The Roxbury Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 1)

by Robin G. Austin

  The room is starting to spin. I hold the pendulum over the board. “Carmela Jenningsworth, speak your truth to Alexander.”

  The children are crying in every room of the house. Acker is praying. The pendulum flies from my hand. Mojo growls, his eyes fix on mine, his lips curl to show me his fangs. I look to the stairs.

  “You are no better than me,” I whisper words that are not my own. “How much pain can I bear? Take these demon children away. Put them in the ground. Where were you when I needed you? Your promises were nothing but lies.”

  “I am here, Carmela.” Alexander’s soft words fill the room. The scent of roses is overwhelming. It’s getting hard to breathe.

  “Come upstairs, Carmela.”

  I stand and walk to the staircase. Acker follows with his hand on my shoulder.

  “Come upstairs, my love.” A mist forms on the top step and moves to the landing as it grows solid. “Surely, the children are but sleeping. Tell me it is so. If not, it is I who must bear the shame.”

  I step onto the first stair; Acker holds me back. “Let me,” I say, but not of my own freewill. Then I’m shoved from behind, forced forward before I feel a thick pressure push through me. I kneel down, dizzy and weak. A thin smokey mist travels up the stairs. The man in the family photograph– Alexander, waits fully formed on the landing.

  A fierce and sacred energy travels down and back up the steps. Nilch’i, the spirit wind.

  “Carmela, it is I who failed. I beg you to forgive me. Know that you are forever loved.”

  Alexander’s voice is a misty whirlwind coming down the stairs. Its sound is deafening. I grab the baluster with both hands. Glass is breaking, furniture and everything in its path is upended. Mojo’s growls have turned into ancient howls.

  “Alexander Jenningsworth,” I yell. His name echoes through the house; my grip on the staircase is slipping. “Your truth has been spoken. You are released from this house by the Great Spirit for all eternity. Follow the light. Step over the threshold and go in peace. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  I wrap my arms around the baluster and sit on the step. The cries of the children are shrill. I close my eyes and a moan so tormented I think it will pierce my eardrums rips from one end of the house to the other.

  Nilch’i engulfs the sounds like a vacuum, and is gone.

  I’m too afraid to release my grip or open my eyes. The turbulence was too much to trust so soon. Still, the house grows calm. The scent of roses is gone. Acker is behind me; his body encases mine, his head is pressed into my neck. He releases me and stands.

  “Holy smokes. Look at this,” he says, turning in all directions. “You okay?” His voice sounds like his mouth is filled with sawdust.

  “Yes,” I say, pulling myself up. The mist on the staircase is gone. So is Alexander and the cries of the children.

  The silent grandfather’s clock strikes once. They’re gone. Perhaps together, perhaps separated for all eternity.

  “That was really Jenningsworth? I actually saw him. It was both of them. I never really… believed it was possible. The power they had…. They are gone, right?” Acker’s speech is frenzied.

  “Yes, they are.”

  “What happened? I don’t understand. She killed the kids or they both did?” He’s pacing now. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.

  “When she spoke through me, I sensed Carmela was tormented by her responsibilities in caring for three young children. I felt overwhelmed, unable to take anymore. All I wanted– all Carmela wanted was to stop their constant crying. And she did.” I take a deep breath and continue.

  “I feel Alexander came home from work, just as he reported to the police. But instead of finding Carmela dead at the bottom of the stairs, he found the children dead upstairs. As he did tonight, he called to his wife from the landing, and she went to him.”

  Acker takes hold of the banister and runs his fingers through his hair.

  “They fought and she accidently fell to her death or he pushed her down the stairs. Then he put the children in the basement and called the police to report she’d fallen. He was a prominent man in the community; no one questioned him. Not even about the children.”

  Acker’s staring at the wall. His brain is buzzing, probably about the sloppy police investigation.

  “I believe he couldn’t bear to leave them, and couldn’t let go of the burden he felt for Carmela’s death. All I’ve sensed of him was his enormous grief and anger. Once, they were so young and in love. It wasn’t enough though.”

  Acker starts to speak but stops, and I go on.

  “Life had become too difficult for both of them. His hatred held him here. Hatred for what Carmela had done, and for what he failed to do to help her and his children. I think he became a recluse in order to both mourn and punish himself. Tonight, his truth released him.”

  Acker’s eyes are boring through me; the detective in him has returned. “Did you say the children are in the basement?”

  “Yeah, I was getting to that part.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it over a glass of wine.”

  “How about I tell you over the whole bottle?”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  §

  It’s a bright, sunny day when Acker and I wake up. I was touched last night when he said he’d stick around in case anything re-awoke: his amusing term.

  He declined an invitation to go to the basement, saying he would talk to Hayley before removing the three little coffins. I think his decision had more to do with the mud and rodents than what’s inside those coffins.

  We’d finished the wine and fell asleep on the sofa early this morning, but not before he told me more about his grandmother, the woman who had raised him.

  He said he’d spent his childhood embarrassed by claims of her being a healer. Most in town called her a witch, especially the other kids.

