The Ghost Chronicles (26 page)

“Byron and Pippa from Haunted Devon aren’t even here yet. And we’re not starting without them—after all they are my guests.”

“Fine.” This was getting ridiculous. Gavin and I were eager to explore.

No sooner had we retraced our steps back down the stairs than a knock resounded at the front door. Relieved, I smiled at Byron, the UK investigator, and Pippa, his girlfriend, a news reporter for the BBC. It was great to meet them since I had only seen them on our Halloween videocast, a live Internet video broadcast shown on Halloween with three ghosthunting groups—the New England Ghost Project, Haunted Devon (UK), and Haunted Australia—conducting simultaneous investigations in three different countries.

After a quick swapping of pleasantries, we walked into the parlor and began our investigation. Ron spoke into the microphone. “We’re in the parlor where, supposedly, Mr. Borden was murdered.”

Ron Jr. bellowed, “What do you mean ‘supposedly’? This was the murder room.”

“And how do we know that?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, genius, maybe the evidence photo sitting over there might be a hint.”

The sound of laughter broke the growing tension in the room.

Then Ron continued. “Gavin, what are your impressions of this room?”

Gavin pointed toward the kitchen. “Whoever did this came in through that door, and to me, I’ve got to say, it feels like a male energy doing this killing. But upstairs, that might be different. This one was killed first, the other one, later.”

“What about you Maureen?”

“Truthfully, I felt how he died, more than anything.”

Without saying a word, Gavin walked up to the bookcase and picked up the photo of Lizzie Borden and studied it. “I think she was a lesbian.”

Ron gazed at Lee Ann for her reaction.

With raised eyebrows she said, “Hmmm. That’s interesting.”

“Okey dokey. Moving on. Next room.” Ron said.

As we entered the next room, Gavin stopped. “I hate this room with a passion. I don’t like it. Immediately when I walked in, I felt like a blanket dropped on me.”

Since I had shared the same feeling, I added, “Yes, it’s a heaviness all around you, like you’re walking through a wall of energy.”

Gavin took several steps to the far corner of the room and stood next to a Victorian table lamp. “I feel that this was a room where they came to socialize.” Stopping short, he peered out the window and said, “I sense a female spirit, who comes to the house and peers in. She’s an acquaintance of the Bordens. She comes to the house often, but can’t or won’t come in. That’s all I’m getting in this room.”

Looking at Gavin and I, Ron asked, “Where to next?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Since we didn’t make it past the first floor for the past three hours, and we have no idea what’s upstairs, why don’t you guide us.” I said, not trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

Ron wrinkled his nose, then said. “Fine. Be that way.”

Jim, our EVP specialist, suggested, “Why don’t we go to the third floor? When I was setting up the IR camera I had a feeling that I was being watched.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ron said.

* * *

I took the lead, with Maureen, Gavin, and the rest of the group close behind me as we made our way to the third floor.

We walked down the narrow corridor to the front of the house. Upon entering the room I caught an odd whiff. “Is it just me, or does anyone else smell this?”

The remainder of the team meandered past me, sniffing the air as they walked around the rich mahogany bed.

“Yeah. It smells very antiseptic, like blood, I don’t know,” Maureen said with a puzzled look as she sniffed the air again. “Like a hospital.”

“Very, very steroid, isn’t it?” Gavin added in his thick Welsh accent. I looked at Ron Jr., sure that Gavin meant “sterile.”

“Yeah, but what’s the smell?” I asked.

“It smells like a hospital,” Maureen said.

“Ether?” I guessed.

“Yes, that’s it,” Maureen said, nodding in agreement.

With the smell still permeating my nostrils, I decided to explore it more. “Jim, hand me the UV light.”

Jim reached into the holster on his belt and handed me a small ultraviolet flashlight. I switched it on and scanned the carpet and the rest of the room for hints of blood or other bodily fluids. Without finding a trace, I stopped my scan and asked the two psychics if they were picking up on anything.

Maureen answered, “I feel someone was sick in this room.”

“I feel a female energy,” Gavin said. He put his fingers to his chin and said, “I’m getting a name, not a first name…its Sulliban, or something like that.”

“Sullivan?” I said.

“Yes, that’s it. She’s not the one who was sick. She’s a servant.” He paused, his eyes moving as he searched his mind. “I am picking up on a lodger, a boarder. I know it’s a bed and breakfast, but this was before.”

“I wonder, can you get confused by different time periods?” I asked. “I know we have found some places that are haunted by spirits who have lived at different times.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Gavin said. “The older the place, the more layers there are, and it can get confusing at times.”

Maureen spoke up. “You know what’s interesting? My ears are fluttering like there’s talking, talking…” she said. “There’s some kind of confusion going on.” She paused for a moment. “Combined with the sick person I mentioned before, it doesn’t feel good up here at all.”

“When you first entered the room, you got a ‘swoosh’ of energy. Now that you have been in here for awhile, is it different?” I asked.

“Yes, my body is getting used to it. It’s sort of leveling off,” Maureen said.

“Like when you go into the water, your body gets used to the temperature,” Gavin added.

“All right, let’s try some EVP work now,” I suggested.

Jim placed his recorder on the bed where I had sat down and waited for the room to become quiet before beginning to ask questions. He started, “Are there any spirits here that would like to speak with us now?” A few seconds passed. Next he asked, “Can you please let us know you’re here? Give us a sign.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “This is my recorder; can you please tell us your name?”

“Hold everything. Did anybody see that?” I said, looking around the dimly lit room. There was no reply. “I just saw something run across the bed. Not a person, but maybe an animal,” I said, searching the befuddled faces of the team. “Ron,” I said to my son, “did you see anything through the camcorder?”

“No, I didn’t see a thing,” he replied.

