The Ghost Chronicles Part 5

In a quiet tone she began, "Well, I have heard lots of stories. There's a hidden room off the back that was rumored to be part of the Underground Railroad, where slaves used to hide. I have also heard that when children lived here, they played in the cellar." She hesitated for a moment as if to get her thoughts in order. "When people from the restaurant have gone down there, they hear voices. From where, I'm not sure. I have heard lots of stories about things moving on their own, and when people stay in the bas.e.m.e.nt for any extended period of time, we tend to have more ghostly activity over the next couple of weeks in the regular part of the restaurant."

"So that seems to stir things up," Ron interrupted.

"It seems so."

As she spoke I couldn't help but notice the expressions of terror on the faces of the other waitresses who were huddled together in the corner of the room, like children in fear of the bogeyman.

"Anything else you want to tell us?" Ron asked.

"No. Would you like to go to the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Without a doubt. Let's rock," Ron replied.

Gathering our equipment, we followed her into the hall and through the swinging doors of the kitchen. Ron and I were directly behind her, with the rest of the group trailing us in what seemed to be an endless conga line.

We pa.s.sed through the kitchen, then through another door and down a set of well-worn stairs into the bas.e.m.e.nt. As we entered, the irritating hum of coolers, refrigerators, and fluorescent lights filled the room, triggering Ron's EMF meter. His meter picked up the electrical activity, while I felt a different kind of activity- spirit energy. It was following our every move. This presence, it seemed, was almost as anxious for us to get to the hidden room as we were. Following Amy to the very rear of the bas.e.m.e.nt, we came upon a narrow tunnel. She pointed into the darkness. "Hey, where's the light for the tunnel?" she cried.

Jenny, a short waitress with dirty blonde hair, answered her. "The light's on, but the bulb's not lit. That's not right, it was fine earlier. I guess it's a mystery."

Coincidence? I think not. I had only been with Ron for a short time, and I was already beginning to think like him. Now that's scary Now that's scary, I thought to myself.

Amy turned to me and, with a look of apprehension and a quiver in her voice, said, "Do you want to go first?"

"No, that's okay. I'm not in any hurry," I replied, even though I could sense that the spirits were in a hurry for us to join them.

"I'll go first," Ron spoke up, never shy to throw himself into the limelight.

The cement floor soon turned to dirt as we made our way through the narrow pa.s.sageway. As we reached the end, we turned right, and I nearly gagged when I caught a whiff of the dampness. The stone foundation was cluttered with wires, old hewn beams, and, of course, spiderwebs. I hate spiders. As I entered the hidden room that Amy was referring to, my attention was drawn from the cobwebs to the energy that was now swirling strongly around me.

I took up a position in the center of the room away from the hanging webs. Though light was coming in from the outside room, when I looked at Ron he was nearly in darkness. He was crouched over, scanning the area with his meter. As he swung the meter around to me, it lit up like a Christmas tree. They were here; I knew it, and Ron's meter confirmed it. Moving my pendulum in front of me, I began to make contact.

"Ron, I feel a difference in the energy here. It's somebody else." Taking a deep breath, I asked, "Are you a woman?"

Once again the pendulum confirmed what I was already feeling: yes. It was a much more pleasant energy than the one I had faced earlier. I turned my head to the right, half expecting to see her standing there. Her energy was so thick, it was as if I could reach out and touch her.

"Who's got an infrared? Who's got an infrared? Take some shots," Ron commanded, playing off my feelings.

Almost immediately, the group responded with a barrage of flashes.

I became a bit self-conscious in the a.s.sault of camera flashes. It felt like my every move was under scrutiny. Ron seemed oblivious to it as he continued his questioning of our newfound friend; all the while his EMF meter continued its incessant beeping.

"Did you die here?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied with an inner knowing, not fully waiting for the pendulum to answer.

"Did you live here?"

His question went unanswered, as I felt the familiar sinister force from earlier in the evening beginning to slither in.

"There is something else here now," I cried. I clutched my chest, gritting my teeth in reaction to the pain coursing through me. The same, contentious energy that had plagued me in the upstairs dining room was pus.h.i.+ng away the weaker spirit. With total disregard for my well-being, it stepped in once again. My chest still raw, sore, from our previous encounter, I mentally pushed back at the uninvited energy; I was not willing to be accosted by this particular spirit. Nearing my breaking point, I bent over and dug my fingers into the flesh of my lower thigh, something I do to ground myself in the present. A little of my own pain, at least for me, brings me back to reality.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked.

I nodded quickly and blurted out, "Yes." I lied.

Once again a dead silence fell over the room. This was becoming a theme. I wanted to end contact with this angry spirit as soon as possible, so I asked, "Does anybody have a question?"

Katie, another waitress, spoke out, "Does it bother you when we come down here?"

I repeated her question, and audibly heard the spirit's whisper of defiance. "No."

Brian chimed in, "Will you appear for us?"

I grabbed my chest and winced in pain, feeling the spirit's anger growing. "Maybe."

"It's the suicide one, the hanged man, isn't it?" Ron asked, somehow tapping into my brain.

Still wincing in pain, I nodded my head. Again I slowly turned to look over my shoulder. If I hadn't known any better, like the woman before him, I'd have sworn he was standing right beside me.

Ron raised his camera and took a picture without even turning his head or aiming. "How many spirits are here, are there more than five?" he asked.

I felt an instant dislike, almost a loathing for the questions being asked. With that thought the pain intensified. "Yes. But he's the strongest one," I added.

"Are you related?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, some of them are anyway," I replied. "But not him."

Not to be left out, Eric added a question of his own. "Are the spirits here from the Underground Railroad?"

"Yes," I answered as I bent over, clutching my abdomen, suppressing the pain ravaging my body.