  He’d moved to Houston to go to college and to get away from the stigma of being the grandson of the Witch of Roxbury. In his sophomore year, she called to see how he was doing. It was late at night, and he’d been cramming for a test the next day. She told him she loved him and would always look out for him. He told her the same, but said with a lump in his throat that he’d cut the conversation short to get back to the books.

  His uncle had left a message and when Acker returned the call, he learned his grandmother had passed away. He said he never told anyone that he’d spoken to her some fourteen hours after her death.

  As soon as he started with the if only I had regrets, I told him she’d waited to call when she knew he wouldn’t have time to talk. She’d hung around all those hours waiting for just the right moment to say goodbye, and he needed to respect her decision. He told me that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

  He looks tired and a little sad. Last night’s events unnerved him, but they also dredged up old memories of the life he thought he’d put behind him.

  Maybelle never tires of saying that everything happens for a reason. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out why Acker wanted to be here last night, even if he doesn’t know why himself.

  He needed to face a little boy’s shame of being raised by a woman not many in town accepted, as well as a grown man’s reluctance to admit that his grandmother’s DNA is his own. He isn’t ready to go there yet, but I suspect he will be one day soon.

  I call Hayley to tell her the job is done. I can hear the laughter of children– living, breathing ones– as well as the cheer of a house full of merrymakers in the background. She invites me to join her guests, but I decline.

  I want to straighten things up and make sure the house is at peace before I hit the road. I also want to visit the children downstairs and do a blessing before they’re removed from the house.

  Acker and I eat last night’s leftovers and he helps me put the house back in order, at least the heavy lifting part.

  As he’s getting ready to leave, his phone rings. It’s Sheriff Wiley who says he go
t a call from Etta Jane’s daughter, Lena. She’d frantically reported that her mother was missing. Lena had gone to the house and found it cold and empty with the back door unlocked. She’d waited awhile thinking Etta Jane had gone to find an open store. After an hour, she knew that wasn’t the case.

  “Merry Christmas,” Acker says, as we walk to the front door. “Looks like I’ve been volunteered to drive around town trying to figure out where Etta Jane took off to now. You let me know if she shows up here, will you?”

  I cringe and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “What? I was only kidding. If I know Etta Jane, she had one too many last night and is sleeping it off somewhere. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a call to go round her up.”

  “Wait,” I say. “I better give you something.” I go upstairs to get the necklace I found on the landing yesterday. As soon as my hand touches the chain, I get a static spark that’s so hot I check for burned fingers. There’s no damage but the skin is rosy pink.

  I touch the necklace again and nothing, but it’s got my attention. Holding it, I close my eyes and listen for the message.

  There’s a beautiful forest reaching up to a clear blue sky. “What is your message?” I whisper, and feel myself sinking. I stop to sit on the bed and try again.

  “Son… my son.”

  When I open my eyes, Acker is standing outside the bedroom door watching me. I take the necklace to him. “I found this yesterday morning.”

  “EJ. What? You think this belongs to Etta Jane?”

  “I heard someone in the house night before last. It was on the landing when I woke.”

  “And you didn’t call me?” Acker looks ready to strangle me then shakes his head. “Sounds like someone’s been picking the lock. Knowing Etta Jane, that’s a possibility.”

  “It was a bad time. I was working, and it wasn’t until I heard a woman’s scream that I knew I wasn’t dealing with the dead.”

  “You should have called me as soon as you found it.”

  “There was still work to be done, then I forgot about it. I couldn’t risk being banned from the house again. Mojo chased her out, but I know it was the children’s crying that sent her running for the hills.”

  “Did you notice if anything was missing?”

  “I didn’t check, but nothing that seemed obvious. You think she was looking for something of Dorothy’s or maybe something to remember Harold by?”

  “Could be. I’ll have Hayley go through her mom’s things.”

  “What?” I ask. Acker’s brain is spiking.

  “What impression did you get? I saw you trying to read it, or whatever it is you do.”

  “I saw a forest, blue sky, and heard the words, my son.”

  “My son, as in child? Etta Jane has two daughters. You sure it wasn’t blue sky and the sun?”

  “No. After the words, I got an image of a little blond hair baby.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  §

  Acker’s brain is spiking again, and I sense he knows something more than he’s willing to tell me.

  “Okay,” he says, as we walk to the front door. “How long will it take you to finish things here?”

  “Couple of hours. I’d like to be on the road by noon. I’m waitressing tonight at the family diner.”

  “Multi-talented,” he says, looking at the floor. “Guess this is goodbye then, Jack Raven.”

  “Guess it is, Detective Clayton Acker.”

  “You’ve got my number, right? I mean in case you think of anything else you need to pass on about Mrs. Matthews or Etta Jane or—

  “I do have your number, Detective. You’ve got mine too, in case you want to pass on anything yourself.”

  He grins and nods, then leans in and kisses me a little too long and not nearly long enough. I shut the door and grin at the wolfdog, who’s doing the amber stare.

  “What? I know, I know. When am I going to learn to stop putting my heart out there to get left at the curb? Good question, wonderful and wise ghost tracker.”

