Murmurs in the Walls: The Guru
Episode VI
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Murmurs in the Walls is a serial paranormal mystery novella featuring Judith Temple, psychic detective. This is Season 3 of Case Files of a Psychic Detective.
While Murmurs in the Walls can be read as a standalone story, you may appreciate the characters and their interactions more if you are familiar with Judith’s previous adventures, Down in the Holler and Beasts of the Field.
Season 1, Down in the Holler, is now available in paperback and e-book. You can get your own copy here! Season 2, Beasts of the Field, is currently free to read! Click here to read Beasts of the Field.
← In Episode V: The Diagnosis, Judith revealed her suspicions to Kortney and Brian.
Georgia Jean Reed had crepe paper skin and eyes like colored glass, and her teeth floated in a cup on the end table beside her.
“I was fifteen when I had Mikey.” Her smooth gums sucked against her lips as she spoke, and Judith had to lean forward and listen closely to understand her hoarse, whispery voice. “Strange that I’ve spent most o’ my life without him, but still I feel him like he’s right here in this room.”
Judith shifted in her seat. She didn’t see Michael Reed’s apparition anywhere in the dingy, crowded lobby of the Spring Gulch Assisted Living Center, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lingering somewhere, refusing to let himself be seen by her. Or perhaps Georgia Jean was merely an imaginative old lady.
“Was he involved in any criminal activities?” Judith said.
“My Mikey’s a good boy, wherever he is. Always wanted to look after his mama.”
“Did he often spend time in Bayton County?”
“Bayton County? Maybe.” Georgia Jean reached for a napkin and blew her nose with such force that Judith worried she might injure herself. Then the elderly woman in her soup-stained shirt settled back in her seat. “He drove all over the place. Had lotsa work all over.”
“What did he do?”
“Deliveries.”
“What kind of deliveries?”
“Never asked.” Georgia Jean’s voice was dreamy and soft, but there was a squirming sharpness to her that rankled Judith.
“Did any of his friends or acquaintances ever visit you or talk about Michael after he disappeared?”
“I saw those friends of his sometimes, at the store or the gas station. None of ’em never said nothin’ but a ‘How ya doin’, Miz Reed?’ like they’d say to anybody.”
Judith took a moment to parse out the meaning of Georgia Jean’s triple negative, which, appeared to equate to a simple single negative. That is, if Georgia Jean was telling the truth in the first place.
“Could you tell me the names of some of his friends?”
Georgia Jean narrowed her watery eyes. “Who d’you say you’re workin’ for, again?”
“I’ve been hired to look into the history of a house in Bayton County, and I think your son may have done business there.” It was an abbreviated version of the truth, but at a technical level there was nothing false about it.
“You doin’ hillbilly research or somethin’?”
“I don’t believe that ‘hillbilly research’ is an official area of study, but it would likely fall into a subcategory of cultural anthropology. But no, I’m not an anthropologist.”
“Then what are you?” Georgia Jean’s soft, wavering voice twisted on Judith with a knife’s sudden edge.
“I work full-time as a software developer.” Judith cleared her throat. “But I do part-time work as psychic detective. If you could tell me the names of some of Michael’s friends from before he disappeared, then I –”
“I never heard of no such thing as no psychic detective.” Georgia Jean sniffed and reached for a tissue, upsetting the glass in which her dentures bobbed. Water sloshed over the end table and splattered onto the floor, and the gummy false teeth skittered onto the linoleum.
“Oh!” Georgia Jean’s voice began in a whimper and surged to a wail as a woman in plum purple scrubs rushed over and began mopping up the mess with a rag. “Now we gotta sanitize ’em, an’ I won’t have my teeth at lunchtime. I’m sick of gummin’ on applesauce and mashed potatoes; I want some real food.”
“Don’t get in a tizzy,” the nursing assistant said, a frazzled edge creeping into the cheeriness of her tone. “We’re havin’ baked beans today.”
With a weak groan, Georgia Jean slumped back in her chair. “I’m tired, real tired. I gotta go for a rest. You can wheel me back to the room, can’t you?”
The nursing assistant gave a passing glance at Judith. “I don’t think Georgia Jean’s gonna wanna talk no more today.” She started to scoot the elderly woman’s wheelchair away from the cluttered end table.
