The Ghost Chronicles Part 12

Nick asked, "Does this happen a lot?"

"Not that often, but it never fails to impress me when it does. Sometimes the spirits don't want to be recorded."

We were all enthralled as we reviewed the infrared video, anxious to see what it had captured, when our concentration was broken by a blood-curdling scream. We jumped to our feet only to see Sarah running down the corridor and out the side door, hands flailing wildly in the air.

Above the sound of her screaming, we heard the high-pitched, shrill sound of the motion detector we had placed on the cellar door being set off.

While Greg went to check on his wife, Maureen and I could barely control our laughter at the sight of Sarah running down the hall, like a scene out of an old B movie.

Rus.h.i.+ng to the cellar door, we found the motion detector flas.h.i.+ng wildly in the dim light. Something or someone had set it off. Moments later, Sarah returned arm-in-arm with Greg, her face s.h.i.+ning with embarra.s.sment from her scare. "I was on my way to the bathroom when that thing-went off." She pointed to the motion detector. "I swear. I never touched it..."

In an attempt to recreate the scene, we reset the device and tried various methods to set it off, to no avail. With our fatigue getting the better of us, we decided to chalk it up as another unexplained event and call it a night.

RESULTS OF THE INVESTIGATION.

Our two-and-a-half-hour journey to the Houghton Mansion was well worth our time. Through the evidence collected-photos, EMF readings, and electronic disturbances-we discovered that the mansion was home to several spirits. Besides finding the obvious spirits, Albert and Mary Houghton, the NEGP was the first to encounter the little girl in the bas.e.m.e.nt. But the highlight of the investigation was the "seated communication by candlelight" (seance). Maureen's trance channeling of Mary exposed a possible love affair with chauffeur John Widder. We looked forward to a return visit to the Houghton mansion to unearth more corroborating evidence of this secret love affair.

episode nine

DANGEROUS PURSUIT.

CASE FILE: 6252463.

DANGEROUS PURSUIT.

Location: Reading, Ma.s.sachusetts.History: 1950s white ranch.Reported Paranormal Activity: Disappearing and moving objects and unexplained property destruction.Clients: Rusty (owner), Moose (Rusty's friend).Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium).

Running to the phone, I tripped over the hunting pack Stephen had left on the floor. "d.a.m.n," I said, reaching for the receiver before the last ring.

Barely audible, a voice echoed through the receiver. "h.e.l.lo, Maureen."

"Hey, what's up?" I said to Ron.

"Are you doing anything right now?"

"Why?"

"I, uh-I got a call from this guy in Reading who needs our help."

"Now? Ron, it's the middle of the day, it's my day off, and I've got stuff to do." I couldn't explain it, but I was suddenly feeling a little apprehensive.

"I know, but he sounds pretty desperate. It won't take us too long, I promise." He continued, "I can pick you up in a half hour and we can be home before supper."

Not thrilled with the idea, but hearing the concern in Ron's voice, I said, "I'll be ready."

Within a matter of minutes Ron pulled up in front of my house. I opened the pa.s.senger door of his car and peered in to see his nervous grin. Hmmm, what was he up to Hmmm, what was he up to? After our conversation on the phone, I couldn't help but feel there was something Ron wasn't telling me. He'd mentioned that the client's girlfriend had referred us, after attending one of our ghost-hunting 101 lectures, so that wasn't it. But I couldn't put my finger on it. Just because I'm sensitive, people make a.s.sumptions that I know it all. Unfortunately, that's not how it works. However, I wished this was one of the times it did work that way.

I slid into the pa.s.senger seat, closed the door, then said, "Ron, what's this all about? You seem a little secretive."

"I'd rather not say."

Moments later we pulled up in front of a '50s white ranch and parked behind a dual-wheel Ford with a gun rack hanging in the rear window. Standing next to the truck was a short stocky man, his black leather vest and white T-s.h.i.+rt highlighting the ma.s.sive tattoos running the length of his muscular arms. Beside him stood a taller man smoking a cigarette, with his worn leather boot resting on the b.u.mper. Feeling like we just pulled up in front of a biker bar and hesitant to step out of the car, I asked Ron, "Are you sure this is the right address?"

Ron pulled out a piece of white lined paper, took one look at the scribbling, then said, "Yup. This is it."

Stepping out of the car, leery at the sight of the two looming figures in front of us, I let Ron take the lead as we cautiously made our way up the driveway. Ron reached out his hand to greet them. "Hi, I'm Ron from the New England Ghost Project. You must be Rusty, we spoke on the phone."

