began to rise.
"This place gives me the creeps," George confessed, as he busied himself with the task of rewinding the cable that linked the motion sensors he had set up around the house the previous afternoon.
"You say that at every house we've been in," Carl replied, smiling at the irony of his colleague's remark. "Are you sure being a paranormal investigator is the best career choice for you?"
"It's hardly a choice is it? And calling me a paranormal investigator is a stretch of the imagination."
Suspecting that George was about to go off on one of the long winded grumbling and complaining sessions, for he had become famous among his peers, Carl, hurriedly grabbed the bag containing myriad of electronic equipment and made a rush towards the door.
"What about the rest of the stuff upstairs?" George called after him, obviously in irritated tone.
"Get Joanne to help you with. I'm going to check out these tapes," Carl made no attempt to alter his hasty pace when he replied. 'I'll meet you both at the studio, this afternoon."
Once outside, Carl settled to a more sedate and comfortable stride, savoring long intakes of cold, morning fresh air. Each appreciative breath seemed to wash a little more of the musty, stale air from his lungs. When he reached the car door, Carl allowed himself a moment to stand and listen to the birds singing in the trees that lined the massive unkempt grounds of the manor house. This brief ritual allowed him ease his mind set from the dark, dismal dreariness he endured every night in his quest detect and record sounds deemed not to be of this world. A task which had started out as engaging pastime in his late teens and slowly transformed into career that had furnished him with an extremely comfortable lifestyle. The world's media now sought his expertise to produce tantalizing evidence of the existence of paranormal activity to captivate their audiences.
"Carl! Hang on".
He turned, momentarily startled by the shrill call from behind him. Joanne stood in the main doorway of the house, waving a video case above her head. "Take this back with you, I think you'll find it interesting."
Seeing that she was not about to venture beyond the threshold he reluctantly returned down the overgrown path towards her. "What have you got, Joanne?"
"I'm not sure," she began. "I think I caught something on this tape. I had it set up in the master bedroom, at the rear of the house."
"You think you caught what, exactly."
Joanne was not the kind of person to exaggerate any findings she suspected she might have stumbled on. Her professional caution was one thing above all else that he admired and respected about her. There was no doubt in his mind when he took the video from her that there would indeed be something of interest on it.
"I'd rather not say what it is," she continued. 'You watch it through and come to your conclusions; I don't want to influence you with my suspicions."
The drive home was pleasantly quiet and free from the rush hour traffic. Carl was able to enjoy the drive, while listening to the local radio station. A fifteen minute journey, yet so crucial in his daily revitalizing ritual. A bad drive home would ultimately result in unneeded stress and combined with the exhaustion of a full nights vigil that could only end in a dark cloud of gloom and irritation accompanying him through his entire day, today however the journey cheered and relaxed him, undoubtedly a stress free, wonderful day would surely follower?
After a tragically short two hours sleep, Carl emerged from his bedroom, his steps slow and akin to a humanoid robot, running reluctantly on depleted battery power. His course was undeterred to the kitchen, his purpose to ingest strong black coffee in copious amounts, only then would his energy levels be sufficient to motivate his bulky form to endure the rigors that lay ahead of him.
The first few sips were slow and painful as his dulled senses struggled to accept the harshness of the bitter, black, steamy liquid. He winced, trying to ignore the sharp sting in his lips when the hot coffee almost blistered the thin delicate skin. The pain slowly faded to endurable after he inhaled a long appreciative drag from a freshly lit cigarette.
"Ahhhhhh ... That's better," he murmured, savoring the moment of gradual alertness.
Settling back into the hefty comfort of the armchair, video remote in hand Carl focused his eyes on the TV screen and waited impatiently for the chaos of the crackling white shower of dots to disappear and reveal the steady black and white images Joanne's night camera had recorded over the six hour vigil they had completed the previous night.
At first the monochrome images passed from one to the next with all the expected dreariness on the hundreds of previous occasions he had become accustomed to. The white digits in the right top corner, displaying the passing seconds, minutes and eventually hours progressed ever forward as the uneventful content droned by.
When the all important numbers announced: 2:59:00 Carl's interest was instantly captured. He threw himself forward, hoping the image would suddenly become clearer, the closer he viewed the screen.
A small white orb of light appeared by the right hand side of the bedroom window, where Joanne had carefully pointed the camera. Painfully aware that such luminous anomalies were common on many, if not most video tapes, he continued to watch with a sense of dulled interest. Soon however, it became obvious that on this occasion, whatever he was witnessing had broken away from the usual tradition. The offending orb appeared to be following a determined and precise course around the room. Not the random, chaotic sweeps, witnessed so many times before.
