Spirit Taken
Animal Assisted Paranormal Investigation
Rachael Rawlings
As ever, to my wonderful parents, Charles Lanham and Kathleen Deavers Lanham.
To all those who cherish the creatures in their life, who dote on their dogs, who spoil their cats, who cuddle their birds, and appreciate all living things, great and small.
Acknowledgments
I would first like to thank my three wonderful kids who have helped me through a very hard time. Your determination to do your best, to become the finest person you can be in your field, has helped me continue to dream. I will treasure you always.
And to my Grandpa Charlie Lanham. When I was little, he would talk about the great flood in Louisville, and what it was like to live during that time. He helped me appreciate the history of this fine city.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Chapter One
Cilla swept her long black skirt up in one hand, holding the fabric loosely as she slipped into the seat. It was typically dusty, much of the furniture in the cramped little apartment was, but Cilla was accustomed to that. The fabric pooled in her lap, glittery beads catching the late afternoon light.
“We have our results,” she heard Smith announce grandly.
“Good, good,” the woman in front of them was on her second cigarette, her dark pink lipstick leaving a semicircular smudge on the filtered end. “What is it? A dead wife of a fallen soldier? The manic murderer that killed his entire family? Maybe a demon?”
Smith, Cilla’s partner in business, tipped his head curiously and glanced toward Cilla. He flipped his computer open, a picture flickering to focus on the screen.
“We began our investigation in the front room,” Cilla said, her voice low and steady. She might be dressed like the Queen of the Dead’s poster child, but she was always honest with her clients. “We employed several of our most sophisticated instruments to measure for temperature, light variations, sound waves, and made recordings.”
“And your dog?” the woman prodded hopefully. “You said you were going to have your dog. That he might hear something you couldn’t?”
Cilla tried and succeeded to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Yes, Fargo, her Labrador Retriever pitt mix was a considerable asset to their paranormal investigative team, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. In this situation, he had done the opposite of proving a spiritual visitor.
“We did,” she agreed. “And I think Smith can show you some of the evidence we discovered.”
Cilla let her attention wander as Smith pushed his glasses up on his nose and looking very much like the brilliant nerd he was, tapped a key, making the photograph take up the entire high definition computer screen.
Cilla knew what he would describe. There were no temperature fluctuations, no spiritual vibrations, no flickers from their EMF detector which would pick up the slight electrical fields that often-accompanied visitors from the other side. The steady tone of his voice remained even as he described their evidence, or lack thereof.
“Then we saw this,” Smith declared, pulling up the fifteenth, or was it the thirtieth, photo on the computer. Cilla drifted off somewhere between the sharp image of the empty table in the little dining area, and the photo of the offending chair that was supposed to be moving. The current photo was kind of cute in Cilla’s opinion. The cat, it’s dark eyes round and curious, was sitting like a little old man would stretch out in his reclining chair, the cat’s body resting on the curve of an old shelving unit. His little round belly gave the impression that he had eaten well. He wasn’t full grown and was apparently been driven inside by the cold and was living the life of leisure dining on scraps from the garbage and napping on shelves. The singular flexibility that his feline grace allowed had afforded him free rein of the apartment.
“A cat?” The woman looked acutely disappointed.
“Yes, we managed to get it on film as it moved through the hallway. The darkness and the combination of its black coat made it almost impossible to see in the dark.” Smith was looking sympathetic and gently patronizing.
“Our dog found it for us,” Cilla went on. “He was thrilled to have a playmate.” They hadn’t brought Fargo to this meeting. His canine grin, tail wagging, and general glee made it difficult to carry off the mystical image they were trying to cultivate. “We feel sure we have identified where it was getting in. Cats are skilled in that way. They can fit in small spaces. This one had been getting into your cabinets, under furniture, and it made a good impression of a spirit.” Cilla slanted a glance at the woman in an attempt to interpret her expression. This wouldn’t be the first time she disappointed someone.
“Oh, well,” the other woman crushed her cigarette half smoked into the ash tray at her elbow. She already explained she was trying to cut down. Apparently, using only half the smoke was part of the plan. Cilla wished her well.
“Smith can show you where it got in,” Cilla went on. “Then we can see about blocking the entrance.” Cilla rose, the rattle of the beads accompanying her movement. “It may still be inside, though.”
“Was a friendly little thing.” Smith was an animal lover at heart and wanted to scoop up the little cat to show to the homeowner. The cat seemed to sense his intention, however, and slipped out.
The woman stood, somewhat reluctantly. In single file, they went down the short hallway where three doors opened in three directions. One opened into the master bedroom, a grand name for the largest of the two sleeping chambers where the woman had heard weak cries in the dark. The next was an outdated bathroom, in surprisingly good condition considering its age, and the final was a guest room which was used as storage. They went into this spare room, and Smith strolled around the bed and a few cardboard boxes. The closet door was half closed. He leaned close, one hand out to indicate that they stay still and silent. After a moment, he gestured to their client, who moved forward. Cilla heard her muffled exclamation and watched as she calmly leaned forward, hands outstretched. A second later, she stood, a long haired black cat in her arms, green eyes peering at them.
