The Salem Spectre

Intermission: Excerpt from Jason’s vlog

Investigation log: #121

04/04/2021

09:36

[Jason can be seen standing in a crowded departure hall. People mill around behind him; rolling suitcases squeak past. He’s holding the camera selfie-style, his green jacket half-zipped, a bulky grey backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes are wide, brighter than usual, and he’s grinning.]

“It’s finally time. As I mentioned in the last few research vlogs, I’ve been preparing for my trip to Salem for months, and… today is the day!”

[The camera swings up toward the ceiling. A massive blue digital board fills the frame, lines of flight info scrolling by.]

“My flight to Boston is in thirty-five minutes, and should be around five and a half hours in the air.”

[The camera comes back down to his face.]

“Unfortunately I’ve only got some of my lighter gear because I couldn’t afford a checked suitcase, but… we make do. EMF sensor, two cameras, laser thermometer, infrared camera, the radio scanner—”

[He taps the strap of his backpack.]

“Other than that, there's just some spare batteries, the power bank, and my notebook; not as much as I’d like to bring, but hey, it could be worse."

16:32

[The clip opens with a shaky view of the ocean streaking past outside a train window. The sky is overcast but bright, sea foam streaking white against the grey water.]

“It's actually happening.”

[Jason turns the camera around. He’s seated by the window of a commuter train, hair slightly mussed from travel, dark circles under his eyes, but a smile buzzing with energy.]

“I’m on the train into Salem now. First time I’ve travelled this far on my own.”

[He looks out of the window again]

“Anyway. I can see the harbour out the window. Apparently, my Airbnb’s only like a twenty-minute walk from here, so I’ll go drop off my stuff and then, time to investigate!”

[He presses his forehead briefly to the glass staring out of the window once more.]

“God, I hope this isn’t a complete waste of money.”

[He gives a weak smile, then reaches forward. Cut.]

17:51

[In frame, we see a small, cozy bedroom. Slanted ceiling, exposed beams, a single bed with a navy duvet, a tiny desk in the corner. Jason is sitting on the bed, close to the camera, looking right at it. His backpack is dumped half-open beside him.]

“So, this is the place,” he says, panning slowly around. “It’s… actually kind of nice. No obvious stains, so that’s a plus.”

[He turns the camera back to himself.]

“I’m gonna grab a few hours of sleep before heading out. The plan is to head to Proctor’s Ledge at night, then check out Gallows Hill. Usually, I’d be setting up more cameras and stuff, but unfortunately, there are budget constraints.”

[He starts to lower the camera—then a ringtone blares. The view jolts as he fumbles his phone around.]

“Ah— hold on.”

[he reaches for the camera, holds it to his palm for a second, then places it down sideways on the bed. The camera view is just a crumpled duvet and a bit of his jeans.]

“Hey, Steph.”

[Another voice can be heard, Nasally, faint and slightly muffled, but still discernible.]

“I’m standing outside of your apartment. Where are you?”

“I’m just out for the night. What are you doing at my apartment?”

“Dad’s being a dick, and I just… I didn’t wanna be home tonight. I wanted to crash at your place.”

“Steph, I’m nowhere near home right now, and I won't be until—”

“Please?”

“Ugh, what do you expect me to—”

“I really don't wanna go back home tonight.”

[Steph’s voice grows more muffled, and it sounds like she begins to cry.]

“Alright, alright, uh, just ring number 4, that's Mrs. Stewart's apartment. When she answers, just tell her you are my sister, and I said you can stay the night. She can phone me if she has any issues, alright?”

[A brief pause filled with rustling and sniffing from the other side of the phone.]

“ *Sniff* ...you sure?”

“Yeah… just please don't trash the place.”

“ *sniff* ohmygodthankyou, I won’t, I promise.”

“Sure, sure, I'll call you tomorrow, ok? Ooh, and if you need it, there's food in the fridge if you wanna fix yourself something up, alright?

“Okay, thanks a bunch Jason. This means a lot.”

“No problem, speak to you tomorrow, love you, bye.”

“Love yo—”

[Jason stands up, leaving the frame, looking at the backboard of the bed. Suddenly, the pov is lifted into the air and is turned to the floor.]

“Oh crap, it's still on?”

