Ghost Trapper 12 The Necromancer's Library

by JL Bryan

  “That's cool. Drama kids need love, too.”

  “But during her time here, married to him, she felt trapped and increasingly hopeless. I wonder if Piper felt the same. Feels the same, even now.”

  “So is Piper the big dark cloud thing?” Stacey asked. “Is she feeding on Cherise at night?”

  “I'm not sure. If she is, then she's turned into a malevolent entity, some kind of emotional vampire. Gremel seems to be in conflict with the dark cloud. He sent me after it. Did you get any video of him on night vision?”

  “I only saw his cold spot on thermal. I still have to go through all that upstairs hallway data. I've been focusing on the cemetery. Maybe we caught an image of Baron von Jerkin.”

  “Wait til you see this guy. Anyway, that was his only message to me. Pointing at Cherise's room. I think he wanted me to see what was happening to her. And honestly, I don't think I would have stormed in there otherwise. I might have pounded and yelled some more until she woke up, I guess.”

  “And all of us going in there chased the thing away.”

  “Yeah. How are you feeling, energy-wise?”

  “Great. I'm on my second four-hour energy drink in two hours.” Stacey shook an empty aluminum can.

  “So, what about when you woke up?”

  “Super groggy, but it's hard to sleep in this place.”

  “Do you remember any dreams?”

  “Not really. Oh, yeah. Something about my brother and me playing as kids. He had a water gun or something, and he was laughing as I blasted him with the hose. I was really letting him have it. Wait, why do you want to know?”

  “Which brother?”

  “Kevin,” she said, more quietly. He was her older brother who'd died exploring a haunted house when they were teenagers. I'd suggested to Stacey that we could go back to what remained of that old house, and trap or otherwise eliminate the entity there, but she insisted she wasn't ready.

  “I woke up exhausted, too,” I told her. “And I dreamed of my father. We were practicing my softball pitch, so I was definitely pretty young. He kept having me throw balls at him. 'Faster, harder, Ellie!' he'd say. 'More energy!' Maybe that was the entity, literally telling me to feed it my energy.”

  “So you think the cloud was feeding on us in our sleep?” Stacey asked.

  “Possibly. I wonder if it was making Cherise experience happy memories, too,” I said. “She wasn't happy about being woken up.”

  “Happy memories could distract you from the evil thing feeding on you, huh? Like the stuff in mosquito saliva that keeps you from noticing the bite until after the mosquito's gone.”

  “Interesting thought,” I said.

  Cherise called me to say Dr. Anderson was traveling but would call us sometime the next day.

  I took my phone out into the hall and caught Cherise up quickly. “Marconi's ex-wife is a wealth of information, but Piper's mother Annalee demanded money to talk to us. She feels entitled to some of the estate because of her daughter.”

  “How much?”

  “I offered thirty dollars. She wanted a thousand. We didn't exactly come to terms.”

  “Do you think she has useful information?”

  “She lives hours away, and we don't even know that she was in touch with Marconi. Did he ever mention Annalee or speak to her while you were around?”

  “His late wife's mother? I can't say he brought her up, no. Offer her two or three hundred. She'll take that if she's asking a thousand.”

  “Are you serious?” I was surprised. “That seems like a lot.”

  “I need this resolved,” Cherise said. “I only have ten months left to finish this. My sister and I need to settle into a productive routine right away, and it's not going to happen until something changes around here.”

  “Okay, but I'm not convinced Annalee has anything to say that's worth that kind of money.”

  “Don't worry about it. Pay her. I'll cover it.”

  Her attitude surprised me, given how tight their financial situation was. But maybe that was the point; they really needed that year-end bonus.

  “Okay, I'll offer,” I said, letting my disappointment sound clear in my tone. “We'll keep plugging away.”

  “I hope it doesn't take much longer. Do you have a plan for resolving all of this?”

