When The Spirit Moves You

by Thomas DePrima

  "Yes. And when I woke up, I sat up until morning."

  "It's time to do something. You have to seek medical help."

  "The nightmare is significant, Momma. I know it is. I don't recognize anything in it, but it must be a warning. I just don't know if it's something that will happen to me in the future, or something that's happened in the past."

  "Maybe it's a scene you saw in a movie or television program that just keeps playing over and over. You know, like when you can't get a tune out of your head."

  "No, it's real. I know it is. I just don't know what it means— yet."

  "Well, today's Friday. If you're not able to get a full night's sleep, free from nightmares, by Monday morning, we're going to the hospital to consult with somebody."

  Arlene smiled weakly. "Okay, Momma."

  Her father didn't accept Arlene's paranormal abilities as being genuine. He was always looking for more rational explanations for the visions that she had and the things that she knew. Her mother, on the other hand, only made a pretense of not believing. Arlene believed that her mother had at least a limited paranormal ability, although she would never admit it.

  Hearing the voices, Cook appeared at the door to take Mrs. Watson's breakfast order.

  Not long after Arlene's mother left for the club, a new silver Saab arrived at the estate and buzzed for entry. Mrs. Caruthers, having opened the front gate so the vehicle could enter the grounds, waited patiently at the front door. As the Saab screeched to a stop, two giggling young women jumped out and hurried up the steps of the portico. Mrs. Caruthers had intended to show them to the small parlor just off the large foyer where they could wait until Miss Arlene came down, but as soon as they learned that she was in her bedroom they stepped past Mrs. Caruthers and bounded up the wide marble staircase that lead to the second floor.

  Originally retained to help track the bills and make payments to contractors while the mansion was being restored, Arlene had asked Mrs. Caruthers had stayed on as housekeeper when the work was complete. The sixty-year-old woman, whose once black hair was now mostly grey, appeared at first to be someone's sweet grandmother, but she had a sharp mind and could be all business when required. At just five-foot one-inch, she never let her height stop her from speaking her mind when she knew she was right.

  Mrs. Caruthers scowled, snorted quietly, and returned to supervising the day maids that were presently cleaning the downstairs rooms. Both young visitors were well known to her and intimately familiar with the house, but she expected more maturity from them.

  "Ar!" one of the girls shouted as they entered the bedroom.

  "Be right out," Arlene shouted back from her bathroom. Emerging a few seconds later, she screamed and ran to the two girls, who screamed back and met her halfway. They, and Megan Kearney, had grown up together and been best friends since entering kindergarten, but they hadn't seen one another since spring break. After a few seconds of hugging, Arlene took a step back and said, "You both look great. Erin, your skin has completely cleared up. And I love your hair."

  Erin McDonald smiled widely and said, "Finally. I still have to watch the chocolate though." For most of her teenage years, Erin's otherwise pretty face had been covered with acne, and her mousy brown hair had been cut to conceal as much of her cheeks as possible. Her new hairdo, replete with highlights, proudly swept her hair back and away from her face. Like Arlene, the five-foot four-inch young woman was in her third year of college. She hoped to become a pediatrician one day, and her grades were so far more than adequate to achieve that goal.

  "And Renee, you look great also," Arlene said. "Of course you always look great."

  Renee Dennis, twenty-one now like the other two girls, had always been the most attractive of the quartet while they were growing up, and definitely retained that distinction now. The five-foot seven-inch blonde, with jade-green eyes, perfect smile, soft, lush lips, and a curvaceous body, practically had to beat the boys off with a stick in high school. If she had one serious failing, it was her mouth. She often said what she thought before thinking about the possible repercussions of her words. And her penchant for making facetious remarks often kept people from taking her very seriously.

  "But you don't," Renee said. "What's wrong? Man troubles?"

  Arlene grinned. "As if that could be a problem. No. I haven't found anyone yet that could hold a candle to my Jeremy. Perhaps I never will."

  "You have to forget Jeremy and move on," Erin said. "He died in 1937. You had fifty-three wonderful years together, but it's time to find another love."

  "You're one to talk. Have you forgotten Donald, or your children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren?"

  "I didn't mean forget, exactly. I'll never forget a husband that I loved with all my heart for almost half a century, or our progeny, but these twenty-one-year-old bodies have definite physical needs. I once thought that I'd be content with my work, and satisfied with just fond memories of that other life, but I've come to realize during the past several years that I was very wrong. I won't forget Donald, but I need to find a man to share this lifetime with."

  "I suppose you're right," Arlene said. "During the past few years I've felt incredibly lonely at times."

  "Is that why you look so awful?" Renee asked. "You're lonely?"

  "No, that's not it. I've been having a recurring nightmare every time I try to sleep. I wake up soaking wet with perspiration, and then I'm afraid to go to sleep again."

  "Tell us about it," Erin said.

  After Arlene had related the dream, Renee asked, "Do you think it's a premonition?"

  "I don't know. I only know it's significant."

  "Have you consulted the cards?" Erin asked, referring to Arlene ability with a tarot deck.

  "Of course. But the answers are ambiguous."

  "Ut oh," Renee said. "I'm getting that funny feeling again. The last time you started getting ambiguous answers from the cards, we all wound up in the nineteenth century, in other people's bodies."