We asked a few more questions and then ended our EVP session. As we walked out of the room, Maureen said to me, “I don’t know if Jim got anything on the recorder, but when he was asking the questions, I could hear a high-pitched whine like they were trying to respond.”

Byron joined in our conversation. “I thought I heard a cat,” he said.

“That’s interesting,” I replied. “There’s supposed to be a ghost cat here.”

We entered the last room on the right, adjacent to the top of the stairs, a small bedroom where the ceiling matched the slope of the roof. I knew I would have a problem standing, so I sat on the end of the twin bed. Byron, also tall, joined me. Maureen, bent over by the low ceiling, said, “The energy is different here. I feel like my heart just skipped a beat. There’s anxiety here, but not like the other room.”

Gavin spoke up. “I’m getting the name Mary or Martha.” Gavin was snapping his fingers, as if trying to get a mental grasp on it. “She seems a bit put off. People are talking about her, and she wants to get something off her chest.”

“Why don’t you try to contact her?” I said.

“Okay,” Gavin replied. “I can’t say if her name is Mary or Martha, but the name Sullivan comes into play. I feel lots of static in here. My skin’s all tingly. Ms. Sullivan, can you please
make a noise to let us know you’re here? Bang something. Give us a sign.” Fingers spread wide, Gavin clawed at the air. “She’s feeling really anxious.”

“Skittish,” I added.

“Yes, she’s skittish, like she’s not sure,” Gavin said.

“As if she doesn’t know who she can trust?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly it. She doesn’t know if she can trust us.”

Pippa said, “Ms. Sullivan, we mean you no harm. Can you please affect someone in the room? Touch someone please.”

I sat waiting for a reply, when once again my “psychic nose” kicked in. “Does anybody smell anything?” I asked.

Ron Jr. answered, confirming the blank stares of the group. “There’s no smell in here.”

“There is,” I said as I sniffed the air. “I smell rose, kind of powdery, like a rose powder.”

Gavin took a deep breath. “I have a hard time smelling anything with this bloody cold,” he cried.

Pippa, sitting on the floor in the back of the room, said, “Let me try, maybe she doesn’t like men.”

“Feel free,” I said.

She began, “Ms. Sullivan, we have the utmost respect for you, and we mean you no harm. We want to help you. Can you please make a noise or give us a sign that you are here?” She continued her query. Silence was her only answer.

Maureen soon drew closer and said, “I think she’s trying, but having a tough time. She doesn’t have enough energy.” Then she paused. “I smell it too. It smells like baby powder only different… I know! It’s the powder they used in the old days. A rose dusting powder,” she said as she made a swirling motion with her hand in the air.

“It’s funny,” I said. “I smelled it before, then it went away, and all I could smell was Gavin’s leather.”

“Leather?” Gavin replied. “I have no leather on. Ron, you cheeky boy. I would never wear leather.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “I really caught the strong odor of leather.”

“Maybe someone else dropped in,” Maureen said with a smile.

“Hey, Ron,” Martin asked, “do the names make any sense?”

“Not to me,” I replied.

“There are some photos behind me on the floor,” Maureen said.

Jim left his perch in the back of the room and crawled over to look at the photo sitting on the floor in front of an old steamer trunk. Illuminating them with his small flashlight, he read a name, “Bridget Sullivan.”

“Really?” Gavin said.

“Good job, Gavin. At least you got the last name,” I said.

“Ron, the energy is waning here,” Maureen interrupted. “I think we should go downstairs.”

* * *

I descended the stairs to the second floor, following behind Ron and Gavin. With no more than the beam of the flashlights and camcorders guiding our way, we passed through a series of rooms, feeling little to no energy. We continued down the hallway
until we reached what Lee Ann referred to as the John V. Morse room, a comfortable-sized bedroom facing the street.

“Okay, I want you and Gavin to walk around this room and tell me what you feel.” Ron motioned with his flashlight. The narrow beam of light sliced a path over the room, brightening the white cotton bedspread that was swallowed by darkness.

Gavin and Maureen give their psychic impressions of the events that transpired in the John V. Morse bedroom.

Suddenly feeling like a trained monkey performing for an audience, Gavin and I walked around the far side of the bed. I began to feel the swirl of energy encircling us. Almost in unison we said, “Someone’s here.”

My breathing became shallow, labored. I sighed heavily. “Gavin, are you feeling this?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded distant as the energy closed in on me.

“Why don’t you two hold hands?” Ron said. “Let’s see what you can pick up as a team.”

Hesitantly, almost as if we both were afraid that we’d somehow hurt each other, we took a step, closing the gap between us. Slowly, we reached out and took each other’s hands in our own. I closed my eyes and focused my intentions. A spirit was with us. Of this I had no doubt. But who? Was it Lizzie? Abby? Mentally I reached out. Suddenly, my world began to spin out of control. It was too late to turn back now. My consciousness faded into the background.

* * *

I stood closer to Maureen and Gavin. Her body swayed. She raised her head slowly. Her eyes were piercing. It was the look I’d seen many times before. It was no longer just Maureen.

Camcorder rolling, seizing the moment, Byron spoke up in his heavy British accent. “If you’re here, can you step forward for us?” He paused, only for a second. “Can you let us know that you’re here?” Barely pausing, “Can you step through. . .okay, do you want to speak to us?”

No response could be heard except the sound of Maureen’s labored breathing.

“Hold up,” I said to Byron, realizing that Maureen needed time to adjust to the alien energy pulsating through her body.

As she raised her head, she stared at me. By the look in her eyes, I knew it was no longer Maureen. “Who’s with us now?”

Eyes now closed, Maureen inhaled deeply. A series of moans escaped her lips. Sighing heavily, she lowered her head, slowly shaking it from side to side. In a voice not her own, she spat, “Dirty girl.”