[Cut]

23:14

[Jason is standing by a small tree, with a well-lit stony wall to his right, the wall is covered in plaques with words that can't be made out through the camera.]

“So here we are, Proctor's Ledge, the supposed true execution site of the witches of Salem. There has been debate about it, but this is the place that is generally agreed upon today.”

[Jason turns to the right to look around at the memorial]

“It’s sad what happened here, innocents lost to the prejudice of the masses, fearmongered, divided, pitted against each other by their leaders.”

[Jason turns back to the camera and sighs]

“A tragedy.”

[Jason took out his notebook from his left breast pocket and flipped through it, looking for a certain page.]

“Ah, here it is… yeah, so. This brings me to a theory I have been developing. Essentially, the idea is that ghosts—or spirits, anomalies, whatever term you like—are formed when someone dies while going through **** emotion. Where better to find a location where **** emotion was prevalent before **** than a mass execution site?

Now, there are some notable issues with this theory. First of all, **** is almost always extremely emotional, especially when it's before your time. And since I have started investigating, there are maybe a dozen or so cases that I'm sure were actually supernatural in nature; maybe there's some other form of key trigger I'm missing. Or perhaps I'm barking up the wrong tree entirely.”

[Jason pockets the notepad and walks over to the camera, and bends over. An unzipping sound can be heard, and he stands back up into the frame. In his hands, he’s holding an EMF sensor and some small camera-looking objects.]

“With that all said, time to actually get some work done.”

00:03

[Same location, but Jason looks more dejected now, his breath misting in the night air.]

“I’ve been here for… forty minutes. The spirit box got nothing. No EMF spikes. No cold spots. Nothing. I’ll give it another 30 minutes, then I'll pack up and move over to the burial sight.”

00:46

[The shot is low, pointed at a slight angle towards Jason, he is sat on a bench looking down at the camera, his hair and jacket are slightly damp, glistening under the streetlamp above. The sound of waves lapping at the shore overtakes almost any other sound on the recording.]

“Proctor’s Ledge was a bust. The cemetery was locked, because of course it was, and I did not come all the way here just to get arrested.”

[He stands up, bends forward, picks up a flat stone, and rears his arm back, aiming for the water.]

“So now I’m at the harbour. Doing serious, rigorous, scientifically sound… rock skipping.”

[He flicks his wrist. The sound of a rock plunking into the water can be heard.]

“I feel like this was my big chance to find something substantial.”

[Plunk]

[Jason reaches down for another stone, turning it over in his fingers. He doesn’t throw it right away; his shoulders sag as he stares out over the black water.]

“…I don’t know… Maybe this is stupid.”

[He sits back down on the bench, stone still in hand. The camera angle tilts a little as the bench creaks.]

“I mean, I keep telling myself it’s ‘research.’ That I’m building toward something. But what if I’m not? What if I’m just… a guy who talks to empty rooms and uploads it to the internet?”

[He snorts humourlessly.]

“Maybe I should just… call it. Go back home, get a real job. My stepdad’s always saying he could get me something steady with his company. Something in IT would be a breeze for me.”

“And he’s not wrong. It’d be easier. Normal. I guess…”

[He looks down at the stone in his hand, thumb rubbing along the smooth edge.]

“But every time I think about it, I picture myself forty, fifty, sixty years old, thinking ‘what if.’ What if I’d just gone a little further? Tried a little harder. What if I was right, and I quit right before I found something?”

[He stands again, the bench creaking as his weight lifts. He walks a few steps closer to the shore.]

“I feel like I’m always one step away. One tiny step.”

[He takes a breath, grips the stone, then hurls the rock, Hard. His whole upper body whips with the motion, jacket flaring.]

[Plunk.]

[Something small and rectangular slips from his half-zipped breast pocket as he throws. Jason's phone tumbled through the air; it hits the cobblestones with a sharp clack and immediately starts sliding down the wet, sloped stones toward the drop-off into the ocean.]

“Oh, come on—!”

[Jason lunges after it. bolting toward the coast, the camera briefly catches his panicked expression in profile before he goes out of view. His footsteps can be heard for a second, then the squeak of rubber on slick stone.]

“Nononono—”

[Plunk]

[For a few seconds, all that can be heard is the waves splashing on the shoreline.]

