Chapter 13 Julian
JULIAN
Hi Magnus,
So I know you told me to only get in touch for a “real emergency,” and I think you might have already left for vacation.
But we’ve got some ghost trouble here at Chiswick House and could use a little advice.
Just in writing! No need to interrupt your time away!
Unless, um, you think it actually is an emergency.
Chiswick House is in awful shape in general, so it’s hard to know what’s a real problem and what’s only the results of a hundred years of neglect. Other than one small area, nobody’s touched the place since, it seems, the time of Tatiana Blackthorn.
We have some garden gnomes here doing the structural repairs and the big stuff like masonry and framing and so on.
I mean, they’re not actually garden gnomes, I think they’re brownies, but they have the big pointy hats and the beards and everything.
They’ve been moving slowly, but recently Kieran was here and he had a talk with the foreman (this guy named Round Tom who is not even all that round) and since then things have sped up a lot.
And there is a lot less complaining about the work conditions, and a lot less disappearing for the day if the tea runs out for more than five minutes.
On the other hand, they’ve started leaving little offerings around intended for “the Un-Seel Laird,” which I gather is Kieran.
Not anything Kieran would want, I don’t think.
A lot of acorns and pretty rocks, mostly.
And the occasional portrait of Kieran in chalk, which, let me tell you, it’s a good thing they’re competent at construction because their portraiture could use some work.
We’ve been keeping all the stuff in a box for him just in case.
I’m rambling, sorry. It’s just us rattling around in this giant ruin and all we want is for someone to listen to our dull stories about home renovation. But what I actually want to tell you about is the ghost.
I’m sure there are dozens of random spirits going back centuries that have some kind of faint presence in the house—Round Tom hinted as much to me—but there’s definitely a specific one actively haunting the place.
We’ve had some poltergeist-y stuff. Mostly harmless pranks: vases overturned, drinks spilled, music faintly playing in the distance but originating from nowhere, weird hot spots, weird cold spots, doors slamming, doors closing very slowly on their own, doors opening on their own at various speeds.
To clarify, I do NOT mean poltergeist as in the movie Dru made me watch.
No one has been sucked into evil dimensions or levitated (yet!).
Still, it seems like we ought to try to get out ahead of this, so Emma and I have been trying to communicate with the presence directly.
Whoever it is, they haven’t responded to us speaking to them, and it’s starting to feel silly to constantly talk in a friendly voice to nobody, like we have an imaginary friend.
All that happens is the next morning someone has stacked all the gnomes’ hats into a hat tower and we have to convince the gnomes it wasn’t us.
Lest you think we haven’t tried smarter things than just yelling “Here, ghostie ghostie ghostie,” Tiberius sent us a device he’s been working on, like a Sensor for ghosts.
I walked the halls and eventually found a spot along a random corridor where the Sensor went crazy.
I busted the wall open with a sledgehammer—I feel like you would approve, although the gnomes did not—and behind the plaster, wedged between two of the beams, was a Ouija board that must go back to at least a hundred years, maybe more.
There was no planchette, so we made our own out of scrap wood and furniture tacks.
Maybe it was bad to use our own planchette instead of something that went with the Ouija board, I don’t know how it works, but in any event we tried the board and it went very badly.
We attempted to do things officially—Emma and I waited until midnight, we got dressed up nicely, and we went down into Spidertown (a.k.a.
our cellar). There are a bunch of spooky rooms down there that look like they’ve been used for ghost-ish business in the past. We extinguished witchlights (no electricity down there any more than it’s anywhere else), and lit lots of candles.
Ghosts love candles, right? We had a bolt of black silk to sit on Emma found in a trunk.
Then we positioned ourselves on either side of the board and both put our hands on the planchette.
Us: H-E-L-L-O
Nothing.
Us: W-E-M-E-A-N-N-O-H-A-R-M
The candles guttered, but most of the windows in the room are smashed, so with the usual draft from outside I’m not sure we can count it as a response.
Us: W-H-A-T-I-S-Y-O-U-R-N-A-M-E
We heard a scratching sound coming from one of the walls, and we sledgehammered our way in with great excitement, but the scratching turned out to be a badger.
Actually, it was a mother badger and some badger cubs, which was very cute until the mother tried to kill us.
So we had to interrupt and go get the gnomes to help us and they relocated the badger family to a glade of some kind.
They also issued us a bill for “badger decampment.”
This was all very disappointing. Emma said maybe it was rude to ask for the ghost’s name before introducing ourselves.
Emma: M-Y-N-A-M-E-I-S-E-M-M-A-C-A-R-S-T-A-I-R-S
Me: A-N-D-M-Y-N-A-M-E-I-S-J-U-L-I-A-N-B-L-A-C-K T-H-O-R-N
Well, that got a reaction. As soon as I finished the last “N,” the board leapt off the ground and twisted violently around.
The planchette went flying and Emma went to go retrieve it from the other end of the room, but when she came back the board went flying around in the air and, I am sorry to say, we chased it around for probably two full minutes without catching it.
Eventually the ghost got bored, I guess, and the Ouija board stopped in midair and shattered into pieces, which fell to the ground.
And all the candles went out. (There were sixteen pieces, if that means anything.
Emma says no; I said we should mention it anyway just in case.)
So…any advice? Too much ghostly energy for an old Ouija board?
Defective board in the first place? Does the ghost want to be left alone?
If so, why does it keep knocking things over?
Did we offend it? There hasn’t been anything like that since, but exploding a Ouija board seemed sufficiently threatening that I wanted to get in touch. What do you think is our next step?
Again, I’m really sorry to bother you, but your help would mean a lot.
I want to make Blackthorn Hall a place the Blackthorns can use again, a place that will feel like a second home for all of us.
And it would be nice if people in London associated the Blackthorns with a grand manor house rather than an infamous wreck.
Which is not going to happen if visitors wake up with their hair tied to the bedposts, or have their suitcases upended on the staircase.
In payment, we promise you as much babysitting as you like, whenever you need.
Although maybe once we’re no longer living in a collapsing death trap.
Much obliged—
Julian