Ghosts

by Hans Holzer

  This time the living room downstairs was filled with several other people. I had never seen them before, of course, and I was later told that they were in some way connected with the house and the hauntings in it; but I suspect that they were more friends or curious neighbors who wanted to be in on something special. At any rate, they kept in the background and allowed Mrs. Meyers and me to roam around freely so that the medium could get her psychic bearings.

  Ethel ascended the front steps like a bloodhound heading for prey. Once inside, she casually greeted everyone without wishing to be introduced any further. Apparently she was already picking up something in the atmosphere. Somewhat as an afterthought I started to instruct her in the usual manner as to my desires.

  “What I would like you to do is—if in walking about freely any impressions come to your mind, or if at any point you feel like sitting in a chair, do so, and we will follow you. And—if you have any feelings about the house—this is a very old house. It will be a little difficult to differentiate between what is naturally here and these fine antiques, all of which have some emanations. Apart from that, let me know if you get any response or vibrations.”

  “Well, there are a lot of things here, all right. But presently there is a tremendous amount of peace. Vitality and peace at the same time. But I’ll have to get down lower in order to pick up other things. There is a catalyst around here, and I want to find that catalyst.”

  Ethel had now entered the living room and stood in the center.

  “There’s a woman coming close to me. There is also a man—I don’t think he’s old—he has all this hair. The woman is looking at me and smiling.”

  * * *

  At this point, I had to change tapes. While I busied myself I with the recorder, Ethel kept right on talking about the spectral man she felt in the atmosphere. As soon as my tape I was in place, I asked her to repeat the last few impressions so I could record them.

  * * *

  “Is this name of ‘Lewis,’ that you get, connected with the man standing by the fireplace? Would you repeat that description again: gold-buckled shoes, and he has his elbow on the wooden mantelpiece?”

  “Well, he has these tan short trousers on, tight-fitting; definitely gold-colored or mustard-colored, cummerbund around here about so wide....”

  “What period would he belong to?”

  “Oh, I think he has his hair tied in a queue back here. It’s grayish or he’s got a wig on.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He has got a blue jacket on that seems to come down in the back.”

  “Are there any buttons on that jacket?”

  “Yes.”

  “What color are they?”

  “Silver.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “He looks contemplative, and yet I feel as if he wants to grit his teeth.”

  “Is this a presence, or is this an imprint?”

  “I think it’s a presence.”

  “He comes with the house?”

  “I would say so.”

  “Is there anything that is unfinished about his life?”

  Ethel turned to the unseen man at the fireplace. “Tell me what’s bothering you, friend. You have your eyes half-closed and I can’t see the color of your eyes. Will you look around at me?”

  I reinforced her offer with one of my own. “You may use this instrument to communicate if you wish. We come as friends.”

  Ethel reported some reaction now. “Oh! He’s looking around at me. His eyes are sort of a green-hazel.”

  “Any idea why he is here?”

  “He just disappeared. Like, went through here.”

  “Where did he go towards?”

  “Went through here.” She pointed towards the old staircase in back of the room, where most of the manifestations had occurred.

  “Follow the way he went!”

  “I can’t go through that wall!” She started walking around it, however, and I followed her. “This room was not there. Something is different,” she said suddenly and halted.

  “Different in which way?”

  “Is this part later?”

  “I am told that it is later. What is different about that end of the house?”

  Evidently she felt nothing in the more modern portion of the house.

  “All right, we’re going back to the older part of the house.”

  “You see, I couldn’t hear anything there. Here is a man, with a lot of hair, sort of hangs down; has a drooping mustache and a beard.”

  “What period does he belong to?”

  “Oh, this is much later, I would say.”

  I pointed towards the wall where so much had occurred: “Would you go to that wall over there. Just that area generally, which is the oldest part of the house, I believe. I would like you to see whether this impresses you in any way.”

  “This man I was just seeing is not around any of the people here, like those that I saw a moment ago; not that late.”

  “Nothing contemporary?”

  “No—there’s nothing contemporary about the man I just saw there.”

  “Another period from the first one?”

  “That is right.”

  “Two levels, in other words.”

  “There is a woman’s voice, very penetrating; as I am getting her, she is very slim.”

  “What period does she belong to?”

  “Around the same as the first man I saw. Do you notice a coldness here? A difference in temperature? Something has happened right in here.”

  “You mean in the corridor to the next room? It leads us back to the entrance door. What do you suppose has happened here?”

  “There’s been an acc—I don’t want to say acc—I don’t want to say anything but accident. There’s been an accident, and a woman screaming about it.”

  “You are grabbing your neck. Why?”

  “She went out of her body here.”

  “Is she still here?”

  “I would say she is. She’s the thin woman I speak of.”

  “Who is the person that is most dominant in this house at the moment?”

