A Haunting In Wisconsin

by Michael Richan

  “He didn’t say why?”

  “No, and he was rather abrupt about it all. I took it to mean he was shutting everything down in the wake of Granger’s death, and maybe he intended to move. Don’t know for sure, he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Curiosity got the better of me a couple of days ago, and I went back there and looked through the windows of the garage. Everything had been cleared out. It was completely empty.”

  “He’s gone, then,” she said.

  “At least from that building,” Arnie replied.

  “I wonder if he even got my messages.”

  “Whether he did or didn’t, it isn’t right, how he’s handled things with you. My arrangement was business, though Granger and I knew each other for many years. I figure Robert’s got a right to evict me like he did, if he wanted to. But what he’s done to you, just cutting you off like this, well…I’m damned surprised. I thought he was better than that.”

  “Maybe he just processes grief weirdly,” Eliza replied. “Has to do it solo.”

  “Do it solo if you want,” Arnie replied, “but what he’s done to you is just cruel, in my opinion. And I’d tell that to his face if he was here.”

  She heard the doorbell ring. “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to,” Arnie replied. “Not much happens around here after dinner than watching TV, but if you’d like to be around people for a while, you’re welcome to stay.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Arnie. But I need to get home. Early shift tomorrow.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Pat appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Guess who’s here? Robert. Says he’s returning something.”

  Eliza felt both Arnie and Pat’s eyes on her.

  “Should I send him through?” Pat asked. “Do you want to talk to him, dear?”

  Eliza turned to Pat and smiled. “Yes.”

  Pat returned the smile and left.

  “Are you sure?” Arnie asked. “I can run interference if you want.”

  “No, I’d rather find out what’s going on than avoid him.”

  “OK,” Arnie said, rising from the table.

  Just then Robert entered the doorway, and came to a stop. “Oh,” he said, carrying two books in his hands. “I wanted to return these, Arnie. You let me borrow them years ago, and I found them when I was packing up my stuff.”

  Arnie walked to Robert. “Thank you,” he said, taking the books, and continuing to walk past Robert. “I’m just gonna go into the other room for a while, and leave you two some privacy.”

  Eliza turned to face him. He looked as if he’d been run over by a truck. “Hello,” she said.

  “Didn’t expect to find you here,” he said.

  “Didn’t expect you to show up here, either.”

  He sat at the table next to her. “I guess you’re probably pissed at me for just dropping out like that.”

  She felt emotion rise in her throat, but she tamped it down so she could speak without losing it. “More like confused.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I guess I just thought it would be easier on both of us if I made a clean break.”

  “Break?”

  “Yeah. I…need a break from you.”

  “Need a break,” she repeated, trying to understand. “OK.”

  “And I guess I found it easier to just avoid you rather than explain.”

  “OK. A break?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  He paused, taking in a breath. “You’re toxic. I don’t mean to hurt you by saying that, really. But I think that ever since I’ve met you, so many bad things have happened. Your brother, Rachel, Waverly Hall…hell, Don had a stroke right in front of you. Now this.”

  Her head was swirling with the accusation. She’d wondered many times how this conversation might go, but being called toxic wasn’t anything she’d ever imagined or anticipated. Unsure how to respond, she said the only words that immediately came to mind: “I can’t believe you blame me for all of that.”

  “It seems to happen around you. I need a break from it.”

  She didn’t know what to say. The events he referenced were true, but she didn’t feel responsible for them; if anything, she’d tried to mitigate them.

  “If I’m at fault for anything,” she said, “it’s for trying to help people. I didn’t force you into any of this.”

  “I’m not going to argue,” he replied, standing.

  “So that’s it?”

  “For now.”

  “For now? What, you might change your mind down the road, and decide I’m not toxic?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  All of the concern and hurt she’d felt building within her bubbled over into anger. “If you think I’m going to sit around waiting for you to make up your mind…”

  He cut her off. “I knew this would be how you’d react. That’s why I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

  She stood and walked past him. In the living room she found Arnie and Pat sitting in front of the television. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I appreciate it.” Then she marched out the front door and to her car.

  She was tempted to look back, to see if Robert was in the doorway, watching her leave. She resisted, and didn’t.

  So I’m toxic, she thought as she drove off. I’m not going to sit and pine for him, waiting for him to decide I’m OK to be around.

  No. No man is worth that.

  She stepped on the accelerator, wanting to get home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Grrr,” Aceveda rumbled, irritated. She dropped the metal rod she was holding onto a red velvet pillow that was placed between the two of them as they sat crossed-legged on the floor. “I don’t see any reason to proceed if you are committed to misbehaving.”

  “Misbehaving?” Eliza asked her tutor, looking up at the small woman’s face. Aceveda did not seem pleased.

  “You have a proclivity for mind errancy that I find irksome,” Aceveda replied, her voice tinged with rebuke. “What is going on? Why are you so unfocused and distracted?”

  “It was that trip I took,” Eliza replied. “Up north.”

  Aceveda sighed. “What happened?”

  “You said you didn’t care to hear about it,” Eliza replied.