Judith started to her feet. “Ms. Reed, do you remember the names of any of your son’s friends? Even just one or two of them. Anyone who might know what business he had in Bayton County.”
“I been gettin’ the shakes real bad lately,” Georgia Jean said to the woman in scrubs, holding up her wrinkled arm in evidence. “You tell the doctors about that, now, next time one of ’em comes.”
“Okay, honey.” The nursing assistant jerked the wheelchair into motion and started the slow procession out of the lobby, where gray-skinned elderly people sat at tables or in corners, staring into space or rocking their squeaking wheelchairs back and forth on the floor.
“Ms. Reed,” Judith said, keeping pace with the wheelchair, “before you go, it would be very helpful if you could tell me the names –”
“You tell those doctors,” Georgia Jean said, grasping the wrist of the purple-scrub-wearing worker, “tell ’em I know they been givin’ me sugar pills ’stead of somethin’ that’ll actually work. I’ll sue ’em for malpractice or negligence or whatever it is those lawyers do. You tell ’em, now, an’ see if they don’t start treatin’ me right.”
“Ms. Reed –” Judith began.
“She ain’t gon’ be socializin’ no more today.” The nursing assistant quickened her step as they reached a long, beige hallway, leaving Judith behind in the visitors’ lobby.
Letting loose an exasperated breath, Judith crossed her arms and cast her gaze around the lobby. Employees were few and far between, less common even than visitors in the dismal, shabby building. The only employee Judith could see was struggling to transfer a corpulent old man from a wheelchair to a couch and did not appear to have any attention to spare.
Drumming her fingertips on her arm, Judith hovered in the doorway to the residents’ hall until, at long last, the purple-scrubbed nursing assistant escaped from Georgia Jean’s room and hurried on weary feet back toward the lobby. When she caught sight of Judith, she didn’t slow down.
“Do you happen to know anything about Ms. Reed’s life before she came here?” Judith said, dogging the woman’s footsteps as she strode forward. “She seemed to get – distracted, and I didn’t get to finish the questions I have for her.”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout what she got up to before,” the woman said, a waspish note in her voice. “But she’s sure a piece of work now. You best be goin’. She ain’t comin’ out again today.”
When the woman pushed through a door marked Employees Only, Judith concluded that the conversation was over, and she was being tacitly dismissed from the nursing home.
Judith lingered in the lobby. She could leave, slip quietly out the door into the drizzly spring day; she gathered that was what the nursing staff would prefer she do.
But she wasn’t quite finished yet.
Turning back toward the residents’ hallway that stretched like a dreary beige cave into the distance, Judith closed her eyes and focused.
The stabbing ache in her head came, as it always did now, but this time the sharpness faded after a moment, pulsing in her temple as images grew clearer.
Georgia Jean.
The fragile, wafer-thin old woman slipped before Judith’s eyes, slumped in her wheelchair, a thoughtful glower on her drooping face.
Then the image changed.
Georgia Jean, her hair a wispy, sandy blonde, her face sharp as she looked at her only son, alive and towering over her.
Papers spread on the kitchen table – names and dates and locations and cryptic notes. Her long finger pointing at a date, and Michael nodding, his face at once cocky and grim.
Mikey’s car, stuffed with boxes, and Georgia Jean’s hands lifting a lid to reveal black metal nestled in straw.
“That’s enough, ain’t it?” Michael’s voice said, and Georgia Jean lowered the lid back over the box.
With a stutter like a film reel, Judith’s vision cleared, and she grabbed at the wall to steady herself.
Breathing, she leaned against the wall and clasped her hands together over her chest.
Perhaps the best authority on Michael Reed’s shady business deals wasn’t his old friends. Perhaps, all those years ago, he’d been in business with his mother.
Judith’s thoughts were churning when she arrived at Kortney and Brian’s house, and at first she didn’t see the white SUV parked in the dusty gravel. Kortney’s small blue car, with its dented fender, was parked, as always, alongside the house and close to the porch steps. It wasn’t until Judith noticed the rusty brown sedan, which she recognized as Kortney’s boyfriend Tucker’s, that her whirling brain paused long enough to register that there was an unfamiliar vehicle present.
Emblazoned in glossy black on the side of the SUV was a minimalist depiction of a dove, surrounded by words in curly calligraphy:
Dr. Dove Sorenson | Peaceful Dove Spirit Attachment Removal
A prickling tingle crept up Judith’s vertebrae. Adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, she strode up the porch steps and rapped on the screen door.
