Mystery of the Windowed Closet

by R. J. Bonett

  Looking down at her coffee cup then slowly up at me without saying anything, I took it her hesitancy was due to gathering her thoughts on how to put her feelings. Seeing the anxiousness for an answer on my part she replied, “There’s definitely a connection with the stone and the occupants, but I’m a little confused with the connection with the older portion of the barn. You said that part is from a different period. What did you mean?”

  “Frank told me the older section where you felt the temperature difference had been here. The newer section is about a hundred years younger. It was brought up from another farm down the road.

  Did you feel anything upstairs in the sewing room?”

  “I felt an urgency of a spirit trying to help someone, probably a member of the family, but from what? I couldn’t speculate. We’ll have to wait and see if they’ll communicate with us later.”

  “What do you mean communicate with us later, you mean a séance?

  “Yes, that’s the only way you can communicate with spirits. We’ll need a fourth person to have one though. I know you’re new here. Do you have anyone you could ask that would be interested__ maybe Frank or his wife?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sort of embarrassed to ask. I haven’t known them that long. Maybe they’ll think I’m crazy, or we’re going to start some kind of cult here.”

  “Well, you told me his sister had problems. Maybe he’ll be sympathetic. You said they were real nice people.”

  “Yes they are.”

  “Good! Why don’t you ask?”

  “Ok, make yourself comfortable,” I smiled, gesturing to an empty room. “I’ll be right back.”

  I drove down the road and found Frank working on his heavy equipment where I had seen him most of the time. As I pulled into his driveway, he looked up from the motor of his truck and walked toward me.

  “Hi Ray, I noticed you have company this weekend, they here to help?”

  I cut right to the chase, “Frank my friend’s wife’s here. She wants to have a séance and we need a fourth person. Would you or June be interested?”

  Looking at me a little skeptical replied, “I don’t think I want to be there, but why go through all the trouble? I told you before, only my sister felt their presence, and even that stopped after she was about 15.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, but I’m feeling the same presence, and I’m older than 15, I just want to try to get rid of them if it’s possible. Do you know anyone else that might be interested?”

  He raised and lowered the bill on his baseball cap several times, as he had done when I asked him questions before. I thought to myself, ‘It must be the starting up of his thought process, like a starter on one of his heavy bulldozers.”

  Straightening his cap again, he replied, “There’s old George. He might do it. He’s the local dowser.”

  “Ok, that’s a new one on me. What’s a dowser?” I asked.

  “He finds water that’s under the ground for people who want to drill for a well. You know; a water witch.”

  Now it was my turn to be skeptical. “How does he do that?”

  “He takes a forked stick and walks around the ground where you want a well- When he walks over an underground spring, the branch points down to the ground.”

  I looked at him with raised eyebrows but hearing this for the first time, I didn’t dismiss his statement asking, “Do you think he’d be willing to do it?”

  Settling his cap back on his head, and a shrug of his shoulders replied,

  “No harm in askin’. I’ll show you where he lives. Just let me wipe some of the grease off my hands, I don’t want to dirty up your car.”

  Grabbing a clean rag, he wiped his hands then got in giving me directions to George’s farm. It wasn’t far, about three miles.

  When we pulled up in the driveway, there was an old man sitting in a chair on the back porch. Exactly what one would expect, if you had to guess what a water witch looked like.

  “There he is.”

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  “I think George is about 90 or so.”

  He was separating apples from a basket, obviously from the three trees in his yard, and there were still quite a few on them and a lot still on the ground. Not recognizing the car he stood up. When he saw us walking up the stone path toward him, he recognized Frank.

  “Hello, Frank! I didn’t recognize the car. I haven’t seen you in a long time. Where you been hidin’?”

  “Well: ya know, I been pretty busy. I see you have a job cut out for you with all those apples.”

  George looked out at the apples on the ground motioning with his hand, “There’s a heck of a lot of them this year. I’m separating the good ones from the ones with worm holes.”

  Frank jokingly replied, “People that get something for nothin’, shouldn’t aught to complain about getting a little fresh meat when they eat em!”

  George laughed. “That’s for sure. What can I do for ya? Who’s that fella with ya?”

  “This is my new neighbor. Ray just bought mum and dad’s old place. He’s from Philadelphia.”

  George smiled saying, “Tired of that city life are ya?”

  “Yes: but I have to make a living somewhere and when I’m done, I intend to do just what you’re doing right now, sit on my back porch watching the world go by.”

  He laughed as he stretched out his weathered hand to shake mine.

  “Glad to meet ya.” he said before sitting back down.

  I couldn’t help but notice his firm hand shake. They still had a lot of strength for a man in his advanced years. Unmistakably, they were the hands of a man who worked hard farming, and although the barn looked like it hadn’t been used in quite awhile, he was still in great physical shape.

  The tractor in the yard was covered with a heavy canvas, and grass was growing up around it.

