The Ghost Chronicles Part 3

"Ewww. I hate spiders," Maureen said, as she followed close behind.

"You aren't afraid of ghosts, but you're scared of a little spider?" I asked with a laugh.

After ducking under heating pipes, we reached the back of the bas.e.m.e.nt where the cellar door was. Almost immediately my meter began flas.h.i.+ng. Its eerie red glow illuminated the expression of pain in Maureen's face.

"He's here. Right between us."

Maureen's words confirmed what my meter was already telling me.

Once again Ron Jr. reported a temperature drop, and Maureen told us that she could feel electricity filling the bas.e.m.e.nt. We attempted to make contact via the pendulum, but to no avail.

"He's agitated," she said. "No...he's p.i.s.sed and getting more angry by the moment...He doesn't like you, Ron," Maureen said, as if afraid to tell me.

Great, I've got another fan, I thought sarcastically. I swear, if there's a post office on the other side, my picture is hanging in it. It seems some of the nastier spirits resent my lack of respect for them. However, just as in the real world, I believe respect is earned. And this was no different.

I heaved a heavy sigh. I looked at Maureen's drawn face, and since it was our first investigation together, I wasn't sure how much more pain and discomfort she could withstand. Given that Jacob seemed to be hostile, I thought it best to end the investigation.

All in all, though, it was a successful night. It even left the skeptic reporter Brian Bates shaking his head. That was a good sign, since we had agreed to provide WNDS with a weekly series, a spotlight on the newscast. A four-week haunted crescendo with a Halloween night finale meant we still had three more investigations to go. I chuckled to myself when I thought of Brian's reaction to the coffeepot incident. Hmmm. Maybe I'd make a believer out of him yet.

There was also the question of Maureen. I thought she would be a great addition to the staff of the Ghost Project, but I wanted to see a little more of her work.

I wouldn't have long to find out. I had another test for her next week, when we investigated the Phillip Knight House.

RESULTS OF THE INVESTIGATION.

To Vess and Lula's delight, we were able to verify that the Windham was indeed haunted. Infrared photos taken during the investigation revealed an energy spike going through the coffeemaker as it turned itself on during Maureen's communication with the spirit named Jacob. Even more interesting, later research into the property revealed that a German immigrant who once owned the land was named Jacob. The owners were impressed by the results of the investigation and, because of those results, coupled with the rate of paranormal activity there, requested we return.

episode three

THE PHILLIP KNIGHT HOUSE.

CASE FILE: 6251867.

THE PHILLIP KNIGHT HOUSE.

Location: Middleton, Ma.s.sachusetts.History: Phillip Knight Jr. built the home in 1692 for his bride, Rebecca Towne. She was the niece of Mary Estey and Rebecca Nurse, who were convicted and executed for witch-craft in the Salem Witch Trials. This house was in the Knight family for two hundred years, later becoming the Blue Door Inn Bed and Breakfast.Reported Paranormal Activity: Apparitions, unexplained noises, and moving and disappearing objects.Clients: Ethel (owner).Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium), Ron Jr. (investigator).Press: Brian Bates (reporter WNDS), Tom (Brian's cameraman).

Ron, are sure you know where you're going?" Maureen asked. This was the first time she'd questioned my directional skills, but sure as shooting, it wouldn't be the last.

"Of course I do," I said. I was trying to put on an air of confidence, but truth be told, I hate driving. If I could just beam myself somewhere, like they did in Star Trek Star Trek, I'd be happy.

"Here it is," I cried, slamming on the brakes and taking a sharp left through a narrow opening between tall hedges. As the old Subaru crept down a hidden driveway, the harvest moon cast menacing shadows on the poorly lit pavement. At the end of the driveway, we stopped in front of a quaint wooden building with dark brown cedar s.h.i.+ngles. It was the Phillip Knight house.

I stopped the car and shut off the engine. Mesmerized for the moment, we sat in stillness staring at the skulking structure.

After a minute Maureen turned to look at my son in the backseat, then at me. "Do you feel anything, Ron?" she asked me.

"Yeah, hungry, but then again, when don't I?" I turned the question back to her. "Why...do you?"

"I sense someone looking out the window," she replied.

"Yeah, you don't have to be psychic to see that. That would be Ethel. She's our host."

Just then we were flooded by the headlights of an approaching vehicle. As I raised my arm to s.h.i.+eld my eyes, I heard a familiar voice call out to me. It was Brian and his cameraman, Tom, from WDNS, ready for the second investigation of the four-part series. I'd chosen the Phillip Knight house, a place I'd investigated before for The New England Ghost Project The New England Ghost Project television show. But back then, Maureen hadn't been with us. This time, with her here, we might be able to get some psychic verification of paranormal activity. television show. But back then, Maureen hadn't been with us. This time, with her here, we might be able to get some psychic verification of paranormal activity.

Our group now complete, we walked across the windswept pavement to the porch, which was embellished with various Halloween decorations. The seasoned wooden door creaked slowly open, and there stood Ethel, a short older woman with a heartwarming smile.