[…]

[Slosh]

[…]

[Jason bursts back up into frame, sputtering and gasping. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his green jacket dark and dripping. He grabs at the rocks, boots scrabbling for purchase.]

“Ho-holy- that’s cold.”

[He winces, reaches blindly along the slope with one hand. The camera catches the faint glow of his phone screen in his left hand.]

[He hauls himself up onto safer ground, clothes clinging to him, water streaming off his sleeves and jeans. He stands there for a second, hunched over, breathing hard, the phone clutched to his chest.]

“Of course.”

[He laughs, a short, incredulous laugh.]

“OF COURSE!”

[Jason's voice begins to shake.]

“Fly across the country, blow almost all my savings, nearly drown myself… all for JACK SHIT.”

[He turns toward the camera and trudges back into frame, shoes squelching. Up close, he’s a mess: soaked, shivering, his hair is all over the place. But his eyes look clearer than before, he turns back to the waterfront.]

“No… NO! SCREW YOU!”

[Jason is screaming at the ocean while stomping his foot.]

“So what… what’s a bit of money in the face of a scientific revolution. No… no. No. NO! Just you watch!”

[Jason is still screaming at the ocean.]

“I’m doing this, I just need to dedicate myself more, I can do this!”

[Jason reaches a dripping hand towards the camera, cut to black.]

“Cassandra Byrne!”

Jocelyn’s voice cracked across the stage like a whip.

With the tap of her cane and a blinding flash of light, a tall glass enclosure appeared in the centre of the stage, capped off with a large metal lid. Though appearing completely empty at first, the light that passed through began to dance and shimmer along the stage floor, making it clear to any onlookers that it was filled to the brim with water.

Jason leaned in to get a clearer look at the glass monolith, attempting to make out what it could possibly be for—some kind of really tall fish tank, perhaps?

Before Jason could ponder the purpose of the object any further, a sound that was becoming all too familiar to him rang in his ears — the sharp, echoing thud of Jocelyn’s cane striking the stage floor.

Immediately, everything went black.

For a heartbeat, the only thing anyone heard was Sylvie’s startled yelp as the darkness swallowed them

Then, just as quickly as it had vanished, the world returned.

The spotlights flared back to life, all converging on the glass tank at center stage.

Jason’s breath caught.

Inside the enclosure, a figure hung suspended beneath the water’s surface, bound from head to toe in a thick, heavy-looking straitjacket. The fabric clung to them like a second skin, entirely obscuring any distinguishing features.

What was unmistakable, however, was the struggle.

They were thrashing wildly; legs kicking in erratic bursts, shoulders twisting against the restraints, arms straining uselessly within the crossed bindings. Their head jerked back and forth in frantic, disoriented arcs as tiny bursts of bubbles escaped around them.

Beside him, the others watched with growing discomfort.

The figure’s movements became sharper, more ****, a sudden violent flurry of twisting, kicking, pulling.

And then, abruptly… stillness.

The body sagged, drifting downward in the water like a puppet with cut strings, sinking slowly toward the bottom of the tank.

A ripple of unease spread through the group. Sylvie’s hands flew to her mouth; Jason exchanged a worried glance with her. Esme was unreadable, Babs remains motionless and Mika? Well, Mika shot up from her seat, bolting over to the tank in a streak of blue.

“What the hell is this? You can't just drown somebody!” she screamed while reaching for the lid of the tank, her fingers poised to yank it clean off—

Her hands passed straight through it.

ZZZRT!

A burst of crackling blue energy arced through the water the instant her fingertips phased inside. The restrained figure jerked violently.

“Damn it!” Mika exclaimed, shaking the sting from her fingers in frustration.

Suddenly, she felt a light pressure on her right shoulder.

She turned and found the shining silver tip of Jocelyn’s cane resting there.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Jocelyn clicked her tongue, leaning in with mock disappointment. “Mika, darling, you shouldn’t mix electricity and water. I’d think you would know that better than most.”

Mika whirled around to face her. “You can’t just put somebody in here to die!”

Confusion flickered across Jocelyn’s features.

“Die? Oh, heavens no.” She waved the very idea away. “She’s just the same as any of you.”

She gestured casually toward the limp form drifting inside the tank.

“She’s clearly just not very good at Houdini’s Chinese Water **** Cell trick.”

“Who– ****?!” Mika gasped, horrified.