Jenny threw out another question. "Are the spirits slaves?"

I paused for a moment, when someone suddenly muttered, "s.h.i.+t!" It was Tom. The battery on his camcorder had just drained itself completely.

I stood upright once again and repeated Jenny's question. The pendulum confirmed what I was hearing. "Yes. But not all of them."

s.h.i.+fting my weight from one foot to another, my eyes pleaded to Ron to hurry this up.

"Are there any other questions?" Ron asked.

"Are there any children here?" asked Katie from the back of the crowd.

I shook my head and answered yes, finding it more and more difficult to endure the agony that was now enveloping my body.

"Do you want something from us?" Ron asked.

The bobber pulled straight down, a sign to me that our "friend" had had just about enough of our questioning. As had I. I followed the pull of the energy with my mind's eye; instinctively, I felt he had fled through the opening in the wall. "He's gone. He went that way," I said, nodding in the general direction.

"What's over there?" Ron asked.

Amy spoke up, "If you follow the wall to the right there's a staircase, but it's boarded off."

Ron and Leo, our photographer, scurried over to where I had seen the spirit disappear. Leo raised the camera, clicking wildly. "d.a.m.n it, it won't let me take a picture," he cried.

Within seconds the charge in the air dissipated, a sign to me that the spirit had left. At the same moment, Leo said, "Would you look at that, now it's working again."

"I'd say we're done here," Ron said. "Let's get back to base camp."

As we weaved our way through the kitchen, everybody was excitedly talking about what had just transpired. Everyone, that is, except for Jenny and Katie, who walked arm in arm with petrified looks on their faces.

We hung around the base camp trying to decide our next move, when Ron turned to Amy and asked, "Is there an upstairs to this place?"

No sooner had he gotten the words out of his mouth, when the base camp monitor went to static. Gay, who was sitting by the monitors, cried, "Ron, look at this."

Flippantly he dismissed her remark. "That's nothing. It's just some kind of natural interference." Just then, the screen returned to normal. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure that the "static" was natural at all.

Once again, Ron asked, "Can we see the upstairs?"

As if on cue, the static returned.

Just like I thought. This was no "natural interference," more like, "para-natural."

As we opened the door to the second story, I could sense a spirit lingering at the top of the stairs peering down at us. In a zigzag motion, we ascended the dilapidated stairs, stepping over bottles, bags, brooms, and various cleaning supplies. If that wasn't enough of a challenge, we gingerly stepped over missing floorboards, careful not to plunge through to the room beneath us. The spirit retreated as we drew closer.

Ron made his way to the front room with the rest of us behind him. It was extremely tight quarters. He turned to me and waved his silent meter, saying, "I'm not getting very much here."

"Go to the right, Ron," I told him, becoming somewhat frustrated. "No, my right."

Turning, he went deeper into the room until he reached a window that overlooked the parking lot. As he did, his meter went off. "Oh yeah," he said triumphantly. "Lucy, I'm home." A reference to the I Love Lucy I Love Lucy show. show. Sometimes he's such a nut Sometimes he's such a nut, I thought.

When I entered the room, the atmosphere was much lighter, an indication to me that the spirit was much younger. Intuitively, I knew it was a little girl. I could barely contain my smile. This was so much more pleasant than the "hanged man," as Ron referred to him. "It's a woman, a young woman."

I paused for a second. "Jenny, her name is Jenny," I said, repeating what I heard psychically.

"What does she want?" Ron asked.

I chuckled, "She just wants to be with us."

"You mean like hanging with us?" Ron continued.

"Yeah," I said, my voice mirroring her emotions.

"That's cool; does she like us?" Ron asked.

My emotions felt bubbly, light, euphoric even. "Yes, look how fast my pendulum is going. She likes you." Go figure. "It's not the negative one," I said to Ron, trying to explain what I was feeling. "I don't have the same pain, which is a good thing," I added.

"Are you happy?" Ron asked of the little girl spirit.

Yes, answered the pendulum "Are you happy we are here?"

The answer, a resounding yes.

"You just want attention, don't you?" Ron asked, teasing the spirit.

Eric asked, "Are you part of the Underground Railroad?"

A strong yes.

"Are you white?" Ron inquired.

The pendulum swung counterclockwise, indicating a yes.

"I thought so," Ron stated, straining his voice to be heard above the beep, beep, beep of his EMF meter.

"Did you help with the Underground Railroad?" I said, asking a question of my own.

Yes, the pendulum responded, but I already knew the answer.

Seemingly out of nowhere a rush of cold air blanketed the room.

The rapid fire of Ron's EMF meter was suddenly transformed to a slow, rhythmic beep.

Beep-beep-beep.

A familiar pain invaded my chest.

The energy was dark, heavy, almost touchable, like mist rolling over a cold gravestone.

"He's back," I said, fighting my way through a wave of nausea.

Ron's beaming smile was gone.

"Go away," he commanded. "We don't want you here. We want to talk to Jenny." The lightness in his voice of moments ago was now replaced with a newfound gravity.

Ignoring Ron's command, the energy only thickened. "No," I said.

Doubling over in pain, I clutched my legs for support. "He doesn't want us to talk to anybody but him. He's the dominant one," I said in a low tone, a sound that was grating, even to my own ears.

"I don't want to talk to him, let's stop," Ron said, trying to wrestle control of the situation from the vile spirit.

"Yes, it works for me, but you know he can follow us," I added.

"Not outside," Ron said with a smug look on his face.

I felt the hanged man's anger. Being the obvious bully that he was, he did not like Ron. After all, he thought he he was in charge. was in charge.

As we made our way back to base camp, I could still feel the pull of his energy. He was not used to being dismissed, so he continued to dog us. Tapping my shoulder, ignoring my obvious rush to leave, Brian asked, "Why can't he go outside?"