He ignored Ron's greeting, looking past him, and gave me an icy stare. "Is that Maureen?"

Ron answered slowly. "Yeahhh."

He closed the distance between us, eyeing me like a pole dancer in a strip joint. "You the psychic?"

"Yeah. Hi, I'm Maureen."

"Here's the deal," he said boldly. "My house is trashed. I clean it up at night, and when I get up in the morning, it's trashed again." He looked at the guy with the cigarette. "Just ask my buddy Moose. He's seen it too. Come on, I'll show you what I mean." He led us up the brick walkway.

The minute I opened the door and took in the devastation, my gut twisted into a knot. Ron and I walked into the living room first, stepping over shards of broken gla.s.s and broken picture frames. "Wow, this room looks like it's been ransacked."

"Are you telling me a ghost did this?" Ron asked, in disbelief.

Rusty, the homeowner, growled, "h.e.l.l, yeah. I think it's a little girl." He thumbed his hand in the other man's direction. "Like I said, just ask Moose, he stayed over the other night to see what would happen. He's my witness."

A little girl? He had to be kidding. He had to be kidding. What little girl would do this type of destruction? What little girl would do this type of destruction?

As if reading my thoughts, he said, "I think it's because she wants my attention."

Yeah, that's what they all say. What kind of fantasy world is he living in? Scratch that last thought, I don't think I want to go there.

Turning my attention to the task at hand, I asked, "Can we take a look at the rest of the house?"

"You've got to see the bathroom," he said, walking briskly into the small room on the left. "See this mirror? It has to weigh over one hundred pounds, and it was bolted to the wall. Look at it now."

An infrared shot of the mirror shattered in the bathroom. Was this the result of the little girl spirit? I think not!

As we stared at the shards of mirror blanketing the tiled floor I thought, A little girl did this? Yeah sure. A little girl did this? Yeah sure. One look at Rusty and I knew, this was a man who didn't like being wrong. Fearing that speaking my thoughts would send Rusty into a rage, I held my tongue. One look at Rusty and I knew, this was a man who didn't like being wrong. Fearing that speaking my thoughts would send Rusty into a rage, I held my tongue.

"Wow, this is amazing," Ron said, as he stepped closer, gla.s.s crunching beneath his feet. He raised his 35mm camera and took some photos of what was left of the mirror.

Something told me Ron wasn't buying this either.

Ron glanced at me over his shoulder, "You want to see if we can make contact?"

"I suppose." Feeling a little awkward, I followed Ron into the living room. We stopped in front of the fireplace and cleared away bits of debris and broken sconces that lay shattered on the floor. I reached into my pocket, fumbling to remove my rose quartz pendulum from the front of my jeans. "Are we ready?"

I felt the burn of their stares as both men shuffled forward to get a better look. Usually I'm self-conscious, but now, standing here, pendulum at the ready, I felt nothing but sheer terror.

Ron stepped between us, almost as if he were taking a protective stance. Giving me a knowing look, he said, "Okay, let's do this."

Anxious to leave as soon as possible, I agreed. "Are there any spirits with us now?"

The pendulum swung counterclockwise: yes. Waves of energy began p.r.i.c.kling my skin, indicating that the spirit was close by. I was surprised that the spirit was communicating so quickly.

Rusty spoke up. "I want to ask a question." Without waiting for me to respond, he asked, "Are you a little girl?"

Although the pendulum began to swing counterclockwise, indicating a yes, I felt the darkness behind its lie coming through. "This is no little girl."

"No way. You're wrong!" Rusty snapped.

Ron interceded. "You have to be careful. Spirits can lie." He waited a moment, as if waiting for a reaction to his words. "Sometimes they'll appear as little girls, so that you'll welcome them in, when they're not really little girls at all, but something more menacing that's trying to gain your confidence."

Rusty's face turned red with rage. "No, you're wrong. This is a little girl. She told me so."

In an attempt to appease him, I said, "Rusty, I can't say for sure if your spirit is a little girl. I can only tell you what I'm feeling." I paused. "Let's ask a few more questions, and see if I can sense her."

Moose spoke up in a smoker's voice. "Is she the one who took my wallet? If so, I want it back."

"Why? What happened to your wallet?" Ron asked, happy to change the subject.

"Well, the other night I stayed over here. I put my wallet on the kitchen counter, and in the morning it was gone." He continued, "That b.i.t.c.h took it."

As I listened to Moose, I couldn't help but notice that Rusty had his wallet chained to the belt loop of his dirty jeans. Evidently, he he wasn't taking any chances. wasn't taking any chances.

