The Blackham Mansion Haunting (The Downwinders Book 4)

by Michael Richan

  “We seek to hear your words this night,” Henry continued. “Our path is one of righteousness, and we would learn from the experience of the dead how to tread that path more uprightly, more honestly and spiritually. We seek transcendent knowledge, that which we can use to surpass our mundane existence. Speak to us, tell us of your past, of your present, and of your future. Tell us, so that we may know and prepare ourselves.”

  Lorenzo felt himself slipping into the River, and he sensed that Jacob had entered it as well. Most places looked the same in the River as out of it, but the number of séances at the house over the years — and, as a result, the variety of the manifestations that had occurred there — had begun to taint the structure when viewed from inside the flow, making it look darker and drearier, less colorful and more and more monochromatic. It had the feel of a well-used place, both by humans and ghosts.

  It wasn’t unusual for a spirit from the nearby graveyard to gravitate to the house when the sessions began, and run its cycle of repetitive angst and despair over and over for the group, intrigued by the circle of listening ears, happy to communicate but often failing to impart anything useful. After several minutes of waiting, however, today’s session seemed slow to start; no manifestation was occurring, no apparition had materialized. Lorenzo still felt the thrill of some imminent event, however, and he knew Henry would keep trying. The group had been known to sit in silence for over an hour before throwing in the towel. We sit much longer in silence at sacrament meeting, he thought. Patience is often rewarded.

  Henry waited several minutes more before repeating his entreaties, urging nearby entities to make their presence known by rapping on the table, or speaking through one of the participants. Silence followed. There was no sound from upstairs, where the children were long asleep, or from Emma as she rested in her room; no sound from outside, the house being far enough out of town that no one was bound to disturb as they passed by; no hint of a whisper from the Spiritualists encircling the table, breathing slowly and quietly, not shifting their bodies in the slightest, not wanting their single small disturbance to become a reason for the ghosts to pass them by.

  Lorenzo jumped when Mary spoke. “Someone is in the room. With us.”

  “Who is it, Mary?” Henry replied. “Let them speak through you.”

  “Not a spirit,” Mary said. “A physical being. A man. Standing beside the table.”

  Lorenzo cast his gaze around the room, better able to see the entire area while in the River, but detecting nothing unusual. He dropped from the flow and again looked, but the room was too dark to make out the figure Mary described.

  “Turn on the light, Henry!” Mary said, the tension in her voice rising. “There is an intruder here!”

  Lorenzo heard fumbling as chairs were pushed away from the table suddenly. Others in the party had become unnerved and were trying to stand. Henry reached the light switch and the room was suddenly illuminated, the participants raising their hands to shield the light from their eyes.

  “Abraham!” Mary said. “He’s gone!”

  “Perhaps that’s what you saw,” Lorenzo offered. “Abraham leaving the room.”

  Others in the party fanned out into the neighboring rooms, calling for Abraham. There was no answer.

  “No, it wasn’t him,” Mary said. “It was someone else.”

  After a few minutes of searching, they gathered again in the central room. “Abraham isn’t in the house,” Langford said. “We’ve searched every room, even the children’s rooms.”

  “He must have gone home,” Jacob said.

  “In the middle of our séance?” Mary replied. “That’s not like Abraham.”

  “And his wagon is still outside,” another participant offered. “If he went home, he walked.”

  Mary’s eyes widened and she began to breathe rapidly. “It was Bingham!” she said. “That’s who was here! Bingham took him!”

  “Let’s not jump to that conclusion,” Henry said, raising his hands and motioning downward, as though he could lower the tension in the room with the gesture. “That’s highly unlikely.”

  “Then where has he gone?” Mary demanded.

  “Lorenzo, Jacob,” Henry said. “Join me in a search of the yards, will you?”

  Lorenzo followed Henry to the kitchen, where he prepared lanterns, and handed one to each of the men. “I’ll take the back yard and the cemetery side. Jacob, you search the east side and the barn. Lorenzo, you take the front yard, and search all the way to the road. Holler if you find anything.”

