Rhayven House

by Frank Bittinger

  “Allegedly,” Ian said. “You'd be amazed how many records have gone mysteriously missing from places like those. In fact, people have gone missing, and families, when they cared enough to check, never heard anything about them again.”

  “Probably because those patients ended up in unmarked graves, either on the property or wherever. Were there unmarked graves discovered on the property of the real asylum, like in your book?”

  “I think there are unmarked graves on the properties of almost every asylum, from the earliest right up until the latter part of the last century, if you can believe some of the case studies and documentaries on the subject.”

  “Tell your agent to take it around to movie studios,” Toby advised. “Somewhere, there is a small studio who will think it's a perfect fit. Personally, I think it would make one hell of a film.”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  Toby's mouth hung open. “Seriously? You have interest from a movie studio?”

  “Yes, but it's very early. Too early to be sure of anything, so keep your mouth shut about it,” Ian said.

  “My lips are sealed,” Toby promised and then ate another pretzel.

  “I don't want to say anything until it's a done deal,” Ian told him. “I'm keeping my legs crossed we can hammer out a deal for a television miniseries.”

  “Tell me something I don't know,” Toby cracked.

  “Oregon has more legit ghost towns than any other state.” Ian grinned at his friend.

  “I did not know that.”

  “Now, let's watch something,” Ian said to Toby as he reached for the peanuts. “Stigmata sounds good.”

  Fifteen

  Deciding he’d get some kind of answers to his questions if he made a trip back to the hall of records, Ian drove down and made a beeline for that downstairs office. The woman behind the counter with the dark hair all spiked up, smiled and asked if she could assist him. He asked for Mr. Kane.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know a Mr. Kane. Normally, I work in this office and have for a long time,” she said. Her engraved nameplate read Catherine E. Peterson. “May I be of assistance?”

  “I spoke to him when I came in for information concerning a property I was interested in purchasing,” Ian explained, but that didn’t remove the puzzled look from her face. “I have the paperwork right here.”

  He handed it to her and she looked it over.

  “Unfortunately, there aren’t any names here in reference to the person who assisted you,” she said. “I can assure you, we don’t have a Mr. Kane here. The best I can suggest, is you go upstairs and speak to the secretary. She may be able to help you further, but I have to say I’ve worked here for many years and I don’t ever recall that name.”

  Ian thanked her and, gripping his paperwork in his hand, went upstairs.

  Speaking with the secretary provided no further information regarding R. Kane. She showed Ian the current list of employees and the name was not on the list. To her recollection, there had never been a Kane who worked there.

  So no one knew the man. Okay. Ian calmly walked outside. There was no use in getting pissed off and making a scene, not over something as silly as this. He highly doubted it was some intricate conspiracy to keep Kane under wraps. No. Somewhere along the lines, he suspected someone had some false data.

  R. Kane. That was definitely the guy’s name. “R. Kane,” Ian said aloud. And then something clicked—an epiphany. “Arcane. But what the hell? No way was it a coincidence. Who could have…”

  Trailing off into thought, he wondered if the ghost had sensed his presence as he wandered around outside that very first day. He’d definitely thought he felt something, but wasn’t sure at the time and wrote it off as nerves. The place did have a bit of a creepy abandoned atmosphere going for it. What if she’d used her abilities or powers or whatever it was ghosts possessed, to influence the outcome of his quest to buy the house?

  Recalling the run-around and all the double-speak without actually telling him anything, the sending him from one office to the next because they couldn’t find a record of the property, Ian still didn’t think any of it was out of malice or on purpose—just eventually over the years the information had gotten filed wrong or whatever and people forgot about it.

  Certainly, he’d come across the helpful R. Kane and was glad to finally have someone who appeared like they could actually assist him—and the man did. But now it felt strange—not scary, just extremely odd—finding out there was no R. Kane presently working and had never been one employed in the records office or any other office there.

