She had to be kidding; that had to be at least double the miles to Europe. The only way I would sit on a plane for over 20 hours was if someone knocked me out with a heavy-duty tranquillizer.
“Is everything ready, camera set?” she asked.
“Ready to roll are you?”
“I think so and this time I won’t forget to ask for the keepers.”
Going to the ladder and walking from side to side, Ellen got her psychic connection back.
“The girl is here again. She’s distraught about the accident. She says to stop saying ‘accident’ because it was him and the other one. They both did it.”
Ellen banged her fist repeatedly on the ladder as the temperature dropped right where I was standing. It wasn’t freezing, but cold enough, as I leaned down to check the readout on the laptop.
Whack! An unseen slap across my back pushed me straight onto the table, sending everything crashing to the floor. “Son of a bitch!” I yelled. “Think you can get away with that? Try it again…see what I do…you don’t scare me!”
Ellen ran over to help me pick everything up, asking me over and over if I was okay. My chest was sore from hitting the laptop and a slight scratch stretched across my hand. Other than that I just added it to the pain from the fall. I was getting spooked thinking about the level of evil lurking in a place that was strong enough to cause injury. Why did it target me and not Ellen? Was it afraid that I might have recorded something on camera or voice?
“The frigging table’s busted.” I muttered, mad as hell.
“Let’s get out of here. Chris will get us another table. It’s not important right now, time to abort, and we need to get your hand fixed.”
The night sky was creeping in through the dirt-ridden windows, feeding my angry mood. This entity was doing everything in its power to keep people out, even going so far as to kill someone. I feared more for Ellen than for me, and I started to doubt our decision to come here. The pain in my chest was bad and when I touched the spot, I winced. Ellen looked concerned; I did my best to reassure her.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s only another bruise,” I said.
“Now I am worried. You’re not kidding around as you usually do when hurt.”
I ditched the jokes. There was a time and place and I focused on doing everything in my power to protect Ellen. Upstairs, a door was mysteriously banging, but we ignored it. Both of us were too busy packing up so we could go back to the hotel and check that the equipment was okay. Had we bitten off more than we could chew; something beyond even Ellen’s abilities? Someone had died less than ten feet from where we were standing, with no explanation. Were we capable and experienced enough to take on what could be a challenge with the potential for danger? Would it come down to a mad scramble to find a priest?
It was crazy how fast my heart pounded, so fast I made myself dizzy, unlike Ellen who was methodically packing the bags like a Girl Scout. “Cab…we don’t have a cab,” I blurted.
“Honey, don’t panic,” Ellen said. “We’ll call Pieter when we’re outside.”
Dragging ourselves across the expanse of hall towards the foyer, I was still spooked, expecting something else to happen with every step. Maybe it would take a final swing at me or pull the heavy bag from my shoulder, or trip me up so I would fall face first in the debris like a doofus.
We reached the door without any problems. For now I was off the hook.
“I’ll call,” Ellen said when we were outside with the door firmly locked.
“Tell him we’ll be in the café and he can join us for a drink if he wants,” I suggested.
“All the while his meter’s running” Ellen replied.
“That’s not what I meant. He can shut off his meter and then put it back on when we leave, simple as that.”
I heard myself loud and clear, rude and short. Wisely, Ellen ignored me, knowing that was the best thing to do when I’m angry because I’d simmer down in my own time. It took less than an hour for everything to fall apart. First the fall through the door, then the attack, a busted table, and a strong possibility that it could take longer than we’d planned. I couldn’t think of anything else to do except drink a couple of Duvels to numb the pain. Selfishly, I dragged myself over to the terrace and parked my butt slowly. It was painful to move around but my wounded pride allowed me to leave my sweet patient wife to make the call.
“He’s on his way and he’d love to join us for a quick drink,” Ellen said, joining me on the terrace.
“I’m sorry for being such a shit, but I’m hurting and I’m afraid for you,” I replied.
“I know you are. I’ll be okay and so will you. We’re strong enough to do this.”
“I might feel better if someone hadn’t died in there so recently.”
“The problem is the building itself holds so much negative energy, which in turn is feeding the angry spirits,” she said. “It binds them there.”
“We’ve had buildings and homes taking on a force of their own before.”
“Not like this, Monty…this is the strongest I’ve ever encountered.”
We sat ourselves just a few yards away from the entrance, affording me a full view as I turned my chair to confront our adversary. On first impression, you would think what a wonderful building it was, with impressive architecture full of history going back centuries. As a tourist you’d stop, pause, and take a picture, wanting to show your friends back home as you told them “Look at this great building we found.” That’s when I’d tell you the truth.
Evil personified: delete the photos.
A friendly middle-aged woman with striking red-dyed hair came to the table. She was the boss and a friend of Pieter’s. What could be better than that? And maybe she had information, with her café being so close. The old P.I. in me stepped up to the plate…a bit of digging here and there could yield some great results. With my mood lightened and ignoring the pain, I ordered drinks.
“It’s amazing how much Flemish I understand,” Ellen said as she listened to conversations going on around her. “I’m hearing words that are similar to German.”