  The men filed out the back door, moving cautiously through the yard to their assigned spots, holding their lanterns high to cover as much ground as possible. When Lorenzo heard Henry and Jacob calling Abraham’s name, he joined in, repeating the name over and over into the darkness ahead of him, slowly covering the areas of the front yard.

  If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m terrified, he thought. I could feel that something was going to happen. This is it. Abraham has been abducted. What if we discover his body somewhere on Henry’s property? The Sheriff won’t listen to Mary’s theory that it was Bingham. One of us will be considered a suspect.

  By the time Lorenzo returned to the back of the house, having covered all of the area he’d been assigned, it was becoming clear that no body would be found.

  “Nothing,” Henry said.

  “Me neither,” Jacob added.

  “What do we do?” Lorenzo asked.

  “John and Mary Hafen live not too far from Abraham,” Henry said. “We’ll ask them to take Abraham’s wagon back, and check to see if he’s at home.”

  They went back inside and discussed the plan with the others. Most agreed that they needed to meet again soon, to share whatever news could be determined about Abraham, and if he had not been found, to conduct another séance to try and determine what had happened to him. Mary complained that Abraham was “lost to this world,” and that they should inform his family, but Henry begged patience, asking the group to suspend any determination of the course of events until they had more information. The rest agreed with his proposal.

  Ten minutes later, the assembly had broken up entirely, and Lorenzo found himself riding his horse back to his home, three miles up the canyon, unnerved by the evening. He tried to ease his mind by assuring himself that tomorrow night, when they convened, it would be reported that Abraham was fine and well, discovered on the road home, temporarily overcome with a spell or delusion that had incited his exit. But the assurances he offered himself seemed hollow and overly optimistic, and did not take well within his thoughts. Something deep inside him validated Mary’s account of the proceedings — that Abraham was indeed gone, and there would be no account of his return the next evening.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Lorenzo was sitting down to a mid-morning cup of coffee when someone knocked at the front door. Tabitha, his wife, went to the door and opened it, and in walked her brother, Jacob.

  “Egg day,” Jacob said, placing a large pail of fresh brown eggs on the table.

  “You’re a couple of days early,” Tabitha said. “Egg day is usually Thursdays.”

  “Well, I was coming this way and thought you might be low on them.”

  Tabitha smiled at him and took the pail, shuffling it off to the kitchen. Jacob sat at the table across from Lorenzo.

  “Have some coffee,” Lorenzo said, shoving a cup in Jacob’s direction, knowing he was more than ready to serve himself from the large tin pot that sat on the table.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Jacob replied, and poured himself a large cup. “So, last night.”

  “You don’t need the excuse of eggs to stop by here, you know,” Lorenzo said. “If you wanted to talk about last night, you could just drop in. You’re always welcome here.”

  “I know. I appreciate that,” Jacob replied, sipping at the hot cup. “I didn’t want to make Tabitha unduly concerned.”

  “Why would she be concerned at a visit from her brother?”

&
nbsp; “Because I usually only come on Thursdays, with the eggs,” he said quietly, not wanting to be overheard from the kitchen. “And I think there’s reason to be concerned.”

  “Any word on Abraham?” Lorenzo asked.

  “None, but then you don’t hear much up the canyon,” Jacob replied. “Personally, I don’t think we’re ever going to hear from Abraham again. I think Mary was right. I think he is lost.”

  Lorenzo stared back at his brother-in-law, trying to gauge the man’s seriousness. Jacob had always been the person he’d looked to for advice when it came to the gift and how to use it. His own father, Amasa, was an apostle in the church, and was constantly traveling on church business, often with one of his wives. His mother, from whom he’d received the gift, was reticent to teach him about its use, fearing its unusual attributes might reflect badly on the position of her husband, and so Lorenzo had been lucky when he married Tabitha and discovered that her older brother was also gifted, and willing to teach. Jacob was five years his senior, but he’d been raised by a father who showed no limits in his tutelage, teaching Jacob everything about the River and how to traverse it.

