Chapter Nineteen
LOREEN TUGS HER BAG OF MYSTICAL ITEMS out of the tunnel behind her and begins to set up for the spiritual release.
"Do we need Father Mass?" I ask.
"No," Loreen assures me. "We'll be okay."
As Loreen is setting up candles, stones, and crystals on the floor, I turn to Althea. "Tell me more about the Underground Railroad."
"It be cuttin' right unda da massah's house and property."
"How many slaves were able to escape this way?" Celia asks.
"Oh, two or t'ree dozen."
"At least something good came out of this tunnel," Patrick says. "Althea, I'm sorry you had to suffer the way you did after all you did for the children of the family."
She smiles and lowers her eyes.
Farah bounds up to me. "So what are we going to do now?" She's so excited, like an overactive puppy at my feet.
"We're going to do our damnedest to get the spirit of Phillip Farnsworth to leave that doll."
She claps her hands. "Oh, goody! Then Althea and I can go, right?"
I feel a faint smile lift my lips. "That's all I want for you, Farah."
Loreen lights the end of her smudge stick and begins waving the putrid-smelling burned sage around the room. "There's too much pain, negativity, and suffering here."
Celia waves off the wisps of smoke. "We're all going to die from asphyxiation."
"Shhhh!"
We all circle together and sit, per Loreen's instructions. Patrick to my left; Celia to my right. We hold hands, close our eyes, and say the Lord's Prayer for protection. When I open my eyes, I see Farah and Althea standing behind our circle, watching.
Xander the Doll, or rather the physical home of the soul of Phillip Farnsworth, sits in the middle of the circle. "He looks so innocent. Yet he has done nothing but cause pain for people."
"Just like when he was alive; Phillip Farnsworth was a real sadist," Patrick notes.
"Let's all concentrate on the doll," Loreen instructs. "We're here to deal with the issues of grief and loss in this space, of the wounds inflicted upon the slaves and the children of the Farnsworth house and the trauma they may have carried throughout their lives. So unhealthy for anyone in that situation. Such negative energy built up, causing stress, fatigue, chakra blockage, even confusion and emotional and physical pain. We call upon the angels to guide us in our work here to free the trapped souls and lead them to a higher plane."
The energy in the room shifts. Not exactly sure how to describe it, other than it's thick and heavy and hangs above me like it wants to drop and smash me. I protect myself in God's holy light, surrounding myself and my friends in a white bubble that nothing can penetrate.
"Come out of this doll, Phillip Farnsworth," Loreen says firmly, her voice deep and commanding. "Show yourself to us."
"The temperature just dropped twenty degrees," Celia notes, her thermometer in front of her. Her EMF detector is flashing vibrant red, indicating a strong energy.
"Phillip Farnsworth. You have a lot to answer for," Loreen says. "You have a lot of negative emotions that you need to own up to."
My throat constricts and I find it hard to swallow. The normal tap-tap-tap of my psychic headache is more like a jackhammer pounding into cement. I wince at the throbbing that also causes my eyes to twitch out of control. "You have a lot to answer for," I say, wondering where the words are coming from. "You've lived a life and afterlife of anger, shame, hurt, judgment, sadness, pain, and torture. You're a bad person, Mr. Farnsworth."
Celia and Becca gasp together and I jump. Xander the Doll falls over onto his side in the middle of the circle.
"He hears us," Loreen notes. "Phillip Farnsworth, we are here to release your spirit from this doll. You have free will to leave it and pass on to the light, where you belong. There, you will be surrounded by your loved ones and those who passed before you. All you have to do is call out to them."
Patrick speaks. "We also send you our energy to cleanse this area, this house, and all those who've passed through this tunnel to freedom. We pray for the spirits that are trapped here and hope you'll find your peace too."
"Amen," Celia says.
I frown at her. "Not yet."
The iciness in the room increases, and we can all see our breath in front of us. Chill bumps cover my arms and my legs underneath my jeans.
Celia's teeth start chattering. "It's ridiculously cold in here."
"Something is definitely happening," Loreen says.
