So we weren’t welcome. He probably thought we were no more than a pair of snoops and weirdoes and luckily he didn’t have a clue what we were doing in Belgium. If he did, he’d think we were nuts. Sometimes I thought we were nuts to do this.
“I wonder what the people of this city pay in local taxes to keep this place. It’s like a palace,” I remarked as we climbed the marble stairs that were wider than a small office block.
“Well, you can always stop the first person you see and ask.”
“Cool, I think I will. I’ll stop the first person I see in the street.”
“I was only kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“If you do, I’ll disown you. I swear!”
“That’ll be the day,” I replied as she dug me unceremoniously in the ribs, narrowly missing my painful spot.
Chapter Ten
We found the office of Bernice Steenburgen easily enough, double checking the plaque on the door to make sure we had the right name.
I took the lead by tapping on the closed door. Knocking protocol had never been made that clear to me. If you bang hard, it’s rude; if you knock in a tap, it’s ineffectual. So I always tried to the knock somewhere in the middle.
The door was opened by a mature woman with a warm smile—a good sign. “Do you speak English?” I inquired as politely as possible.
“Yes, I do. Please come in; how can I help you?” She guided us to sit down.
I did most of the explaining, feeling comfortable in her presence, leaving Ellen to deal with the finer details. Bernice paid attention but it was difficult to gauge her reaction; she would have done well in a poker game as she gave nothing away. Eventually, after hearing the entire story, she opened up.
“So much happened when the Germans were here and it’s a fact that they did command some of the government buildings, but not all of them. It depended on what could aid them. The building you talk about could have been used, but the problem is so many records were destroyed by the Germans themselves and corrupt government officials that it’s hard to confirm anything. But I will look for you.”
There was to be no Google search involved on this one. She opened boxes on shelves behind her desk, slowly studying each one, looking for the elusive file. We sat quietly in anticipation, grateful she’d taken the time to help and relieved she was taking us seriously.
Taking a box and placing it on the desk, she slowly lifted the lid and pulled out a file. “I think this is it,” she said.
We watched eagerly as she thumbed the pages, going over each one carefully looking for clues.
“There’s not much here on the building other than it was a stock exchange, which you already knew. War-time records are hard to find; maybe they’re in Brussels or locked away.”
“Can you at least tell us that government buildings were used to make lists for deportation?” I asked.
“Deportation to camps, you mean? There’s no evidence to say which building was used for something like that.”
Ellen turned to look out of the window. “There was a huge cover up after the war, I’m sure of it, and that’s hard to swallow when I look out and see such a beautiful city with such friendly people.”
“War does bad things to people,” Bernice replied pulling out a wartime file. “It says here that the Germans arrived in May 1940 and left at the end of 1944. Antwerp was strategic for them because of the port—it also had a high Jewish population and still does. There’s nothing in these papers to say where the Germans made the lists.”
“Do you know how many Jews were deported from here?” Ellen asked.
Bernice went online searching Belgium pages, and it didn’t take long for her to find the information which she carefully translated. “Most of the Jewish inhabitants of Antwerp did not survive, although many did manage to escape before the round-ups. Around 800 were hidden by non-Jewish friends in the city. Figures can never be totally accurate but roughly 18,000 were deported from here, mostly to Auschwitz. Not many came back.”
“So there are no records to prove the building was used by the Germans.” I replied.
Ellen became very quiet and I could tell she was thinking hard, trying to make sense of what we’d uncovered. “Monty, it’s all coming together. Finally the pieces match. I’ve got it!” she said excitedly. “The others, they’re victims. The man who was pointing to the typewriter, it’s symbolic. They used a typewriter to make the lists. He was on the list and maybe the young girl also. I have to go back but first we need to drop by a supermarket and get some something. I must have salt.”
I know why she wanted salt. It was to draw a protective circle on the floor around us when she confronted evil spirits. Bernice was looking on in mild confusion, but she took it all in and told us it had made her day to meet paranormal investigators that had come all the way from the States.
Ellen was filled with renewed confidence. “They’re strong, but not strong enough that we can beat them. We’re meant to be here, Monty; its fate, and I’m sorry, Bernice, you must be very confused.”
“I do believe there’s more to life than we realise,” She replied in earnest. “I also believe that when we do bad things in life, we don’t get away with it when we die.”
“That’s a fact.” I replied, trying to remember if I’d seen a supermarket. One of us had to keep our feet on the ground, practical Joe that was me, always working on the finer details.
Maybe this investigation was far more important than we realized; we were meant to be here thousands of miles away from home, in a time frame from over 60 years ago when evil shook the world and millions lost their lives.
Could it be that we’d been given the responsibility to be the voice of trapped victims held in limbo by their perpetrators? That had to be a serious undertaking on both our parts, a little scary yet thrilling at the same time.
Bernice urged us to take care; she, too, had heard about the tragedy. We did our best to reassure her that we skilled investigators and that our previous experiences had taught us well.
