Chapter Six
The Western house is set back from the road, concealed behind its formidable iron gate and an array of ‘Keep Out’ and ‘No Trespassing’ signs.
From the car, I can just see the weathered grey shingled rooftop, and the tips of upper windows secured behind shutters.
On a rise in the distance, an imposing oak tree looms, its leaves a mix of yellows and golds, fluttering gently in the crisp sea breeze.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I notice the stone path winding its way up to the gate. The exact path I walked in my dream.
‘Now that looks like a haunted house,’ Callum says. ‘The widow’s walk, for a start. Creepy.’ He points to the small platform bound by a railing on the roof of the house and fake-shudders.
‘Aww. Are you scared?’ I tease.
‘Are you kidding? I live for this shit. I mean, everyone wanted to get their hands on this one and I got it. I can’t wait until we can get in there and check the place out.’
I shake my head. We couldn’t be more different in our feelings about ghosts.
‘The “keep out” signs wouldn’t be much of a deterrent,’ he says, ‘and there’s no mention of a security company.’ He peers through the window at the gate. ‘It doesn’t look like they’ve got cameras either. We should check that with Rosing.’
‘Imagine growing up in a place like that,’ I say. ‘It’s huge.’
‘My aunt’s place was pretty big,’ Callum says, still gazing out the window.
‘Didn’t you grow up in the city?’
He turns to face me. ‘Yeah. It was one of those old Upper West Side houses that take up a whole corner. I have no idea where she got her money. I can’t imagine it was family cash – me and my folks lived in a tiny apartment from what I remember.
I don’t think they had any money, at least none that came my way. ’
‘Your aunt never discussed that with you?’
‘Nope, but to be honest, I never really asked. She got prickly about family stuff. It was sort of off limits. It was like it hurt too much for her to talk about my mom. But also I always got the feeling something went on that she didn’t want to relive.
’ He shrugs, then shuffles around in his seat, his knees hitting the gear stick. ‘You lost your mom too, didn’t you?’
I nod. ‘Breast cancer, when I was eleven. I still miss her.’
‘Fucking cancer, huh? Aideen as well. Shitty disease. Though I’m glad you got at least a little time with your mom.
’ He looks away again. ‘After Aideen died, I sold the house and took off travelling. There was quite a bit of hype when it went on the market, a big house like that. In the end a developer bought it. Turned it into three apartments, one on each floor.’
He sighs, and in it I hear sadness and regret.
I watch him as he studies the house. We have more in common than just our work.
We both understand loss and the chasm it leaves in your life.
Except I still have a sister and a father, which is more than Callum has.
I have a family that I rarely see – I need to fix that. I’m going to fix it.
‘So, you’re smart and rich,’ I say. ‘My opinion of you is improving with every conversation.’ It’s a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, but it works, and he laughs.
‘Glad you’re finally realising I’m a catch.’
His gaze meets mine, deep and shimmering. My skin tingles as heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.
‘Right,’ he says, ‘let’s go check into Maddison House.
That’s the B&B I booked for us – it’s a converted historic home.
Then we can call on Rosing and see if we can get the key to that.
’ He points to the gate. ‘What do you say we come back and have a poke around the grounds? You up for a little adventure?’
‘Callum, you promised.’
‘C’mon, I know you’re as curious as I am.’ He leans forward. ‘We’ll just have a look around. See if you feel anything.’
‘We do not go inside. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.’
He crosses his heart. ‘We do not go inside.’
‘Fine.’ But as I start the car and pull away, the prickle at the back of my neck becomes a creeping dread.
My overnight bag is still clutched in my hand as I take in my room.
What. The. Hell . A vase of pink roses sits on a small white-and-gold table beside the window, and a pale-gold velvet buttoned headboard towers over a fat bed swathed in floral covers.
I drop my bag onto the pink-and-white striped French-style couch with a shake of my head.
It looks like shabby chic threw up in here.
I unpack a few things, then head next door to Callum’s room. It’s identical to mine, only in shades of a ghastly mint green.
‘It’s all a bit…’ I struggle to find the right word.
‘It’s not that bad,’ he says, ‘is it?’ He glances around. ‘Though I promise I didn’t know it was going to be quite so… would you call this romantic?’
‘Me? Absolutely not.’
