Claire sighed. “It’s hard to be the serious college student with exams and term papers when you have a ghost maid making your bed. Maybe by fighting it for all these years, I’ve done myself a disservice. Maybe if I had faced this when I was younger, I would know what to do to get away, or make them go away. But I didn’t. I’ve run from this all my life, and it’s time I faced up to it.”
Cole interrupted their discussion, easing the door open with a spare elbow and closing it behind him with a swift kick. He carried three cans of soft drinks and an equal number of candy bars from the vending machine.
“It isn’t gourmet, but it’s sugar,” he said dropping the supplies on the little table.
They busied themselves for a few minutes, rummaging through the candy and settling back to their places. Noel had brought a pen and paper to take notes while Claire had brought the book about the house. By unanimous agreement, they were figuring out what was behind these hauntings. Claire opened the little book to the front and frowned as she read the beginning chapter aloud. Stopping, she looked up at Cole.
“This talks about your family, how they brought their money over from England and when they bought the house. But it never mentions who they bought it from or when.”
Cole settled himself in the chair and propped his feet up on the bed Claire was sitting on. “I can tell you what little I know, but it isn’t much. John looked up some of the information for me when we started with the construction. The house was started in 1853; that’s on the corner stone. It was built by a man for his wife; they had no children. He meant to enlarge it eventually, I think. I’ve always had the impression he was a pretty wealthy man at that time. Anyway, they only lived in it for a year or so when his wife ran away with her, um, paramour. The man remained in the house and became something of a hermit, but was eventually assumed dead when the natives braved the house and found it empty. I don’t think anyone knew what happened to either of them, and I haven’t got any real history of their family, or how they ended up in the area. The house had been vacant for a few years when my relatives bought it.”
“The book said they bought it from the state.”
“Yes, as far as I know, the original owners had no heirs, and the property reverted back to the local government.”
“And after your family bought it they decided to add on to the original building. It looks like it took several years to complete.”
“There were problems in the building,” he said, looking grimly amused. “I can understand that completely. There were a few workers who died or disappeared, I don’t know which. And the house acquired something of a reputation, so some of the locals refused to work. Then, of course, the Civil War had its effects as well. The Confederate sympathizers actually attempted to attack Shelbyville, but the Federals soon ran them out. There was only minor damage done to the house at that time.”
Noel was writing furiously as she listened and looked up when he paused. “When was it completed?”
Cole pulled a small notebook from a jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Sometime in 1866 after the war had ended. But my relatives moved in before that, in 1857, I think. Yes, here it is. The first family was a couple with three small children. The parents’ names were Matthew and Mary, pretty traditional. They also brought Mary’s aunt with them; she was from Germany.” He paused. “There’s no name for the aunt.” He flipped to another page. “The area was known for its agriculture, but they didn’t stay long enough to try their hand at farming. In fact, one of the kids died there at a fairly young age. The mother apparently became a little, I don’t know, unstable, and claimed the house had something to do with the death. She insisted they move, and they did. I seem to recall they were there for almost 10 years.”
“Yes, that’s about right,” Claire said, looking up from the book. “It mentions the house being completed, and when they moved out, but it told nothing about why. I guess that’s not the sort of thing you wanted spread around back then.”
“Or now,” Cole said frowning. “I was amazed at how many comments I got about the haunted house when I started this project. I eventually had to ask the workers to stop discussing it.”
Noel nodded and jotted down notes. “Who was the next owner?”
“No, wait. Look, a picture,” Claire interrupted. They all three bent over the book and Claire felt a slight lightheaded feeling wash over her. The picture was an exact replica of the portrait from Cole’s room, or at least part of it. The copy filled the page with a close up of the man’s face that made the resemblance to Cole more eerie.
“Another twin?” Noel asked, looking toward Cole’s serious face.
“Look at the date. 1860. He really does look like you. Older maybe, but the resemblance is uncanny,” Claire responded, looking from the picture to Cole.
“I’ve seen this before. It’s been a few years since we found the book, but when Dad and I found the portrait, we immediately took it out and had it cleaned. It was in bad shape from water damage after being stored in one of the attic rooms. We found the portrait of a woman we think was his wife up there as well, but didn't come across it until a later date. We decided to hang them together since it seemed they belonged that way. The attic is full of paintings like those, I just haven’t taken the time to investigate them.”
“Like the one in my room?” Claire interrupted. “Who is that?”
“One of the ancestors, but I don’t know who. That painting was already there when we started renovating the room. We just rehung it after we were finished. It’s approximately the same age as this one, probably one of the inhabitants who stayed in that room pretty early on.”
Claire found herself imagining the image on the painting. She had always assumed it was the original owner’s wife. But now that she thought about it, it seemed more logical the portrait hanging in Cole’s room, the pair to the one that matched the portrait in the book, was really his wife. If that were true, the woman in her portrait must have also stayed in her room. It appears the painting was meant to hang there, and even when she had attempted to take it down, it had been rehung. Now she wondered if her mysterious maid was responsible for it, or if the lady in the portrait had put in her own spiritual hand. And perhaps she had accomplished the message in the mirror as well.