Ellen was an incredibly powerful psychic, and she’d helped me to get into my sixth sense like no one else had. I trusted her with my life and if she said we could take them on and win, then we would. People could say what they wanted about me, that I was trailing behind my wife’s coat tails, holding the camera while she does the business. They couldn’t be far from the truth. We were tight, and I was proud to be reborn a new man who didn’t give a shit what people thought. I would support Ellen to the ends of the earth and beyond and she’d do the same for me. That’s love.
“As well as the salt, we need candles. Do you think it’ll be a problem to find them?” she asked as we walked out into the brilliant sunshine.
“Easy, we walked past a supermarket. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I was worrying about everything. What if we didn’t succeed? How much time could we take to stay in Belgium? What if we thought we’d cracked it only to find out once back in the States that the place was still haunted? Things could turn very nasty.
To ease the tension, we stopped by something called a Frituur which turned out to be fast food Belgium style—great fries with a choice of sauces and dozens of other fried delights to choose from. We couldn’t help but indulge, and we laughed about how hard it was not to be a tourist here as the temptation was overwhelming when we were out and about.
“Have you noticed,” I remarked, “that this city looks like New Orleans? The architecture’s pretty much the same in some of the buildings, and maybe early settlers from here came to the States and brought their ideas with them.”
“Come to think of it, yeah, it’s similar, and what a challenge that was in New Orleans.”
“No bigger than this one, Ellen; they’re pretty much all the same.” Our last vacation had turned into a ghost hunt when we were summoned to a haunted barracks. Maybe this could turn from a ghost hunt into a vacation if we could wrap it up quick enough.
We found exactly what we we
re looking for: one large can of salt, four candles in a glass, some matches to light them with, and a box of tampons and shampoo for Ellen.
“I was thinking,” I said, “that we could use the tampons to plug our ears if the ghostly screams got too loud.”
Ellen wasn’t amused at my dig about her precious tampons. “Why is it that you think your jokes are so funny when no one else does?”
“Your mother loves my jokes. She’s always telling me I’m a natural when it comes to humor.”
“You think?” she replied. “She’s spent her whole life telling anyone in the family who was the remotest bit funny that they’re a natural. It’s her stock line and everyone knows it.”
“Everyone except me, it seems. Do you wanna to hear my lawyer joke?”
“No way.”
In the midst of our bantering, Pieter called back. “Please be careful in there,” he said. “I’ve spoken to some people and they say it’s not safe to be doing what you’re doing. Monty, you must keep yourselves out of danger.”
“We know what’s going on and we’re used to difficult situations. Don’t worry, we’ll be okay,” I said with confidence.
Pieter was a decent guy who wanted to look out for us—more than I could say for Chris.
In the midst of my conversation, Ellen interrupted. “What time is it? What did he say? Don’t be in the building after four. What time is it?”
“It’s three-thirty, we’re screwed for now,” I replied, thinking that we’d wasted too much time already. Lunch, shopping, sightseeing.
“Maybe we can go sit in the café and watch and wait for them to come out. I really want to get on with this it’s so frustrating!”
Past experiences would depict that we’d be in there from the start. Not this time, from the moment we wake up we’re unsure, there was a lack of support, a new culture and customs to deal with on top of everything else. Ellen hadn’t been in top psychic mode either her energy levels going from zero to over the top in seconds. My P.I. head told me that when we finally got back in there, it was time to kick some serious ass, and we were not leaving until we did.
Chapter Eleven
We sneaked into the café like we had something to hide hoping not to bump into the entourage that was showing up with Chris.
I wished he had trouble with the door and landed on his ass as I did. But I didn’t share my revenge thought with Ellen—she would for sure chastise me for being vindictive and she’d warn me about karma and negative thoughts towards others. Sitting by the window trying to be invisible, we watched as Chris drifted past with four guys in tow on their way to make a deal.
Ellen was pensive. “I wonder if anything will happen when they’re in there, and if it did, whether they’ll notice.”
“I seriously doubt they’ll notice if it’s subtle and that smart ass will pass it off as an old building creaking and cracking. He’ll weasel his way out of it, I’m sure.”
“He’s really pushed your angry button, Monty; why is that?”
I had to really think before I answered. What was is it about the man that rattled me? It really wasn’t his annoying wife or his fancy loafers, or the expensive cigar he loved to puff on. It was his flippant, couldn’t-care-less, don’t-give-a-shit about you attitude that I didn’t like.
“He’s selfish,” I replied.
After an hour-long wait, we were relieved to watch them walk away from the building, but to be sure they weren’t lingering, we waited another five minutes until they were out of sight. Ingrid had forgotten to tell her staff that she was taking care of the bags. Consequently, it took some convincing with the young bartender, as he didn’t want to do anything without her okay. Then he discovered that she’d locked the bags up in a room, taking the key with her. “I’ll call her,” he told us. “She’ll have to come back and open it. I’m sorry.”
Could it have gotten any worse? My frustration level started to rise up, prompting Ellen to give me a stern warning when she saw my reaction.
“I know you’re pissed. Don’t be; it’s our fault. We have Ingrid’s number. We should’ve called beforehand to warn her we were coming.”
