The Squeaky Ghost Gets the Curse

by Kennedy Layne

  “Don’t get used to it,” I grumbled, unable to prevent a shiver as the cool night temperature seemed to drop a degree further. I’d left my black leather jacket up in our room, thinking we’d only be outside a few minutes to meet the rest of the crew. “Here they come. Finally.”

  In cases like these, we usually had to split our resources. We each had our own talents to contribute to each case, but Orwin’s ability to read minds was a top shelf tool in our recent endeavors to combat evil.

  True, although I could do without all the conspiracy theories he spouts every morning over coffee. I really only indulge him because he’s the first to arise every morning, and I’ve trained him well in my breakfast preparation routine.

  “I know this sounds a bit creepy, but Orwin could always stand in front of the Ashtons’ bedrooms to see if they are close enough on the other side of the door for him to pick up on their thoughts.”

  My sweet Piper, this manor was creepy the moment we found an empty room marked with the number thirteen containing a voodoo doll that had been stabbed in the back. Adding a conspiracy theorist creeping around the hallways attempting to listen in on the family’s thoughts won’t change that.

  “She has a relevant point,” I said with a small smirk. “See, Pearl? I don’t need a knock-knock joke to smile.”

  That’s not a smile due to enjoying the little things in life, Miss Lilura. That’s amusement at my witty repartee. The fact that you’ve confused the two tells me that I have my work cut out for me.

  The strategically placed lighting throughout the grounds of the estate, in particular the illumination the cobblestone drive, led to me catching sight of Orwin gazing at the manor in the same awestruck way we all had. His jaw was slightly ajar as he took in the mammoth extent of the main house and the front two wings. Knox, on the other hand, made direct eye contact with me.

  I dare say that the temperature might have risen a couple of degrees.

  I didn’t bother replying to Pearl’s quip. All my denial would have done was give her the idea that she was onto something in regard to my work relationship with Knox. We had a common denominator, that’s all. We’d both been hexed by the same Lich Queen, and we both had a stake in finding a cure to our dilemmas.

  You keep telling yourself that, dear hexed one.

  Knox had pulled his Land Rover parallel to my Jeep, cutting the engine. It didn’t take long for both men to step out of the vehicle, though Orwin’s focus was still glued to the massive granite blocks that comprised the mansion.

  “Uh, Lou?” Piper nudged me in the side with her elbow. “I don’t remember the exterior of the house looking like anything but the typical wealthy estate, with a rather mundane display of fall decorations. I can see now why Ms. Florence didn’t feel the need to add in the ghouls, bats, and black cats to the theme.”

  Sure enough, the exterior of the manor had a completely different vibe than it had this morning. The evening lighting accented the size of the surrounding towers. The gargoyles were that much scarier at night.

  I hadn’t realized it then, but there were candles—probably electronic—in each window that faced the front of the property. The hundred-year-old trees surrounding the circular drive seemed to loom over the eaves of the roof as if each tiny limb was like fingers reaching out to pluck the manor from its place in the grounds. Shadows lurked over the façade as if they were mere puppets on a string, every so often drifting over the edge of the windowpanes to scratch out a warning.

  Truthfully, those slight obscurities made a person question if the house wasn’t somehow alive in its own way.

  “I’m all for taking one for the team, but do you really think it’s safe to stay here?” Orwin asked, coming around the Land Rover to stand beside me. Knox had joined us, but he used the bumper to lean against as we all took in the menacing sight before us. “Our type of magic doesn’t necessarily guard us against ghosts and ghouls, if you get my drift. I’m fine with sleeping in the Land Rover. How about you, Knox?”

  Wait until you hear about Miss Lilura’s grand idea to host a creepy séance.

  Orwin didn’t bother to reply to Pearl’s statement. Instead, he gazed at me in horror. The fact that he’d lost all color in his cheeks had Knox’s gaze bouncing off each and every one of us, trying to discern what words had just been exchanged.