  ~ ~ ~

  Toby listened in silence as Ian explained what had happened at city hall.

  “That's seriously messed up and if it weren't for the stuff going on here in this house, I'd think somebody was pulling a fast one on you,” Toby said.

  “It's not some elaborate, diabolical prank,” Ian said. “Makes me wonder if the elusive Mr. Kane is himself a ghost.”

  “Make notes for your book. If nothing else, he's an interesting plot point for your non-fiction account.”

  “I don't think non-fiction books have plot points,” Ian said. “And I also believe getting to the bottom of this riddle, wrapped up in a mystery, and inside of an enigma—to paraphrase Churchill—will be more difficult than discovering a black flamingo.”

  “But it's still worth the try,” Toby insisted. “Whether or not you uncover the answer, you'll still have the whole experience to draw upon in your writing, especially if you write the non-fiction account of all this.”

  Resting his hands on his lap, he continued. “And I understand your reasons behind not wanting any of those paranormal research groups in here, and I agree with you—the way they conduct themselves on the TV shows, who knows what kind of mess they'd leave behind when they left? No offense to the ones who don't behave like that during their investigations.”

  “Given the alternatives, I believe I'm better off on my own investigating—present company excluded, of course.”

  “I got your back,” Toby assured him.

  “One idea I had was to conduct a séance,” Ian said. “To see if I can reach her and have a more stable verbal exchange. Find out some answers that way since there doesn't seem to be anything at all in the courthouse records downtown.”

  “Do we sit at a table full of candles and hold hands while you call on the spirits or what?”

  Ian ran his finger along the front of his shirt collar. “I'm not sure. Online I've found all kinds of stuff, but I think the best bet is to go talk with Belle.”

  “How about the spirit board?”

  Shaking his head, Ian said, “I think that could be more dangerous than helpful, considering what I've read about those boards.”

  “And you think a séance is safer?” Toby asked. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Maybe not safer, but more controllable, I guess,” Ian said.

  “See what your friend Belle has to say and let me know. I'm not sure if I believe there's a way to contact the spirit world, but I'm totally willing to help you give it a shot.”

  “Hear that?”

  Toby listened. “No.”

  “Piano music. I hear it a lot.”

  “Phantom piano music only you can hear.” Toby tilted his head to the side and looked at his friend. “I wish I could hear what you're hearing.”

  “Some kind of classical piece, I assume. Light, almost a tinkling of the keys.”

  “Our ghost might have tickled the ivories during her lifetime, so why would she stop now? Or, she might be trying to expose you to culture.”

  “She's stopped playing. It's never very long.”

  “Maybe she heard us talking about her and got self-conscious.” Toby looked over Ian's shoulder. “Listen.”

  Ian did, not hearing anything. And then he heard it—another round of music, different this time. “You hear it now?”

  Toby nodded, a big grin on his face. “I don't really under
stand why I couldn't hear it before, but now I can. Maybe she's the one who decides who she lets see and hear and she's letting me in. It's like being let in on a secret.”

  “Amazing, isn't it? You hear the music and you know it's not coming from a radio or a record or whatever. Not from any physical piano, either.”

  Meeting Ian's stare, Toby said, “This situation just keeps getting stranger and stranger.” He popped the last pretzel into his mouth and set the bowl down. “To intentionally change the subject, I have a present for you. Sort of a housewarming gift.”

  “You didn't have to do that.”

  “I know, “Toby said with a wink. “I left it out in the backseat of my car so you wouldn't see me bring it in.”

  “So it's bigger than a bread box then?”

  Toby went out to retrieve the present. “You'll never in a million years guess what it is,” he said when he came back in holding the wrapped item.

  “Judging strictly from the size and dimensions, I say it's a picture,” Ian said.

  “I meant you'd never guess what kind of picture.” Toby put the present in front of Ian. “I knew as soon as I saw it I was getting it for you, and then I had it framed nicely so it would fit in with your décor.”