“Oh, don’t get your tizzies in a twist,” Jocelyn sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s just a name. No actual **** involved.” She paused, “not usually.”

Mika opened her mouth to protest again, but Jocelyn clapped her hands once.

“But! It looks like we’re going to have to get her out the old-fashioned way.”

In one smooth motion, Jocelyn tossed her cane into the air. It flipped end-over-end before she caught it effortlessly by the tip, rearing back as though preparing to pitch a game.

She swung.

CRACK.

The cane struck the center of the tank with a sound like a gunshot. A perfect circular fracture blossomed outward in shimmering lines, spreading through the glass like a web of ice.

A second later—

KRRRSSSHH!

The tank gave way.

Water erupted outward in a rush, flooding the stage in a sweeping arc. Mika staggered back, floating into the air slightly as the wave crashed under her feet. Shards of glass dissolved into dust before they could touch the floor.

The wrapped figure spilled out with the torrent, hitting the ground in a wet heap before writhing weakly, instinctively trying to free itself.

Jocelyn huffed and crossed her arms.

“And you can’t even get out of the full-body straightjacket? Really?”

Jocelyn tutted dramatically as she removed her tophat and reached inside. Her arm disappeared almost elbow-deep before she fished out a small yellow booklet, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. She scanned the pages, brows knitting.

“I could have sworn it said here in my n–”

She paused, eyes widening slightly.

“Ohhh. I see. Well, my mistake.”

She snapped the booklet shut and tapped her cane toward the bound figure sprawled on the wet floor.

The belts responded instantly.

They began to loosen on their own, unthreading themselves from buckles and sliding free like living serpents. One by one, they slithered off her body, pooling onto the stage with dull, wet slaps. The thick cloth of the jacket sagged open, still clinging in heavy folds.

The figure pushed herself upright, still mostly shrouded by the soaked material. Jason could barely make out any shape beneath it.

A piercing hissing sound began to emanate from their shrouded body.

Thin wisps began to rise from the wet fabric, curling up and evaporating into the air. The steam thickened, then darkened until the first curls of smoke appeared.

Flames burst suddenly across the surface, racing along every fold of the jacket. The fire didn’t spread outward; it began everywhere on their body all at once, eating through the fabric with loud, sizzling cracks.

Jason leaned forward from his seat, in awe as glowing fragments fell away in clumps, disintegrating to ash before they hit the ground.

Piece by piece, the restraints crumbled away…

Revealing the figure underneath.

Her skin was a deep, glowing red akin to smouldering coals. Her hair rose around her head in bright, shifting waves, more like a roaring flame than flowing locks. Her eyes glowed like small embers, sharp and alive.

Even her dress—at first glance it seemed to be a bright orange cloth—upon closer inspection actually flickered at the edges, its form shifting just enough to betray its true nature, entirely composed of living flames. The air around her rippled faintly, bending the light as it passed.

“Welcome, Cassandra, to Harem Hotel!”

The woman blinked, still looking slightly confused and dazed.

“Wha— where… am I…?”

“I just told you,” Jocelyn chimed, spreading her arms wide. “You are on Harem Hotel, my dear. Only the most tantalizing reality show in the whole multiverse!”

Something clicked behind Cassandra’s eyes, almost like a lightbulb literally went ding over her head.

She straightened abruptly, lifted her chin, and snapped her hip to the side.

She locked eyes with Jocelyn.

“Ohohoho! It makes perfect sense that I would be chosen for a higher calling such as this.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jocelyn grinned. “Well then, I have great news! It's time to introduce yourself to the audience!”

Cassandra paused, glancing around.

“Audience? I see no audience that you speak of.”

“Well, they can see you,” Jocelyn said, tapping her cane impatiently. “So chop chop.”

Cassandra smirked and lifted one arm in a dramatic flourish, tossing her bright, flaming hair behind her.

“My name… is Cassandra Byrne!” the fiery woman announced with a dramatic flair.

“Lovely,” Jocelyn purred, narrowing her eyes with an approving grin “Now, Cassandra, tell them your age when you died, your cause of ****, what you did in life, your sexual experience, and how you know dear old Jason here.”

She pointed directly at Jason.

Cassandra followed the gesture, staring at him blankly at first. She tilted her head, examining him, letting her eyes drift down his scrawny body, eventually lingering on the familiar green jacket.

