by Kim Hornsby
As I took Eve’s arm, Carlos moved in to offer his arm on my other side. Apparently, the staircase was wide, and we could walk three abreast. We walked towards the house on an even sidewalk. “No garage, I assume.”
“No,” Carlos answered. “But there is some sort of building off in the trees to the left. Maybe it was a place to leave the horses. This place would have been built before the automobile, I’d say.”
“What kind of trees?” I could smell the tangy telltale scent of evergreens.
“Mostly coniferous. I need to study flora and fauna,” Eve said. “I’m going to guess pine trees but I’m drawing a blank because I suck at tree identification.”
“Douglas Fir,” Carlos said. “They have big, chunky bark and there’s Hemlock with droopy tops.”
I imagined Eve looking at Carlos like he might be lying but I couldn’t be sure. There were exactly eight stairs and I made a note that they were tall stairs, not the usual height for steps. At the top, we walked five steps to the front door and I disengaged from my companions, the key now in my hand. I felt the door, determining it was made of wood with a glass window at the top. The doorknob felt like it was made of brass, oblong. I inserted the key, turning it to the left to where it clicked. My right hand turned the doorknob and the door to my future opened.
I took a deep breath pushing the door inwards.
My companions were silent, but I could hear Carlos breathing. He was a heavy breather, I’d discovered lately with my heightened hearing. My hands shook as I stepped into what I believed to be a hall. The house smelled musty, old, neglected. This wasn’t from any psychic determination, just something I surmised through smell. I reached for a wall to the right and felt wainscoting at waist level, probably wallpaper above the wooden paneling below. “Describe what you see, Eve.”
“We’re in a six-foot-long hall that opens to a circular area with a . . .” she shrieked. “A chandelier that looks like it’s going to come down any minute.”
“Is it hanging by an electrical cord?” I didn’t want us walking underneath it.
Carlos interrupted. “It looks fine. Why do you do that Eve? Make her all scared when things look fine?”
“I hate those things.”
This was how their arguments started. I intended to defuse it. “Don’t start.” My boss voice sounded appropriately firm. “If it’s not dangling, then continue with your description, Eve.”
“Beyond the circular foyer are stairs, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine of them to a landing half-way up to the second floor where two different staircases go to the right and left to the next floor. It’s all wooden, red rugs, dark, dank. On our left is a paneled wall with two doors. The first one is closed, the second one seems to be half-way back and it’s open. On the right is a double door to what looks like the living room. I can see furniture covered in sheets.”
“Let’s go in there first.” I hadn’t felt anything yet, something that was very unusual for me in a haunted house. I tried to be hopeful. As we walked forward, I heard Carlos go on ahead, his sneakers barely making a sound on the carpeted floor.
I flicked TapTap open and started the song “Margaritaville”, making half circles from side to side on the floor in front of me. Proper cane technique dictated you listen, not sing. I wasn’t there yet.
“Waiting away again in Margaritaville,” I sang.
“Is the carpet wet? It smells musty in here.” I stopped and reached down to feel the carpet runner. It was dry.
“I’m not feeling anything. You?” Eve whispered.
“Nothing.” We crossed the threshold to a room that felt big, Margaritaville still playing in my head, my cane tapping. “Working for that log shaker of salt,” I sang. I closed my eyes, just past the doorway and put out my arms to draw in anything that was passing by, something I’d done for over a decade.
Nothing.
I tried not to panic.
“Let me know the second you feel anything, Eve,” I said.
“So far, zilcho.”
Carlos moved around the room. I could hear the click of his electromagnetic reader. The clicks were slow and even, meaning it hadn’t spiked. At least my lack of clairvoyance was in good company. My Braille watch told me it was just after five p.m. and these days, that meant we had another hour until darkness. Ghosts like the dark.
Although we hadn’t planned to stay overnight, now that we were here, I was thinking of changing the plan. Today’s agenda included only looking at the house, taking stock of what I’d inherited, and driving back. We’d talked about another trip to Oregon after our Roslyn investigation, especially if the house looked habitable. And apparently it was highly habitable, more than a condemned bungalow with no furniture and rats running the place.
“Is all the furniture covered in sheets?”
“In this room, yes.” Eve moved from my side. “There is a big curvy window out to the front. I can see where The Marshmallow is parked. It’s started to rain harder.”
I’d already heard the rain tapping on the windows. Once during an investigation, we’d gotten a clear tap-tap-tap on a window nearby, the ghost desperately trying to communicate, but this tapping today was too regular and sounded just like rain. Since I’d gone blind, I was amazed at how I’d relied heavily on sight, not giving my hearing a chance to show off what it could do.
Eve continued. “The furniture looks old-timey. Uncomfortable. And there’s a piano by the window. One of the 3-D ones with the top propped up.”
I smiled at her description. “A grand piano.”
Carlos’ voice came from the other direction. “Lots of windows, big heavy drapes and a fireplace.”
I heard someone play a few bars of “Margaritaville”.
“Slightly out of tune,” Carlos said. I hadn’t known he played, but his talent didn’t surprise me. Carlos was an enigma.