“Can you believe this?” The woman held the cat at a slight distance, staring into its face. “I guess I’ll have to call you Spirit,” she declared in a matter-of-fact voice, and stroked the cat’s furry head.
She could hear Smith shuffling outside the office door, mumbling expletives, but Cilla remained at her seat. The computer was open in front of her, and she had already sketched the beginning of the next graphic she was working on. It was due in two days, and she didn’t have time to fuss with her business partner and his impulses. Just the surly thought made her aware of her own grouchy disposition. Fargo, the mix breed dog who was her almost constant companion, had his head resting on her knee and didn’t move, a sure sign that it was indeed her friend. A stranger would have had the dog scrabbling to attention. He wasn’t budging now, so whoever was coming in was familiar. That meant Smith was back.
The door finally swung open, and Smith shuffled in. He looked unusually grim, and Cilla stopped clicking her mouse and peered up from her computer screen long enough to check out his expression.
“You look like your dog just died,” she remarked, experiencing an unwilling surge of guilt. Her gaze slid to Fargo and his eyes rolled up to meet hers. “Sorry, boy
,” she muttered, realizing her words.
Smith frowned and shook his head, giving a somewhat dramatic sigh.
“What’s up?”
Smith hesitated in the doorway, looking very un-Smith-like.
“What?” Cilla prompted again, pushing back from her desk slightly. At her tone and movement, the drowsy dog rose and ambled over to the gangly figure, sniffing at his pants leg.
“I just got some bad news from Melissa.”
Cilla felt her stomach drop. Melissa had been their client several months ago. She hadn’t been seeking them out for their fine work on graphic design, however. Melissa owned a truly haunted estate, and she continued to contact Smith even after he and Cilla had helped eradicate her little spiritual problem. They had completed the impromptu ceremony at the graveyard, and Cilla hoped the haunting was over. She suspected the subsequent communication had more to do with an occasional meeting for coffee or a movie with Smith, who was clearly besotted with the lovely blond.
Cilla wondered what had changed. Surely the expression on Smith’s face boded some bad news, and there was a good chance it impacted them both.
“Did she?” Cilla cleared her throat and shifted, tugging the sleeves of her thin t-shirt down over her wrists. “Are you…” she couldn’t finish.
“Me?” Smith was shaking his head. He bent and gave the dog’s head a brisk pat before straightening to his full height and strolling over to his seat in front of the messy computer desk. He slumped into his sagging desk chair, his thin legs folding like a jointed puppet. “It hasn’t got anything to do with me. It’s the house again.”
“The house?” Cilla sat up straighter in her chair. “I thought she wasn’t seeing any new activity there?”
Cilla and Smith’s experience in Melissa’s house had been unique. It would have made an outstanding research example had it not been so terrifying. The spirit that dominated the home had no difficulty expressing the misery of its solitary existence. Cilla had needed Smith and Melissa to help with some intensive investigation and concluded they identified the origin of the hauntings. With a general understanding of what they were encountering, they had performed an unplanned intervention. From all accounts, it had taken care of the spiritual upheaval in the house. Cilla knew Melissa had claimed she hadn’t seen any signs of a spiritual presence before their investigation. And up until this time, Cilla had assumed she hadn’t encountered an issue since. Apparently, that hadn’t been precisely true.
Smith shrugged. “She didn’t want to tell me. She knows we’ve done our best to get rid of whatever it was. She hadn’t seen any of the activity until after our investigation, so she wasn’t sure what it was she was seeing.” He shifted uncomfortably. “She said she’d seen some strange things on her earlier visits, you know, just after she closed on the sale, but she chalked it up to the old house shifting and settling. I assume she was in denial.” He leaned back in his chair. “I can’t believe she thought it would go away with time. Seems like she might have figured out how unlikely that is after our last run in with her house.” He directed his gaze toward Cilla. “No matter how much she wants the spirit to leave on its own, it’s not going to.”
Cilla sat straighter in her chair and struggled to suppress her sigh. She had been so sure they found what they needed to resolve the haunting. She knew the spirit of the woman they understood to be Ruth had moved on. The wretched woman, the wife of the man who built the house, had lost her children when she was young and lingered in search of them after her death. They had been successful in settling her, letting her finally move on and join her family. Cilla had felt it, and more importantly, she heard it. So, what was Melissa experiencing now? An ominous thought bloomed, and she stopped struggling to squelch it. Yes, they had discovered one soul that plagued the home, and they had determined the probable cause of the continued disturbance, but hadn’t she felt something darker in the place? Hadn’t her skin felt chilled and prickly, and an incessant dread run through her at the thought of it?
“What has Melissa witnessed?” The question came out almost reluctantly, but she wanted to know. She knew the spiritual symptoms of Ruth and her habitation in the house, but what now?