‘Me neither, then.’ He flicks me a lopsided smile. ‘This was the only place available at short notice that was close to the house and included breakfast, just for you.’ He unzips his duffle and pulls out his toiletry bag. ‘Hey, I meant to ask how your job went last night.’
‘Easy. Quick. A little weird. The spirit was a nun.’
Callum’s brows lift. ‘An evil nun?’ He briefly disappears into the bathroom.
‘Not according to my client,’ I call after him. ‘She says this nun liked to clean.’
‘But you still got rid of her?’ he asks as he comes back into the room.
‘Of course I did, my client was terrified. She wouldn’t even step foot in her house.’
‘Do you think the nun went to heaven?’
‘I don’t know where she went. Do you believe in heaven and all that white light stuff?’
‘I mean, it would be nice, right? Especially for our folks. But I don’t know. There have been a lot of studies into near-death phenomena, and there are a lot of commonalities in the stories of those who have gone through a near-death experience. The white light stuff being one of them.’
‘Yeah, but everyone knows about that, so—’
‘What about the people who can describe in detail everyone and everything that happened in the room while they were unconscious? I know you don’t care but I think it would be interesting to understand where the spirits you send off end up, don’t you?’
Frustration huffs out of me. ‘What I understand is that the people who call me in are being terrorised by those things. They’re dead. They don’t belong here anymore. Now, can we go eat? I’m hungry.’
‘More like hangry,’ he mutters as he follows me out the door.
East Mill Village is already decked out for Halloween.
Jack-O-Lanterns leer from every store window, cobwebs coat the normally stylish shrubs, and pumpkins of every hue nestle amongst the dazzling oranges and yellows of the fall flower beds.
The leaves on the maples that line the street have turned a pale gold, and paper bats flutter from their branches, their wings rustling in the breeze.
Tourists buzz from store to store in hope of spotting a vacationing celebrity, before visiting some of the historic buildings that dot the small town, or stopping to dine at the plentiful restaurants that hug its foreshore.
We find a park near the harbour, surrounded by the gentle ting, ting, ting of yacht rigging tapping against steel masts, and make our way to a small cafe squeezed between a bookstore with a smoking cauldron out front and a store with a window full of colourful Halloween-themed kites.
‘I’ve never got Halloween.’ I’m staring at the skeleton propped up in a corner of the cafe with a coffee mug strapped to its bony hand. ‘Why celebrate ghosts? It’s weird.’ Callum looks up from his food. ‘I’m guessing you probably love it.’
He shrugs. ‘Sure, it’s fun. Though it doesn’t have much to do with the origins of the tradition anymore, it’s more about decorations and candy now.
It was originally a Celtic celebration giving thanks for the summer harvest before the winter set in.
Bonfires were lit and costumes worn to ward off evil spirits, because the Celts believed that the veil between the living and dead was thinnest on that day. ’
‘It’s always thin, in my experience,’ I say.
He mm-hmms .
‘I never really celebrated Halloween as a kid,’ Callum goes on, ‘my aunt was not a fan. I’ve been to a few parties since then though. My buddy had one last year. We went as the twins from The Shining .’
‘The little girls in the blue dresses?’
‘Yup.’ He shoves a fry in his mouth. He must be able to tell I’m mentally trying to pull that image together, because then he chuckles.
‘So… um…’ I slap my notes on the table and slide them towards him.
‘The Western family. I didn’t find anything much online outside of what we’ve already discussed.
Nothing about the haunting that could be considered one hundred per cent genuine.
There seems to be more speculation than fact.
So, if we don’t get the story from the source, we’ll be on our own and starting from scratch, or going on rumours, which isn’t good enough. ’
‘Hopefully the historical society can help out,’ Callum says. ‘I wonder why the family keeps the haunting so under wraps?’
‘Not everyone loves a ghost like you do.’ He shrugs and takes a bite of his burger.
I shuffle through my notes. ‘Do we have any idea how long the disturbances have been occurring? You mentioned sightings of a spirit thought to be Margaret Western, Edward Western’s great-great-grandmother, right?
’ He nods. ‘Are these recent or historic sightings? What about the young woman seen on the grounds?’ I think of my dream, and the girl in the bonnet and the men with wide-brimmed black hats.
‘The current house may have been built in 1872, but if there’s been a house on that land since the mid-1600s we could be talking about the spirit of one of the first settlers out here. ’