Patrick glances about. "Is that you, Mr. Farnsworth? Are you causing this? Why don't you show yourself to us? Or are you going to hide inside this doll for all of eternity?"
A sharp blast of wind whips up from the floor and encircles us. It's stiff and bitter, filled with the souls of those who died here at the hand of this monster. The breeze takes on a cloudy haze as it surrounds us in a whiplash of power. Dirt blows all around the room, and I squint to see through the particles. My hair is flying about behind me and I feel as though something wants to push me to the floor. I resist, though, fighting off the heaviness by sitting tall and holding on to Celia's and Patrick's hands.
"We're not leaving, Mr. Farnsworth!" I scream.
The floor starts shaking again, and rocks and clods of clay tumble from the walls.
"I'm scared," Becca admits.
"Don't be," Loreen tells her. "Be strong, Becca. We all have to be."
The spirits continue to circle, hands, arms, and fingers reaching out in search of—what? The bitter wind spins around us in a hurricane of pressure. The negativity level within this cave is blatant and I feel my heart will beat straight out of my chest.
Then Xander falls over again, flat this time. The earth shifts beneath him, and the air lashes around him, pulling him up off the ground in a tornado effect.
"Oh my God!" Celia exclaims. She tries to drop my hand to reach for the video camera.
"Don't break the connection," I snap.
"But this is actual poltergeist activity and I have to get it on film."
"We have to pass these spirits on," I say.
"Phillip Farnsworth, in the name of God, I pray for your trapped soul and wish you nothing but happiness and peace," Loreen says, even though we all know that the man doesn't deserve such a kind blessing.
Althea's eyes are wide, but she doesn't seem surprised at what we're witnessing. Xander rises about a foot off the floor and spins around in the air. Suddenly, the loudest noise I've ever heard in my life peals out. It's a combination of a firehouse siren and a bobcat screaming. The wailing rattles my bones and freezes my blood in place. The noise is horrendous, as if someone is being torn limb from limb.
"Leave this doll!" Loreen shouts out over the piercing howl. "Now!"
"I want to cover my ears," Becca says, tears escaping her eyes.
Patrick says, "No! Hold tight."
We're all caught up in the airstream whizzing around us. The whiteness of the mist surrounding us tunnels up to the ceiling and around the room. I don't know whether to follow its path or squeeze my eyes shut from it. It's like that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when they open the Ark of the Covenant and all of the spirits soar out and melt the faces of the Nazis. I certainly don't want that to happen. I've seen enough skeletal remains for one lifetime.
A roar echoes throughout the chamber. "My house!"
"Is that you, Phillip? Show yourself if you can," I say.
The bellow increases and the walls shake again. "My house! Get out!"
Patrick looks into the swirling mist. "You need to get out. We are releasing you from this object. Go into the light."
"There is no light for me!" the voice growls.
Xander the Doll comes crashing to the ground and we're all tossed backwards, breaking our circle of joined hands. A flash of vibrant white explodes from the ground. The figure of a man shoots out and hangs overhead.
"Dat's the master," Althea cries.
"What? What's going on?" Celia asks, sitting up. She and Becca
can't see the bedlam surrounding us.
"Loreen, you did it!" I say.
"You're free, Phillip Farnsworth. Now leave this house and go into the light," Patrick shouts.
"There is no light for me!" the voice of the figure repeats gruffly. "Damn you! Damn you for doing this!"
From the hole in the floor, black shadows slip out and envelop the space. Caped arms enclose the specter of Phillip Farnsworth and he lets out a bloodcurdling scream. A chill like I've never felt before covers me and I'm paralyzed from the waist down. Blackness overtakes the room and grasps at Farnsworth's spirit. He struggles and fights, not wanting to go, but they pull him down, down, down with them into the earth, into the dark, and the mist follows all of them into the ground in a long hissssssssss.
I put my hands to my mouth at the realization of what's just occurred. "Did he just..."
"Get pulled into hell," Patrick finishes.
"There was no light for him," Loreen says, righting herself.
"The temperature is going back to normal," Celia says. She turns to me. "We just missed something really awesome, didn't we?"