  “We have our psychic friend coming out on Saturday night. If Piper is lost between worlds, we can help her move on. The German ghost, the one we think might be Johann Gremel, could simply be attached to the book, in which case we just remove the book from the household. As for the dark cloud... once we identify who or what that is, we can put together a plan for it, too.”

  “Why not just remove the book now?”

  “Because Gremel may be trying to protect us or warn us,” I said. “It's the third entity, the dark cloud, that worries me, and it's the one we know the least about. But it seems drawn primarily to you. It could be worth trying to set one of our traps for it in your room. You could stay in another room for the night. If we can trap it, we don't really need to understand it.”

  “A ghost trap?” Cherise sounded beyond skeptical. “It's time for my class. I'll talk to you later.”

  I wandered down to the kitchen and grabbed some coffee, extra strong. I would need it before talking to Annalee again. It was hard to believe I'd be offering that lady good money for what was likely useless background information.

  Turning my pad to a fresh page, I took a deep breath and called Annalee back.

  “I told you there's loose money to be had,” is how Annalee answered my call, so I guess she'd saved my number from earlier. I suppose she'd been right about the money, too.

  “I've been authorized to offer two hundred dollars for your cooperation,” I said.

  “And I said I ain't opening up for less than a thousand.”

  “To be honest, there are doubts about whether you really have anything to offer. We are just trying to tie up loose ends about Dr. Marconi's final days.”

  “Trying to jack someone out of life insurance, you mean.” She chuckled. “If you come back with two hundred, it means you can pay more. Leaving yourself room to wiggle. I know all about it.”

  “Three hundred was the maximum amount. And I'm not sure it's going to be worth it.”

  “Didn't nobody understand my daughter and her husband like I did,” she said. “Three hundred dollars, I'll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Okay. Let's confirm your mailing address for the check—”

  “Oh, honey, I ain't falling for the old check's-in-the-mail routine. I invented that routine.”

  “Well, you're several hundred miles away.”

  “You can send it through my Etsy store. I got some crocheted potholders on sale there, too. Cute yarn ones with big old eyes. You might order a couple.”

  “I might,” I said, doubting it.

  When the payment had been sent, charged to my Eckhart Investigations credit card, Annalee confirmed it on her end. “Now what all do you want to know, honey?” I guess I was honey now that I'd sent her money. Her tone had certainly gone syrupy sweet.

  “Everything you know,” I said. I started the call-recording app on my phone. “What was your impression of Dr. Philip Marconi? Let's start with when you first met.”

  “After my daughter went off to college and come back engaged to him,” Annalee said. “So that was something, all right. He was a rich man, grew up that way, what you might call a well-bred gentleman, and he knowed a prize filly when he saw one.”

  “What do you mean? Like a horse?”

  “I'm talking about my little Pipette. I trained her up good and pretty, told her how important it was to find the right man—don't repeat Momma's mistakes, I'd say, find you a solid, sturdy man. Aim high. Well, she married a rich man, but I think she could have done better, tell you the truth.”

  “Did you have doubts about their marriage?”

  “He was a few years older. I mean a few years older than me, and he's marryin
g my daughter. He should have married me, if anything, but I guess I weren't what he was looking for at all. If we'd met when I was my daughter's age, he would have thought I was something, I'll bet the car on that, but he just saw me as his girlfriend's country-bumpkin mother. He looked down on me. Oh, he tried to hide it, but it poured off him anyhow. Every little look or word, you could tell he thought I was beneath him.”

  “Did he treat Piper that way, too?”

  “Oh, she measured up, and not just because of her pretty face. Piper always liked fine things. And I don't mean like a new motorcycle or a jet ski, but fancy old books and looking at art and all. Once I took her to that big art museum in Jacksonville, and she just wanted to spend all day there, staring away at one painting or another like they was hypnotizing her. I don't know what she saw in them paintings to make her act like that.