  “I know that voice is terribly dominant, but the man in there was very dominant also.” Ethel pointed towards the front hall again. “Can I go further in here?”

  I nodded and followed.

  “She cannot come through here. It is blocked. This was an opening, but there is something hanging there.”

  “What is hanging there?”

  “I’m afraid it is the man I saw at the fireplace, in there.”

  “How did he die?”

  “By the neck.”

  “Is this the man you called Lewis?”

  “I think it could be. It is strange—while I am in this terribly depressed mood I can hear laughter and carrying-on about something of great honor that has happened, and it is being celebrated here. Somebody comes into this house with the greatest feeling of triumph, as it were; that they’ve conquered something. At the same time I’m pulled down like mad over here.”

  “When you say ‘conquered,’ are you speaking of a military victory?”

  “I don’t know yet, what it is. These are all impressions. I have to get much lower.”

  “I would suggest you find your way to a comfortable chair, and let whatever might be here find you.”

  But Ethel was not quite ready for trance. She kept on getting clairvoyant impressions galore.

  “So many people are trying to come in. A heavier-set man, kind of bald, here. Now there’s another one. Now a girl, hair caught across and down in curls. She doesn’t look more than ten, twelve.”

  “Is she connected with either the man or woman?”

  “I would say around the earlier time, because she has a long dress on, down to here. Laced shoes, with like ribbons tied here; you might call them ballet slippers. She has a very pointed little chin, and the eyes are sort of wide, as if they were seeing things. Then there is an older woman, with her dark hair coming down and then as if
it were drawn up very high.”

  “Does she give you any names?”

  “Anne or Annette. I get a peaceful feeling around this individual, with the exception that I seem to be communing with someone that I can’t really touch.”

  “Would you mind explaining that?”

  “Perhaps with a ghost that I can’t touch.”

  “Do you feel that they have something they wish to tell us?”

  “‘We’re not on speaking terms yet!”

  “Well, perhaps Albert can catch them and tell us what they are about. If Albert would like to be present—”

  But Ethel ignored my hint to let her control come through in trance. Not just yet. She was still rattling off her psychic impressions of this apparently very overcrowded house, spiritually speaking.

  “Funny—there’s a strange little dog, also, yonder. It looks something like a Scotty, but isn’t. It has stiff hair.”

  “Does it come with any of these three characters you mentioned?”

  “I think he belongs to the woman I just described. I have a feeling that I am seeing her for the first time, and that I heard her in the other room.”

  “The voices you heard before?”

  “I think so. She looks terribly sad here. I know someone runs out that way.”

  “Why are they running out of the house?”

  “I’m so reluctant to say that someone is hanging there....”

  We sat down, and Ethel closed her eyes. Patiently I waited for her spirit control, Albert, to take over the conversation. Finally, after about two or three minutes of silence, a familiar, male voice greeted me from Ethel’s entranced lips.

  “Hello.”

  “Albert, are you in control?”

  “There’s strain, but I seem to be doing it.”

  “Do you have any information about this house, Albert?” I asked as soon as I was sure he was in firm control.

  “You have come on a day very close to an anniversary of something.”

  “Can you enlighten me as to details?”

  “The one who relives this is Emma.”

  “This Emma—what is her problem?”

  “She is quiet, but he is tight-lipped. Inadvertent deception led to destruction of moral character. One person made a quick decision, ‘I would be myself if you would let me free.’ Details cannot be brought into the light, even though it was inadvertent. The attitude leading up to this situation was, if you die, your secret dies with you.”

  “But the other one can talk?”

  “I will try to see if this other one will talk too, because it is within him the secret lies. If he will talk, so much the better. Because the other one knows not the secret of the woman.”

  “Can you give us the names?”

  “There are two Ls. Leon is one. I cannot tell you which it is now. There are two individuals, one who comes to visit the other. One who has sat in this vicinity and made his declaration. A declaration against an L., another L.”

  “What sort of declaration?”

  “Opening up and giving publicly accounts that this one living here would keep a secret.”

  “What did the account deal with?”

  “When one holds them quietly to themselves and desires not to give it, it is a law over here—you know this—so I would like to have him speak, rather than the woman, Emma, who is not completely aware of what was going on between the two Ls.”

  “Is he willing to speak to us?”

  “We are trying to get them to speak. However, he made the decision to do away with the whole business by destroying himself and take it with him. He was alone when he did it. The other L. has departed. He will not divulge his name.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “I do not. When it is held a secret, and it is here, I am not allowed to penetrate it until he will divulge it himself.”

  “Is he connected with this house as an owner?”

  “I would say so.”

  “A long time ago?”

  “It looks to me, turn of century.”

  “Which century?”

  “Into eighteen hundred.”

  “Did he build the house?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then he would be the one that first lived here?”