A breathy, melodic voice drifted from the house, barely reaching Judith’s ears. It was coming from one of the back rooms.
Through the screen door, Judith glanced around the living room, with its mix of cheap throw pillows and thrifted artwork adorning the walls and shelves. There was no one in sight, but indistinct voices made their way out to her.
Judith leaned on the doorbell, a flush rising in her face.
‘Spirit Attachment Removal’ – what did that even mean? And who was this Dr. Dove person?
There must be a reasonable explanation. There often was, when Judith was shocked by something. Sometimes it was that she’d misunderstood the directions of a task or misinterpreted the purpose of an event or misread the tension in a room.
There must be an explanation.
Judith pressed on the screen door handle, and the door began to open under her hand. She let go, pushing it shut again. She couldn’t walk into someone’s house uninvited, even if the door was unlocked. It wasn’t appropriate to go into someone’s house unless you were invited inside; everyone knew that. It wasn’t only a rule for fictional vampires.
She rang the doorbell again, letting the high ding reverberate through the living room for a moment before removing her thumb.
A few seconds later, Kortney hurried out of the dim hallway, and when she laid eyes on Judith a faint hint of sheepish red lit in her cheeks. She opened the screen door with a creak. “It’s unlocked. If it’s open, you can always just come in.”
“Who is Dr. Dove Sorenson?”
“Oh. She – uh –” Kortney faltered, her cheeks deepening to crimson. “I asked if she could come today ’cause I thought y’all could, like, collaborate or confer or somethin’.”
“Does she have a PhD or MD? And in what field?”
“I-I didn’t ask.”
“What does her car mean by Spirit Attachment Removal?”
“I – maybe you should come meet her. Y’all will get along just great.”
Judith swallowed her further questions, which she knew, despite her best efforts at self-governance, would have been doused in a reasonable amount of vitriol. Her lips tight, she followed Kortney down the gray hallway to Brian’s room.
Inside the room, Kortney stepped aside, revealing a tall woman with expertly coiffed beachy waves and a long white dress that floated to her ankles. At the far end of the room, a man in a green baseball cap held a large camera on his shoulder, the lens pointed at the white-robed woman. Brian, his eyes wide, sat still as a statue on the bed.
The light was different in the little room, which, after a moment, Judith attributed to a lighting contraption that cast a soft light on Brian and the woman in white.
The tall woman waved her tanned, slender arms on either side of Brian’s head as she chanted unfamiliar, decidedly non-English words into the quiet. Then, with slow, sweeping movements, she removed the gold chain which hung around her neck and, clutching the chunky, translucent crystalline pendant in her hand, raised the volume of her chanting and swiped the crystal along Brian’s silhouette as though swatting away a fly.
Judith realized that her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut. “Excuse me.”
The woman, her back to Judith, continued her rhythmic chanting as with the crystal she poked the air around Brian’s body.
“Excuse me,” Judith said, her voice cracking through the room.
Straightening up, the woman turned around slowly, her doe eyes settling on Judith. The cameraman’s lens swiveled toward the doorway.
“What’s going on here?” Judith heard a schoolmarm tone creep into her voice, but she did nothing to curtail it.
A white-toothed smile spread like jelly across the woman’s face. She made a minute turn with her head, and the cameraman skirted around Brian’s dresser to get a better angle of the woman’s face. “I’m performing a spirit attachment removal.”
“Yes, I saw that on your car. What is that supposed to mean?”
With a feathery touch, the woman laid a hand on Brian’s rumpled hair. “Sweet little Brian is afflicted by spirit attachment, otherwise known as ghostly possession. The spirits of this home’s former owners have attached themselves to him, and I’m here to remove them and bring peace back to this lovely household.”
“What methods, exactly, did you use to diagnose Brian with spirit attachment?”
The woman’s smile widened, and, with a graceful sweep of her long arm, she extended a hand to Judith. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Dr. Dove Sorenson of Peaceful Dove Center for Healing and Wellness.”
Judith gave Dove’s hand a terse shake, then pulled her hand away. “MD or PhD?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said you’re a doctor. Are you a doctor of medicine or a doctor of philosophy?”