  Both Jacob and Lorenzo had been attracted to Spiritualism when its fever swept through the State of Deseret several years back. As practitioners of the River they’d always felt that the dead were more accessible than most people believed, and when the neighboring United States became enraptured with celebrity mediums and the fledgling religion that taught that the dead had wisdom to impart, it wasn’t a huge jump for either of them to accept the idea and become swept up in its popularity. That’s when they met Henry and their group had formed.

  Jacob now believing that Abraham was lost came as a blow to Lorenzo. He’d been trying to convince himself that Abraham would be found, but he respected Jacob’s knowledge and opinion. If Jacob thought it was so, it was likely so.

  “How?” Lorenzo asked. “Bingham?”

  “Very possibly,” Jacob replied. “I know that others were dismissive of the idea, but it’s too coincidental. Our first séance after he is hanged and buried next door? Evil transcends this life, you know that, Lorenzo. That man in the ground is still evil, even though the rest of the people in this town think he’s dead and gone.”

  “Are you going to tell the others your opinion, tonight?”

  “I might,” Jacob replied, taking another sip.

  “Henry was pretty dismissive of the idea, last night. He might disagree with you.”

  “Let him. Just because he has that big, fancy house doesn’t mean he has the sole hold of the truth.”

  “If he confronts you, do you have any evidence for this opinion?”

  “Nothing that they will believe. But I did see something, just before I dropped out of the River, just as Mary was becoming hysterical about someone in the room.”

  “What?”

  “I saw the kitchen, as I looked out the front door.”

  Lorenzo paused, unsure if he’d heard his brother-in-law correctly. “You saw what?”

  “I was looking out the front door,” Jacob replied. “I saw the kitchen.”

  “What?” Lorenzo asked again, unsure how to continue his question. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Jacob replied. “But it’s enough to make me think something is happening to the house. I’m on my way to Parowan, to talk to my father and see what he thinks about it. He has journals from my grandfather and great-grandfather; there might be something in them about it.”

  “You’re planning on going tonight? To Henry’s?”

  “I should be back before then,” Jacob said. “If I’m not, try to get the group to stall another séance. I know they’ll be anxious to contact the spirits to see if any have information about Abraham, but I think the effort will result in more tragedy.”

  “I’ll try,” Lorenzo replied. “And if I can’t convince them?”

  “Drink some protection before the séance starts,” Jacob replied. “Don’t enter the River or drift off during the session. Stay alert, and monitor the room if you can.”

  “Alright,” Lorenzo replied.

  “I’m off for Parowan,” Jacob said, setting down his cup. “Thanks for the coffee. Remain vigilant tonight.”

  “I will,” Lorenzo said, and escorted his brother-in-law to the door.

  After Jacob had gone, Lorenzo climbed the stairs of his house and went to a tiny room at the end of the hall where he kept a study. He sat at a small wooden desk, and looked out the window to the ground below, where Tabitha was tending the garden. Beyond her, the stream that flowed out of the canyon gurgled over rocks and boulders, loud enough that he could hear the calming sounds through the single pane of glass.

  He reached for the lowest drawer on the desk, removing the tin box that held his flask and several other objects he’d collected over the years. He shook the flask, gauging its fullness from the sound of sloshing within, and satisfied, set it on the desktop. He looked through the other items in the box, coming to rest on the arrowhead given to him a few years ago by a Paiute elder who had stopped at their house, asking for food. Although wary of the traveler at first, both he and Tabitha quickly grew to like the Paiute over dinner, and invited him to stay the night. The next morning, when the man left, he gave the arrowhead to Lorenzo as a gift, thanking him for the food and hospitality, and claiming that the arrowhead held special protective powers.