  “I clearly missed something,” Knox replied knowingly, his rich voice cutting through the tension like it was butter. I’m pretty sure his brown eyes glowed a bit more golden at the assumption that I was the topic of discussion. “What did you go and do now?”

  Mr. Emeric is getting to know you rather well, isn’t he?

  “I plan to solve this case by morning,” I stated firmly, not backing down from the proposed plan. “Unless Orwin can get a read of guilt on one of the family members or staff who are currently inside the manor, then there would be no reason to have a séance. We’ll find another way to give Ophelia some peace, if it turns out she’s not the reason Florence was pushed to her death.”

  “Lead the way,” Orwin insisted, not giving anyone else a chance to respond to my decision. He didn’t even bother to gather his overnight bag. He pushed up his black rimmed glasses in determination. “We are not doing a séance within a mile’s distance of an agitated spirit. Whether or not this Ophelia had anything to do with Florence’s death, opening a portal for her to climb through is a bad, bad, bad idea, Lou.”

  Don’t think this gets you out of indulging me with a spot of warm cream, Miss Lilura. I’ve had a rather trying day.

  “I don’t understand.” Knox’s exclamation brought everyone to a halt. Piper and Orwin had already taken a step toward the front entrance, but they both turned around when Knox made no attempt to move from his spot on the bumper. As a matter of fact, he had his arms crossed over his chest as if he were settled in for a while. “If Ophelia is already haunting this place, then hasn’t she already crossed through some type of portal?”

  I forget that Mr. Emeric didn’t emerge from a supernatural family. His curse of lycanthropy shouldn’t cause a problem, though.

  If I tried to explain to you the resonance that practically vibrated the ground under our feet, I probably couldn’t do it justice. I’d lived for many years on the West Coast and experienced many earthquakes of various magnitudes, but this sudden blow from out of nowhere was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  Orwin’s glasses had been left askew, and Piper had grabbed ahold of his arm. She did so more out of fright than need.

  “What the—”

  Hades. Tell Mr. Emeric I don’t appreciate curse words, and he will have to find more appropriate expletives. I will not hear such filth on the day we might possibly be swallowed by a hole in the Earth. Speaking of which, why isn’t there a hole underneath us at this very moment?

  The only reason Knox had cut off what he’d been about to say was that Pearl had abruptly materialized on the spare tire hooked to the back of the Jeep. He hadn’t heard Pearl’s reprimand, but her sudden appearance had caught his attention.

  You realize that this day has continued on a downward spiral all due to my deprivation of cream?

  “That wasn’t an earthquake,” Piper whispered as we all cautiously turned in unison to look at the manor. Only Knox was able to stay where he was, given his location. “Do you think…”

  “No,” Orwin denied, emphatically shaking his head. He finally shifted his eyeglasses back into place. “No spirit could cause something like that outside of its immediate confines.”

  That’s not necessarily true, alien hunter. Places are not the only things that can be haunted.

  “You’re talking about people,” I guessed, but not seeing the connection here. “Pearl, Ophelia is definitely attached to the house. We would have felt the shift in our energy had she tried to attach herself to us.”

  It’s not improbable that Ms. Ophelia latched onto something when we exited the manor, Miss Lilura. As we know, nothing is beyond the realm of possibili
ty when dealing with agitated spirits.

  We continued to study the house, looking for any type of sign that Ophelia had something to do with what we’d just experienced.

  Literally, nothing stood out.

  The candles were still lit in the windows, the outside lighting continued to illuminate the enormous building before us, and nothing seemed different than the last time I’d observed the exterior of the manor.

  Yet something menacing had shifted in the air.

  Oh, what I would do for a spot of warm cream at the moment.

  “Isn’t there something that we can do from out here?” Knox asked warily, rubbing a hand over his five o’clock shadow. He wasn’t used to dealing with this part of the supernatural realm, but I didn’t have time to shield him from the inevitable or even make the introductions a bit slower. “I mean, can’t we trap whatever is in there? Don’t you have some sort of gizmo that can contain it?”

