Ghost of Halloween Past

by McIntyre, Anna J

  Danielle looked at Adam with a frown. “Why is that so funny?”

  “Because,” Adam said while trying to control his laughter, “he insisted the lights were on at Presley House—but the house doesn’t even have an electric meter!”

  “He probably saw someone in there with a flashlight,” Danielle suggested.

  “It’s just the same old thing,” the chief spoke up. “Around Halloween each year, local teenagers love to prank that place.”

  “Like I told Joe, I can’t really come down too hard on the teenagers, considering when I was in high school my friends and I broke into the old house a few times,” Adam confessed.

  McDonald raised his brows. “And you used to property manage Presley House?”

  “Hey, I was just a dumb kid back then.” Adam shrugged. “Although, I don’t recall mentioning my teenage exploits to the property owners when they interviewed me for the job.”

  “I understand you aren't managing it anymore,” MacDonald said.

  “No. When customers stop paying, I stop managing.”

  Their conversation ended when Marie called out to Adam, waving him over to her.

  When Danielle and MacDonald were alone again, MacDonald said, “Danielle, I need to talk to you alone about something. It has to do with what Adam just mentioned.”

  “About Presley House?” she asked.

  “Yes. I was hoping we could go alone somewhere and discuss it—preferably somewhere where Walt is.”

  “Walt? Are you saying you have something you want to ask Walt?”

  “In a way.”

  Danielle glanced around the room, looking to see who would notice their departure. “I know he’s in the attic with Sadie. We can go up there. But you’ll probably want to say something to Carol Ann first. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

  “I’ll go tell Carol Ann where I’m going, and then I need to run out to my car and get something I left in the trunk. How about I meet you in the attic?”

  Danielle sat in the attic with Walt and Sadie, waiting for the police chief. She could hear the sounds of the party drifting up from downstairs.

  “How is Lily’s party going?” Walt asked.

  “You should come down, see for yourself. I don’t know why you’re hiding up here with Sadie.”

  Walt shrugged. “I will, later. Just thought I’d give Sadie a little attention first. I didn’t want Ian to think she was in the way and take her back across the street. She doesn’t like to stay at the house alone.”

  “She doesn’t?” Danielle looked down at Sadie, who was curled up where Walt stood, her body blending with his legs.

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Walt said with a sigh, looking apologetically at Sadie.

  “Your fault? How?”

  “The dognappers,” Walt explained. “That episode was quite traumatic for her.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “I assume you aren’t talking to yourself,” Chief MacDonald said from the doorway. He walked into the attic, carrying a small box.

  “No, Walt’s here.” Danielle glanced from Walt to MacDonald.

  “Good. Maybe he can help me figure this out.”

  “I will confess, I find it fascinating how he seems to accept my presence, without actually seeing me,” Walt murmured as he watched the police chief open the small box.

  “What’s that?” Danielle asked as MacDonald pulled a lightbulb from the box.

  “Remember how Adam mentioned Joe claimed to see a light on over at Presley House?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “This is what Joe…and Brian…claimed to have seen lit up. They took it from Presley House to show me. It was screwed into a lamp, which they also took. But I didn’t think I should haul the lamp over here. Figured the bulb would do.”

  “I don’t get it.” Danielle frowned.

  “According to both Joe and Brian, they witnessed the lamp turn on in Presley House. As Adam said, there is no electricity at the house. In fact the electric company pulled the electric meter months ago.”

  “Okay…” Danielle still didn’t understand where this was going.

  MacDonald shook the bulb. Danielle could hear the broken bits rattling around. “As you can hear, this bulb is no longer good. Even if it were screwed into a lamp with electricity, it still wouldn’t work. Brian claims he shook it and heard the same thing. Yet, when he screwed it back into the lamp, the light went on. The light stayed on after they carried the lamp from the house. It went off when they went outside. It hasn’t gone back on again.”

  “Okay…so what are you asking?”

  “For years, there have been stories about Presley House being haunted. I never gave it any serious thought, after all, a haunted house? Who believes such things?”

  Danielle chuckled and looked at Walt. “Who, indeed?”

  “But now, after…well, you know…” MacDonald looked to where he assumed Walt stood. “I’m wondering if there is a spirit who hangs out at Presley House, causing problems each Halloween.”

  “So what do you want from us?”

  MacDonald held the bulb up with one hand. “I’m wondering if it’s possible for a spirit to make a lightbulb—one like this, that isn’t plugged into electricity and is broken—to light up. Is that something a spirit can do?”

  Danielle looked at the spirit in the room. “Walt, is it possible?”

  Waving his hand, Walt summonsed a lit cigar. He took a puff and then exhaled. “You have to understand, harnessing energy is not the same for every spirit. You know that, Danielle. Some of us are confined to specific areas while others are free to roam. Not every spirit can move objects—Angela can’t. And those who can, are normally confined to limited areas.”

  “What is he saying?” MacDonald asked.

  “He’s rambling a bit,” Danielle said impatiently. “Can you cut to the chase, Walt? Is it possible? You think a spirit could make this broken bulb glow?”