  “Well, now it unfortunately appears that I must if we’re to proceed.”

  “I went up north to a B&B with Robert. You remember Robert, Granger’s son?”

  “Wait,” Aceveda said. “Is this a long story?”

  “Well,” Eliza said, her eyes rolling up as she thought about how to time-classify the events of the preceding two weeks.

  Aceveda reached for her pendant, raising it to her lips and blowing into it. Eliza expected to hear a whistle, but it was silent.

  Within moments, Alistair appeared. “Ma’am?” he said dryly.

  “The Xinhui Pu-erh,” Aceveda said.

  “Chrysanthemum or Chenpi?” Alistair asked.

  “The Chenpi,” she replied, “and throw out the chrysanthemum. It was unspeakably appalling.”

  “Very well, ma’am,” Alistair replied, and disappeared quickly.

  Aceveda returned her gaze to Eliza. “Proceed.”

  Eliza continued her story. She started with their arrival at the B&B, and ended with how she’d concluded things with Robert. Several times during the story Aceveda shot her an angry look, and Eliza knew she wanted more detail, so she stopped and fleshed out that part of the narrative until the look on Aceveda’s face softened and she knew she could continue.

  “And this is why you can’t concentrate?” Aceveda asked.

  “I guess,” Eliza replied. “The Robert thing, mostly.”

  “Men,” Aceveda said dismissively. “I’m grateful I was never cursed with a desire to seek their approval.”

  “It isn’t about approval,” Eliza replied. “I had feelings for him. At least, I thought I did. We seemed to get along so well. I thought we were headed toward bigger things.” />
  “You were going to marry him?”

  “No,” Eliza replied. “We weren’t quite there, yet.”

  “It amuses me — and I say amuse, but what I really mean is irritates — that you’re obsessed with this Robert at the expense of our lesson. If there’s anyone from your story that you should still be focused on, I would think it would be Horace Lyons, not Robert.”

  “I wasn’t in love with Horace.”

  “Stupid girl!” Aceveda replied. “I’m not talking about ridiculous notions like love! Stop demeaning yourself!”

  “I’m just being honest.”

  “That’s a poor excuse for thoughtless absurdity.”

  Eliza was used to Aceveda’s insults. “Why Horace?”

  “Why indeed! Why didn’t he discover the location of the kaleidoscope during all those years? He was gifted, was he not?”

  “I believe so, according to Martha.”

  “Did you analyze the leather bag?”

  “Not that I know of. Granger was in the process of analyzing it when he died.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “Gone with Robert and all of his stuff, I presume.”

  “Then Robert can answer whether or not that bag had some kind of protective power, as I suspect.”

  “I can’t reach Robert. I told you, I don’t know where he’s gone.”

  “You said that Horace had joined some kind of cult. What was the name of it? Did you have the foresight to remember it?”

  Eliza thought. “Martha didn’t mention the name of the cult. She said he travelled to a place called the Eye Shrine.”

  Aceveda’s eyes went wide. The effect was comical and Eliza would have laughed, but she knew if she did it would only make Aceveda angry and probably cut short their appointment, so she held her lips tightly and suppressed the desire to smile.

  “I hope that’s not what I think it is,” Aceveda said, walking to her bookshelves, searching. After she had scanned most of the room, she stopped. “I think it is.”

  “Is what?”

  Aceveda went to a small wooden desk, where she reached into a drawer and removed a key. “Come with me,” she said, and turned to walk out the back door of the library.

  Eliza rose from her seat and followed the diminutive woman as she made her way through other rooms.

  “You know this entire place is protected, of course,” Aceveda said. “You’ve run into that before, quite literally as I recall.”

  “Yes,” Eliza replied.

  “Well, you know that my level of security is extremely high, because of what I study and the things I know and have collected. That, and because there are a few people out there who don’t necessarily consider me a friend, if you take my meaning.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “I’ve impressed upon you a hundred times how legend shelves and protection systems are 99.9 percent effective, have I not?”

  “A thousand times.”

  “Well, it’s that .1 percent we have to worry about.”

  “And we deal with that by using a combination of methods to reduce the chances even further,” Eliza said, repeating what she’d heard from her tutor. “I know.”

  “This is one of those combinations,” Aceveda said, reaching a door that led into the back yard of the house. They meandered through the yard, passing by a fountain and coming to stop at a small glass greenhouse, not more than six feet square. Aceveda used the key to open the glass door, and held it open for Eliza to enter.

  Eliza walked in. The room was tiny, and lined along one side with a small shelf for potting plants. Stacks of ceramic pots lined the floor below the shelf. She felt Aceveda enter behind her; there wasn’t much room.

  When the door closed, Eliza had a sinking sensation, and she saw the glass walls of the greenhouse slowly darken. She turned to Aceveda; the woman pointed up, and Eliza twisted her neck to look above them.

  She saw an image of herself and Aceveda, still in the greenhouse above.

  “Looks like we’re there, doesn’t it?” Aceveda said.

  “It does!” Eliza marveled. “But we’re not.”