I stayed quiet, not prepared to do battle with Ellen over something that I was forced to admit was the truth. We should’ve called.
But the spirit world was on our side. Moments later Ingrid called back to say she was on her way. In my wildest imagination and paranoia I thought she’d taken off for a summer break; maybe on her way to the Caribbean.
Rushed and worried, she came bursting through the door. “I’m so sorry. I was only thinking to keep your things safe. I forgot to leave the key.”
Within minutes our bags were by our feet and Ingrid was wishing us the best of luck. It was time.
I couldn’t get into the building quick enough, Ellen too. Both of us walked faster than normal toward the door, full of determination to do what we came here to do.
“Are you ready?” I asked as I turned the key.
“More ready than I’ve ever been. Let’s go.”
We headed straight upstairs with gusto. Ellen was a woman on a mission, wildly pushing open the door to the office where we’d been before: a room of sadness with an old desk and a lone typewriter its only company.
“We’re here,” she said out loud. “We’re not leaving you are, so show yourselves!”
Drawing a large circle of salt amidst the dust and dirt to protect us, she lit the small glass candles and placed them on the floor in front of us. I had brought the back-up EMF meter, not as sharp as the other one but it did show activity. “Come on then let’s see you,” I said.
“Monty, whatever you do, don’t come out of the circle if anything happens to me. Make sure I don’t, either.”
“I promise you’ve got it,” I replied.
“Hold my hand, close your eyes, and see what I see,” she said softly. “You have the ability—don’t doubt.”
“Is this an exorcism?” I asked.
“I think so and hope that once they’re gone, the others will want to move on. There will be nothing to keep them here any more.”
I did as she said, holding tight to the meter. I closed my eyes, keeping very still and calm. The temperature in the room dropped even further and I fought back, trying not to shiver. I could sense someone in the room, walking around us slowly. But I was sure it wasn’t harmful.
“The girl is here and she showing me her arm,” Ellen said. “Count the numbers she’s saying, ‘one, two, three, four, five tattooed into my arm. I was worth less than a rat, not human any more.’ She’s pointing to the typewriter she’s telling me that it was used to mark her death when her name was added.”
“The same typewriter?”
“I doubt it, but it’s symbolic.”
“What does the tattoo mean?”
“It’s a concentration camp number, Monty. I’m sure of it.”
The spirit of this young girl had told us her story and that of millions of others. That she was taken from her family, thrown on a train, and shipped off to a camp where she waited to die. Something drew her back here to the place where her death warrant was signed on a typewriter just like this one. “There are more spirits here,” I said. “The meter’s gone up again.”
“I know, I feel them all…so many, surely, they can’t all be stuck here?”
I took the video camera from the stand, mindful not to come out of the circle, and filmed around the area of desk. When I played it back, I was amazed to see something. I grabbed the digital and snapped four photographs.
“Ellen, look—see the white shape, is that the girl?” I said, showing Ellen the camera.
She didn’t answer so I asked again. “Ellen, look at the photo.”
Instead, she had folded her arms around her waist and was breathing hard. I wasn’t wrong when I said the room was full of spirit activity. I turned around once or twice because I thought I’d been lightly touched on my arm and shoulder. Some had joined us in the circle, proving they weren’t
harmful, but I got the feeling that they were struggling to walk as they dragged their feet along the stone floor. The meter was going crazy as we stood right in the middle of such intense paranormal activity,
“Ellen, what do you see or hear?” I asked, hoping she was still with me.
“My name is Veronique. I’m eighteen. I’m not allowed to leave here. I’m theirs. I belong to them.” Ellen was talking for the girl in a clear monotone. “The others—ask them, they will tell you the same. Leave now before you come to harm. Leave now, they are coming!”
“Who is it that’s coming?” I asked, grabbing Ellen as she gravitated towards the edge of the salt circle.
That seemed to bring her back and she had a lot to say. “All the spirits who are here were victims of the two harmful spirits we encountered. Every one of them is attached to the painful moment when they were deported. When they passed over, they came straight back here. We have to release them!”
“Why would they come back here? I don’t understand.”
“Part of them still clings to a life on earth, and they believed that by coming back here they could change what happened. Instead, they found themselves trapped with their jailors who are strong enough to keep them here.”
“So where are the evil bastards, then?” I demanded. “Hiding somewhere, afraid to show their faces? Come on…we’re waiting!”
The whole time we’d been in Belgium it hardly rained. Now it was pounding onto the glass roof high above, making one hell of a noise.
“Are you gonna leave us standing here like idiots?” I shouted, hoping to draw them out.
Neither of us was affected by the rain; if anything, it was like we didn’t hear it. “They’ll show up, I can feel it….we need to flush out the elusive,” I said. We didn’t have the wait very long.
“They’re here. Can you feel their presence?” she asked me.
What I felt was oppression. The soles of my feet were stuck to the floor and I was unable to move from the spot. I’d learned not to panic on previous investigations, but being kept in a tight circle made me uncomfortable.
Ghost Hall (The Ghost Files Book 4) Page 7