  The bottom of the sliding doors of the barn had grass growing up around it too, and there was no indication that dairy cows had taken refuge in the barn for many years. Testimony to that, the ground was undisturbed.

  George was about 5’ 5” -a thin man, and with his belt about six inches too long from losing weight, the excess hung down like a tongue. His yellow jacket was in need of a washing, but being older, he gave less concern for his appearance sitting on his own back porch, not expecting visitors.

  The porch looked like something out of a Little Abbner cartoon comic strip. The chair he was sitting on was a faded maroon living room chair, with a gray throw rug on it as a cover. It obviously outlived its usefulness in the house, but was still good enough for the back porch.

  A faded metal yellow cabinet was against the wall, and with the doors partially open, I could see a few old pots and some rusted coffee cans with nails and screws in them. A galvanized round wash tub hung on the wall by its handle suspended by a large nail, and a washboard that obviously saw many years of use, was leaning against the wall just below it. A small stack of wood was against the other wall with cinder blocks on either side holding the pieces in place, and a pile of outdated newspapers stacked next to them were held in place from being blown away by a brick.

  Standing there, I got a whiff of smoke blowing down on the yard from the chimney, I assumed from a fire in a wood stove he used to heat the house. The screen door leading into the house was wood frame, and the full length screen had a bulge on the upper portion from being pushed open from inside.

  The spring hinges that make the door close by itself, from age, had lost their strength and the door no longer closed tightly. Everything fit. It was a perfect picture for an older man living alone, the closing years of his life.

  I said, “George, I hear you’re the local water witch? I’d like to see how you do it someday, but right now I have a little bit of a problem at the house, Frank says you may be able to help me with.”

  “I�
��ll be glad to try. What is it?”

  Frank took over the conversation asking, “George, do you remember my sister having that problem with the ghosts in the house?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s been a long time; let me think for a minute. Is that when your mum sent her to town to live with your Aunt Ethel?”

  “Yes, that’s the time. Well, Ray here has the same problem and wanted to know if you’d be a fourth person in a séance tonight.”

  “I’ll be glad to do it, but I don’t know whether I have the gift. I tried it one time, but just couldn’t get’er done. Funny though: for some reason my grandmother could sure talk in the spirit world. I’ll giv’er a try. When you gonna do it?”

  “Would it be ok if I picked you up around 6:00 o’clock?”

  “That soon huh: I’ll have to have my supper early then.” Leaning over he picked up another apple to examine it then looked up, “I’ll be right here waitin’ on ya!”

  On the ride back home I asked, “Frank, do you think at George’s age it’ll be a problem?”

  “I don’t think so. If it was, he would have told you no. Who’s the person doing the séance?”

  “It’s someone I know from the city. She’s a proven psychic.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “She was able to locate bodies a few times for several police departments with some accuracy, and some of her predictions were downright uncanny.”

  He rolled back the bill of his cap as he did before, and I thought he was going to ask another question. When he didn’t, and appeared to be just re-adjusting it on his head, I almost felt slighted.

  I dropped him off at his driveway where I picked him up earlier and thanked him for introducing me to George. Looking at my watch I hadn’t realized the time went by so quickly, it was almost 4 PM. I Thought, ‘I hope Don and Delores don’t think I abandoned them.’ When I got to the house, they were in the kitchen.

  When Don saw me he said, “We’ll be more than happy to buy dinner.”

  I got the message loud and clear that they were hungry. After getting in the car, we headed for town. On the drive Delores inquisitively asked, “Will your neighbor be able to help?”

  “He couldn’t, but he took me to a guy that can. That’s what took so long.”

  “Who is it, a different neighbor?” she asked.

  “No, not exactly, he’s the local water witch.”

  “A what:” Don skeptically exclaimed.

  “You heard me. He’s a water witch- what they call a dowser.”

  Don asked, “Will he be able to come tonight? I have to see this guy.”

  “He said he would. I told him I’d pick him up at his farm around six.”

  “Does he live far? It’s almost 4:30 now.” Delores asked.

  “No, not very far from my place, I think you’ll get a real kick out of George. He’s 90 or more, and about as down to earth as you can get.”

  “You did say 90 plus? Isn’t that a little old for him to take part in this?” Don asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out. Frank doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem. He said if George thought it would be, he wouldn’t have volunteered.”

  We got to town only to discover the Chatterbox was closed.

  “There’s another restaurant just outside of town. Let’s try there.”

  As we pulled into the parking lot, I said, “There aren’t many cars on the lot, but it looks like it’s still open. I haven’t eaten here. I hope the food’s good.”

  Opening the door we stepped in. The owner was turning stools upside down on the counter preparing to mop the floor and looked up acknowledging our entry.

  I asked, “We’re not too late are we?”

  Looking up at the clock she replied, “Not yet: In another 20 minutes you would have been.”

  Here, as in the Chatterbox, Delores was once again amused at the prices asking, “I wonder if they would miss one of these menus. I’d like to take one back to Philadelphia to show the people at work.”