She had studied German in college, but I never thought that there were similarities as she’d claimed. To me, it all sounded unintelligible as I was a dud when it came to foreign languages, never more highlighted than in Belgium.
So far everyone had spoken English; otherwise, I’d be desperately using embarrassing body language and pathetic hand signals to make myself understood. Ellen did explain to me that there was no barrier or confusion to understanding in spirit so I assumed she meant language as well. I couldn’t imagine not being able to understand messages from beyond and being forced to run around the city looking for a brave- hearted translator?
Pieter arrived and we pounced, both of us relieved to find someone to talk to about our experiences. Ellen poured her heart out, because what drove her was an intrinsic desire to help spirits find peace. It upset her when they wandered for eons of time not always accepting they’d passed over. Sometimes they became so attached to their surroundings that they’d do anything to make their presence known and felt. Pieter was surprisingly open, not thinking of us as a pair of weird Americans.
“This building has much history and stories that have been told for a long time, and they have become bigger if you know what I mean.” He talked slowly, doing his best in English.
“So you’re saying that they’ve been exaggerated,” Ellen replied.
“Yes, some have been told so many times they become…well…you stop believing.”
I was getting the vibe that he was doubtful of our recent experience. “Do you believe what we’re telling you?” I asked.
There was a long pause as he sipped his beer, pondering what to say to us, not wanting to hurt our feelings or diminish our experience. This was all too familiar. We knew because we’d been there before with doubters who do what they can to be diplomatic. “I want to believe you and I take you seriously…I think you should speak with
Ingrid. She believes it’s haunted.”
“Can you put us in touch with her?” Ellen asked.
“I don’t need to; she’s right here, the café boss who served your drinks. Let’s order another, this round’s on me.”
It seemed to me that Belgians ignored the drink-and-drive law more often than not. Pieter was already on his third beer and he was driving us back to the hotel. Where I’d come from, he was already over the limit. Ellen had read something online that said Belgium had a drinking culture, so I prayed we’d get back in one piece.
She smiled, a knowing smile that said “we’ve got help, we don’t have to be alone drifting in a foreign country not knowing what to do or where to go.” Could this be assistance from above guiding us to the right people?
He beckoned Ingrid and explained what happened to us in Flemish. I didn’t have a problem with it being in another language, except that I hoped he was getting the story straight. She nodded and smiled in sympathy while we looked on in confused anticipation.
“I think you’re in for trouble if you wish to carry on with your investigation,” Ingrid said in a sombre tone. “Last year a Dutch paranormal team spent two days in there. They came in here a few times and told me that the place was full of ghosts, but they left with nothing but nightmares. I wish you good luck.”
“What happened to them, and can you give us any history that might help?” Ellen replied.
Ingrid turned toward the building, pointing her finger straight at it in defiance. “Bring it to the ground. I hate that it’s here, and they leave it to stand empty for years and years rotting. Now it’s taken a life!”
Seemed we’d opened a huge can of worms and it was scary to see the fear and rage in Ingrid.
Gently, she took Ellen’s hand and looked deep into her eyes. “I can sense your psychic powers. Maybe you’re the one who can reach the tortured souls when others have failed. Don’t give up, but I’m begging you, please be careful. The building holds deep dark secrets.”
Ellen was emotional as she fought back the tears, but I knew her inner courage, her intrinsic need to keep going, and her mission in life as a psychic medium would never faze or weaken no matter what.
“Do you have any idea what these secrets could be?” I asked.
“Ask the local government here in the city to open their files,” she said with a sneer.
“How far back are we going here?”
“The last war world war two, I know it has something to do with that,” Ellen said.
“I think the same as you,” Ingrid said. “But try to get someone to talk about what really happened and they won’t tell you.”
“There’s been a cover-up, then,” I replied.
“On a grand scale, everyone knows and no one does anything. Is there anything I can do for you, something you need?”
“A small table we could borrow, perhaps, and some coffee to take out?” Ellen said. “Monty and I are going back inside with torches ablaze!”
That was my baby; no matter how many setbacks, she always bounced back. This was down to her ability to keep going no matter what. When her sixth sense told her something must be done, she’d go at it like a pit bull. The bottom line was we were blind on this one. There were no records online to check, no history to find in English, no contacts to help us—only small snippets of information from Marcus and Chris.
“There are so many ghost stories,” Ingrid continued. “But they have been contradicted over the years, so now we don’t know what to believe. Some homeless people told tales of being touched or pushed over. Some heard voices calling out and doors banging. Others have said they spent nights in there to prove there was nothing and, there was no sign of anything unusual.”
“What about this? I didn’t trip on anything; I was pushed from behind straight onto the table.” I unbuttoned my shirt to reveal a scratch on my chest surrounded by a small bruise.
“It’s very strange…and…I’m keeping an open mind. I’m half Irish, half Flemish. The Irish side is the one who says there’s more to this than meets the eye so, I’m in your corner.”
“I had a feeling you have the gift, Ingrid,” Ellen said. “I could tell the moment I met you and I knew you would loan us a table!”
