Transmission: A Supernatural Thriller by Ambrose Ibsen Page A

out here in the first place? Because if you are still in the game, then this phone number is the only way forward that I can see.”
    Licking his lips, Reggie shook his head. “I wouldn't say that. If we're being honest, kid, I don't know that getting involved with this sorta thing was real wise to start with, but we can still have us a look around the shack out there. Can still see if there are any clues around the place, or if anyone else shows up.”
    Kenji grimaced. “So, what, you just want to stand around in that shack? See if Agnes comes knocking?”
    “Better than calling up some old friend of hers and telling her this unbelievable story of ours,” interrupted Dylan. “Sorry, man, but this thing we've gotten ourselves into is really weird. The fewer people we involve in this, the better, in my opinion.”
    Reggie agreed, nodding emphatically.
    Kenji lost the will to argue. Slumping in the uncomfortable plastic seat, he let his eyes drift closed and thought about everything they'd learned so far. What interested him most however was the coincidence related to the album and documentary. They'd both been released on the same day, ten years ago. More than that, Agnes' friend hadn't seen her in about ten years. The last place she'd been seen was around the spot where they currently dwelt; rural Minnesota. This was no coincidence: Something had happened in Akeley, perhaps in that abandoned, dust-choked shack, ten years ago.
    But what?
    Kenji stared at the lids of his eyes, kneading his forehead as he fell deeper into thought. What had happened to Agnes?
    All he had were speculations and the first stirrings of a serious headache. Standing up, he stuffed the computer back into his bag and turned to the other two. “Well, what say we head back to the shack and see if old Agnes is waiting for us there, huh?”

FOURTEEN

    Agnes Pasztor was not waiting for them when they returned to the remote shack, though the atmosphere of the place did feel somehow occupied. The spirit of the abode, despite appearances, was that of a space not long untenanted. The moment the three of them stepped from their cars, the quietude enveloped them at once. Conversations died out, their eyes were drawn to the dim rendering of the property in the moonlight and they were forced to grapple with the question of who would be the first among them to enter.
    Standing in the field, looking up at the knots of long-unused power lines, at the swaying, calf-length grass that surrounded them, it would have been easy for them to dismiss the entire journey as little more than a fool's errand-- as a mistake, owed to collective hallucination.
    A nigh overwhelming aura circulated about the space, commanding them inside, and it was with shuffling, hesitant steps that Reggie eventually led the way. He opened the door, the dim interior spilling out into the inky night. “No one's home,” he tried to say with a grin. The grin crumbled away, however, and his pearly teeth were clenched in a scowl.
    Dylan paced around, looking up at the light fixture. Behind him, Kenji eased the door closed and rubbed at his upper arms to bring back a little warmth. Of the three of them, Dylan seemed the least bothered, though as his eyes scaled the walls and dusty fixtures of the shack, it was all too clear from his cloudy expression that he felt something was amiss.
    Kenji and Reggie sat down across from each other in the chairs while Dylan continued to pace.
    “The three of us can agree that we were led out here, right?” started Dylan. He pointed to Reggie. “I mean, we followed different clues; a song, a video, and drew the same conclusions. This woman, Agnes, left the coordinates buried in those things, hoping that they'd be found.”
    Kenji nodded. “Yeah, but why did she do it?”
    Dylan rested his hands on his hips and stopped pacing. Then, he shook his head, his expression gathering up something of intensity. “Nah, I'm not worried about that at the moment. I'm