  “Anyway, that was Pipette, my little fancy pants. He built that library for her. I guess he had lotsa books already, but he bought more, even made his house bigger just to make her happy. They had big parties with lots of young people. Maybe it was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last long before my baby's heart give out. If only we'd knowed how little time she had left.”

  “It must have been hard.”

  “It's still hard. I hoped for grandbabies and all, but instead I got nothing.”

  “I understand he also built your daughter a dance studio in their home. Do you know what plans she had for the future? Maybe choreography or teaching dance?”

  “I don't know anything about a dance studio. I don't see why she'd need to work after marrying him.”

  “Maybe she just wanted to.”

  Annalee snorted. “I suppose a person could. I don't know that she had such plans, but it don't matter. She didn't have time for plans. It was all over fast.”

  “Did you stay in touch with Dr. Marconi after Piper's death?”

  “Now and again, I suppose.”

  “In what context?”

  “What's that?”

  “When did you speak to him?”

  “Well, there was Piper's funeral,” she said. “And I called him a couple of times when I was in a pinch and needed a little cash.”

  “Did he help out?”

  “Of course not. I wasn't nearly young and pretty enough to get his wallet open. And he only got colder after Pipette died. After a while he didn't even return my calls.”

  “Your calls asking for financial help?”

  “Exactly. He turned greedy.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Dr. Marconi?”

  “To him and not his voice mail? Oh, I'd say ten, maybe fifteen years ago.”

  “So you really can't tell me about his state of mind in his final months. What his mood was like.” I was getting annoyed she'd demanded so much money.

  “No, but he was only about four years older 'n me, and I can tell you there's plenty to hate about being this age. The worst of it's knowing things will never get better, only worse, until you finally fall apart that last time. Down, down, down, right to the bottom and never up again. That's all there is to think about, especially when you've got nobody and nothing left.”

  “I'm... sorry,” I said, not sure how to respond to that.

  “You don't need to say sorry to me. It's gonna happen to you, too.”

  “Oh. Yeah, possibly.” I fought a weird sudden urge to call Michael and push him to get married. I was still in my twenties, and I wasn't sure Michael was the guy I wanted to marry, but she made time seem short and we would all die miserable and alone if we didn't make plans. I shook it off and told myself not to let her get under my skin.

  “Let me tell you something about men—” she began.

  “I would like to hear more about Piper instead,” I said, cutting off whatever long and winding road she was trying to start down. “Why exactly do you think she married him?”

  “He had what she wanted. Plenty of money for one, but also all that culture, making her feel like she'd be somebody important.”

  “Were you in favor of her marrying him?”

  “I ain't going to come between my baby girl and a million dollars. He weren't even that bad looking.” She chuckled.

  “So you supported her choice?”

  “Well, sure. I wanted her to be able to provide for her momma in her old age, didn't I? Didn't turn out that way, though. Now all I can do is hope she was happy while it lasted.”

  “How do you think she felt about her marriage?”

  “Well, she sounded right happy until she got sick. Big parties and such. Impressed her little college friends. If she was sad, it was 'cause she got sick and died while she was at the top of things. It all come down real fast for her.”

  “Did you visit her in the hospital?”

  “Course I did. It was hard to see her so little and pale, her heart dying. She was always so full of energy, cartwheeling around everywhere. Then she was gone. Watching your only child go, it's like watching the future end. Ain't no future after that, just reruns in your mind.”

  At this point, I didn't feel so bad about her grifting the three hundred bucks off us.

  “Did you visit their home in Philomath very often?” I asked.

  “I went as much as I got invited, but that weren't much. I wasn't fit to be seen by their group of friends, I guess.”

  “At any time, did you experience anything unusual there?”

  “Like what?”

  “Something that could be interpreted as highly abnormal. Even supernatural.”

  “Supernatural? You mean was the house haunted?” Annalee sounded surprised by the question. People sometimes do.