  Walt looked at the object MacDonald held and gave a shrug. Staring at it, he took a puff off his cigar. In the next moment, the lightbulb lit up.

  MacDonald stared at the bulb. It shone brightly.

  “Well,” Danielle said with a smile. “I guess you have your answer. Looks like Presley House may really be haunted.”

  “Looks like it,” MacDonald said in a dull voice. “But now what do I do?”

  “Do you have to do anything?” Danielle asked.

  “Not sure…but…” MacDonald continued to hold the lit bulb. He looked at it with unease. “You think you can have him turn it off now?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The one with the red hair had left the front door wide open while she made her way to the sidewalk with the departing houseguests. It was so dark outside no one even noticed Max lurking in the bushes by the front door. Thankfully, the dog was nowhere in sight, but he was somewhere in the house, and that troubled Max.

  Once inside, he ducked into a bedroom on the first floor; its door was ajar. Seeking refuge under the bed—his favorite hiding place—he waited for the man to come for his dog. Max’s plan wouldn’t work if the dog were still lurking around in the house. With the bedroom door still partially open, he could hear the comings and goings on the first floor.

  It seemed as if he had been under the bed for hours—yet it hadn't even been an hour—when he heard the man call, “Sadie!” A few moments later, Max heard the scratching clickity-clack sound of a dog running down wooden stairs and hitting the hardwood floor. Max peeked out nervously. The dog raced by the door.

  Worthless animal, Max thought. There is an intruder in the house and the mutt doesn’t even have a clue.

  The next moment he heard the dark haired one call out, “Goodnight Ian, thanks again, it turned out great. Night Lily.”

  “Night. I’ll be back in the morning to help clean up!” the man called back from the front doorway.

  “Night Dani, I’ll be up in a minute,” the redheaded woman then shouted.

  M
ax heard the one called Dani walking up the stairs, while muffled voices talked by the front doorway. Silently, he waited. Finally, he heard the front door open and close, and the one called Lily made her way down the hallway, turning off some of the lights as she went. He didn’t want to rush upstairs. It would be better if the women were sound asleep.

  The redheaded woman had turned off most of the lights; however, she had left one on in the entry hall. Its glow helped to partially illuminate the downstairs bedroom. Max looked around. One thing he noticed, the floors in this room didn’t have the dust, as did the floors of Presley House. These looked as if they had recently been mopped and shined. There wasn’t a single cockroach in sight. He wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not.

  Closing his eyes, Max yawned, settling into the comfort of his new home. He would give the girls time to fall asleep before going upstairs. But first, first he needed to take a nap. It seemed as if it had been hours since he had been able to sleep.

  “So tell me about this haunted house the chief was talking about,” Walt asked when he appeared in Danielle’s bedroom. She had just slipped into bed.

  “I thought I told you about it.” She scooted over to one side, making room for Walt.

  “I think you mentioned something about it.” Walt settled into the bed, lying next to Danielle. He leaned against the headboard and kicked off his shoes. They vanished before they hit the floor. “Did the chief call it Presley House?”

  “I guess that’s what they call it. Joe and Brian mentioned it to me a while back, but I really didn’t pay much attention to it. Lily and I drove by it once. A big old Victorian, all boarded up, a couple blocks from here. I just sort of assumed it was nothing but an old vacant house that people made up stories about.”

  “And now, what do you think?” Walt summonsed a lit cigar and then instantly remembered smoking was off limits in Danielle’s bedroom. The cigar vanished as quickly as it appeared.

  “Thank you,” Danielle said, when she noticed the cigar come and go.

  Walt flashed her a smile. “So, you think it may be haunted?”

  “If Joe and Brian really did see that bulb light up, without electricity—sounds like it might be. Do you know anything about Presley House? Was it around back when you were…well…”

  “You mean back when I was alive?”

  Danielle shrugged.

  “You can say it, Danielle. Back when I was alive. But no, I don’t recall any Presley House.”

  “It looks old, but I don’t think it’s as old as Marlow House. A traditional Victorian. Really is a shame, the place is a mess. The other houses in that neighborhood are really nice, it must drive the people on that street crazy to have to look at that everyday, with its boarded up windows and sad yard with dying trees and weeds.”

  “While I’ve never heard of a Presley House—until today—I did know someone with that name who lived in Frederickport.”

  “Did he live in a Victorian House? I assume the house is named for the family that lived there. Maybe they didn’t start calling it Presley House until after you…well you know…”

  Walt shook his head. “No, this Presley didn’t own a house. Can’t imagine him even buying one in later years.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He worked for Eva’s parents.”

  “Eva, as in Eva Thorndike?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes. He lived in a little apartment over their garage. He was a caretaker for their property here. I never cared for him.”

  “Why is that?”

  Walt shrugged. “There was just something about him I didn’t trust. I mentioned it to Eva once; she told me I was being silly.”

  “Was it just a feeling you had about him, or did you see him do something he wasn’t supposed to be doing?”

  “Aside from being a drunk when the Thorndikes weren’t here, nothing specific.”

  “Drunk? Wasn't that during prohibition?”