“She said, well, it’s lots of things.” Smith’s eyes flitted away from Cilla, his gaze partially concealed behind his round framed glasses.
“Like?” It wasn’t like Smith to hedge, so she suspected something had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
“Objects have been moved around, relocated throughout the house. Stuff has gone missing. They’re hearing sounds too, footsteps, creaking. Reports of cold spots. And the lights flicker. It’s the usual things we find in our reports.” His eyes returned to Cilla, concern evident in his expression. “You know, she has made a lot of progress in the renovation. She’s gutted several rooms already and sunk some serious money into it. The roofers finished last Tuesday. They said she was lucky it had held up as well as it has. She also had the framers start downstairs.” He was rubbing his hands unconsciously on his jeans. “She has the drywall people in now.”
Cilla nodded. Melissa had been serious when she told them she was determined to complete the renovations as quickly as possible. It was going to be an expensive couple months, but Smith reported Melissa had plans to move into the house as soon as it was even slightly habitable to save rent money.
Cilla recalled the first visit they had made to the house after the spiritual cleansing. They were required to wait until Melissa was legally an owner before they were approved to come back to the property. They could only push the rules about trespassing on the bank’s property so far, and Cilla got the impression someone at the institution had gotten wind of their activities. They probably surmised that finding a house haunted would not be good for business. The bank summarily put a kibosh on all activity until the home was sold. And after the bid was accepted, there had been the customary several weeks to work out the financing of the property, but Melissa’s loan was pre-approved, so at least that part had gone smoothly. The house inspection had been a disaster, as they suspected, but the price of the house reflected the needed repairs, so that too seemed to progress as good as could be expected.
The day after the closing, Cilla and Smith joined Melissa in her newly purchased monstrosity. Melissa was standing in the midst of the entry way, her silvery hair pulled up into an untidy bundle on the crown of her head, her graceful stance reminding Cilla of a ballerina waiting for her turn on stage. In the swirling sparks of dust, she looked like something not quite rooted in reality, a spirit herself.
“Melissa?” Smith’s voice had been tentative, breaking the silence, his cheekbones growing pink as he addressed her. There was no secret that he had feelings for Melissa, and Cilla just prayed that his heart would remain intact.
Melissa spun, eyes open wide. “God, Smith! You scared me.” Her words broke the spell, and she was just a girl, standing in an ancient and ruined house, looking at it with apprehension and pent up excitement.
“I’m sorry,” Smith said hurriedly.
Melissa’s face tipped up as she looked at him, pale sunlight making her glow. “It’s okay. I was lost in thought.” Her shoulders appeared to relax, and she smiled broadly. “Well, what do you think? It’s mine, finally.” She spun in place, arms outstretched to encompass the entire dilapidated structure, from the eerie attic to the dank cellar.
Cilla stepped next to Smith, her eyes skimming the banister as it arched up into the darkness above. She couldn’t help but recall the pure terror she had felt in this very room. With difficulty, she squelched the thought. “I heard you signed the papers yesterday. Congratulations.”
Melissa’s excitement was gradually reviving. “Thanks. It’s a big job, but I think I have some good ideas about how I want to restore it.”
“Where are you going to start?” It looked overwhelming to Cilla, and she was grateful for her perfectly comfortable little home with her aunt and uncle.
“First, I need to get all th
is old furniture and trash out of here,” Melissa began. “I’ve already gotten an appointment for a dumpster to be delivered tomorrow. Once I have that, I’m going to hire some kids I know to help me carry out the heavy stuff.”
“Kids?” Smith was looking doubtfully at the old dining room table.
It definitely wasn’t one that was original to the house. Getting rid of it wouldn’t be a loss, but it was a heavy piece all the same. In fact, most of the furniture that remained on the main floors of the house were later additions, and most oversized. It was going to be a job that was true. And after the place was cleared out, Cilla wondered how Melissa could live with an empty house.
“The kids are from the high school. I know some guys who are trying to make some cash. I figured they could help with the heavy lifting before I started with construction.”
Cilla had glanced around the open space. The chandelier still hung from the ceiling, heavy with dust, and Cilla figured a meticulous cleaning would be in order. The walls were shedding ancient wallpaper like snake skin, and the accumulated dirt and dust on the floors made the tile look gray. Yes, this place was going to take some serious elbow grease.
“Once I have it cleared out, I have a few construction guys coming to give me prices on the restoration. I have to finish the main stuff early. The roof, the structure, foundation, the electricity, all that.” She was counting out the list on her fingers, and Cilla was mentally picturing the money drifting away with each digit. “Then I can move in and gradually do the finishing touches, the paint, refinishing floors, decorating.” She looked so enthusiastic, Cilla stifled her impulse to speak up. It would be hard to live in a house that was constantly under construction, and harder still to adhere to a budget for a house so vast, but if Melissa had the perseverance, perhaps she could make her dream of a bed-and-breakfast a success.
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