A cackle escaped her lips as she eyed Jason up.

“I’ll start again…I suppose,” she said, turning back toward the front of the stage. “My name is Cassandra Byrne, and upon my demise, I had lived through twenty-seven harvests. In life I was a seasoned witch. I have bedded so many others’ husbands, I have lost count. I was executed by the townsfolk for my work with witchcraft. and I was burned at the stake in the town of Salem, atop Gallows Hill.”

Jason lit up instantly, nearly vibrating.

“A real witch? Like an actual– I mean this is– this is huge, this is—!”

Cassandra cut him off with a dramatic point, striking an exaggerated anime-style pose.

“And this mortal I recognise,” she declared. “He paid a visit to my place of rest, many moons ago. A pitiful little thing,” her grin sharpened “I even witnessed him fall into the ocean by the harbour. What a hilariously pathetic thing to do.”

Jason’s entire face flushed.

“Oh my, that does sound hilarious,” Jocelyn gasped, turning to him with sparkling eyes. “Is it true, Jay?”

“W-well, I-I just– slipped! Nothing crazy!” Jason sputtered, unable to look anyone in the eye.

“Oh, we absolutely need to see this now.”

Jocelyn twirled her cane. A massive floating screen flickered into existence above the stage. Jason’s vlog began to play, specifically, the moment he chased his phone, skidded, and launched himself into the harbour.

Mika covered her mouth as she let out a snort at watching Jason tumble into the ocean, Esme gave a sly grin at the amusing clip, and Sylvie gasped in sympathetic horror.

Jason buried his hands in his hair, he never even uploaded that part of the vlog!

“H-How did you even get that?!” he said while staring at the floor, as if looking away makes the video stop for everyone else.

“Oh please,” Jocelyn scoffed. “You post everything online for free, my dear boy. It’s not very difficult. In fact, during downtime, we’ve already been broadcasting special episodes of your vlogs to our audience—y’know to give them a little extra content.”

“Wha– you’ve been broadcasting those?” Jason choked, mortified.

“Well,” Jocelyn shrugged, “if you didn’t want people to see them, why put them out publicly?”

“I just– uh- it’s different, okay?” he muttered, ears burning. “And I never even uploaded that one!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” Jocelyn waved dismissively.

Then, grinning, she gestured toward Cassandra. “And what of our newest arrival? A real firecracker, ain’t she, love?”

Jason actually almost smiled at the pun.

“Aheh– yeah, I guess.”

Jocelyn nudged him with her elbow, waggling her eyebrows.

“Bet you can’t wait to get all hot and bothered with her.”

He didn’t laugh this time.

Just stared ahead, stiff and red-faced.

“Tough crowd,” Jocelyn sighed dramatically. “But oh well! It's time to get this show on the road!”

“Please be seated, Mika, Cassandra” Jocelyn barked and gestured to the seating area.

Mika gives a shrug and hovers back over to her seat.

Cassandra however, struck another pose and covered her face with a spread hand.

“Ohohoho, I see you prepared me the perfect seat, but why on earth is this smelly boy sitting here, no no no, this simply will not do,” she said while flicking her hands towards him as if he were a stray cat.

“Ah– ah– ah–, now now Cassandra, I'm all for the confidence, but you will be sitting with them for now,” Jocelyn gestures to the stools, “that is the Master’s chair alone.”

“Bah! I shall humour your request,” Cassandra declared, tossing her fiery hair back with a dramatic flick. “If only to see where this little show of yours will go.”

Without waiting for permission, she pranced across the stage before drifting into a hover above an empty stool beside Esme.

She crossed one leg over the other, floating just a few inches too high to actually sit, arms folded smugly as she surveyed the line-up of women.

“My, my,” she purred, “This is the competition I am to be put against? Interesting…”

Jocelyn arched a brow at the flaming woman’s theatrics but didn’t comment. After a moment, she simply shrugged, turning her attention back to the front of the stage.

With a flourish, Jocelyn spun in mid-air. spiralling dramatically, hair fluttering as she tossed her cane skyward.

“I suppose it’s time for our final contestant—” she caught the cane with a practiced elegance and pointed it forward.

Every spotlight in the studio snapped toward the back of the stage, illuminating the curtains with blinding intensity.

“Eleanor Whitmore!”