The Ghost Chronicles (14 page)

“Oops. So what did you do?” Ron asked.

“To try and appease George, we scattered his ashes in a simple ceremony on Memorial Day weekend, at the site of the former tree.”

“Did it work?” I couldn’t help wondering.

“For a while. But that’s when the voices started, and that’s when we contacted you guys for help.”

“Do you think you can find the place where you scattered his ashes in the dark?” Ron asked, digging in his pocket for his flashlight.

We followed Robert as he cut a zigzag path through the dried twigs and branches, stumbling over fallen trees and unseen rocks.

Twenty minutes later, briars stuck to my jeans, we stood where Robert thought he had laid George to rest. “Is this the spot?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It’s dark, and it’s been six months.”

Judging from the path he cut, I had my doubts.

“Want to try and communicate?” Ron asked eagerly.

With my pendulum held tightly between my thumb and forefinger, I attempted to make contact. “Are there any spirits here with us?” I asked, as Ron began to scan the vicinity with the EMF meter.

Was this the resting place of George’s ashes?

My pendulum remained still. No response. Nothing. From what little I could sense, our friend George was not hanging out in the woods with his ashes. If they were even here.

I stuffed my pendulum back into my pocket, while Leo, our photographer, began taking infrared shots.

Ron looked at me. Without even speaking I knew his thoughts:

There’s nothing out here
.

I shrugged in response.

Turning our backs on the buzz of the group, we began our trek back, the dim lights of the house acting like a beacon in the
star-filled night. Approaching the rear of the house, we stopped momentarily, as if at a crossroads. I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply the frigid night air, and waited for my instincts to kick in. That’s when it came to me. We had to go toward the right side of the house. I had no way to explain it. I just knew. Like a magnet to iron, without the time to explain, I took off at a near run. “This way,” I said, stepping over weathered landscape timbers and around a child’s swing set. Turning, looking over my shoulder, I cried, with a sense of urgency in my voice, “Hurry, over here.”

Ron quickly joined me. As we neared the right front corner of the house, the pull became stronger. This was it.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

My third eye pulsated. Energy was everywhere. But I was having trouble discerning who or “what” it was. The beeping of the EMF meter was amplifying the feelings surging through my veins.

The energy grew thick, suffocating, like a storm cloud starting to envelop us. As if reading my thoughts, Ron said, “Yeah, I feel it too.” He paused. “What the hell is it?”

“I don’t know. I wish I knew,” I said, unable to focus. “I just can’t make it out.” The intensity was growing around us, reaching a crescendo, when—bam—it was gone. The beeping of Ron’s EMF meter was quickly replaced by the footsteps of the approaching group, who looked totally oblivious to what had just transpired.

Robert, Leo, and our EVP specialist, Karen, meandered by us, laughing and chatting about something that sounded like ghosts in period clothing and flowing dresses.

“I think we’re done here,” Ron said. “Let’s go in.”

Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open; Leo and Karen were already perched over her shoulder, mouths agape, apparently enthralled by the photo on the screen.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, walking up to the table.

“Check this photo out.” She paused, angling the LCD screen so we all could see.

Peeking over Andrea’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of the head of a shadowy figure behind a toy Oscar Mayer Weiner mobile. Its eye sockets were intently focused on the toy in front of it. Curious about what I was looking at, I asked, “Where did you take this?”

Andrea pointed to the L-shaped counter top. “Right there. I sell collectibles on eBay, and when I take the photos, these ‘things’ show up.”

“Now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Ron commented, as we both knew that was good evidence that something was going on here. Looking down at his watch, he continued, “Let’s finish up the investigation.”

Leo picked up his 35mm, Karen her recorders, and we followed Andrea down the narrow hallway, with Ron and I bringing up the rear. One by one we entered each room with little result, until we reached the daughter’s room. I was struck with a familiar feeling as we entered. “Has anything ever happened in here?”

