The Supernaturals

by David L. Golemon

  “It was an evil house from the beginning; a house that was born bad.”

  “What—what was that?” Jason asked.

  “Oh, just a quote from Shirley Jackson’s book,” Kelly answered, half-turning to smile at Sanborn.

  The long circular drive led to massive front steps, covered by a roof that sent a high gable climbing toward the sky. A large old-fashioned wood carved chandelier hung low as the van drove under the portico and parked.

  “I don’t see any valet,” Greg said, making the others chuckle in the backseat.

  Kelly tossed her notebook into her bag, then grabbed her briefcase and stepped out of the van. The large veranda was laden with chaise lounges, and actual swinging bench seats hung from the thick-timbered rafters of the wraparound porch overhang.

  “I have to admit, this place is something. I could see why the rich and famous would come here to get away from the grind of counting money,” Paul sniped as he stood and stretched. He turned and looked up the large stone staircase leading to the massive double doors and suddenly went rigid. A woman was standing at the top of the stone stairs, staring down at them.

  Kelly had to smile. “Some ghost hunter you are.” Quickly, and with her best smile, she turned and bounded up the stone steps two at a time. “You must be Mrs. Johansson?”

  “Yes, name’s Eunice. I was told you were fourteen?”

  “We’re it for now. The other two vans will be along shortly.”

  “Mr. Lindemann hasn’t arrived yet. I have instructions for you to start your lunch without him.”

  “Thank you,” Kelly said as the tall woman started to turn away. She was dressed in regular denim jeans with a bright red blouse, and Kelly thought she looked nothing like a housekeeper of a mansion was supposed to look. She smiled, knowing that she had read too many haunted house books in her childhood. She had been expecting an old woman in a black dress who would issue dire warnings about the dark. “Uh, would you mind if I ask you just a question or two?”

  The woman turned but kept walking. She was pretty, in a rough farmwoman kind of way. Kelly was having a hard time placing this attractive woman with the burly man at the front gate. She had to be his daughter, or his niece.

  “Not at all, ask away,” she said. Her hand paused above the large door handle on the left.

  The three men joined them at the front doors. Greg raised a brow as he took in Eunice Johansson and nodded his approval.

  “I know you two,” she said looking at the show’s two hosts. “We watch your show religiously, right after Wife Swap.” She smiled, looking from Greg to Paul as if sizing them up, or as Greg was probably thinking, down. “That show’s a little spicier than yours, but you have your moments, too.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked closer at Greg. “I thought you would have been taller.”

  “Camera angles,” Paul said, smiling.

  “Do you and your family live on the property?” Kelly asked, getting the woman back on track.

  “Yes, we live five miles down the road, in a house that was built especially for our family by the Lindemann’s.”

  “So you’ve been in their employ for—”

  “My family, along with my husband’s folk, have been in this valley since revolutionary times. However, we’ve only worked for the Lindemann’s since just before the war—World War Two, that is. My grandmother worked here when the house was first built, helping out with Mrs. Lindemann’s summer functions and all. That’s my husband, Charles, who let you in. You’ll also run into my four daughters and three boys around here. It takes all of us to cover the grounds and house full time during the summer months. The girls take turns going to school in the fall and winter.”

  “Must be hell.” Kelly caught herself. “I mean, it must be hard to get the kids to school, living way out here.”

  “My oldest girl is going to Penn State, thanks to the Lindemann Foundation. My children, like myself and their father, and my parents before, are homeschooled. We don’t take to the townspeople around here much, just as they don’t take to us. Never have.”

  “Why is that?” Kelly asked.

  “When our family was chosen long ago to caretake this place, others around here didn’t take too kindly to old man Lindemann’s choice; steady income, and all that. With the hard winters, jobs become scarce if you don’t work for one of the ski resorts. The Bright Waters folk keep clear of this place and spread their gossip, and lord knows if gossiping was a paying job there would be more than a fair share of other rich people here ‘bouts.”

  “I see,” Kelly said.

  “I’m sure you do, Miss. Now, if you’d like to follow me, I’ve set your lunch out in the formal dining room.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kelly, Greg, Jason and Paul entered the house for the first time. An immediate feeling of hominess came to them in the huge and comfortable foyer. Large landscape paintings of the local area were hung on thick, rich wood paneling around the welcoming entrance. Even a picture of George Washington hung above the large cloakroom that had obviously seen busier times. The smell of wood was everywhere and the bright sunshine was dispelling every bad thought the four may have had.

  “Boy, this is something you would see in New York. These people had taste, simple but elegant.”

  “Yes, it’s nice until you have to oil all of this wood and dust all the picture frames. Then it brings itself into perspective,” Eunice Johansson answered. She gestured for them to follow her. “You can just leave your coats on the cloak counter—I’ll hang them up later.”

  They passed through the grand living room. Every piece of furniture was impeccably cleaned and dusted. The massive stone fireplace—twenty feet wide and twelve feet high—was cold and empty, but looked as if it would have been very warm and inviting in the early spring and late summer. Kelly could picture guests congregating here, drinking brandy and smoking cigars.

  “I’m surprised there aren’t any animal head trophies on the walls,” Paul said.