  I do like the way this wild beast thinks, dear hexed one.

  “Yes, but that’s our last resort.” I motioned for Orwin and Knox to grab their overnight bags. No matter what happened in the next couple of hours, we were staying inside the manor. We might as well have the essentials. “Orwin, did you bring everything I asked for?”

  “Yes.”

  Orwin practically sighed his reply in resignation, stepping away from Piper as Knox reluctantly opened the back latch of his Land Rover. He was always cautious, but now even more so. We’d just finished a case with a pack of blood-thirsty werewolves, and Knox hadn’t hesitated to go up against the entire group singlehandedly.

  Your Mr. Emeric doesn’t mind dealing with things that he can see and touch. He can use his experience in the military to draw up a strategy to execute, allowing him to utilize his intelligence and physical brawn. Unfortunately, spirits are something that are unpredictable and quite unexplainable to those who don’t understand their nature.

  “Oh, he believes now,” I muttered, turning away so that I could walk side by side with Piper. Pearl did her disappearing act, but I could sense her presence as we strolled past the other parked cars. “The séance is our only alternative. Ophelia knows what really happened in this place, so we might as well exploit her as a resource. Listen, I saw you reading Eugene’s journal when we were inside the great room. You look concerned about something.”

  No worries, Ms. Lilura. My sweet Piper put all of her notes into that app of hers. I’m in awe of this application, really. Ms. Faye is still the prime suspect, even after the small gem in those old pages were discovered.

  “What gem?” I asked, hearing that the men had caught up to us as we finally reached the front entrance of the manor. “What did Eugene write down that you found so interesting?”

  “Usually, ghosts who remain behind are here due to unfinished business or their death was so sudden and brutal that they don’t believe they are really gone,” Piper explained, even though I was already aware of the ins and outs of spirits.

  I’d gotten used to her way of sorting information out in her head, which was to usually reiterate details aloud for her own use. It also helped Knox out in situations like these, given his limited awareness of all other things supernatural.

  I’d say Mr. Emeric is doing quite well with his crash course of ghouls, goblins, and witches.

  I didn’t reach for the handle of the door quite yet, as I wasn’t sure if anyone was around the foyer who might be able to hear us once we’d entered the manor. It was best to have these types of conversations in places without prying eyes and listening ears.

  We were now all huddled on the doorstep, which was a lot warmer than being out in the wide open of the front cobblestone driveway.

  Your warmth wouldn’t have anything to do with Mr. Emeric standing by your side, would it, dear hexed one?

  “Anyway,” Piper continued, her tone suggesting that Pearl needed to leave her fancy notions of romance at the door…no pun intended. “Eugene wrote that Ophelia had died peacefully in her sleep, and that it was expected due to some illness. There was no insinuation that Ophelia had unfinished business, and she certainly didn’t die in what one would describe as a horrific manner.”

  “Why is she still hanging around then?” Knox inquired, shifting his weight to his other boot as he adjusted to entering the domain of a poltergeist. “What does she want?”

  That is the question, oh hairy beast.

  “That’s what we need to find out,” I suggested, much to everyone’s dismay in a collective group moan. “Seriously? Out of all the creatures we could be dealing with on this case, you’re worried about one female entity?”

  I didn’t wait for them to reply to my question, because I’d meant it figuratively. Unfortunately, sometimes things were beyond my control…like the shrieking scream that perforated the hard wood of the front door. I could literally feel alarm take hold of the group.

  Piper, Orwin, and Knox jointly replied a resounding yes as I twisted the door handle and we practically all fell onto the marbled tile in a jumbled pile. Faye was holding onto the banister near the staircase landing for dear life with her eyes as wide as a startled doe in the middle of a road in the path of an onrushing vehicle.

  “Help me! Please,” Faye essentially begged as she lowered herself to a step. “Someone or something tried to push me down the stairs!”