“I wonder how we can find out who she was. The lady in my room, I mean.”
“I’m not sure, but we’ll check in the library when we get back. And we can look at the painting itself. The portrait may have some information on the canvas or frame. I haven’t looked closely at it in a long time.” Cole paused and took a long swallow from his drink.
“Okay, to get back to the book. Who was the next owner after the first family was run off?” Noel asked, pen in hand.
“The son, Nathaniel Edwards,” Claire volunteered, looking up from the book. “Mary’s aunt stayed on at the house for a while, the poor relative of the family. Then, when Nathaniel came of age, he moved in with her. Anyway, as far as the book goes, he never married, never had a family except for his aunt, and pretty much lived alone after her death.”
“And he died of old age,” Noel finished, looking over Claire’s shoulder.
“Well, that was never determined,” Cole explained. “The old man was just found dead in the parlor. Rumors were he had died of heart failure, with the cause unknown, but some of the more superstitious in town said he was scared to death. They say his expression was,” he paused frowning, “unbelievable.”
“Oh, that does sound like a bad ghost story,” Noel responded.
Claire looked grim. “In that parlor, I can believe you could be scared to death.”
“All of this implies the ghost was already there when your family moved in,” Noel observed, looking at Cole’s strained face.
“Yeah, it does.” He actually looked slightly relieved at the thought.
“So, who was next?” Noel asked, looking over Claire’s shoulder again to the open book.
“In the 1920s a distant re
lative, nephew or great nephew, takes his family there. Money wasn’t good and the place was in bad shape, but he wasn’t financially at his best...” Claire ran her finger down the page. “But it looks like he only stayed a year or two before he left. It mentions he had an interest in livestock and had plans to turn the place into something of a breeding farm.”
“Horses, or thoroughbreds?”
Claire shook her head. “It doesn’t say.”
“He’s the dog man,” Cole exclaimed. Both girls looked at him, puzzled. He laughed aloud and for a moment looked like a much younger man. “Dad told me that one. He loved the story. I sometimes wonder...” His face grew solemn and distracted. Then he recovered, answering the questions that was on Noel’s face. “It was my dad’s idea that we renovate Talitha. I was telling Claire earlier about how much he liked the house. He used to bring me out to see the place often when I was younger. Dad would tell all the stories about the house to my friends for a joke. He was the one who found that book in the library. But now that I think of it, he was particular about the house as well. He used to prefer certain rooms, certain parts of the house. The greenhouse, the ballroom. He avoided the library or the parlor, always said they were too dim.” He sighed and leaned back. “I guess it may have been just that...”
“Or maybe he had seen or heard something.” Noel’s eyes took on a new excitement. “You know, maybe he was sensitive about the place. He didn’t want to let on since you were so young, but he knew something didn’t feel right.”
“He may be like me. Affected by certain places or things,” Claire said slowly.
Noel looked reenergized. “It would explain some of his interest in the house. Why he liked some areas more than others.”
“And why he’s back,” Cole said gravely.
They sat in silence for a moment. Noel did not dare to ask the question showing so transparently on her face. She understood that Cole’s father had died at a young age but little else.
Slowly Claire looked back down to the book. “You said your father liked the story?” she prompted.
Cole’s face cleared, and he relaxed against the back of the chair. “Well, the story says that the owners were a small family with a large group of animals. They brought dogs, cats, some horses, and even a few chickens. Dad said the chickens went first, but there was no proof some local poachers didn’t eat them. But then the cats started going, and the wife said she actually saw two of the dogs running away from the house, tails tucked and yelping like mad. When the horses disappeared one night and were found two weeks later, half-starved on the other side of Shelbyville, the people decided to start looking for a new house.”
“Animals always know,” Noel said nodding, and Claire smiled back. Her obvious enjoyment of her new” Nancy Drew” role made Claire feel better. Following Noel’s lead, she opened the book to the next chapter but was disappointed in the lack of information. “It just says the next owner took possession in the 1930s and stayed for an undetermined amount of time. Appears he didn’t entertain or do much else. The following one inherited the house in the late 1930s. It was a cousin, William Pratt, who lived there for quite a while. Let’s see, up until 1948. That’s when he died and apparently his line with him. The book ends there.” She closed the book and handed it to Noel.
Claire looked at her friend more closely. The late night was beginning to wear on her. Her bright hair stood in careless spikes on her head and dark rings of mascara circled her sleepy eyes. The rest of her face was unusually pale, her mind running on sugar and adrenaline.
“But they never said anything about the name. I was wondering where they got the name for the house.”