  “No, we’re not,” Aceveda replied. The falling sensation came to an end; Eliza thought it felt much like the sensation of an elevator coming to a stop. Aceveda opened the door of the greenhouse and they emerged into a hallway, lined with marble.

  “What is this?” Eliza asked as they left the greenhouse and stepped into the hallway.

  “This,” Aceveda said, “is where I keep some of the more sensitive things.” They began to walk.

  “Is this some kind of other dimension?” Eliza asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Aceveda replied. “It’s an underground tunnel. Not an ordinary one, mind you. The granite that lines these walls was mined from a quarry in Colorado. It has special qualities due to the radioactive fallout there from the bomb testing in Nevada in the ’60s.”

  They walked down the hallway, stopping at another door. Aceveda readied the key. “The granite acts as a second shield from prying eyes, but it’s much more effective if it’s underground.” She slipped the key into the door and opened it. Inside was a small room that looked similar to the library, but all of the shelves were made of the same grey granite as the hallway. Aceveda stopped her before she entered. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “OK, I won’t.”

  Aceveda walked in. “Follow me,” she said.

  “This is all sensitive stuff?” Eliza asked, looking around at the books.

  “It is. Some of it is more than sensitive; it’s dangerous.” Aceveda walked to a table in the middle of the room. She opened a drawer and removed a pair of gloves. Eliza watched as she slipped them on.

  “This pair of gloves was soaked in the semen of a Tranin. Ever heard of them?”

  “No.”

  “Well, their semen has incredible protective powers, but they’re very rare. They’re found in the River in only one or two spots in the world at very high elevations, and they’re harder than hell to capture, and harder than that to milk. So, that being said, I don’t have two pairs of them, and that means I’m going to have to ask you to place your hands in your pockets.”

  “In my pockets?”

  “I can’t afford that you’ll reach out and touch something by accident.”

  “I won’t,” Eliza replied, irritated at Aceveda’s lack of trust.

  “No,” Aceveda insisted. “I can’t risk it. One accidental move and Alistair will have to haul your body out. Just put your hands into your pockets, and keep them there until we leave.”

  Eliza slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “There.”

  “Don’t take them out!” Aceveda warned, and turned to walk to one of the shelves. She searched for a volume she wanted and removed it from the shelf, carrying it to the table, where she placed it down and opened it.

  Eliza looked at the pages while Aceveda turned them; it was mostly hand-written, with an occasional drawing. When the page was still enough for her to begin reading, she realized it was complete gibberish.

  “Is this a foreign language?” Eliza asked, scanning the page Aceveda had stopped on.

  “No, it’s English,” Aceveda replied. “It’s experiential writing. You have no involvement with any of its subject matter, so you can’t read it. I’m glad of it.”

  “But you can read it?”

  “Most of it. Not all.”

  Aceveda turned another page, and Eliza was struck by a crudely drawn image of an eye, set against the side of a mountain.

  “Just what I feared,” Aceveda said, reading.

  “What?”

  “The Eye Shrine,” Aceveda replied, reading more, then stopping and closing the book. She walked it back to the shelf. “Well, I retract what I said about Horace versus Robert. You may go back to obsessing over your recalcitrant boyfriend.”

  “Why? What did you read?”

  Aceveda returned to the desk and skipped the gloves from her hand, then
tossed them into the drawer and began to walk out of the room. Eliza followed.

  “Tell me!” Eliza asked.

  “The Eye Shrine is in a verboten place,” Aceveda replied. “Somewhere neither you nor I shall ever go.”

  “OK,” Eliza said, confused. “But Horace went there.”

  “He did,” Aceveda said, closing the door to the chamber and locking it with the key.

  “What place?”

  “I’m not going to get into it,” Aceveda replied. “Suffice to say it’s a very bad place, and somewhere decent people don’t go. I don’t want to say any more, it’ll just pique your interest in it, and I want to avoid that.”

  “My interest is already piqued!”

  “I order you to drop your interest immediately!” Aceveda said, walking back down the hallway. “Surely you’re more intrigued by what machinations you need to execute to lure your boyfriend back. Don’t you want to resume the sex? Girls your age are all about the sex, aren’t they? Don’t you feel you’re missing out? You don’t want to wind up a dry old miserly woman like me.”

  “That’s a very bad attempt to distract from my question,” Eliza replied.

  “Listen,” Aceveda said as they reached the end of the hallway and walked into the greenhouse. “Why do you think I keep that book down here, separate from all the others?”

  “You said it was sensitive,” Eliza replied, joining Aceveda in the greenhouse. She felt it begin to rise.

  “Sensitive is generic. In the case of the book we were looking through, more apt terms would be dark, or evil. Infectious.”

  “Upstairs you were all over Horace,” Eliza said. “Now you think I should drop it.”

  “I felt you owed something to Martha,” Aceveda replied. “You ruined all of her slightly inept work of the past fifty years by falling for Horace’s trap and exposing the kaleidoscope. I thought you should at least try to restore to her some measure of what you destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” Eliza repeated. “I was trying to help Milton.”