It Won’t Happen Again
“Video camera and thermal camera.”
“EMF gauge. Audio recorder. Headphones.”
“Check and check.”
“We’re good to go. All our domestic necessities in my pack. We’re ready. If she’s there, we’ll see her.” Packing for tonight had to be all cloak-n-dagger. If their parents found out…
“This is the night. According to all forensic records.” It had taken us two years-three summer jobs each (weeding gardens, picking fruit, and shoveling (well, just don’t go there.) for us to finally afford this new gear. “It’s not like they had a very proficient C.S.I. team in 1913,” I chuckled.
“Didn’t really have to, Everything’s in her diary. She stopped writing in it on August 31, 1913. Her body was found two days later. So tonight, whatever happened… happened.”
“Oh, that’s so profound. Let me write that down.”
“You just keep your hands near the recording equipment. We were right about her showing up last time. This year we’ll have proof.”
“Sure we will. We’d have had the proof two years ago if you hadn’t upturned and busted all the equipment. Ruing and screaming out of the house like a mad man from He…”
“Just shut it. It won’t happen again.”
Written for Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner. 200 words.