I hold on to her arm. "I'll tell you later. I don't know if I'd describe it as awesome though."
She shakes her head. "You psychics get to see all the cool stuff."
Shuddering, I say, "I wouldn't call it cool either."
I lift the now-lifeless body of Xander the Doll off the floor, dusting off the dirt. I cradle him gently in my arms and kiss him on the head. "Thanks for protecting Robert from his father's abuse. Now you're just a toy again. An old, old toy from a world long gone. You're not going to hurt anyone anymore or jinx them or curse them."
I withdraw the vial of holy water and sprinkle it on Xander's head. I hand the antique back to Celia, who takes him cautiously. Then I turn to the remaining two spirits.
"It's time for you to go now."
"I don't want no endin' like dat," Althea says in a shaky voice.
"You won't, Althea. You're special. You protected the innocent and gave your own life for them. You deserve peace."
We all circle again and pray for Althea. Loreen repeats the instructions she gave to Mr. Farnsworth. Only this time, I feel it will take her to a higher place.
"Thank y'all for sendin' love and prayers to me. All I did was love dem children. I'd a ratha the massah beat up me instead of his own. I was wrong ta curse Massah's soul and put him in dat doll. When I think a all the trouble dat was caused..."
"Don't, Althea, you didn't know. You believe in things that we don't necessarily understand or agree with, but you did what you thought you had to for your charges," I say.
Farah wraps her arms around her new friend. "Althea, Kendall's right. You'd known nothing but hatred in your world. You didn't cause all of those accidents or fires or mishaps. You were the protective nanny those children needed."
Patrick hugs me from behind, both of us needing a bit of stability for a moment.
"Call out to your family, Althea," I tell her.
"I don't reckon I can remember 'em all," she says, wringing her hands.
"Call out to Robert then."
Althea lifts her eyes. "Robert? My boy?"
"Hey, look at that," Farah says, pointing up. "It's gorgeous. So bright and warm. I see my YaYa."
"Who's that?" I ask, unable to witness what she's seeing.
"My grandmama."
"Go to her, Farah," I say with tears in my eyes.
Althea stretches her arms out. "I see muh Robert. He's wavin' to me."
The tears cloud my vision, but I know I'm witnessing something made of pure beauty. I blink extra-hard and sniff. Althea wraps her arm around Farah, and my cheerleading friend waves at me. "Tell everyone I said bye," Farah says with a great big smile. "I'll be singing in heaven with the angels. And, boy, am I going to give them a run for their money."
I laugh through my tears as Farah winks at me.
The two figures nearly blend into one and then they disappear.
I slump into Patrick's arms and he holds on firmly to keep me from falling.
Celia walks over to me with Xander the Doll. "Did they go?"
Nodding, I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. Then I reach for Xander. She hands him to me. He's light and airy and ... just a doll. There's a goofiness to him now, as well as in the expression on the stuffed bear with the crooked face. "I believe there's finally peace here."
Loreen places her hand on my shoulder. "We can go."
Fifteen minutes later, covered in dirt but no worse for the wear of our adventure, Loreen, Patrick, Becca, Celia, Xander the Doll, and I emerge from the secret tunnel. Mass and Patrick work at the knobs on the mantel to reverse the open-sesame we created. When the fireplace is resealed, we all look at one another.
"Man," Becca says. "That was intense."
"I'm sorry I missed it," Shelby-Nichole says sadly. "After what I dealt with at my house..."
"It's okay, hon. Really," I reassure her.
"What happened?" Father Mass asks.
I heave a sigh of sadness. "There are some dark stories in this town, Father. Tales that no one would believe if you told them. Ones that should be buried down deep to die with those that caused them. A nasty bit of Radisson's history was just revealed to us."
Becca looks scornful. "Yeah, but we have no real proof of what just happened other than some EVPs, maybe something on the video; it's mainly personal experiences that happened to y'all."
"The skeptics would eat us alive," I say. "A spiritual cleansing, dark figures from below, and two souls reaching their heavenly peace." I lift my eyes to Celia's. "What happened has no basis in science, but it was real. As real as us standing here."