  Don leaned towards her quietly replying, “I hope they didn’t hear you. No, let’s not start Ray off on a bad foot. Leave the menu here!”

  While we were eating, I noticed the sun beginning to set.

  “I think we better hurry up. It’s almost 5:30. I don’t want to be late picking up George. How much do you have to do to get ready for the séance Delores?”

  “Not much. How far does George live from here?”

  “About 5 miles,” I replied.

  Hurriedly finishing dinner, we left for George’s.

  Chapter 9

  When we arrived, he was sitting on the back porch with the light on waiting just as he promised. I walked him down to the car and held the door for him to get in.

  “George, this is Delores and her husband Don. They’re good friends of mine.”

  “Pleased to meet ya,” he said shaking hands with them. He was holding an old square blue hand blown glass bottle. The glass was convoluted, which added a mystical look to its appearance and appeared to be quite old.

  “George, what’s that for?” I asked.

  “It belonged to my great-grandmother, she had the power. Maybe it’ll come in handy.”

  Delores asked, “What’s the power and how did she use it?”

  He began to explain with his frail voice, “My grandmother would put it in the middle of the table. When she went into a trance, someone would ask her a question and the bottle would spin and point to either YES or NO they had written on small pieces of paper at each end of the table.”

  “Did it ever work for you?” she asked.

  “I tried-er once, but they wouldn’t talk to me. I guess if I have questions to ask the spirits, I’ll have to wait till I die and ask what I want in person.”

  We laughed.

  Delores asked, “If you don’t mind George, I’d like to try it. Maybe we can get a few answers of why the spirits aren’t at rest.”

  I asked, “George, you said earlier you know about Frank’s sister having the problem when she was young. What was that about?”

  He replied, “I don’t know the whole story. All I know is she had to go live with her Aunt Ethel from the beginning of October till after the first week in November. Ethel told me that one time, we’re distant relatives. My grandmother was Frank’s grandfather’s sister.”

  I suddenly thought, “Maybe that’s the connection. His grandmother is a sister to Frank’s grandfather. That would make his sister at least have some psychic connection, she just didn’t realize it. But why does it involve me?

  “George, I met a neighbor last weekend at the Chatterbox. He told me about 10 years ago he saw the same apparition I saw the first night I arrived.”

  “Who was the neighbor?” he asked.

  “His name was Dave. Do you know him?”

  “Sure, he has the farm down the road from your place. What did he see?”

  “He said a man driving a buggy passed him on the road as he was coming from his barn. The driver looked Amish and gave him an angry look, just like the one that passed me- just like the one I saw. He told me there was a woman sitting beside him staring straight ahead as it passed. He said, ‘Within a few minutes after it went by, like I experienced, it disappeared. It was too short a time for it to have traveled out of sight. What could that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It could mean the same spirits are wandering the road trying to find whatever they’re looking for. Did you ask what time of year it was?”

  “Yes: he said it was about this time of year. If Frank’s sister was having her problems during the month of October, we’re within the same time frame and just might be successful finding out why they aren’t at rest. Come to think about it, you mentioning wandering the road looking for something. The man that came to my door the first night I got here; said he was looki
ng for someone. He said the area looked the same, but the house and barn are different. He too, mentioned traveling up and down the road for a long time. I hope we can get this thing settled.”

  I looked over at Don, who seemed to be in deep thought about our weird conversation.

  On the way back to the farm, we passed houses that George would give a little history lesson about. As we passed one, he said it was once a one room school house he attended when he was 9 or 10. You could see it was a school from the outline of the building but had several additions over the years, masking its original purpose. I thought it was interesting, but was more interested in my problem at hand, but I think Don welcomed his conversation. It broke his chain of thought worrying about the ghosts we may just meet in a short while. Pulling up in front of the barn, we walked up the hill to the front porch.

  “George, that’s where I saw the carriage coming from last week, when I arrived.”

  He didn’t answer but gave me a bewildering look, and I discovered right there his hearing wasn’t very good. Turning up the volume in my voice, I repeated it, this time looking at his face.

  “George: last week when I got here, the carriage was coming from that direction. After I got to the porch and turned around, it was gone.”

  I still don’t think he quite understood what I said even raising my voice, but he nodded then replied. “Maybe he was in a hurry.”

  Delores and Don smiled at his answer, and I decided to give up trying to explain anything else. Unlocking the front door, we went directly to the kitchen to set up for the séance. I didn’t have much furniture, only a couch in the living room where I slept in my sleeping bag, an oil lamp, end table and the kitchen set with four chairs.

  George asked, “Delores, why did you pick the kitchen to set up?” placing his finger to his chin as though he was about to hear a technical response. She was searching through her bag for a few candles when she looked up as if what he asked just registered in her mind.

  “Oh, I’m sorry George, what did you say?”

  “I asked why you’re setting up the candles in here?”

  Looking up from her search replied. “This is where I felt the most sensation, between the basement door and the stairs leading to the second floor where the sewing room is.”