  Well, I didn’t see this twist coming. I’m definitely going to need that spot of warm cream now, my sweet Piper.

  Chapter Nine

  “Could you please tell me what happened one more time?” I asked Faye gently, carefully handing her a hot cup of tea that I’d made in the manor’s monstrous kitchen.

  I’d seen less equipped kitchens in exclusive clubs and resorts serving hundreds of guests per day. The staff had the benefit of both a walk-in refrigerator and a large freezer behind that. It seemed whomever chose the décor enjoyed the liberal use of stainless steel. Nearly every appliance was of commercial quality and sported a brushed finish. The only large use of wood in the entire kitchen had been a massive butcher-block island where it seemed that the majority of the meals were prepared.

  I had used the natural gas twelve-burner stove to heat up the kettle to make Faye her favorite tea. The fan in the overhead vent hood had automatically turned on when the burner ignited. Everyone was on edge, including me as even the fan’s whoosh had me startling a smidge off my feet.

  Faye was now sitting in the cozy great room in front of the fireplace on the end of the divan, recovering from her earlier shock. At least we now understood where the harnessed energy had come from when we’d been standing outside in the circular driveway.

  “Be careful, please. The tea is very hot.”

  I must say that spot of warm cream you made for me has taken the edge off of my nerves. They do have a premium quality supplier. Their fresh cream is top notch. That was a very telling incident to see firsthand, wasn’t it?

  Pearl was talking about the fact that we’d caught sight of Ophelia slowly dissipating from the landing above where we’d found Faye backing down the carpeted steps of the staircase. It was obvious what had taken place, but sometimes the obvious wasn’t always as clear as it first appeared.

  Knowing the facts of how Ophelia passed away peacefully is what has us questioning ourselves, dear hexed one.

  “I had come down to get a glass of water for my nightly medication,” Faye replied with a voice that still held a slight tremor of fright. Her blue eyes that had seen many years pass her by slid to the French doors of the great room. “Ever since finding my sister at the bottom of the staircase, I’ve been very cautious coming down those stairs. I’ve recently taken to the habit of holding the banister when descending and ascending to my rooms on the upper level. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t had a firm grip on the railing.”

  Unfortunately, we know far too well what would have happened.

  “Ms. Ashton, is there anything else we can get you?” Orwin asked, taking a seat
next to Faye on the couch. Knox stood next to the roaring fire, his position allowing himself to view the room without worrying about who was coming up behind him. It was a false sense of security, given that an agitated spirit like the one we were currently dealing with could appear out of nowhere. “Knox and I can see you to your room when you’re ready to retire for the night.”

  I remained standing, wondering why Joshua and Izzy hadn’t come running when their aunt screamed. Izzy had retired to her room earlier this evening, and Joshua had been in the great room before we’d stepped out of the house to greet our colleagues. It was possible that he’d gone to his own room to watch television, thus disguising Faye’s cry for help.

  Wilber and Gertrude were probably busy packing in the rear west wing of the manor, so they definitely wouldn’t have heard Faye screaming as she was almost pushed to her death. Unless…

  Do you suspect that Ms. Ashton is making up the entire story? Well, time will surely tell. Mr. Orwin is now close enough to get a read on this woman’s thoughts. Be prepared for anything, dear hexed one.

  “What I want is for you to find out if this manor really is haunted,” Faye declared, her cup clinking against the delicate saucer. She definitely didn’t act like a woman who was making a story up as she went along. Besides, we’d seen for ourselves that Ophelia had been on the landing. “I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t believe my sister when she continued to harp on the fact that this place had ghosts. As I mentioned before, my sister could be rather dramatic. She was in the theater during her younger years, and I just figured she’d never outgrown the need for some sort of stage performance.”

  In this case, that would be the guests of the manor. In case you are wondering, Mr. Cornelia has cleared Ms. Faye of any wrongdoing. Well, other than being a relatively selfish person. She is using her sister’s death to get you to stay and help investigate, but I believe she is just afraid of becoming a victim herself.