"h.e.l.lo, Ron," she said in a slight Yankee accent. "How are you?"

"Better than nothing," I quipped as the aroma of fresh-baked bread drifted out of what must have been the nearby kitchen.

Turning, I introduced the rest of my ensemble one by one as they filed past us and into the kitchen-and back in time. Well, it felt like that, anyway. The warm glow of a cast-iron stove filled the room. A heavy wooden table was surrounded by hunter green ladder-back chairs. Pewter candlesticks, a snuffer, and a wicker basket filled with pistol-grip silverware sat atop a white handcrocheted tablecloth.

"Wow, Ethel, where did you get all these antiques?" I asked.

Ethel looked wistful for a moment. "I picked them up here and there. My husband and I used to enjoy antiquing. But he pa.s.sed away years ago."

I caught a faint whiff of candle wax. But there were no candles lit in this sea of nostalgia. "Ethel, do you have any candles burning?"

She smiled knowingly. "No. However, it's funny you should say that. Many guests have reported the smell of candles burning and the pungent odor of tobacco."

"Ron, I know you like to take the scientific stance," Maureen said. "But are you sure you're not becoming more sensitive, and picking up on things?"

I frowned at Maureen. "I doubt it. I'm about as psychic as a brick."

"Never say never," she chuckled.

I was itching to get started. Since I had been there previously to film a television episode of The New England Ghost Project The New England Ghost Project, I knew I wanted to start in the living room, or Victorian Room, as Ethel liked to call it.

We got Ethel settled in a blue Queen Anne chair beside the red brick fireplace.

"So, Ethel," Brian began. "What's the history of this house?"

Maureen and I joined Brian on the sofa, while Ron Jr. and Tom stood, each with a camcorder rolling.

"The original house, a four-room cottage, was built in 1692 by Phillip Knight Jr. as a wedding gift for his bride, Rebecca Towne of Topsfield. She was the niece of Mary Estey and Rebecca Nurse, who were hung as witches during the Salem Witch Trials." Ethel paused for a moment. "As you know, Middleton was formerly part of Old Salem Village. Phillip Knight Jr. and his bride moved into the house. Unfortunately, he died an untimely death at the early age of twenty-seven."

"How long have you owned the house, Ethel?" Brian asked.

"Twenty-three years," she replied. "A psychic told me I was going to buy a dark house. The minute I walked over the threshold, I knew I belonged here."

"Well, as Ron can testify, I am somewhat of a skeptic. But tell me, what kinds of things have happened here?" Brian asked.

"Lots of things. Most notably, previous guests have reported seeing a ghostly apparition of what appeared to be a sea captain. In fact, one of the guests captured his image in a photo. The likeness in the photo is a mirror image of a portrait we have of captain Henry Quiner. Henry Quiner was not a captain; however, he did come from Marblehead, Ma.s.sachusetts, to live here in Salem Village, and everyone in town called him the captain." She smiled. "Would you like to see the photo?"

"Yes, I would, but not right now." He paused. "Ethel, would you like to add anything else?"

"Yes. The captain is not the only spirit that has been seen. White figures have been seen walking the grounds, and a woman in brown period dress has been seen in this room. I think her name is Rosemary, because I could swear I heard her name whispered in my ear."

The lights flickered, as if someone or something were acknowledging the name. Ethel visibly shuddered, then briskly rubbed her arms. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes," Ron Jr. answered. "It felt like a cold draft just swept through the room."

Tom nodded in agreement.

Brian cleared his throat, seemingly a little nervous, almost intent on ignoring what had just transpired. "Ethel, please continue."

"There have been so many strange things that have happened here...one time a couple visiting from England wrote in the guest book, 'We awoke to find a figure of a man with gray hair and spiffy mustache standing over our bed. Had we known this place was haunted, we would have never stayed here.' Even my brother-inlaw saw a ghost in a window. Guests have also heard the sound of people running up and down the stairs. Items disappear. Gla.s.ses spill by themselves. And the doorbell rings, before anyone can press the b.u.t.ton. It's as if the spirit is alerting us to their approach."

"Interesting," Brian said, shaking his head. "But Ethel, have you you ever been really scared?" ever been really scared?"

"Oh yes," Ethel said with a nod. "One night I woke up with a heavy pressure on my chest, like somebody was pus.h.i.+ng down on it, but n.o.body was there." She raised her hand to her chest to demonstrate what she was saying. "A psychic friend of mine told me that if it happens again, just tell them to stop it. It did, so I told them to stop. Since then I haven't had any problems."

"Okay, that's good. For the rest of the interview, I'd like to follow the Ghost Project as they do their investigation." Brian nodded in my direction. "You'll hardly know we're here."

As we walked down the hallway, the wide plank floors creaked beneath our feet, adding an air of creepiness to our tour through the historic bed and breakfast.

We entered a room painted in rich pumpkin shades, with cream trim surrounding an oversized working fireplace.