Dove’s smile didn’t budge. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Judith Temple. I’m a psychic detective and paranormal investigator. I’ve spent several weeks investigating the phenomena exhibited in this house, and I’ve found no evidence of anything that could be termed ‘spirit attachment.’”
“But you said –” Kortney began, stammering. “I looked up poltergeists, and lotsa people talked ’bout demons, and I can’t have my baby gettin’ attacked by demons.”
“What I gave, as my professional opinion,” Judith said, “is that Brian is an agent of RSPK, or recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis, historically called poltergeist activity, though that name is misleading. I did not find any indication of demonic activity, and current parapsychological research has shown no evidence that ‘spirit attachment’ has any relation whatsoever to RSPK. Are you paying this woman?”
“My services are well worth the investment my clients make,” Dove broke in, her teeth still bared in a smile. “I have affiliates in four states and provide telehealth consultations to clients around the world.”
“You can remove ghosts over video chat?” Judith crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose that’s covered by health insurance?”
Beneath her tan and the thick makeup that coated her skin, a faint redness brewed in Dove’s face. “Paranormal investigators charge for their services.”
“I do charge a consultation fee, but I provide a diagnosis based on actual evidence that I gather at the site. What kind of evidence gathering have you done?”
“This is my initial consultation. And, just like you, I charge a fee. That’s standard practice.”
Judith indicated the cameraman and the lighting equipment. “And what is the purpose of all this?”
“For the edification of the general public and to show potential clients what services are available, I share footage of the Sorenson Method of Spirit Attachment Removal, or SoMSAR, on my YouTube channel, Peaceful Dove Healing.”
“How many subscribers do you have?” Judith said.
Dove’s smile grew slightly, showing a few more pearl-white teeth. “We are currently just shy of 900,000 subscribers.”
“So you’re going to use this footage to fuel a financially beneficial YouTube channel?”
“All of my clients sign consent forms –”
Judith turned to Kortney. “This woman is conning you. If it’s demons you’re really worried about, you don’t have to pay anyone money.” Pulling her notebook from her purse, Judith tore out a page, then checked her phone.
“This is defamation of character,” Dove said, her smile slipping as creases formed between her eyebrows. “I could sue you.”
Writing down a phone number, Judith passed the paper to Kortney. “The Catholic Church has an official process for determining whether demonic possession is occurring and can do an exorcism if needed. The full process, if Brian’s case gets that far, involves consulting with doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and other professionals, all of which would be free because it’s a ministry, not a business.”
“Peaceful Dove Healing and Wellness has ministered to countless people around the world,” Dove snapped.
“It’s just –” Kortney’s voice wavered. “Some of the stuff happened at school again, and Brian got suspended, and I just thought, if it was demons and somebody could get rid of them, then –” She stopped, staring wide-eyed at the paper. “Why didn’t you give me this last week?”
“Because Brian isn’t possessed by a demon,” Judith said. “But if you want another opinion, this is the phone number of the nearest church. You can consult with the parish priest, and if necessary he’ll refer you on to the next stage in the process.”
“You’re gettin’ all this, right?” came a man’s voice from the corner of the room.
Judith’s gaze swiveled to a sallow, dark-haired man, standing in the far corner beside Brian’s closet.
Tucker, Kortney’s new boyfriend.
“This is gold,” he said, grinning at the cameraman.
“Turn off the camera,” Dove hissed.
Reluctantly, the man with the green baseball cap lowered the camera from his shoulder.
“Were you streaming?” Tucker said.
“Of course not.” Dove snatched her purse, a shimmering white that matched her flowing dress. She jerked her head toward the lighting equipment. “Pack this up.”
Her face taut, Dove turned from Brian without a word, then swept past Kortney and bumped Judith’s shoulder on her way out the door.
Letting her lungs expand for a long-overdue breath, Judith turned her eyes toward Brian. She had never before heard him stay silent for so long.
“You okay, honey?” Kortney said, her voice quiet.
Brian’s freckles popped in his pale face as he nodded. “That lady’s weird.” He looked up at Judith. “I like you a lot better than her.”
Thank you so much for stopping by the read Murmurs in the Walls! If you enjoyed this episode, please let me know with a like, comment, or restack!
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→ Keep reading! Episode VII: The Meeting
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Judith did NOT come to play with these charlatans!!
Judith kicks butt like a boss! I love it!