Cole sat forward and took the book from Claire’s hand. “Well, I don’t know much about the name, but I have heard a little more than what you found in that book. The ending I heard was much more dramatic than that. This is the biggest rumor of all, so I don’t know the validity of it but...” he paused like a true storyteller and smiled. “Old Willy didn’t believe in ghosts and lived in the house for many years with no complaints. He said he had never seen a spirit and if one showed up he’d send them packing. He grew old and stubborn with the house deteriorating around him. He could afford only one caretaker, a man named Samuel Lead who patched the roof and cleaned out the gutters, did menial jobs around the house but no cleaning or painting. In the evenings, Samuel would come in and have a drink with old Willy, but he always left before nightfall. One evening when Samuel left, Willy was complaining about what a coward he was, insisting on leaving early. The next morning, Samuel found Willy hanging in the foyer, stung up by old sheets and curtains.” Cole paused and took another drink, looking between the two girls. “Samuel had him taken down and buried somewhere on the grounds, but swore it wasn’t a suicide. He said Willy was just too obnoxious to kill himself and there had to be another cause for his death. It was never investigated further. Well, Samuel continued to go to the house up until the 1960s when he just got too old. The place was abandoned completely, boarded up. No one was brave enough to rob the place, not with so many ghost sightings reported. Besides, by that time, most of the small valuables had been sold off.”
“You said you visited?” Claire asked.
“Dad found out the place was ours when a distant uncle died somewhere in Canada. I was just a kid, and it was an hour’s drive, so we never went out to see it much. He just held on to it, for an investment I guess. He hired Eddie Canon to look after the grounds; make sure no one broke in or set fire to the place. Later Dad took me and mom out to see it to decide if he should just tear down the house and sell the land. But I could tell he thought it was wonderful, wanted to go back and visit all the time. He decided to leave it for the time being and wait for some time to decide what to do with it. We didn’t hear any of the history about it until we talked to my grandmother.”
Claire glanced over at Noel, surprised to find her curled up asleep on the bed.
“I guess my story wasn’t very riveting after all”
“It was pretty good, but loses something when you’ve seen the real thing,” Claire said lightly. Her eyes were grainy, lids heavy with fatigue. But she hated to end the evening. Cole had become so human, so accessible she didn’t want him to retreat into his protective mask of indifference.
He rose gracefully, but his limp returned as he moved to the door. She followed him, checking once to see that Noel was still sleeping.
“Do you need a ride to class in the morning?” he asked, turning at the doorway.
“Yes, I suppose. Class starts at 8:00.”
“Then I’ll come by at 7:30. Will that give you enough time?”
She nodded sleepily.
“We’ll talk tomorrow about what else we’re going to do. We may just have to keep these rooms for some time.” He smiled, but his eyes looked dark and serious.
“We’ll see,” she responded.
He put a light hand against her cheek, and gently brushed a finger down to her chin. “Sleep well.”
Chapter Fourteen
The cell phone buzzed unpleasantly, jolting Claire out of a deep sleep. She grudgingly opened her eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room. The clock’s numbers were blurry to her tired eyes, and she had to strenuously resist the temptation to lie back down.
She reached out and grabbed the phone, pressing the stop icon out of habit and without looking at the screen. The phone stopped sounding, wake up completed. Claire swung her legs off the bed and hit the bedside light with her hand, making it rock just slightly. The room was as they had left it the night before, candy wrappers scattered on the table and empty soft drink cans filling the trash can. After three of the sugar filled drinks the night before, her stomach was decidedly unsettled this morning.
She glanced again at the clock and got up to take a shower. The smell of hotel antiseptic was a welcome change to the paint and plaster smell she had grown used to at the house. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to get away from there until no
w.She quickly showered and dressed, putting on a bare minimum of makeup. She put her hair in a neat braid down her back and began repacking her things. She regretfully closed the bag to take back home; she hated to think the house was now home. It was almost too tempting to take Cole’s offer to stay at the hotel until they could make other arrangements. But she knew she would feel guilty for the money he was spending on them, and the fact she was leaving him alone in that God forsaken place.
A light knock on her door had her opening it quickly. Cole stood, arms full again with food. She let him in with a brief smile; relieved to see he carried two large cups of coffee and some plain bagels.
“Did you sleep well?”
She nodded and smiled. “I slept like a baby. It was a good idea to get away for the night.”
He looked serious again. “Are you sure you want to go back?”
She nodded again but made no comment and avoided his eyes by busying herself adding sugar and cream to the coffee.
“I think I’m going to stop work on the house. It’s ridiculous to keep pouring money into the thing if it will never be usable. I can’t have some guest expiring on the doorstep from a heart attack because my ancestors decided they didn’t want any visitors that day.”
Claire had to agree. The presence in the house was very powerful and she could see no way of getting rid of it. She knew there was a reason for the ghosts, a purpose behind their presence. But until they discovered that, she felt the house was a possible hazard to any unsuspecting worker or guest.
They finished breakfast in silence, and Claire dropped in Noel’s room to explain that Cole would be back by later.
In the cold light of morning she had to admire her companion. His hair was smooth and glossy, falling in a clean line to his shoulder and reflecting the sun in golds and deep browns. He wore dress slacks and an open necked shirt, both immaculately pressed. His freshly shaven cheeks were lean, but his hard body had put on a few much-needed pounds, giving the impression of increased vigor. He walked easily this morning, his limp gone.
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