  “Or did it seem to be that way?” I asked. “Did you ever experience anything along those lines? Or did your daughter ever report anything?”

  “Why you asking this?”

  “It's a sort of unofficial question about the real estate,” I said. “We can't put anything into the official written record, but with these older properties, there are sometimes... well, yes. Hauntings.”

  “I know it!” she said. “Once I lived with this man who had a house outside Waycross. Late at night you'd sometimes hear pots and pans banging around in the kitchen when there weren't nobody there. Jimmy said it was his mother's ghost trying to fix him some food, and maybe I should try doing the same. I told him you can't cook without groceries, and they ain't free. He was hairy and bristly like a hog, too. I didn't stay around long for that.”

  “So you see why it's a necessary question,” I said. “Did anyone have such experiences in the Philomath house?”

  “Not that I heard of. Old place like that probably has its share of ghosts, though. Wouldn't be surprised at all.”

  “Thank you for all your help. I'll call back if any follow-up questions arise.”

  “You do that, honey. And look at them potholders again. They make great gifts. I do 'em any color you like.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  I hung up and looked over the pad of notes I'd collected. Maybe the place did have some old ghosts, but so far nobody had reported trouble with any before Aria and Cherise moved in. It looked like the real problems had indeed begun with Dr. Marconi's occult experiments, not before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We have unidentified dark cloud and one recently deceased former owner from whom we've heard nothing,” I said, pacing in the spare bedroom while Stacey watched me, the videos on her monitors paused.

  “Yeah, where is that guy?” Stacey asked.

  “It's possible Dr. Marconi moved on peacefully after his death, leaving behind his library of occult texts and artifacts, the ghosts he summoned, and the old family home that he'd rebuilt and expanded to reflect his personality and impress his wife... but it doesn't feel right, does it? A guy like that dies suddenly in his home, possibly by accident, possibly pushed by a ghost—and no part of him lingers around in this haunted environment he created? Like I said, it's possible, but really hard to buy.”

  “
Like the oat-and-craisin Stoneground bars,” Stacey said, nodding. “They're always out of stock. So you're saying maybe the dark cloud is Marconi?”

  “It seems to fit. The guy gets deep into the occult during life, maybe he becomes a dangerous ghost soon after death, because it's like he's in a familiar world.”

  “His own brier patch.”

  “Right. And if it's him, he's already feeding on the living. Turning into a parasite. He could very likely morph into a demonic entity over time. That process usually takes centuries. Most ghosts move on in that time, as their ties to the living world crumble. The ones who don't tend to be the very worst.”

  “So he could morph faster?”

  “Yes. Because he's doing it deliberately. He's not blindly groping his way into a method of occasionally feeding on the living, a hungry ghost desperate for energy. He probably knows feeding on the living will make him more powerful, and he's doing it as much as he can.”

  “While distracting us with happy dreams.”

  “Except for Aria,” I said.

  “Yeah, why not her?” Stacey asked. “Why didn't it feed on her?”

  I shook my head. “I'm not sure. Usually the kid in the house is a negative entity's prime victim—more energy to feed on, more naivety to exploit. Maybe the other spirits are protecting her somehow.”

  “Maybe she reminds Piper of herself,” Stacey said. “You know, young and vulnerable, stuck in this house.”

  “But Cherise should remind Piper of herself even more. A college student brought out here by Marconi, now living here and feeling isolated.”

  “So maybe Baron von Jerkin's been protecting Aria?”

  I nodded. “When the sound of crying drew Aria out of her room, toward the dark doors, it was Gremel who scared Aria back to her room. It happened consistently enough that she thought they were two sides of the same entity.”

  “Ooh, like the library ghost in Ghostbusters. One minute she's just quietly looking at books and shushing people, the next she's a screaming monster. Then the opening credits start.”

  “But here there are two different entities. Aria follows the sound of the weeping girl to the dark doors, and Gremel charges out to scare Aria back. So what might have happened without Gremel?”