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Leaking Energy

Excerpt from book 1:  The Excalibur Nightclub was contained in a giant Gothic graystone guarded by winged gargoyles over the door. In the basement of the building, reached via a treacherous spiral staircase, there is a hole into the earth. Hidden from club party goers, it sits under a wooden floor and appears to be an old well—but some claim it is a gateway to hell. Long before the space became the Club, before the recording studio, the publishing house, and another celebrity-owned nightclub, it was the home of the Chicago Historical Society built in 1892. That was the beginning of the stories that told of ghosts and demons in and around the property. Unverified claims said that originally a decommissioned slaughterhouse stood on the site and that the well was never meant to be filled with water, but with blood.

Fitz laughed, “I already know you don’t scare easily but I have a fascination with the dark side—vampires, ghosts, bigfoot. All I know is that some very well-adjusted people claim to get pushed around by ghosts here and claim to see faces in the walls … and since we are here in Chicago…”

She couldn’t stop herself from moving closer to him. Although someone had nudged her from behind to get closer to the bar, she obliged and pushed into Fitz’s chest and kissed him sweetly on the mouth.

“That’s called matrixing,” she whispered. “The brain’s tendency to perceive faces in abstract patterns or to make sense of things it can’t recall. It’s a well-known phenomenon, but some people prefer alternate explanations.”

“Maybe, but I believe it was the writer Damon Wilson who said he became a believer after visiting places like this. He claimed that it wasn’t just the dead that were ghosts, but the living. That certain people when either upset or euphoric enough, leak energy that is visible and that energy can materialize in various ways. Some claim they see people’s faces change form or that the person may seem to disappear and reappear some in another room—or place—maybe even in time.”

“I am learning so much about you, Mr. Fitz—I didn’t know you were a believer.”