Ghosts from the Past

by Bonnie Elizabeth

  I nodded at two construction workers who were eating lunch and chatting. Although I could have heard every word they said, nothing registered with me. I was lost in my world, busy thinking. I wasn’t changing times because otherwise Maggie wouldn’t have run into me. But I was seeing something from a time that wasn’t the present, clearly.

  I didn’t think ghosts could do that, but perhaps instead of being haunted by ghosts I was being haunted by the whole darn Manor? It would explain all the weirdness that everyone talked about, like getting lost. What if I had walked around in my vision and maybe the kitchen wasn’t laid exactly as it was and I wandered into a room that didn’t connect to the kitchen any longer? Suddenly I’d be lost.

  That didn’t completely make sense, because then I’d have to have gone through time for at least a moment or I’d have run into a wall. I pushed that thought away. None of this made sense, not really.

  I looked down at the food. I wasn’t very hungry any longer, but I picked up a bagel that sat there and decided to toast it before slathering it with cream cheese. It would keep me going for the afternoon.

  I didn’t even get coffee. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a Pepsi from the refrigerator, nodding at Pat.

  “Do you have any extra boxes around here?” I asked.

  “What size?” Pat asked. Bob stood up from where he was checking something in the oven. I smelled something warm and savory but it was too faint for me to pick out yet. I wondered what he was roasting for dinner.

  “Not real big, I don’t think,” I said. I shaped my hands into a smallish box size. Pat left the kitchen and came back with a box almost exactly the dimensions I had measured. It looked a bit smaller than I hoped but it was close enough. I probably wouldn’t be finding a ton of flowers or anything.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking it and my Pepsi back out to the dining hall.

  Nathan had come in but the others weren’t around just yet.

  “Afternoon,” I said, sitting down beside him. My bagel was waiting at the table, getting cold.

  “I wondered where you’d gone off to,” Nathan said.

  “Just the kitchen.” I smiled.

  He raised an eyebrow at the box.

  “I found a pressed flower in one of the books,” I said. “I saved it and figured if I find other mementos like that I’ll box them up in one place. Do you think I should mark which books they came from if I do that?”

  Nathan frowned. He ate a bit of soup, clearly thinking about it. “I can’t imagine it would be that important. I’m not sure saving them is that important, although Bethany might like seeing all the things her family had pressed back in the day.”

  I nodded. “They might be interesting to be put under glass or something, particularly for the artists at the retreat. Who knows what they’d find interesting.”

  “Who indeed?” Nathan said.

  Jonathan came in just then and grabbed some food, practically dropping things randomly on his plate.

  “I am having so much fun. You would not believe all the pictures that are up in the nursery. It’s like everything they took down from the walls they put in there. I’m finding some paintings that I really like, although there are others that aren’t in good shape, but I think they’re valuable enough to work on restoration. This is like a treasure hunt!”

  “I haven’t seen you this happy and excited since you began,” Nathan observed.

  Jonathan shrugged.

  To me, Jonathan had always seemed happy and upbeat, although he was more excited today than other days.

  “I love it when I start a new room,” Jonathan said. “You never know. I’m so flightly that I get bored as I get near the end because there aren’t any more surprises. And the last room had a lot of photos which I had to go through.”

  “You’re valuing the old photos, too?” I asked.

  “I have to go through the framed ones,” Jonathan said, “because if I don’t, I might miss a small sketch or painting. I have found a couple of etchings buried in amongst things like that.”

  “That would be exciting to find treasures like that. I just found a pressed flower,” I said.

  “Yeah, well at least you aren’t hearing something whisper your name when you’re working alone,” Jonathan said, shivering dramatically.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “And no, I don’t believe in ghosts. But I do believe in mold, especially after the mess I found up there in the room next door. I’m surprised the whole house hasn’t been taken down with it.”

  “Jimmy checked it out,” Nathan said. “Looked like one of the windows was leaking for years and that whole wall will probably have to be redone, at least on the inside. The masonry will have to be cleaned, too. Heaven only knows how long that will take.”

  “I hope I don’t find anything like that in the library, although I’ve been lucky. There’s only one shelf that might have had mold on it.”

  Nathan started asking me questions about the shelf and the book. I was pleased that he seemed so concerned about the mold. It meant he was taking the care of the books seriously. Of course, who knew, perhaps he got paid a percentage of everything Bethany sold while he was working with her on valuing her collections.

  Chapter 17

  After lunch, I made it back to the library with no issues. I stayed in this time frame seeing only the real world, smelling the dust and mold, and listening to the creaks and groans of the house. When I had had my other-when vision I didn’t remember hearing the house creak and groan. I had heard only voices.

  Maybe the Manor itself was trying to send a message with all its creaks and groans.

  The question was, what did it have to say?

  I realized I was probably being silly with those ideas. The equanimity I felt about the ghosts and visions surprised me. For some reason I didn’t feel in any real danger, though I didn’t understand why. Perhaps it was a sort of shock, of not being able to take in what was actually happening. In all honestly, I was more concerned about my cell phone having gone missing, which, when I thought about it, made absolutely no sense at all.