“I’ll even make you a flask of coffee. It’s on the house.”
These were wonderful people, two strangers reaching out without wanting anything in return. Why did I ever think we were stuck without Chris? Pieter assured us we could call if we were in trouble and he’d be there in a flash.
It was a weird feeling being alone in a foreign country, so far out of my comfort zone. Ellen had adapted far better than me, due to her adventurous nature and passion for new people and places. I’m not a pipe-and-slippers man but I did like my familiar surroundings, so just having a couple of new friends helped me to stop thinking I was a fish out of water.
It soon became dark in spite of the late summer evenings, so we needed our high powered torches. There was a reason why the night and early morning was the best time for paranormal activity. The psychic energy levels were much higher and it’s been said that gravitational fields are stronger, acting like a magnet for ghosts all and sundry. Ingrid handed me a metal fold-away table and Ellen a flask of hot coffee. They watched us walk the short distance to the door and Ingrid sent a reassuring wave as I searched again for the right key.
Closing her eyes, Ellen put a finger on the key ring. “That’s the one,” she said and she was right again!
This time there were no surprises as the door opened easily, causing me to doubt that something was stopping us from coming in and that the previous fall had been just a dumb accident on my part. Holding the torch and looking confident, Ellen held the door open for me while I brought in the bags. I no longer felt good about leaving our equipment unattended, so that was how it would be from now on: where we went, the bags went.
Chapter Six
“Okay, up or down?” I asked Ellen, shining the torch around the dirt-filled lobby.
“I feel the need to go upstairs, back to the room that I was drawn to earlier. There’s an energy there…I know it.”
“Sorry to break your psychic link, babe, but what if there’s no plug for the laptop?”
“Then just set up the camera and anything else that’s mobile and still working.”
I could see she’d become withdrawn and fixed on where she needed to go rather than worrying about the technicalities. I let her lead the way, following slowly and purposely up the cold hard steps, holding onto the wooden rail and ignoring the stale smell. The building held no beauty in the dark; the glass skylight was no longer in sight and in the space of a few hours it had become a foreboding, anonymous structure without charm.
We reached the same spot as before, the door was still open, and I got busy setting up the tripod and aiming the thermal camera directly in the middle of the room as I waited for Ellen to make contact. “Anything coming through?” I asked as she walked round and round in circles, her head bowed deep in concentration, shuffling old yellow papers discarded on the floor out of her way.
“Not yet, but the atmosphere has changed. Can you feel it?” she replied.
Since we started working together, she had repeatedly tried to ‘open me up’ as she called it to the world of spirit. I’d done my best to expand my consciousness and trust my instincts, even going as far as being aware of changes in temperature and atmosphere before the equipment did it for me.
“Just a little colder than a minute ago nothing big happening on the reading either.”
“I’m getting a sense of…of…” She fell silent.
“Ellen.” I said sharply. “Honey, can you hear me? What’s happening?”
She walked to the door and slammed it shut. I didn’t like the fact she’d closed us in, but I followed her every movement as it became colder and colder. “There’s a man standing in the corner. He’s pointing to the desk wait, there’s an old typewriter. What’s he saying? I’m so sad—
and he’s sad, too.”
Ellen sat down on the dirty floor, rocking gently back and forth, her torch switched off. “Misery…cold… I wouldn’t tell them anything. They tried everything to make me talk I wouldn’t tell them where they were. He’s crying, begging for help. Let me take you to the light. I’m here to help you.”
Shining my torch, I saw an old desk with a typewriter and some yellowed papers next to it, just as Ellen had described without being able to see it. “We’re in a cold spot, aren’t we?” I asked. The hairs on my arms were standing up as a chill went down my spine.
“Yes, there’s a lost spirit here who needs to move on. It’s so very sad. He’s one of many. They’re everywhere.”
“How many, can you give a rough guess?”
“More than we’ve ever encountered and, more than we can handle. This is a variable hot spot of paranormal activity, with ghosts going back through centuries. This is going to be problematic, he says it’s impossible and we should leave we can’t help him.”
“What do you want to do, abandon the investigation or carry on?” I asked with caution.
She shrugged and smiled at me in the faint light. “Carry on, even though there are nasty ghosts here. There’s this poor lost soul who needs my help, plus the young girl. I won’t leave here until I’ve done everything I can to help them.”
“I just thought of something—the beers we bought to take home, we can’t put them in our hand luggage.” I said.
That was an inane and inappropriate comment. I was stupidly trying to lighten the mood as usual and couldn’t have picked a more insensitive comment to come up with but it was too late to take it back.
“Since we’ve been in Belgium, the only thing on your mind is beer,” Ellen retorted. “It started on the flight over when you were planning your first move to the bar the moment we got off the plane!”
There had been many moments in my life when I’d engaged my mouth without thinking. Ellen must have thought I was showing zero tolerance to her plight and, come to think of it, the same went for the poor ghost who was stuck with his unfinished business.
Ghost Hall (The Ghost Files Book 4) Page 4