“The mantel is dark wood, wide, with two sets of silver candelabra,” Eve said quickly, probably not wanting Carlos to take her job describing everything. “There are paintings around the room, mostly of scenery. Maybe oil paintings.”
“The lights don’t work,” Carlos said.
I’d heard him clicking. “I’ll have the power turned on tomorrow. If we’re going to do a thorough investigation, we’ll need it.”
“The carpet is red in here, too; the furniture striped, red, black and gold.”
“The ceiling is high.”
“No chandelier thingy.”
“Table lamps.”
“Five hundred square feet.”
“A door back here.”
“A half-burned log in the fireplace.”
“The door leads to an office.”
“A couch.”
“Low table in front.”
I was wishing Carlos and Eve were always this competitive about describing our surroundings. “Well done, you two, let’s go across the hall.” I found my own way to the door, not having moved much, a trick I was learning in the months since I’d lost my sight.
We crossed the foyer, making a wide arc to avoid walking under the chandelier. I tapped out “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” singing softly. Eve was on my arm and I’m a terrible singer, I’ve been told. Soft was better.
Eve opened the door to a room that she described as a library. “Like the narrator’s office in the Rocky Horror Show,” she said. This room had a rolling ladder to retrieve books from the higher shelves. Again, dark wood paneling, scenic oil paintings and a fireplace. Two armchairs flanked the fireplace, “for reading,” Eve said. I lowered myself to sit in one, feeling the cold leather and upholstery pins at the armrests.
Still nothing came through to suggest the house had a ghost.
I stood, felt my way to the book shelves, and sneezed from the dust.
We continued.
On the first floor was a grand dining room with a table that had seating for twelve people, a kitchen with modern appliances that looked “out of place,” Carlos said, and a large pantry wi
th canned foods that had expired a year ago. More than once I wished I could see this house but didn’t voice my frustration to the two people who were my eyes. And more than once I thought that Harry would have been fascinated with the place, having graduated from Seattle University with a minor in history. He’d have been tickled to see the ornate woodwork that Eve described as looking like “The board game Clue.”
When I climbed the stairs with Eve’s arm on one side and a banister on the other, I turned left at the landing to mount the second staircase. “Is it decrepit or pretty?”
“Pretty,” Carlos said, already at the top. “Did you ever see the movie, War of the Roses?” Like that.”
“Downton Abbey.” Eve was hell-bent to outdo Carlos.
“Not that big, Eve.”
“The look, not the size, Carlos.” Eve sounded annoyed. “The house is dark because the light is fading and we’re away from the windows, but this was a grand place. I don’t feel spirits, but I bet balls were held here, or at least those big parties where everyone arrived in horse-drawn carriages.”
At the top of the stairs, I realized that if my companions didn’t like me, it would be easy to push me down the stairs or murder me and I wouldn’t see the crime coming. I was so vulnerable these days, relying on two people who were on my payroll. I made a mental note to inform them they weren’t in my will.
“At the top, there’s a landing and windows that overlook the front of the house, open to the stairs, red carpet with a design. There’s a huge table in the center of the landing and vase, no flowers. Also, stairs going up to a third floor.”
We approached the table where I walked around its perimeter, feeling my way. I then found the window, felt the size of it and the ornate woodwork around its edge. “Can I follow this wall?” I asked, my right hand on the wall beside the window. Essentially, I was asking Eve if I continued walking with my hand on the wall, would I bump into anything before I came to an end.
“All clear,” she said.
I arrived at another wall sooner than I thought and turned.
“This is a hall leading to the back of the house. There is one on the other side of the stairs, too. Rooms are off the hall on both sides once you get past the stairs. Stay on the right side and you won’t fall down the stairs.”
I walked the length of the hall, my hand on the wall to feel the doorways. There were four rooms apparently. The house was deeper than I’d imagined. I didn’t turn left when I reached the end but came back. From the other side of the house I heard the even clicks of Carlos’ monitor. He hadn’t found anything yet.
Returning to the front of the house, I kept my left hand on the wall. All doors were closed.
Eve opened the door closest to the front and I stopped. “What do you see?”
“It’s a large room running half the length of the house. Windows on two sides. Judging by the furnishings, I’d say it’s a dude’s bedroom. The colors are dark green and gold, there’s a canopied bed, a dresser, writing desk, fireplace and at the far end is like a family room with couches that do not look comfortable, with another fireplace. There is a small chandelier, yikes, heavy velvet drapes, tied at the five-foot height, dust on everything but not so thick to indicate someone hasn’t been in here in years, maybe months.” Her footsteps clicked on hardwood as she went deeper into the room. “Oh!”
“What?”
“Carlos! Come here!”
I walked two steps into the room. “What is it?”
Her pause told me what I hadn’t wanted to know. And what I had wanted to know. She felt something.
Carlos ran through the doorway, the monitor beginning to click quickly as he entered.
“Tell me, Eve.” My words sounded defeated.
“Someone died in here. It was a woman. She’s close, maybe watching us. Her death was sudden. A murder.”
Eve would have her eyes closed, trying to pull everything in.