  “The Lindemann family didn’t hunt on the property after the house was built. The entire estate is free of hunters, and the animals here ‘bouts know they’re safe anywhere in the valley. That was always one rule that was, and is, strictly enforced.”

  Kelly wondered who did the enforcing of the Lindemann laws. She decided she would ask later and wrote down the thought on her notepad.

  They followed the housekeeper through the arched doorway and into the formal dining room. They all had to stop as they took in the fifty-foot cherry table centered in the room. The ceiling that hung over it was forty feet above them and had etched flowers in the plaster. Down at the far end of this expansive table was their lunch. A silver service waited on a large credenza with gleaming white china stacked beside it.

  “Oh, something a little less troubling would have been fine,” said Kelly turning to Mrs. Johansson.

  “Was no trouble, I enjoy cooking for guests of Mr. Lindemann. I hope you like brook trout; I also have a nice Chicken Kiev for anyone who doesn’t like fish. There is a bar to your left, and water on the table. Please keep to the main floor until Mr. Lindemann arrives.” She looked at her wristwatch. “He should be along any time now. I have to excuse myself, my family and I must be—”

  “Leaving before it gets dark?” Greg asked with a mysterious air to his voice.

  The woman smiled at Greg as if he were just an obstinate child.

  “Not at all. We still have chores to do before three, and tonight is American Idol night. We like to leave at three and get our own chores done at home, and then eat early so we can watch people make fools of themselves.”

  “Oh, I…”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Johansson, we appreciate it,” Kelly said with a smile. She eyed Greg, who turned away, feeling rather stupid for what he had said about the darkness. Still, Kelly caught the drift when the housekeeper said watching people makes fools of themselves. She had given away her true thoughts on Hunters of the Paranormal.

  “Mrs. Joh
ansson, can I ask one more question?”

  The woman stopped and turned with her smile still in place, but Kelly could tell that the housekeeper had anticipated her question and put on her happy face for the answer that was to come.

  “Young lady, I don’t know anything about what has gone on here. To us this is just a house. We have from time to time had some excitement out here, and have had to clean up some god-awful messes by vandals and such—and that man, Professor Kennedy. However, if you’re going to ask me if this place bothers us, or if we have ever experienced anything like what your show investigates, the answer is no. We love this house and the property. It provides for my family, so how could that be bad?”

  Kelly smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

  The housekeeper nodded her head and then turned away. “Just leave everything on the table and I’ll clean up in the morning. The refrigerator and pantry are full. If you would like something to eat this evening, just help yourselves.”

  “Mr. Lindemann can afford all of this? I thought his money was tight?” Sanborn asked.

  “We’re paid through the Lindemann Foundation,” Eunice said. “The upkeep, the food, the repairs, our paychecks, all of it comes from an office in Philadelphia. Now,” she said looking at her watch, “have a good evening.”

  The four of them watched her leave. Jason slapped his hands together and started for the table. He stopped when Kelly placed her manicured fingers on his shoulder.

  “Do you for one minute think we’re going to eat when we have this place to ourselves?”

  “But the food—”

  “The housekeeper said to stay put until Mr. Lindemann—” Greg started to say but stopped when he saw the mischievous look on Kelly’s face.

  She smiled and started pulling at Jason’s sleeve, tugging him away from the food and cutting off Greg’s concern.

  “I checked. Wallace Lindemann has already cashed the check from the network. What’s he going to do, give back the money because we went exploring?”

  The men exchanged uneasy looks.

  “Okay, guys. It’s time to introduce ourselves to Summer Place.”

  Los Angeles, CA

  Lionel Peterson listened to the voices of the Chairman of the Board, Abe Feuerstein, and CEO Garth Timberline, who had initiated the conference call from corporate headquarters in New York. He had to assume Kelly Delaphoy had called them to say she had received grief from him in the production meeting, and that they had waited a few days to call in order to cover the fact that she had done so.

  He gestured for his assistant to pour him a drink from his private bar in the corner of the spacious office, even though it was only ten-thirty in the morning.

  “I understand you’ve given her a blank check for this Halloween special. That doesn’t alleviate the fact that we have concerns about covering the cost through sponsorship. With the high price of ad time, we’ve already had three sponsors decline. Eight hours of uninterrupted feed is going to cost us in revenue, and it will totally wipe out our late night lineup.”

  Peterson accepted the drink without so much as a nod in thanks.

  “Yes,” he answered, “I understand the company’s position on how this will cement viewership for years to come. My main concern here, Mr. Timberline, is that Ms. Delaphoy’s inexperience makes this a risky proposition at best. My sentiments will not change, despite the faith the board has placed in her.”

  Lionel sipped his drink with a scowl.

  “Yes, sir, her advance team arrived on-site this afternoon eastern time. They’re going to set up camera angles and…well…other things at the house, and they’ll be running a line and air test from the valley to be sure we can go out live from the location on Halloween. I’ll be monitoring the test from here.”