  “Now I'm totally intrigued,” Ian said as he carefully began to peel the tape off the wrapping paper piece by piece.

  “For the love of...Just rip it off,” Toby said. He reached over and tore off a section. “You're taking too damned long. I want to see your reaction when you realize what it is.”

  Smacking his friend's hand away, Ian said, “Quit trying to take the joy out of it. You got this for me, so let me open it my way. “And then he went back to removing the tape—even slower than before—to irritate Toby. “Okay, okay. Stop giving me the look.” He ripped the rest of the paper off to reveal an ornate carved wood frame; the frame held a painting on velvet of Dogs Playing Poker. “It's...”

  Letting loose with a roar of laughter, Toby slapped the back of the sofa. “I discovered this beauty in an old thrift shop on my way home from an out-of-town meeting. It's not a repro. This is an original, pal, and it's in excellent condition, almost pristine. Do you know how rare it is to stumble onto one of these?” He sucked in a deep breath and tried to reduce the laughter to a slight giggle.

  “It has to be a miracle of Biblical proportions,” Ian said dryly.

  “Don't be a smartass.” Toby reached over and ran his finger down the side of the frame. “I had to get it put in a real nice frame so it would suit your house. Admit it, you know you like the bulldog best. He's a little cheater. Look; he's passing the ace of clubs surreptitiously underneath the table to his buddy.”

  “How long have you been sitting on this special little surprise?”

  “A couple months.”

  “Just happened to stumble across it at some out of the way thrift shop when you made a pit stop, huh?” Ian looked one by one at the faces of the dogs. “Had to have been the Hand of Fate intervening. Sometimes Fate can be a cruel mistress.”

  “There are more modern ones with cats and other animals, but this is an original. A piece of art history,” Toby told him.

  Underneath it all, Ian had to admit to himself he rather liked the gaudy painting, and he liked the thought behind the gift. “I guess it's not so bad I have to bury it out in the backyard by the light of a blood moon or anything like that. Do you know there are something like three different scenes of this?”

  Toby nodded, a big grin still plastered on his face. “I knew there were a couple different ones, but not exactly how many and what they were. Where are you thinking of hanging it?”

  And there was the question, Ian thought. Actually it would look right at home in his library once the room was completed, and that's what he told Toby. “I might even hang it over the fireplace.”

  “Just as long as there are no freak accidents and it somehow mysteriously falls down into the fire. Do you really like it? I didn't intend for it to be a gag gift, but I want you to tell me true if you like it or not.”

  “I know you didn't. The custom frame alone must have cost you a couple bucks. And I do like it; it's not nearly as horrendous-looking in person as it is when I see it on TV. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Maybe I'll come across the others and you can have the whole set.”

  “No, you don't have to do that. It's the thought that counts. Really.”

  “Let me take it into the library and find a place to lean it against the wall or something so the frame doesn't get scratched or nicked. I'll be back in a minute.”

  Toby grinned. “Make sure you find a nice, safe place for the pups. Can't have anything happening to them.” he called after Ian.

  When Ian came back, he said, “They're all safe and sound, so don't worry. I'll call Lloyd's of London in the morning.”

  “Armed Pinkerton guards should patrol the hallway and be on the lookout for potential burglars and other forms of skullduggery,” Toby said.

  “I'll get right on your request,” Ian said as he sat down. “We never did decide what we wanted to watch. You in the mood for funny or serious?”

  “Surprise me,” Toby said.

  ~ ~ ~

  Toby and Ian fell asleep sitting on the sofa. When the piano music started, they didn't hear the soft strains as they floated on the air. Nor did they see the woman walk into the living room; as if she, too, floated on the air, coming to stand silently by the sofa and watch them as they slept. She reached out her hands and gently stroked their hair, entwining her fingers in the strands.

  Glittering like diamonds in her eyes were unshed tears, born both from loneliness and happiness.