  He cocks his head sideways, and that’s exactly how he should be answering me.

  I grab my phone and wait, listening to the rings.

  “Merry Christmas, kid. You on the road yet?”

  “Merry Christmas, Dad. An hour, two at the most, and I will be. I’ll be there in time for the dinner rush.”

  “You’ll be so surprised when you get here… and happy too, I think. Can’t wait to see you.”

  He disconnects and I fear more than wonder what Dad’s got under the tree for me this year. Last year, it was a membership to Find Your Soul Match, which immediately made me think of finding my perfect dead man. Plus, it was an entire year’s membership, which didn’t inspire confidence in the website’s services or say much about Dad’s confidence in me.

  After a month, and one date each with Frederick and Louis– short, pathetic stories– I got a refund and bought new tires for the jeep.

  I set to work on the house. It’s as empty as my heart and the perfect place to have a pity party. After things are back in order upstairs, I gather my things and head down to the basement.

  Even the dark, muddy dungeon seems lonely now. It’s pretty bad when you start missing the spirits who haunt a place, but I’ll always have those memories of Frederick and Louis– always.

  I’ve let Mojo join me this time because I selfishly want his company. We go through the catacomb, which I now get the arches are, and set up a little altar with sage, a candle, and my cowbird feather.

  Mojo sniffs around the little boxes as only a wolfdog would do. Now that I study them, they actually do look like coffins, homemade but still creepy as hell.

  I pray to the Great Spirit to release all residual traces of the little ones and heal any pain they experienced while here. I promise them that their little remains will receive a proper burial, just as I’d promised Alexander, and as Acker promised me last night.

  I feel their innocence and finally their peacefulness, and maybe it’s only wishful thinking, but I swear I hear them giggling above me.

  As soon as I sense the residual energy evaporate, I hear an echoey female voice that’s loud enough to be someone standing right next to me, but I can’t understand the words. My eyes pop open and I’m ready to jump up, but no one is there. Mojo’s turning his head back and forth, looking to the ceiling.

  “Is someone here?” I ask him. He wags his tail. I close my eyes and listen. “Is there a spirit here who needs to be heard?” This time the words are clear.

  “My son, my son.”

  “Etta Jane?” I feel a cool breeze move through me. Mojo makes short barks under his breath; his special way of saying hello.

  “How can I help you?” I close my eyes and wait. There’s the forest again, the trees, a mountain, a lake, a car….

  “Tell my son I love him.”

  “Who is your son? What is his name?” Another chill and then the warmth returns and so does the image of the car. I gather my things and run upstairs with Mojo behind me. I grab my phone and call Acker.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “I am, but I don’t think Etta Jane is anymore. Are there any lakes near forests in the area?”

  “Not really what you’d call forests, but there are a couple of lakes nearby. I take it you aren’t inviting me to a picnic, right?”

  “Right. Do you know if Etta Jane has a blue four-door?”

  “I know she did, but let me confirm. Hold on.”

  I can hear Acker talking to someone in the background. I already know the answer to my question, but who is Etta Jane’s son? I have to find out. She came to me for help and even though she’s not a paying client, I owe the dead more than I owe the living. I owe them a way to let go of what could keep them earthbound.

  “Her daughter says she’s got a blue Ford sedan. She drive it into a lake?” he whispers.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “Sorry. I only got forest, mounta
in, lake. No directions. Can I talk to her daughter for a minute.”

  “Two minutes, then I’ve got to go.”

  “Hello?”

  “My name’s Jack Raven. This is going to sound like a strange question, but do you have a brother? Don’t ask me why I’m asking. If you do though, I’d really appreciate your telling me who he is and how I can reach him.”

  “You’re that ghost woman, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’m the person Dorothy Matthews hired.”

  “Is my mom dead?”

  The woman sounds younger than she probably is. Her voice is cracking, and I feel the waterworks aren’t far behind. “I’m not sure,” I say, because this isn’t the way she should hear otherwise. “I just need to know if you have a brother.”

  “I do, but it’s kind of a secret,” she whispers. “One he doesn’t even know.”

  “I need to tell him something. Can you give me his name and phone number? It’s important. I wouldn’t ask you to tell me if it wasn’t.”

  She’s silent then stern. “I’ll call him and give him your number. If he wants to talk to you, he’ll call you.”

  “Can you give me his name so I’m sure I’m talking to the right person? I need to be sure.”

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone. Swear it.”

  “I promise. I swear to you.”

  “My brother is Tucker Matthews.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  §

  I’m an hour past the New Mexico state line when my phone rings. I answer as I’m pulling over.

  Mojo’s been sniffing the air for the last few miles and is eager to be sure nothing has changed since we left home. He’s a New Mexico native, always been partial to burritos and chamisa, the latter a desert flower that smells like dead mice, but then he’s always been partial to dead mice too.

  It’s Acker calling. I’m both happy and sad. His call isn’t necessary, and I’ve already had trouble saying goodbye and making that goodbye stick. Plus, it’s Christmas and no child should hear the news I suspect he gave to Etta Jane’s daughters and Tucker today. I’m torn about hearing how that turned out.