“Funny you should ask. My daughter had an invisible friend she would often play with in here.” Andrea paused, carefully considering her words. “But that was before we ‘buried’ George’s ashes.”

Ron turned to me, “Isn’t this the corner of the house where we picked up our readings?”

I nodded. Now I knew what I had felt—it was the same energy. Although there was energy present, it was fleeting, and unfortunately for us, I had a feeling the worst was yet to come. And oh boy, was I right…

Having checked out all of the rooms, we were done with our investigation of the first floor of the split-level, and we headed to the basement. In single file we traversed the narrow steps to the cellar.

It was chilly. Although the thermostat on the wall read 70 degrees, an unnatural coldness penetrated our bones.

“This is where we found the ashes,” Robert said, as he pointed to a small closet in the corner. “And this,” he said, grabbing an old office chair gathering dust, and shoving it across the cement floor, “is the chair that always moves around on its own.”

Above the sound of Robert’s voice I heard Ron yell, “Maureen, come here.” I followed his voice. We found ourselves standing just below the daughter’s room.

“Karen, you want to try some EVPs?” Ron asked.

“Sure, Ron,” she said, adjusting her recorder and pushing her long hair, reminiscent of the sixties, out of her face. “But you need to be quiet.”

Ron turned down the volume on his EMF meter.

A dead calm settled over the group.

In a slow drawl, Karen asked, “Is there anyone here wishing to speak to us?”

The light on Karen’s recorder sprang to life, indicating it was recording.

Suddenly, with all the intensity of a piranha feasting on a fresh kill, the ugliness I’d pushed away when we’d first arrived had returned. Dumbstruck, I stood there trying to get a handle
on what I was sensing. I had the uncanny feeling I was being summoned. And whatever “it” was, it wasn’t pretty.

Karen continued her recordings as I reached in and pulled my pendulum from the safety of my jeans. Despite my feelings, I knew once again I needed to attempt to make contact with whatever it was that was haunting this family. Only this time I wasn’t feeling as confident. Whatever it was that was waiting was ready to pounce, and I knew that if I left an opening, it would.

Ron, realizing Karen was through recording, turned the volume on his EMF meter back on. As I stood there, my pendulum swinging to and fro, George’s thoughts bombarded my consciousness. “He wants you out,” I said, as I raised my head, catching the intensity of Robert’s stare. All the while the staccato beep, beep, beep of Ron’s EMF meter peppered the silence.

“Why?” Andrea asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“It is ‘his’ house. And, as far as he’s concerned, you are intruders.”

Ron drew closer to me. “Bbbbeeeeeppppp,” the meter screeched, turning from staccato to shrill. “I think we have another visitor,” he said. “The needle’s off the scale.”

In my mind I could feel George’s anger, but I sensed something much darker. The evil toying with me since I’d arrived was suddenly upon me. My body struggled for control as the energy intensified tenfold. The invading darkness gave George a karmic push out of the way. Suddenly I was repulsed by the anger, the hatred, and the sins of the undead that clung to me like a foul second skin.

“Hey. Are you with us?”

Unable to respond I doubled over, clutching my ribcage. My mind fought for control, while Ron’s words of concern sounded
like a garbled voice spoken to me under rushing water. The harder I fought back, the worse it got, until searing pain akin to a hot poker being jammed up and under my ribcage held me temporarily immobile. Just as I felt my knees buckle, I felt Ron’s hand on my arm as he held me up.

“Okay, that’s enough. Let’s go outside.”

Stepping through the door, the crisp, cool night replaced some of the burning, but instinctively I knew it wasn’t going to be enough. And it was only temporary. This thing, this pariah, had latched itself to me and was sucking my energy, like a bloodsucker on damp flesh. I needed to remedy the situation and fast or, at the very least, risk spending the next few days in bed rethinking my career choice.

“Maureen, where are you going?” Karen said, walking at my side. “Need some help?” Although she was short of stature, I’d learned quickly that she was big of heart.