  He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, and he’d never tested the Paiute’s claims, but looking now at the object, and his brother-in-law’s warnings about the night to come, he decided he’d carry the weapon with him when he went to tonight’s séance, just in case it might offer some additional level of fortification beyond the protection in the flask. Can’t hurt, he thought, remembering the look on the Paiute’s face when he’d handed the arrowhead to him. He recalled thinking that the Indian might be aware of his gift, his ability to enter the River.

  He looked out the window again, watching Tabitha as she pulled weeds from around the early peas. He replaced the box in its drawer, stood, and slipped the arrowhead into his pants pocket.

  Chapter Nine

  He’d just expressed his misgivings at their plan to proceed with the séance. Jacob hadn’t returned yet, and he was hoping his brother-in-law might walk through the door and take over the argument that was brewing.

  “If we want to understand what has happened to Abraham, we must contact the spirits!” Henry was saying. “Do we suddenly give up our belief in the ability of the dead to communicate to us? To explain? That’s the whole point of Spiritualism! We mustn’t abandon it now, just when we need it the most!”

  Others in the room murmured in agreement.

  “All I can tell you is that Jacob asked me to persuade you to defer,” Lorenzo said. “He seemed very concerned, convinced that Mary might be right — that Abraham might indeed be lost. To Bingham.”

  “Preposterous!” Henry replied. Lorenzo saw Langford smile at Henry’s accusation, obviously agreeing.

  “I believe caution is warranted,” Lorenzo said. He and Jacob had never really discussed their gift with the others in the group, and he knew that now would not be a good time to raise the subject as some kind of validation for Jacob’s opinion. He needed to convince them some other way. Let’s try fear, he thought.

  “There’s a very good chance that if we try to engage the spirits tonight,” he continued, “the same fate that befell Abraham will befall another of us.”

  They all stared back at him. He heard Langford scoff. He could tell Mary was on his side, but he also knew she loved the séance, and would participate with the group if they decided to continue.

  “Abraham will turn up eventually,” Henry replied. “I don’t for one minute believe his disappearance was related to our séance last night. I think it’s far more likely it was a sudden desire for a drink, and he might be discovered with a hangover by tomorrow.”

  Langford and his brother, Jonas, laughed at the suggestion
. It was true that Abraham was known to indulge from time to time.

  Henry moved to the table, and the others began to take their positions.

  “I will entreat you once more,” Lorenzo pleaded. “Jacob seemed quite set on the idea that this would be dangerous.”

  “And where is Jacob?” Henry asked. “Can’t he speak for himself?”

  Lorenzo wasn’t about to tell them about Jacob’s trip to Parowan.

  “Let’s put it to a vote,” Henry said. “All those who wish to abandon our principles and cower from tonight’s séance, raise your hands.”

  Lorenzo raised his hand, irritated with Henry’s choice of words and letting his face show it.

  “Those who wish to contact the spirits and perhaps discover in which ditch Abraham is sleeping off his indulgence, raise your hand.”

  All the other hands went up, with the exception of Mary, who, after seeing the others, slowly raised her own to join them.

  Henry moved to the gas switch. “Is everyone positioned comfortably?” he asked.

  Lorenzo gave up and sat at the table. He’d taken two large throat-fulls of protection before entering the house, and he could feel it surging through his system. Alright, he thought. No sense in clearing the mind tonight. Time to keep my eyes open, as Jacob instructed.

  The lights dimmed and Henry began his patter, asking the ghosts and spirits within the sound of his voice to respond.

  “Our brother Abraham is missing,” he said, leaving a long pause after the words before continuing. “Find him, and tell us of his whereabouts. Locate him, that we may tend to him. Take our minds to him, that we may see him and know he is alive and well.”

  Once again Lorenzo felt the tingle at his spine, telling him something was coming. His eyes were wide, attempting to let in as much light as possible, and he scanned the dark room, trying to make out shapes and identify each person around the table. Henry let silence fall around them, and the sense of thickness in the air returned. Just like last night, Lorenzo thought. It’s going to happen again.