  “I keep telling you Danielle; prohibition didn’t stop people from drinking. As for Presley, that was before prohibition. I don’t remember seeing him after Eva died, but I assume he was still working for her parents…and still drinking too much.”

  “Did he have family in the area? Maybe the house was owned by one of his relatives.”

  Walt shook his head. “As far as I knew, he didn’t have any family in the area.”

  “Well, I assume someone named Presley lived in that old house. And it looks like he or she has stuck around. Although, according to legend, the ghost only haunts the place around Halloween and pretty much goes dormant the rest of the year.”

  “If that is true, then I suppose the chief’s problem will be resolved in another week.”

  “At least for another year.” Danielle glanced over at Walt, who leaned back against the headboard, his eyes closed. “Can I ask you something?”

  Walt opened his eyes and looked at Danielle. “Sure, what?”

  “Have you ever hit a woman?”

  Walt scowled. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

  “Your comment earlier, about how in your day a sassy woman would be spanked.”

  “I thought you knew I was teasing.”

  “Well I did…sort of…”

  “Sort of?”

  “I’ve read how men from your generation saw nothing wrong with hitting their wives—punishing them like they might a child. I just wondered…well…if you ever did something like that.”

  Walt let out a deep sigh. “I thought you knew me better than that, Danielle.”

  “It’s just that…I thought… I mean…” Danielle regretted her question.

  “I will confess, there were times I was sorely tempted to give Angela the back of my hand. But no, I don’t believe a man should ever hit a woman. Yet, you are correct, had I felt it within my right to strike her, I doubt anyone would have intervened or thought less of me.”

  “I’m sorry I asked.”

  “I suppose I understand why you did, considering how different things are now compared to when I was alive. And for the record, had I ever been fortunate enough to have had children, I would not have raised my hand to them either. I would like to believe I would have found another way to teach my child.”

  “I think you would have been a wonderful father,” Danielle said in a soft voice.

  Walt turned to Danielle and smiled. “And someday, you will be a wonderful mother.”

  The thunder woke him. Max lifted his head. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Inching from under the bed, he peeked out. It was dark, save for the dim light coming from the entry hall. The house was quiet. Max guessed everyone was asleep.

  Making his way out from under the bed, Max startled when light flashed across the bedroom window: lightening. He hated thunder and lightening. It was nights like these he was grateful to be indoors, safely under a roof. In the past, he had reluctantly stayed in Presley House, enduring Harvey’s abuse and mischief. The only good thing about Harvey, he only came around in the fall. Where he went the rest of the year, Max had no idea.

  Standing at the bedroom doorway, he looked out into the hallway. A part of him considered returning to his comfortable spot under the bed and going back to sleep. After all, he might be able to hide out in the house for days before anyone noticed him. But then his stomach grumbled, reminding him of how hungry he was.

  Treading softly, Max made his way down the hallway, toward where he believed he would find the stairs to the second floor. He could only guess. It was a logical guess, considering he had heard the dog pounding down them, and the women walking up them a short time later. In both cases it was noisy, something he would have to avoid. The last thing Max wanted was for one of the women to wake up before he could pounce. Fortunately, Max was both agile and quiet when the situation called for it—such as now.

  He came to the staircase and looked up. It was dark. Unlike the first floor, there didn’t seem to be a light on upstairs. The darkness didn’t bother Max; he preferred it. W
ith feather light steps, he made his way up the staircase leading to the second floor of Marlow House.

  Once on the second floor landing a thought came to him. What if her door is shut? That could ruin everything! He thought about the noisy hinges of the door leading to the basement of Presley House.

  Refusing to be deterred, he continued on, moving in the direction where he believed her bedroom to be. He stayed close to the floor, to avoid being detected should the redheaded woman choose that moment to come out of her room. Then he saw it, an open door! He was certain it was the door to her room: the woman with the long dark hair.

  Walt stood at the attic window watching the lightening streak across the sky. He heard a clap of thunder—and then something else. Cocking his head, he turned from the window to the door. It’s probably just Lily or Danielle getting up to use the bathroom, he thought. About to turn back to the window, he paused again. Something just didn’t feel right.

  The next moment, he stood at the base of the stairs leading from the second floor to the attic. Glancing around, he saw no signs of Lily or Danielle. All the lights were off; no one was in the bathroom. And then he saw it—something dark slinking across the floor toward Danielle’s room.

  Curious as to the intruder’s intent, Walt decided to watch and wait. There would be plenty of time to harness his energy if necessary.

  Danielle slept soundly on her bed, unaware of the intruder who had just pushed his way into her room—or of Walt, who stood just outside her door. The intruder had no idea he was being watch. He looked around the room, searching for her bed. Lightening streaked across the window, briefly illuminating the room, followed by a clap of thunder.

  Light from the storm enabled Max to see clearly how the room was laid out. The woman’s bed—and the woman—were just a few feet away. What now? He began questioning his boldness in coming up to her room. Perhaps this was not the best tactic. Maybe he should have introduced himself first—on neutral territory—maybe at the beach. No, not the beach, he thought, remembering the man who had kicked him.