  Peterson avoided mentioning the fact that Kelly and her technical team, along with the show’s two hosts, were there to explore the areas of the house that would best serve the faked part of her risky business. He was saving that small tidbit. A few days before the show, he would announce to the board in New York that Kelly had done the planning for her little con on her own. That might get the special stopped, and Kelly out of his hair for good. Then New York would look to him as their savior from this eight-hour live fiasco.

  The CEO informed him that all of corporate in New York would also be watching the live test feed from the house in Pennsylvania this evening. Lionel frowned. He hated it when New York looked over his shoulder for any reason.

  “Well, it should be pretty boring, but the test is a must. So, if you want to doze off, please feel free to watch.”

  Peterson hung up the phone with a bad taste in his mouth.

  Bright River, Pennsylvania

  The four of them stood before the grand staircase. It was impressively wide—at least fifty feet at the bottom, and tapering to about thirty feet at the top. The broad risers were covered in an expensive Persian rug. At the top, the landing spread out left and right, leading to the thirteen bedrooms on the second floor. A smaller staircase led to the third floor and the other twelve rooms there. The two sides were separated by a deep, high valley, through which you could see down to the first floor, sixty feet below. The direct center of the house climbed to two hundred feet above their heads, culminating in a cathedral ceiling made up of the thickest wood beams any of them had ever seen. To the right of the grand staircase on the first floor was the expansive ballroom, complete with sixty-foot bar and raised stage for a band. To their left was the entertainment room with one of the old fashioned silver movie screens. The small, ornate room was outfitted with fifty theater-style red velvet seats, and even boasted a small half-round concession stand with popcorn popper.

  As they slowly climbed the beautiful staircase, they examined the portraits of the Lindemann family lining the wood paneling that faced the stairs. These were arranged from the great-great grand nephew, Wallace Lindemann, all the way to the founding member of the sewing machine empire, Frederic Lindemann, and his wife, resplendent in a white gown and diamond-laced tiara.

  “What a line,” Paul said. He held tightly to the curving wooden banister. “She must have been one of the lucky ones to get out of Russia with some of the jewelry, before the Communist revolution started.”

  “The interesting thing about the old family line after Frederic and his wife, and one that we have to stress in the script, is that their eight children all died before the age of twenty-two.”

  Jason Sanborn pulled a folded packet of papers from inside his jacket.

  “Well, according to your research, four of them died in the influenza epidemic of 1937. So there’s nothing mysterious there. Then another two in 1939 from a measles outbreak at their boarding school in upstate New York. Again, tragic, but explainable. The last two—the oldest, a boy and a girl—died together in a house fire in Orono, Maine, where they had gone to University. The house was leased by the Lindemanns for the kids’ privacy. Something we can touch on and maybe even elaborate upon,” he looked up as he slid the papers back into his jacket, “you know, for some creepy innuendo.”

  “There is one thing that stands out. Since the attacks here began, the Lindemann family luck kind of went to hell, didn’t it?”

  Each of the men looked at Kelly. Indeed, losing that many children to accidents was on the impossible odds side, even if they had lived in a time that tried especially hard to kill kids. They had to catch up with Kelly, who was already moving again.

  Soon they found themselves at the very top of the stairs on the second floor landing, looking at the patriarch and matriarch of the family; F.E. and Elena were facing them from on high at the uppermost landing. The great ten-by-eight portrait was one of the most impressive any of them had ever seen outside a museum.

  “Well, he doesn’t look like I thought he would,” Greg said. “Maybe we could get that portrait changed out for something that looks a tad more evil. He looks like someone’s kindly grandfather.”

  Kelly saw just what Greg meant. The
portrait was done in soft tones and bright hues of paint, unlike most paintings from the turn of the century. Often, they were done in dark colors and were styled so that the subject had a stern and determined look. The faces in this one were kindly, and there were none of the harsh brushstrokes associated with that era. He was even smiling, showing white, even teeth. In addition, what could anyone say about Elena? She was picture perfect.

  “We’ll avoid showing these. We need something out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem, not people out of a Dick and Jane children’s book,” Kelly agreed.

  They looked both ways down the long carpeted hallway. It wrapped completely around the second floor, with only the larger of the rooms hidden from view beyond the turns.

  “This place could be bought up by Marriott and never miss a beat. It’s massive,” Jason said. He sipped from his water bottle.

  “Come on, let’s check out the master suite before Lindemann arrives,” Kelly said. She hurried forward, deeper into the house. The others quickly followed.

  The bedrooms were hidden behind thick, rich cherry wood doors and were passed by without any concern by the four. The doors were closed soundly against the intrusion of the visitors, except for one. It opened a crack as the padded footsteps moved further into the long hallway. The eyes that moved behind the door watched Kelly as she walked jauntily toward the huge master bedroom at the end of the hall.

  “Look at those doors,” she said. “They look like they belong in a church.”

  They all came to a stop. The double doors rose to a height of twenty feet. Carved into the wood was a scene from the Nativity. Christ was depicted lying in Mary’s arms, with all the animals looking on, and Mary and Joseph smiling down at what they and God had created. The carving had to have taken the hand of a master artisan. The face of the Christ child was done in such exquisite detail that it seemed to be alive. The soft features and eyes seemed to be looking down at them from over his mother’s loving arm.