“Yeah.” Not having time to explain, and remembering the added protection I’d left in the car, I took a few deep breaths, inwardly prayed for protection, got my second wind, and headed for Ron’s car. The high-pitched, rapid beeping of the EMF meter was indication enough that Ron was close on my heels.
God, give me a break
.
Sometimes I’d like to take that EMF meter and—
. Ignoring Ron and his damn meter, I turned toward Karen. “Here, hold this for a minute,” I said, dropping the pendulum, chain and all, into the palm of her hand. “Ron, you want to give that EMF meter a break for a second and hand me your holy water?”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a vial of holy water and handed it to me.

I blessed the car windows and opened the rear door.

Feeling a momentary sense of safety, I reached into the backseat, digging into my bag of goodies. Pulling out a sage bundle, I stepped away from the car and shut the door. I struck a match, and anxiously waited for the sage to ignite before smudging. The aroma of smoldering sweetgrass bound with sage hung in the air, permeating my senses. Almost immediately I could feel the shift in the energy. The night air had lightened. The evil that had been dogging me was temporarily held at bay.
Amen
.

Ron jabbed the meter within two inches of my chest. “Is it gone?”

“No. It’s still here. But it’s not stuck to me anymore.” I paused, thinking for a moment. “Try moving the meter out a few feet.”

Stepping back two feet on the pavement, Ron’s eyes grew wide as the meter blinked wildly. “Damn, you’re right. It is still here.”

“Ron, I’m exhausted. This thing’s gotta go.” Reaching back into my bag of goodies, I pulled out my ace in the hole, my St. Michael prayer card.

As we recited the prayer, uneasiness filled the air. And a feeling I couldn’t quite put my finger on washed over me, making me wonder if this wasn’t the calm before the storm.

As I breathed a sigh of relief, I remembered that Karen, who was standing quietly to my left, still had my pendulum. I reached my hand out, palm up. “Thanks for holding it for me.”

Karen dropped the pendulum into my waiting hand.

“What the…?” To both our amazement, the chain was missing.

“I—I—I don’t know what happened to it, Maureen. It never left my hand.”

After searching the driveway and immediate area, we found nothing.

“It’s getting late,” Ron said. “We can’t spend all night here.” He headed for the house, calling over his shoulder. “Let’s pack it up.”

Karen and I quickly joined Ron and our host in the kitchen.

Andrea looked around Ron to where I stood. “Maureen, are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” I lied.

Andrea turned back toward Ron. “As I told you earlier, I’m scared for my daughter. Just the other day she ran out of her room crying, mumbling about some dark man in her room. She was terrified. With everything else we’ve been experiencing, I don’t think it was just her imagination,” Andrea said, her voice laced with desperation. “Is there anything we can do?”

“If you want, I can bless the house,” Ron said.

“Thank you. That would be great.”

“Maureen, while I’m blessing the house, why don’t you see if you can help Andrea pull up the Shroud of Turin on her computer.” Ron grabbed the vial of holy water and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Here it is,” I said, pointing to the Google listing. “Let’s open it up and see if we can print it.” I hesitated, thinking how to explain it without scaring her off. “Print out a bunch of copies of these and tape them above each door and window.”

“What will these do?”

“The Shroud of Turin, Christ’s burial cloth, still holds his image. As Brian the Monk says, ‘Evil cannot look upon the face of God.’”

“I think we’re all set here.” Ron walked back into the kitchen as he tucked a plastic bottle of holy water in the front pocket of his jeans. “It’s time to leave.”

As we walked to the cars, Andrea approached us. “By the way, I have something to tell you.”

Ron stopped. “What?”

“Well, there’s a rumor in town about some stuff that had been going on around here. A few people in town said something about Satan worshipers in the woods. Is this possible? Could it all be related to what’s been going on here? You know,” she said, her voice still shaky, “the neighbors have experienced similar problems too. Even though they try to ignore ’em.”