Chapter Eight #2
He fixes his gaze on me, and I fold under its intensity with a frustrated sigh.
‘We don’t let him in the house, no matter how interested he is in post-Civil War architecture.’
‘I told you; he won’t be going in there.’
‘And from now on, he can patch you up, not me.’
‘If I need patching, Jase can patch.’ He waves down the server to top up our coffees. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’
I recount my dreams; the voice that says let us in , the strange man with pale gold eyes, and the two murdered girls.
I tell him how the house gave me weird vibes even before we got to East Mill and wonder aloud if whatever is haunting the house is particularly powerful.
‘Maybe the older the ghost, the stronger it is,’ I muse. ‘Have you heard of anything like that?’
Callum shakes his head. ‘Nope, but I can dig around.’
In the end, I don’t share every detail. I decide not to mention his guest appearance in my dream, asking me to trust him. Because then I might have to tell him why I don’t, and I’m not going there.
Callum listens carefully, a crease in his brow getting deeper and deeper.
When I finish he asks, ‘That’s it? That’s what you wanted to talk about? Dreams?’
‘And you know, the house and its pull.’
He nods slowly and says, ‘Right.’
Oh shit . He thought I was going to talk about us, I realise. He thought I was going to talk about what happened. I scramble for composure.
‘Look, I don’t know if any of this is important,’ I say hastily. ‘But I thought I should tell you. You have a lot of experience and all those degrees and that one diploma, I thought you might have some insight.’
He nods. ‘Of course. I’m glad you told me.’
‘Do you know if there’s a cellar in the house? One of the dreams… it took place underground. No windows.’
‘There’ll be plans on record. I’ll see what I can find out.’ His eyes narrow. ‘So, you did sense something from the photos.’
‘Sorry I didn’t tell you at the time. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I’m still not sure.’
‘What about the “let us in” stuff? Do you ever let anything in? Do you ever channel spirits?’
‘I do the exact opposite of channelling – you know that.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve been doing. I haven’t seen you for two years.’
‘I’ve already told you, nothing’s changed.’
‘Except you got a vibe off the house.’
I sigh and stare out the window to the street, where tourists wander from store to store, while we discuss death and ghosts and things that would terrify most people.
‘The house is haunted,’ I say. ‘Of course it’s going to give me a vibe.’
‘From a photo, when you’re not that kind of psychic?’
I rest my chin in my hand. ‘It was definitely a new experience. It was as if something was calling me out here.’
‘The voice?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘A little I guess.’
‘Okay, well, let’s figure out what’s happening.’
He motions for the check, his other hand pressing on his wound again.
‘You need to rest up,’ I say.
He nods. ‘Agreed. I’ll lay low, dig into the research, nudge Rosing about the info he promised. What will you do?’
‘I can go visit your Mrs Hutchings at the technologically challenged historical society. If I’m really lucky, they’ll have a microfiche machine.’
Callum pouts. ‘Damn it, I love a good microfiche machine. Let me give you a list of what to look for. And don’t forget to tell Ola I say hi.’
The East Mill Historical Society is part of a historic estate, the gardens of which now form a park in the middle of town.
Elm trees tower in bursts of gold, and lilac hydrangeas, their once bright summer blooms now fading, line the path which weaves across the thick lawn to a simple two-storey white house.
A straw cornucopia spews tiny pumpkins onto the steps, and timber pails of bright yellow chrysanthemums frame the entrance way.
A brass plaque on the front wall announces that the building is in the Federal style and was constructed by the Chatfield family in 1802.
I wonder if they knew the Westerns, back in the day.
I wonder if they could have been at that party in my dream.
I push open the door, and a cheery chime announces my arrival.
A woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair looks up from her desk, and though she’s smiling at me, I quickly get the impression she’s disappointed I’m not Callum.
‘Are you Ola Hutchings?’ I ask. ‘I think you’ve been in touch with my… colleague, Callum Jefferies, about the Western house?’
‘Yes, that was me. You know, I recognised his name from that ghost show of his. I may have watched it once or twice. I was hoping to meet him. He was delightful on the phone.’ She fusses with the rainbow-coloured cord her glasses hang on.
‘If I were a younger woman, I’d say he was flirting with me.
’ Her laughter is almost girlish and her already rosy cheeks deepen with a blush.
I smile; I’m sure he was flirting with her. ‘He couldn’t make it today, unfortunately – he had a slight accident involving a few loose fenceposts.’
‘What a shame.’ She casts an appraising eye over me. ‘Are you two…’ She makes a hand movement to indicate ‘together’.
‘Oh, no. Noooo,’ I answer, way too emphatically. ‘We just… work together.’
‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I’m a historian, I like asking questions and, well, it’s just…
’ she gives me a sly grin, ‘he’s quite the charmer, isn’t he, and dare I say, not bad to look at.
’ She sighs in a way that I can only describe as wistful.
‘Right, enough of that. On to business. Callum mentioned you’re investigating the troubles at the Western house? ’
The troubles . Interesting term. I nod. ‘Yes, but we’re having difficulty speaking to the family directly, even though they approved the investigation. Instigated it, actually. So far we’ve only been dealing with a Mr Rosing.’
‘It’s a shame you weren’t here yesterday; you could have spoken with Edward then. I bumped into him on my morning walk. He hasn’t been out to the house for quite some time, so I asked what brought him out here. He said he had some family business to take care of.’
