An exclamation drew Dolan’s attention from Cynthia. The father had arrived with his son in tow. The short time in the valley had taken its toll on both men. Lines etched into their faces from the strain of coping with the oppression of the valley.

It washed over Dolan in a rapid series of waves reminiscent of the time he spent in the valley earlier in the day. Yet this was different, more threatening, almost as deadly as the cloud building overhead. He could feel it as well and knew the cloud was not of natural origin. The ghosts had created it in response to the right cords plucked by the invasion of the show. Had ‘Scared to Death’ stayed away from this valley, it was entirely possible the ghosts would have remained a subtle influence. Perhaps it was what the show represented that awakened the ghosts; Dolan did not know and suspected he would never completely understand the events of this night.

Cal Ottinger kneeled next to Dolan and stifled a cry. He was the maternal one in the family; the psychic had sensed the man’s protective nature soon after seeing him for the first time. It was the wife who thought more beyond the pal of the family and he could feel her now, frightened to the point of insanity somewhere to the north.

“Don’t move her.” Dolan placed a hand on Cal’s shoulder.

Cal turned on the man with a naked look of violence. Had Dolan not warned the family about the valley, Cal might have done something bad to the man, but of all the show’s staff, Dolan had seemed the only person opposed to his family entering the valley. It was enough to stop Cal from taking Dolan by the throat and choking him to death.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The sound of two-cycle motors came from the south.

“I sent Brock for the ambulance,” Dolan pushed Cal’s hands to his daughter. “That should be him now.”

Cal did not speak, unable to trust his response to this man. His anger was best directed at Marilyn and the director of the show, the little ass with his fanciful beard.

“Stop thinking about that,” Dolan snapped loudly to draw Cal from his anger. “I need you to get your family out of this place. We don’t have much time.”

“What’s going to happen?” Bryon asked, as his father turned his attention to his sister. Cal understood what the psychic was saying, but it was hard to detach from the emotions that had grown in him while in the valley. He was missing something important; it lay buried under the pain he felt for Cynthia. She was watching Cal with hurt eyes, the eyes she had as a child, when she was about to cry. “I’m here, honey,” Cal whispered with a catch in his voice.

“The explosion is going to happen again,” Dolan answered as the ATVs arrived and the ambulance men hurried to Cynthia and brushed aside the men. They set to work with an urgency that Dolan appreciated; there was no need to tell the men to get out of the valley as quickly as possible.

Sitting astride an ATV, Brock motioned Dolan over. “I’m going to get the family out of here. The paramedics need the other two ATVs to get her out of here, so unless you want to be in here for the show, I suggest you start walking south.”

“I’m going to get the mother.” Dolan pointed north. “She’s that way.”

A flash of lightning burst overhead, this bolt nailing the edge of the valley.

“That’s too close,” Brock observed with a grimace. “Where’s Paulie?”

Dolan shrugged then favored Brock with a last look. “Get out of here.”

“I will,” Dolan replied and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “See you when the dust settles.”

With a nod, Dolan walked away from the family and the safety of the draw. It was time to find the mother and ride the storm to the finish. The ghosts were going to tell their story no matter who got in the way; it was time to listen.