  “I believe this to be true. I am looking as hard as I can, to see. There may have been transactions of another builder and his taking it over before too long. Somehow there is some unsavory business, in the past. He is a reputable individual and cannot afford to allow some past things to come into the light.”

  “What was the disreputable business he was worried about?”

  “This is his secret.”

  “Would you try to let him speak?”

  “I will try to force him into the instrument. It is done, you know, by a kind of shock treatment.”

  * * *

  Again, I had to change tapes at the very moment when another person took over Ethel’s vocal apparatus.

  After some painful and emotional groans, a hoarse voice whispering “Emma!” came through her lips. I bent closer to bear better.

  “Do you want Emma? We’ll try to help. You may speak. You’re fine.”

  Ethel’s hand grasped at her throat now, indicating sharp pain. I continued to calm the possessing spirit’s anguish.

  “Emma is here. What do you want? We’re your friends. The rope is no longer there, it has been removed. Put your tongue back in and speak. You have suffered, but your neck is fine again. Tell me, how did it happen?”

  “They’ll never know, they’ll never know!”

  “What will they never know? You can trust us. We have come to save you. You’ve been rescued. They’ve gone. You’re safe. You’re among friends.”

  Gradually, the voice became clearer, but still full of anxiety.

  “Rope.”

  “No more rope. Did somebody try to hurt you? Tell me, who was it?”

  “Leon.”

  “Who is Leon? Where would I find him?”

  “I know—here—Emma.”

  “You’re fine...it’s only a memory...you’re all right.”

  “Save me—from that—save me—”

  “Tell me what has happened?”

  “Poor Emma.”

  “Why poor Emma? Tell me about it.”

  “Don’t call Emma, don’t call Emma. I don’t want to see Emma.”

  “All right, I’ll send her away. Who is she to you?”

  “Oh—I love her.”

  “Are you her husband? What is your name, sir? I am a stranger here. I have come to help you.”

  “What is the matter? Who calls on me?”

  “I heard that you were suffering, and I felt I would try to help you. What can we do?”

  “I—I am guilty. I am guilty. Go away. Let me say nothing.”

  “Guilty of what?”

  “It all comes alive. Alive, alive! Oh—no.”

  “In telling me of your suffering, you will end it. You will free yourself of it.”

  “I thought it would be gone forever. Alackaday, alackaday, I cannot crush it like the weeds of the fields. It grows in my soul, and I cannot live anymore without the seed.”

  “What is it that you think you did that is so bad?”

  “Oh—let it be, my own climate in which to live.”

  “But I’d like to free you from it. You want to be free.”

  “Oh, alack, alack, I cannot.”

  “Look, you cannot be free until you tell someone and purge yourself.”

  “But, Emma, Emma!”

  “I will not tell her, if you wish me not to. You have passed over, and you have taken with you your memories.”

  “Over where have I gone?”

  “You have gone.”

  “Where have I gone? I was here—how do you say so?”

  “Yes, you are here, and you should not be. You have gone into the better side of life, where you will live forever. But you’re taking with you—”

  “With thi
s, will this live forever?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I want Emma. She must never know—”

  “There is only one way to do this. And you’ve got to do it the way I suggest.”

  “I will not go forever! I have lived, and I am living.”

  “Is this your house?”

  “Go and seek Emma to stay away.”

  “All right. I will do that.”

  “She comes always to cry.”

  “Why is she crying?”

  “Oh—I cannot stop her. Do not let me look on her.”

  “What have you done that you feel so ashamed of?”

  “That is my own secret in my soul of souls. Must I look upon it forever?”

  “In telling me, I will take it from you.”

  “Take me away from myself that I may die and be oblivious forever.”

  “Or be reborn into a free and happy world.”

  “Beyond the life lies the deep dark pool in which oblivion covers you forever. That is what I seek.”

  “But you are still alive...”

  “I am going there, friend. They won’t let us live in silence.”

  “You have passed over. You are now speaking to us through an instrument....”

  “I am living always.”

  “In spirit—but not in body.”

  “In body, too. I am in a body.”

  “Not yours.”

  “Mine.”

  “No. Lent to you, temporarily, so you may speak to me. So we can help you.”

  “No one lends me anything. Not even a good name. The merciful God hates me...”

  “Are these your hands? Touch them.”

  “My hands?”

  “That’s a watch you have on your hand—a woman’s watch.”

  “A woman?”

  “You are in the body of a woman, speaking to me, through one of the great miracles made possible for you.”

  “Body. My body.”

  “Not your body. Temporarily....”

  “Mine! How can you say, when the rope is still here?”

  “There’s no rope. It is a memory—an unhappy memory.”

  “Hang.”

  “You’re quite free now.”

  “I can’t get free from this!”

  “Because you don’t wish to. If you wished, you could.”