"Okay." I began again. "Are you the spirit who took Moose's wallet?"

The response was a yes. In my mind's eye, although it appeared to be a little girl, I looked deeper. Behind the mask of a child, there was something else there. Dark. Angry. Filled with hate. Reading my thoughts, the ent.i.ty grew in strength. It had been discovered, and it didn't want its plan unearthed.

My pendulum pulled straight down. It was apparent that whoever it was finished speaking with us.

"I have another question," Rusty screeched.

"I'm sorry, it's gone. We're not going to get any more answers today," I said.

Taking my cue, Ron said, "Would you look at the time. I think we should head out."

"Yeah. I think we're done here. At least for now," I replied, trying to hide my glee.

"No, I want to talk some more. Can't you make her come back?" Rusty asked.

"No. Besides, it doesn't work that way. If I get anything on the photos I took, I'll give you a call," Ron said, as he followed me toward the door.

Once outside, we all stood between the front b.u.mper of the Ford and the Harley that was parked halfway into the garage bay.

"Hey," Moose said, "why do you think the little girl's breaking all our c.r.a.p?"

The ringing of Rusty's cell phone disrupted our conversation. "Holy s.h.i.+t! See, I'm not lying about the spirit wreaking havoc in my life. When have you ever seen a caller ID look like this?" he said, sticking the LCD screen of the still-ringing phone in our faces.

My eyes became transfixed on the caller ID, which read 000-000-0000. "Oh-my-G.o.d," I said, bile rising in my throat. He was right; I had never seen anything like it. I couldn't say for sure whether it was of paranormal nature or not. What I did know is how it made me feel. One look at the odd number and gooseflesh riddled my forearms.

"Come here, Maureen. I want to talk to you for a minute." Rusty grabbed my arm, and all but dragged me past Ron's car to the end of the driveway.

I cringed. What the heck did he want from me? I glanced over my shoulder at Ron, who appeared to be in an awkward conversation with Moose. Rusty regained my attention by digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of my upper arm. "Ouch."

"Sorry, about that." He lessened his hold. "Maureen, can you come back?"

I looked up to the house where Ron and Moose stood, waiting. "Ron and I..."

"No. Not Ron. Just you." He spoke in a low, grating voice.

"I, ah, I-" He'd caught me off guard. I was at a loss for words, which, for anyone who knows me, seldom happens. "I don't understand," I said, close enough to gaze at the skull and crossbones etched into his flesh. Call me crazy, but I wasn't getting a warm and fuzzy feeling about this.

"I told you about the little girl. What you did in there, communicating with her, got me thinking." He hesitated. "I think the little girl was afraid of Ron. I bet she'll talk to you alone. Can you come back tonight?" he asked, a look of hunger on his face.

Tonight? What is he, crazy? I wasn't ever coming back. I wasn't ever coming back.

"I didn't want to bring this up," he started. "I'm not sure it has anything to do with anything..."

"What?" I asked, the word slipping out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

Rusty, still gripping my arm, looked side to side, as if in search of a private moment. "I just got out of jail."

Almost afraid to speak, I asked, "For what?" My voice sounded hoa.r.s.e, even to me.

"Murder," he said, his voice low. It sounded like a threat.

My body tensed in response. Slowly, cautiously, I removed my arm from his grasp.

Obviously reading my body language, he got defensive. "He was a friend of mine. I didn't mean to kill him. Just hurt him."

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I found myself wondering if he were so callous with the life of a friend, how would he treat his enemies? I chose my next words more carefully. "Rusty, I'm not avoiding you, but maybe it would be better if Ron and I came back with the rest of our team to do a full investigation."

"I don't think she likes Ron," he said again, and I could sense his impatience. "I only want you here." He paused. "What's your phone number? I'll call you tonight."

Call me? Oh no. No, no, no. The skin along my back and neck crawled, like there were a million insects doing the mambo on me. The skin along my back and neck crawled, like there were a million insects doing the mambo on me.

Just then there was a sound from behind; I turned to see Ron walking toward us, with Moose in tow. "What do you say, kid? We have to get going before the traffic hits," Ron said.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Thank G.o.d Thank G.o.d. I was never so happy for an interruption in all of my life. Rolling my watch over on my wrist, I checked the time. "Yeah, you're right, we had better get going." I forced an apologetic smile on my face, one that I didn't feel, and said, "Sorry guys, we really do have to go."

Ron pulled a business card from the back pocket of his Dockers, handed it to Rusty, and said, "Give me a call on the Ghost Line if you encounter any more issues. In the meantime, like I said before, I'll develop my film, and we'll see what we get."