'Weird!' Carl thought, as he continued to watch the orb perform its steady journey, only disappearing briefly when it ventured out of the camera's cone of vision. For almost ninety minutes it remained in view, occasionally varying its size and intensity. It's precise and steady movements before the camera lens almost suggested it possessed some strange kind of intelligence, akin almost to curiosity, Carl concluded.
'The bloody thing is watching us!' he muttered, after rewinding the tape and watching the last five minutes of film again.
Only when he was convinced that the impressive performance was over did Carl fast forward the tape. He felt the usual sense of disappointment when the machine clicked and automatically rewound.
As the morning slowly progressed, Carl's characteristic impatience began to manifest. He had so many questions he was eager to ask Joanne, further attempts at concentration proved to be pointless gestures. 'What were the temperature readings? What were the EMF readings? Were there any EVP'.' these and countless other thoughts screamed inside his curious mind.
Once again, keeping with tradition, George was the last to arrive at the studio, bringing with him his usual down beat, solemn manner. A characteristic trait the other members fondly described as 'down-right miserable'. Joanne on the other hand, although not often showing signs of blatant cheerfulness was unquestionably devoted, professional and meticulous in everything she did. Carl, he was and always would be annoyingly unpredictable, and seldom wrong when voicing his opinion, whether justifiably or not.
"So what's all the fuss about with this tape," George mumbled, tiring of hearing his colleagues singing its praises. "It's not like we've never filmed a damned orb before is it?"
"Not like this one George," Carl exclaimed, excitedly inserting the cassette into the video player. "This one is different ... trust me."
"Yeah, whatever!"
"It's not just the orb," Joanne added. "What about the shape at the end of the film?"
Carl and George looked at each other, both sharing a mutual puzzled expression.
"What shape?" Carl eventually asked.
"I bet you fast forwarded the tape after the orb disappeared," she smiled, knowingly.
"Err ... yes!" the two men confessed in unison, neither knowing who Joanne had aimed educated guess at.
As she spoke, Joanne had already started running the machine forward to show a section of film five minutes before its conclusion. "Now watch the area at the top of the bed."
"What the ....... Where the hell did that come from," Carl gasped. Not believing he could have missed such an obvious anomaly. "Play it back again!"
This time all three watched intently as a dense black shadowy mass manifested by the head of the bed and slowly moved side ways across the screen. Finally fading away in front of the same window where they had first seen the orb emerge.
"That could have been your shadow, if you moved behind the camera." George suggested dismissively.
"Hardly, George. I wasn't in the room at that point," Joanne explained, smiling with satisfaction. "Whatever that was, it was solid enough to activate the motion sensor and start the camera filming."
For the next hour the three of them discussed and debated the possible origin and identity of the mysterious black mass. Carl checked the other recording equipment that had been set up in the bedroom and was only slightly surprised when he discovered that both the temperature and electromagnetic field showed signs of variation at the times when the orb and manifestation occurred.
"I think we should take Olivia Deacon with us tonight," Joanne suggested, knowing full well that her suggestion would not be received with much enthusiasm by George, whose mistrust of mediums was well-known among the team. He had a bad experience with Olivia Deacon's late father. No one ever found out the details of the experience, though it was common knowledge that whatever Max Deacon told him about the source of a message he had received concerning him, proved to be so accurate, George had vowed from that day never to use a medium on a vigil again. And was at pains to emphasize that he still felt that way on this occasion, even more so considering the chosen medium was the daughter of the one who instigated his intense dislike of all who claimed to have psychic powers.
Carl on the other hand had worked with both Olivia and Max Deacon and found their credentials and results impeccable, he had nothing but respect for them, though he also held the same professional respect towards George and considered his opinion when deciding that Olivia's input could indeed serve the cause well.
"I think you're making a big mistake," George complained, before making a tactful retreat to the other room.
"Why is he so against mediums?" Joanne asked, in a discreetly low voice when she was sure George was out of ear-shot.
"I've never asked him about that," Carl began. "All I know is that it as something to do with Olivia's Dad."
"But he's been dead for over two years. According to the papers he committed suicide."
"Like I said, Joanne, George as never told why. If he wants to keep his reasons to himself that's his choice."
"Shall I give her a call and see if she can meet us at the Manor House tonight."
"No. I'll call in and see her this afternoon," Carl replied, trying not to sound too keen, he had a long standing interest in Olivia Deacon that some might construe to be outside bounds of professional respect.
Joanne smiled at his reaction, her acute female intuition had suspected that just such a liaison had been manifesting for some time now. The idea that Carl could possibly think he could naively hide it amused her greatly.
"What!?" Carl snapped, noting her wry grin and furnishing a reddening blush, just one character trait he displayed that aired his true motives so many times in the past.
"Nothing! Nothing at all boss!" she replied, giving in to the urge to laugh unashamedly.