  "Oh, Renee, you loved it," Arlene said, grinning.

  "Don't pay any attention to her," Erin said. "Like us, she wouldn't trade that time for anything in the world. So what do the cards say about the murder?"

  "I asked them if I was involved. They said yes. So I asked them if I was the victim. They said no. So then I asked them if I was the killer?"

  "The killer?" Erin echoed. "That's absurd. You don't even like to kill houseflies. In high school biology you refused to dissect the frog, accepting a failing grade for that lab exercise instead."

  "I had to ask," Arlene said. "They said no. So how else can I be involved if I'm not the victim or the killer?"

  "You don't think that you…" Erin said, her voicing trailing off.

  "I honestly don't know," Arlene said, instantly picking up on Erin's thought. "I suppose it's possible that the answers from the cards could still be considered accurate if only my soul was inside the murdered woman."

  "Well, I for one am comfortable right here," Renee said. "I have one more year of college to get my degree in chemical engineering. I don't want to visit the past again before then. So if some spirit suggests to you that they send us to another era, I hope you'll decline this time, or at least delay it."

  "We weren't exactly offered a choice the last time," Arlene said.

  "Yeah, but we were only sixteen then and your powers hadn't fully developed. Now you can see them coming."

  "Unless they're trying to conceal themselves from me."

  "You didn't recognize the place at all?" Erin asked.

  "No. I'm sure I've never been there before."

  "Do you see any distinguishing landmarks, like towering buildings or bridges?" Renee asked.

  "No, nothing; just the woods and then the stream."

  "There must be something that distinguishes that place from a thousand others like it," Erin said. "What kinds of trees were in the forest?"

  "I don't know. I guess there were a lot of pines." Closing her eyes, Arlene breathed
in deeply and said, "I can smell their sap if I close my eyes. It was too dark to really identify anything else, except that the fallen tree under which I was pushed, had what looked liked maple leaves."

  "Keep your eyes closed and move to the stream," Renee said. "You said that the trees on the other side of the stream had been harvested. Is there any large equipment in evidence."

  "No. All I see are the low tree stumps. There's almost no undergrowth. Wait, there's a sign on the other bank."

  "Focus on that," Erin said. "Can you see what it says?"

  "It's just a 'No Trespassing' sign, barely readable in the moonlight."

  "Read it to us," Renee said.

  "No Hunting, Fishing, or Trespassing. Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association."

  "That's it," Renee said. "Now you know where it happens."

  "But how can we locate what sounds like an obscure social group?" Erin asked.

  "Just check the internet. They'll probably have a website or something."

  Arlene opened her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "It's worth a try," she said as she moved towards the computer on her desk. Calling up a search engine, she entered the name and clicked on the 'go' icon. The search took just several seconds, but didn't produce any results, except offers to buy a Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association at Amazon dot com and several other internet retailers.

  "Nothing," she said.

  "Let me try," Renee said. "I know this great search engine. It taps into all the other major search engines and always finds something."

  After some twenty seconds, Renee's search yielded the same ridiculous results as Arlene's search. In the absence of any solid leads, the search engines try to have you click on links that take you to a retailer because they get paid for every click.

  "I can't believe it," Renee said. "I always get something."

  "It's possible it doesn't exist yet," Erin offered.

  "Or maybe," Arlene speculated, "it doesn't exist anymore, and was gone before the internet got popular, so they never had a website or anyone talking about it online."

  "Well, like you said, it was worth a try," Erin said.

  "There's one more thing I can try," Arlene said as she picked up the phone and entered a speed-dial number. A couple of seconds later she said, "Daddy? Can you do me a huge favor? Would you search your sources for any references to the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association? That's G-L-E-N-N D-O-W-N-S… Thank you, Daddy, you're a dear. Call me back if you find anything. I love you."

  "What makes you think that he'll have any more luck than us," Erin asked after Arlene had hung up the phone.

  "His company is tied into all kinds of special databases around the world. If the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association existed during the past fifty years, he'll find them."

  "Glenn Downs is sort of a funny name for a place with forests," Erin said as they waited. "Doesn't 'Downs' mean 'a rocky, treeless highland with limited soil?'"

  "Maybe it will be a rocky, treeless highland with limited soil now that all the trees have been cut down," Renee quipped. "Besides, you can't always expect logic from a bunch of liquored up overgrown boys with dangerous toys."

  Arlene reached for the phone as it rang and picked up the receiver. "Hello?— Oh hi, Daddy— You did? That was fast— Okay, I've got it. New York State. What county?— In the Adirondacks? Okay, thanks Daddy. I love you. I'll see you tonight."

  The other girls looked at Arlene questioningly as she hung up the phone.

  "The Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association was incorporated in New York State as a non-profit organization. It was dissolved about ten years ago."

  "Ten years ago?" Renee asked. "In your dream, what kind of shape was the sign in?"

  "It looked fairly new," Arlene replied.

  "That means that the dream is about something that has already occurred."

  "Or will occur sometime in the past," Arlene said.

  "Don't start that time paradox stuff again," Renee said.

  "What now?" Erin asked.

  "I'm going to send an email to the sheriff's office in the county where Glenn Downs Sportsman Association was located and inquire about my murder."

  (end of the sneak peak)

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