"This place is amazing, Ethel." Maureen said, her mouth agape.

"Yeah, terrific. You picking up anything?" I asked, ignoring Maureen's apparent fascination with the surroundings.

"Actually, not really."

"Then let's move on," I said, glancing at my silent EMF meter.

Ethel walked past the group, taking the lead. She guided us up through a set of winding stairs, until we reached what she'd said was the oldest part of the house. It was the only room, in fact, that still had its original flooring.

Brian, the next in line behind Ethel, turned the corner into the room and jumped. "What the h.e.l.l is that!"

Ethel laughed. "That's one of my dolls," she said, pointing to a four-foot-tall doll with large green eyes. Just like the doll at the Windham, it looked more like a creature from a horror flick than a child's toy. "Did Ron tell you the story behind it?"

"No, Ethel, I saved it for you." I looked at Brian, whose color was just returning.

"As you can tell, I like to keep my dolls in period clothing. But for some reason, I have found her numerous times with just one of her shoes missing." Ethel moved closer to the doll, lifting the skirt slightly. "You can see that the stand she's on doesn't allow for it to be removed easily."

She turned to face us. "One Christmas, at a family gathering, I found her again with one of her shoes missing. I said aloud, 'Where is that darn shoe?' then nearly choked on my own spit when the shoe, out of nowhere, slid across the floor toward me."

"Seriously?" Brian asked.

"Yes. It happened right in front of everyone."

"Is there anything else significant about this room?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I really don't like sleeping here." She walked over to the window on the far side of the room. "This is the window that Phillip Knight was believed to have fallen through and broken his neck."

"Is this the room where your brother-in-law saw the ghost in the window?" I asked.

"No, that's the '20s room," she said, as she made her way toward the door.

"Why do you call it that?" I asked.

"Come on, I'll show you."

I followed Ron and Ethel into the '20s room. It had a large poster bed with Duco Gold trim and amber-colored beads dangling from the cloth lampshade. But it was the chintz material on the dressing table chair that gave it away. It was the roaring '20s roaring '20s room. "Hey Ethel, how come there are no windows in this room?" I asked. room. "Hey Ethel, how come there are no windows in this room?" I asked.

"This used to be a Masonic Temple," she said, with a knowing smile. "That's why I think there's a lot of activity in here. Because of all the rituals they did." She turned to Ron. "Do you remember when Brian the Monk was here? He went nuts."

"Ron, sorry to interrupt, but who the h.e.l.l is Brian the Monk?" asked Brian Bates.

"Brian is a Franciscan monk who was doing a thesis in the seminary on spirits. He had heard about a ghost book written by Bob Cahill, and he decided to go with Bob on an investigation and prove that he was full of c.r.a.p." Ron hesitated for a moment. "Instead he photographed six spirits that night and has been hooked ever since. I met him through Bob when Bob retired. I kind of picked him up on waivers. You know, like they do to professional baseball players when they're no longer needed."

Brian grinned. "So, is Brian the Monk a member of the Ghost Project?"

"Unofficially. He works with us sometimes, when our schedules don't conflict. The last time we were here, he was almost positive that a ghost was going to materialize right over there," Ron said, pointing to the far end of the room. "In fact, this is the room where we saw the name Rosemary on the ceiling." Ron walked up to the dressing table and touched the lamp. "Light emanating from this lamp filtered through jewelry lying atop the dresser and projected the name on the ceiling." He hesitated, his voice rising in excitement. "As Ethel said during the interview, Rosemary is one of the spirits believed to haunt this house."

As they were talking, I couldn't help but feel the level of energy escalating in the room. It swirled around me, rising from the floor, drawing closer and closer. Like a moth to a flame, the spirit called to me. It somehow knew I was listening. I called out, "Ron, there's someone here."

With the last of my words, Ron's EMF meter sprang to life.

"I think they want to make contact. Now."

"Okay, okay, don't get so huffy," Ron grumbled as he circled me with his meter.

Barely in time for my pendulum to be ready, names and images quickly ran through my mind, almost too quickly. A young girl's face. A familiar room. A favorite toy. The doll I'd just seen. Fragmented images bombarded my consciousness. As I closed my eyes to block out any distractions, I took a moment to sort out the onslaught of information. Then I blurted out, "It's a little girl. Ten years old." Once again, I struggled, focusing on the impressions in my mind's eye. "Her name. It's-Rebecca. No, Becky."

"I thought you can only get yes and no answers with the pendulum. Where is this stuff coming from?" Ron growled, disbelief evident in his voice.

Some things were just hard to explain. Ron and I had only been working together for a short time, so on some level I understood his confusion, although I didn't like having to justify what I was getting. "It's hard to explain," I said. "It's like someone is putting messages in my mind."

"So, it's like tapping into their consciousness?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, that's a good way of looking at it," I replied as Ron's meter went silent.

"They're gone," Ron stated.

"No, they're they're not. not. She's She's over there," I said, pointing to the top of the stairs. over there," I said, pointing to the top of the stairs.