  Back at my desk, I settled into work at the computer. I entered the information on the books into the database I had and did a little research on some of the nicer volumes. This kind of work kept me busy and my mind occupied with mundane tasks. The books on the desk offered nothing unusual, not even a pressed flower or forgotten half-written letter for my box.

  It looked like a beautiful day, and I recalled talking to Nathan about the walking path yesterday, but I’d gotten so busy I hadn’t gone for a walk. This afternoon I’d done quite well in terms of getting more done. After the ancient history books I’d gotten to the Medieval and Renaissance periods of Europe and then a few books on Asia before moving into the Victorian era, which was probably modern by the library standards of the era.

  Still, cataloging went more quickly when I was looking through books on the same subject. A few books had some damage, ripped pages, and one even looked like it had been nibbled on by a mouse, which considering the others were in pristine condition, surprised me. Perhaps that one had come from another home before finding its way to Schilling Manor.

  I stood up and turned off the computer, still thinking about that nibbled book. I made sure I had my walkie-talkie and left the library. I paused by the shining white front doors, wondering if I could exit through them. I decided I didn’t want to take any chances. I didn’t want to get lost in a vision of another time, so instead took a route I knew—the corridor to the dining hall and then the kitchen and finally the side door. It was probably silly considering my vision had happened on exactly that route to the dining room, but this time I made it without mishap.

  The fresh air felt good, and I breathed deeply. It had been too long since I’d spent any time outside. The smell of the sea and the grass was a wonderful contrast to the dusty old house. I would have to be sure to come out and breathe in some fresh air every day. My lungs were singing.

  I
walked across the parking area, noting that the cars looked pretty much the same as the ones there upon my arrival. There were a few new ones and I noted tracks on the grass where other cars had come and gone, probably the people working construction. I heard a power saw going in the distance.

  As I got further from the manor, the saw became a faint white noise as it turned on and off. Now and then I heard the purr of a car driving on the road that was just over the hill. The path wound around the empty hillside, leaving me a good view of the Manor.

  In the bright afternoon sunlight, the place looked like a broken thing. The front needed paint and even the shiny white front doors I had noticed the first day looked like nothing so much as a bandage, which, in a way, they were. The bricks looked worn with age and the mortar was crumbled here and there. The plastic on the roof was still waiting to be covered with shingles or tile.

  The widow’s walk looked rather unsafe, with the railing seeming to move in the slight breeze that came up. Above the house, a hawk glided on the winds.

  I felt very alone with the place, thinking how perfect a photo of the place would be for a Halloween picture, when two workmen walked into my line of view. They were clearly working on the backside of the roof but had stepped up to the top line of the angled roof and were looking away from me. The contrast of their modern cream overalls and the ancient building was startling.

  No longer a dilapidated old thing, it became a Manor filled with possibilities in my mind.

  When I turned to follow the path once more, I was smiling. This was exactly what I needed. Perhaps Jonathan was right about toxic mold spores driving us all crazy.

  I didn’t hurry my pace, letting myself draw in deep fresh breaths. It felt so good to be outside for a change. The sun was warmer on my shoulders than I had expected and there was a definite noticeable level of humidity, even for this Southerner. However, the breeze off the sea kept me from feeling weighted down by it.

  It was not what I had expected from Cape Breton. I guess I thought I’d find a foot of snow in the middle of summer or something. This was like a vacation, exactly the vacation I had needed. I was going to have to thank Tessie, if I ever got ahold of her. I should have brought my phone. On the other hand, perhaps I needed this moment to myself.

  I made my way to the top of the hill. The path twisted back upon itself, avoiding the few standing bare trees. I saw places where trees had lined this part of the path, which meant that years ago when those trees were in full foliage, it might have been a pretty walk. I even wondered, as I kicked a few bits of gravel, if there had been a planned garden on the hillside.

  Finally, I reached the top and looked down over the sea. It was lovely with the breeze blowing my hair away from my face. There were low waves lapping at the shore below, though I could barely see them from my vantage point. It was pleasant enough to hear though. I loved that sound. Perhaps I should open the window in my room. I might be close enough to hear the waves, though the hill itself could act as a sound barrier.

  Now and then, a car passed by on the road below me. It didn’t interrupt my reverie. I turned to go back to the house when I became tired of standing. I had probably resembled a phantom woman thinking of jumping. Bethany needed to add a bench, perhaps a table. Artists would certainly want places to leave their supplies.

  Turning, I saw a young woman standing behind me, dressed in pedal pushers and saddle shoes. Her hair was short and curled, probably with pin curls given the rest of her dress.

  “Don’t leave me,” she said.

  “Me?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I looked around but there was no one else there.

  “I am talking to you,” she said. “I need you. There’s so much that’s gone wrong. So much forgotten that needs to be righted.”

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  The girl turned behind her, like she’d heard something that scared her. I heard it too, someone walking up the path. I didn’t see anyone. The girl disappeared. She didn’t fade away. Just one minute she was there and one minute gone.