My friend loops her arm through mine. "I know, Kendall. I believe you."
Father Mass reaches out and tweaks Xander the Doll's arm. "What about this fellow?"
"He's just a doll, Mass," Loreen says with a grin.
"Yep, that's all he is," I agree.
Celia and I go upstairs and carefully place Xander back into his case. I blow him a kiss because I know he won't cause any further trouble. The damned soul inside him found his just reward in the underworld.
"Do we tell Mr. Pfeiffer?" Celia asks.
"Nah ... he thinks we're a bunch of meddlesome kids. Let him keep thinking that. Things will change around here. The air in the house is already lighter. There won't be any more mischief attributed to old Xander here."
"So, we just let the legend of Xander the Doll continue," Celia states.
"Yeah, why not? Now it's a great town legend. The letters of forgiveness will keep coming in as long as the exhibit travels."
"What about correcting the history books about the Underground Railroad coming through here? We owe it to history." Celia has such passion for the subject.
"We promised Mr. Pfeiffer we wouldn't reveal any of our findings." I reach for my friend. "It's okay, Cel. We did what we were supposed to do."
She exhales noisily and relents. We back out of the room, relock the door, and slip down the stairs to meet up with the rest of the team. Becca, Patrick, and Shelby-Nichole have already packed up the equipment, so we're ready to go.
Patrick meets me at the bottom of the stairs and encircles me in a gigantic bear hug. I cling to him wearily, as I am totally spent.
"We done good here tonight," he whispers into my hair.
History might not ever know of our accomplishment, but we know.
Chapter Twenty
WET SANDPAPER SWIPES ACROSS MY CHEEK and I brush it away. It returns with more vigor and verve. I smack it again. It won't stop.
Slurp ... slurp ... slurp...
I open my eyes to discover Buckley curled up on my chest, licking my face. I pull his furry self up into my arms and kiss the crooked gray spot on his nose over and over and over again so he knows what it feels like to be smother-loved.
"Hi, baby kitty. Who's the baby kitty? You are. Yes, you are."
He blinks at me and keeps
trying to lick me with his abnormally long tongue. Natalie meows from her spot at the bottom of the bed, none too happy that her beauty rest has been interrupted. Eleanor grunts her hello before flipping upside down next to me and burying her head in the covers. There's nothing better than waking up surrounded by so much love and trust. Especially after the roller coaster I rode last night.
I'm feeling more rested this morning than I do most Sundays after I pull off an intense ghost investigation. Then again, I didn't channel and I wasn't the one physically tossed around like poor Celia. Man, that girl's going to have some serious bruises this morning. That aside, I'm wicked proud of the work we did and how we helped Farah and Althea and released the nasty spirit of Mr. Farnsworth.
Rubbing Buckley's outstretched chin, I tell him, "I never want to deal with anything like that again. That was freaky scary. Yes, it was ... yes, it was..."
He just purrs, unaware of what I handled last night. Maybe there is something to voodoo, or vodoun, as Father Mass calls it. Something attached the soul of Phillip Farnsworth to that doll, and he'd been making trouble for the living ever since. In the end, it was bad. Very bad. Borderline demonic, and all I know is I want no part of it. No messing around with curses or charms or dolls where spirits or souls can be stored. Yikes! No way, man. Demonology is nowhere in my past, present, or future. I can't wait to get to church today and cleanse myself in the well of Father Mass's sermon and good old Communion.
After crawling out from the cat-laden covers, I strip to my undies, pad to the bathroom, and proceed to take the longest, hottest shower in the history of all showers. I soap my hair twice with the Aveda rosemary mint shampoo, careful to get every last clod of Georgia red clay out of the follicles—was too damn tired to do it when I came home last night. I don't want any reminder of that dark tunnel and what happened there.
The freshly washed towel is soft on my wet skin, which is a little sore from all the climbing, crawling, and saving Celia from a sinkhole. I wrap it around me like a sarong and then drag the paddle brush through my hair. Using my forearm, I clear off the steam from the mirror.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
I jump.
I scream again.
I drop the brush.
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