I reached out to try to do the same, my emotion so strong that I was sure my desperation would block any spirits that lingered. The gift eluded me. I was without sight. Both kinds.
“What was that?!” Eve jumped, her footsteps scurrying towards me.
I waited.
“I felt a tap on my shoulder,” Eve whispered.
Carlos would be recording this, filming for the show, and I hoped he wasn’t capturing footage of the blind woman standing uselessly at the doorway waiting for her young cousin to supply her with information.
“Are you here with us?” I said. “We mean you no harm. We know this is your house.” It always helped to give the ghost the house. Let it know that you are the intruder. “We felt you. Can you give us another sign?” My assistants knew enough to never speak during this part of the investigation. I was the one who did all the talking to the spirits. So far, that was how it was done, anyway. Things might have to change.
We listened. Being patient was part of being a ghost investigator. Carlos moved around the room, his meter slowing to one click every few seconds. He’d be wearing headphones to record anything captured on his high-power microphone. He might even have had the teddy bear strapped to his utility vest, I didn’t know. It always looked comedic to see this Mexican dude carrying a teddy bear in amongst the high-tech tools.
“Can you communicate with us? Tell us you’re still here?” When the meter clicked frantically on investigations, I was never the one to feel useless. I was a conduit for ghosts and always had been. But just now, Eve had pulled in the ghost of a woman who’d been murdered. That would be reason for a spirit to need help crossing over. Murder precludes ghosts from leaving this world entirely, sometimes keeping them between here and there, not able to be in either world. I’d often thought it must be a lonely life.
Ten minutes later, after prolonged silence, I called it. “Nothing more?”
“Correct.” Eve was now standing by Carlos, probably staring at the meters and monitors.
“What did you get Carlos?”
“An eight,” he answered.
Eight was good. Definite ghost activity. The number matched the clicks we heard. “Any vocals?”
“Nothing I heard.”
“And Eve? Describe what you felt.” I crossed my arms without thinking, realizing this was the opposite stance I used to pull in ghosts. I guessed I was done trying, subconsciously, at least.
“Only what I said. I felt a presence when I entered the room. It was colder than downstairs. I got the impression a woman died in this room. I felt a faint brush on my shoulder.” Her voice sounded disappointed but not nearly as disappointed as I was at that moment, having felt absolutely nothing. Not even the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
“When did you feel things return to normal?”
“When the clicking stopped,” she said.
“Okay, resume normalcy.”
This was my command, like telling soldiers “at ease.” While Carlos and Eve compared notes excitedly, I measured the room with my right hand on the wall, walking to the corners, past the window, around a table and back to the door. “Wallpaper or paint?”
“Wallpaper,” Eve said. “It’s kind of dark in here so I can’t see clearly but the wall against the hall looks like a painting, a mural of a house on a cliff and a stormy sea. The house might be this one.” Her voice wandered away, presumably walking along the wall. “Carlos, have you got a flashlight?”
I heard Carlos approach her and then Eve screamed.
“Eve?” I instinctively put out my arms.
“She’s fine,” Carlos said. “What do you see Eve? I can’t see it.”
“There’s blood on the wall, like someone was killed right here. Where the sea meets a stony beach under a cliff. There’s a house on the cliff that looks exactly like this one. And the blood is at heart level, making a smear to the floor like someone was killed against this wall and her body slid down the wall.”
I walked over, daring the furniture to get in my way. I put my hands on the wall and Eve moved them
along another two feet.
“Right here.” Her breaths were coming fast. “It’s still dripping.”
I tried to empty my mind of everything--the accident, Harry, my blindness, sadness—but nothing stirred in me. In the past, I’d sometimes relied on drinking whiskey, which had worked well to loosen me up. For a medium, this was a shameful admission, but it was something I’d discovered years ago, while drunk at a party and ghosts were bombarding me with their problems.
Pulling a flask from my jacket pocket, I twisted off the cap and took a long swig of Crown Royal. It burned going down and I made a face. I hated the taste but, in a pinch, it worked the best. “I’m going to ask you two to leave the room for five minutes.”
Footsteps shuffled out and I heard the door close softly.
I steadied myself. “If you are trying to contact us, please know we want to help you. Belinda McMahon gave this house to me and asked me to help you.” I waited, my eyes closed, even though it made no difference at all. I put my hands on the wall again, palms flat against the mural I couldn’t see. “Did you die here? Who killed you?”
I heard Eve and Carlos whispering outside the room. My acute hearing could even pull in that, something I would have traded for eyesight. Even terrible eyesight.
“Please come to me. Tell me that you’re here. I want to help you.” I stood very still waiting for a tap on my shoulder, a voice in my ear, a rustle of the drapes, anything, but as I stood in what had been described to me as manly quarters, nothing came to me.
This life would be so different without my gift.
Chapter 4
Gathered around my kitchen table in Floatville, discussing our plan for the week, I told Eve and Carlos I’d promised my mother I’d come by later to see if I got anything sinister from Mrs. G’s house. I expected nothing to present itself to me, given my state of nothingness, but knowing my mother, there’d be no rest until I did as she asked.