  When Toby moved in his sleep and opened his eyes, she drew her hands back and leaned over him. He stared through her, not seeing her even though she was mere inches from his face.

  “Wake up. You're snoring,” Toby said as he pushed against Ian's shoulder.

  “I don't snore,” Ian said without opening his eyes. “Stop waking me up.”

  “We have to get up and go to bed. If we sleep sitting here, we'll have sore, stiff necks all day tomorrow,” Toby said, and then covered a big yawn.

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “Get up,” Toby told Ian again as he stood up. “I'm going to bed.”

  The woman moved off to the side of the room, to the shadows, and continued to watch.

  Ian grumbled some more, mostly cursing under his breath, but eventually he got up as well and went upstairs to bed, leaving the lights on again.

  Sixteen

  Deciding it would behoove him to go to Belle for assistance regarding his idea about having a séance in the house, Ian drove into town before he said anything to Toby—so his friend couldn't attempt to talk him out of it. She listened to his reasons and told him what he wanted to know, warning him of potential dangers as well as giving him instructions. She also agreed to make the candles his endeavor required, including a red stone candle—pure white wax at the top, swirled with deep, dark red quartz fragments embedded right in the bottom of the candle. This would not only assist in summoning the spirit with whom Ian wished to converse, but also in warding off any spirits who may come pretending to be the woman he sought—at least that's what Belle claimed it would do.

  “Better to be safe. There is a technical term for what you wish to attempt,” Belle told him.

  “Other than séance?” He wasn't trying to be a smart ass, even though it could have been taken that way.

  She smiled, evidently not taking his comment the wrong way, as she wrapped the white candles in colored paper before bagging them for him. “Sciomancy—communicating with spirits, ghosts, shades, whatever you wish to call them—is an ancient art unto itself and a potentially dangerous one; punishable by death in some cultures and religions. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I must urge you to take caution if you’re seriously planning to do this.”

  “Your concern is noted and appreciated, and so is your advice.” Ian said.
He reached out a hand and stroked Astrya. Purring loudly, the cat raised her head and looked at him, her green eyes so deep and vivid. “On one hand, I think I might be making an ass out of myself. On the other, I feel as if it’s the only way I can possibly get answers to my questions.”

  Fluidly jumping to the floor, the cat wound herself around Belle's ankles as smoothly as a shadow around a single candle flame.

  “I'm used to her presence,” Belle explained when she saw him looking, “so she doesn't trip me up—not that Astrya would do it on purpose. She's just making sure I know she loves me. Aren't you, my love?” Belle said, looking down at the cat.

  Astrya meowed so quietly, almost like she was answering Belle.

  “Have you thought of adopting a furbaby?” Belle asked him. The segue, as smooth as it was, caught him off guard.

  “From time to time. I think after I've gotten used to the house and more of the renovation has been completed, I may adopt an animal,” Ian said. “I haven't decided what kind of animal.”

  “Never fear; the right one will make itself known to you when the time is right,” Belle said, holding the bag of candles out to him. “That's usually how it works. It's all about balance.”

  Ian accepted the bag and asked Belle, “What if the universe has planned for an armadillo to move in with me? I don't know a thing about armadillos, but I know some stuff about iguanas and I like iguanas. But you don't see videos of iguanas playing, like you do armadillos.”

  “Serves you right if the universe sends a whole fez of little armored ones your way,” she said with a smile.

  “If the invasion of the armadillos happens, you will be my first call,” he promised, “because I'll need a book on caring for them.”

  They shared a laugh and then Belle wished him luck as Ian left. He thanked her again before closing the door behind him. On the drive back home, he contemplated picking up a pizza to take home and surprise Toby before settling on some frozen entrees and snacks. Ian told himself he needed to be more vigilant about keeping groceries in the house. He now lived a good twenty minute drive from town and couldn't easily run over to the market whenever he wanted something. What used to be a simple and quick market run would now be an hour or more, and that would get old real quick.