  As I tried to process what had happened—too quickly, I realized, for me to even be frightened—the freezing cold came up. I was shivering in the air that had felt too warm only a few minutes ago. I saw nothing but I felt every hair on my arms trying to stand up. All my instincts told me to run, but there was nowhere to run, except down the path, towards whatever was coming.

  I stepped off the path walking directly towards the house. At one time I would have been trampling well-placed plants if indeed this had indeed been a garden. The hill was steep but not an impossible walk. Kids would love sledding the hill in the winter.

  I remained cold for some time, but the footsteps upon gravel disappeared. I kept walking quickly. When I cross the path again, I headed down hill, walking far faster going down than going up.

  Clearly there were multiple ghosts in the house. One, probably Audra, who had an interest in making the secrets known and another that could be working at cross purposes.

  Was the bankbook the big secret or were there more? What about the letters that were likely written between Audra and Eddie Hanna?

  Was I really at risk from the spirits that followed the chill air or was I just being silly? After all, someone had taken my phone. If there was a thief in the house, were they dangerous? There were too many things for my mind to take in, to process the potential dangers. I realized that my lack of fear may have said something about my level of overwhelm. Given that, how could I trust myself to know what I ought to fear and what I shouldn’t?

  Chapter 18

  Once back inside the Manor, nothing paranormal awaited me. The place was beginning to smell of Thanksgiving, or rather, roast turkey. It was only June in Canada so no one was celebrating a feast of giving thanks. But the bird smelled good.

  The Manor was back to its usual creaks and groans as I headed up to my room. I wondered if either of the ghosts would follow. What if the invisible, cold ghost was trying to get rid of the girl? Hadn’t there been a book with that sort of plot? Some evil wanted to eat the souls of the dead?

  I know. I read too much. And I remembered just enough to scare the crap out of myself when I’d foolishly taken a job in a haunted Manor in the middle of nowhere while trying to forget my divorce. And to top it off, it was apparently true that I was sensitive to ghosts.

  Could I forget my sabbatical if I returned home now?

  Except, deep down, I knew I didn’t want to. I wanted to know what Bethany had found out at the bank. I wanted to know what those letters meant. I wanted to know more about Audra. I became a librarian not just because I liked books, but because I liked knowing things. I loved the hunt for information and looking for secret clues. It’s probably why I loved mystery novels and books that involved ghosts.

  In my room, my lock stuck a little but I was able to push it open. Nothing was out of place but my laundry was gone, for which I was thankful. I needed my sweater.

  I looked at my phone. Still only one bar. I took it to the window and stood there looking out. Three people were working on the greenhouse. The glass gleamed in the light. The modern look was a stark contrast to the ancient Manor. When things were done on this building, would it look as wonderful as the greenhouse?

  I had two bars in the window so I called Tessie.

  “I thought you didn’t have phone service?”

  “I’m in my room, standing by the window, and I have two bars,” I said. “Don’t expect that reception will be great.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I think the place is haunted,” I said, bluntly.

  Tessie laughed. “Is it two little twin girls like in The Shining?”

  Tessie sounded far too happy that I might be in a place like the hotel in The Shining where guests were often murdered in certain rooms.

  “Not two little girls.”

  “Then what?” Tessie asked.

  “I saw a young woman, probably about fourteen or fifteen,
dressed in those old pedal pushers and saddle shoes.”

  “Really?” Tessie said, her voice going up. “What was she doing?”

  “I think she was running away from a ghost I couldn’t see,” I said. “I’ve also found a secret hiding place for a forgotten bankbook and a cubby full of old letters.”

  “You’ve barely been there a week! Can I come visit you? I want to see this place.”

  “I’m not sure about the rules on visitors. I know that eventually it’ll be an artist’s retreat so we can come up here then. Or not.” Could non-artists go to an artist’s retreat?

  “I don’t want to wait. The ghosts might leave before they finish all that work. This is too exciting.”

  “Someone did take my phone,” I said. “But apparently it got returned. It’s very weird. I’m not sure I like being here.”

  “Where else can you see ghosts on a regular basis?” Tessie demanded. “I think this is completely what you need. Something to take your mind off of Kyle.”

  She was right in that I hadn’t thought of Kyle since I’d been there. To be fair, though, I hadn’t much thought of him since I’d started packing up to take the job. It was like having a concrete plan had kept me from bemoaning my fate of having lost the man I was married to.

  We chatted a bit more about the place. I talked about the computer program and the rooms filled with books.

  “I’ll probably have some sort of lung disease when I leave, it’s so old and dank here,” I said. “Plus the dust on the books.”

  “Do you wear your mask?” Tessie asked.

  “I should live in it,” I said. “But I really only use it when I’m cataloging. I’m not sure it helps though. It’s so dusty here you can eat the air.”

  More laughter.

  I wished I could enjoy the laughter and settle, but the brief moment in the sunshine was reminding me how odd this place was. How damp and dank and dark. If I stayed, would I ever find my way back to the lightness of laughter?