I frown. ‘We were here yesterday, and we were told he was away. We saw Mr Rosing last night. He didn’t say anything about his boss being in town.’
‘This was quite early. Maybe he’d left by the time you got out here.
I wouldn’t make too much of it – and I wouldn’t put too much stock in Albert Rosing’s behaviour, either.
He treats anything to do with that family like it’s a state secret.
’ She shakes her head as if reliving personal experience, then meets my eyes and smiles. ‘Now, how exactly can I help?’
I take a seat opposite her and pull out my phone to look at the list Callum typed into my notes.
‘We’re looking for historic records on the family, their role in East Mill, the names of those who lived and worked at the house, building plans, and any other information you think could help.
Mr Rosing has promised us some family photos.
All we have so far is a grainy photo of Brendin Western that accompanied his obituary.
But if you have any photos of the interior of the house, that could be helpful. ’
She hmms, scribbling on a yellow notepad.
‘I’m not sure how much I can help regarding a list of staff.
Edward would have to supply that. The Westerns have always been very private.
Brendin Western kept to himself, he seldom came into town, and Edward is the only family member I know of that ever visited him.
He seemed quite close to his uncle.’ She jots a few more notes on her pad.
‘We have some photos of the interior of the house taken after Brendin Western died, when we were pitching to manage the property. I can scan those for you. If I can find them.’ She rests her chin in her hand as she thinks.
‘That might take me a while. We’re in a bit of a pickle at the moment, trying to get our records online so everything’s more accessible.
I have a team of volunteers working on it, so some records are offsite.
But I can help with the building plans now.
I have the plans for both houses here, so I can organise those for you straight away.
You do know that the current house is the second house the Westerns have built? ’
I nod. ‘The first one was in the 1600s, it burnt down.’
‘That’s right. It was built in 1654, and stood for over two hundred years, until it burnt down in the spring of 1870.
A Thomas Mulford was taken into custody on suspicion of setting the fire.
But it was never proven, and the Westerns never pursued it.
To be honest, there was probably a list of suspects as long as my arm who would have torched that house.
The family has never been well liked. The house you see now was completed in 1872.
I have a copy of the authenticated plans of that house, but we only have replica plans of the original house, which were created many, many years later from archival information, so who knows how correct they are. ’
‘What happened to the real plans from the first house? Were they lost when that house was burnt in 1870?’
‘No they were lost long before that. They were destroyed in another suspicious fire. That fire took place in 1659 and destroyed a good deal of the town. The courthouse, the meeting house, the church, most of the official buildings and a few homes went up. It’s why we don’t have a lot of the original documents from that period, why we don’t even have a complete record of the early settler population.
It’s also why the town centre was moved to where it is now. Here, I can show you.’
Ola takes me over to two framed posters on the wall above the information pamphlet stand. She points. ‘Old town. New town.’
‘The Western house didn’t move.’
‘No, their land was outside of the original town centre. Can’t blame them for wanting to be near the coast.’
‘Can I get copies of these too?’
‘Any gift store in the village will have these.’
As I take a photo of both posters, she pulls a pamphlet from the stand and hands it to me. ‘You’ll also want to visit the East Mill Witch Study Center. They’ll have more detailed information relating to the part the early settler Westerns played in the witch nonsense that happened around here.’
‘The Westerns were involved in the witch trials?’
‘Up to their necks. But I’ll let Louise at the Witch Study Center fill you in. She’s our local expert. And if you have access to the gardens at the Western house, take a look around the small family cemetery under the large oak tree up on the hill. A fascinating slice of history.’
My skin prickles. The tree I stood under in my dream. I didn’t know there were graves below it.
‘Is there anything else I should know about the house? Any strange occurrences, aside from the ghost sightings?’
‘The house has been vacant for a while now, and I don’t know how strange this is, but about a year ago, two workmen were injured at the property,’ Ola says.
‘They were doing some electrical work and got into some sort of fight. One of them died as a result of the altercation. You should be able to find that on the Gazette website if that’s at all helpful. ’
‘Thank you, we’ll look into it.’
‘I’ll sort out those building plans for you now. But I may need a couple of days to pull together the rest of the information.’
I step under the bright orange bunting that spells out ‘Happy Halloween’ above the doorway of Main Street Gifts and come face to face with an array of ghost-shaped decorations, none of which resemble the real thing.
I breathe out a weary sigh and quickly scan the store until I spot what I’m here for – the posters Ola had on display. I’m trying to decide whether to buy full-sized or smaller versions when Callum messages.
How’s it going?
Just on Main Street buying something.
A present for me? I’m sick, don’t forget.
I shake my head, shove my phone back in my pocket and head to the register, taking my small, laminated posters with me.
I pick up a book from the counter called Local Long Island Legends .
‘A local enthusiast prints that himself,’ the woman behind the register tells me. ‘If you like ghost stories, you’ll love it.’
I don’t, but I know someone who does . ‘I’ll take it,’ I say. Then I spot a bowl of touristy magnets. Most just say ‘East Mill’ with a picture of an old house or the harbour, but there are also a couple of witchy ones in a Halloween display, and one with a ghost that says ‘Boo’.
I hand her the ‘Boo’ magnet. ‘I’ll take this too, please.’