Ellen looked up from her toast. “We’re very disappointed in you. We expected you to help; instead, you left us floating on the breeze.”
She came over as a harsh school teacher chastising a student. But I had to agree. He’d let us down big time and was obviously enjoying his well-paid freedom while Marcus footed the bill. Lucy, with her flashy red heels and short low cut dress, looked as if she was about to walk the red carpet instead of eating breakfast at 9 am. It was enough to put any man off his fried egg unless you were blind. The male waiting staff couldn’t resist a look as they hurried past, trays in hand.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, it’s just that I’m so freaked out, I can’t face being in there with you guys hunting ghosts. Marcus has me busy trying to sort out new contractors. So when will you be done?”
Ellen was upset with his couldn’t-give-a-shit attitude and so was I. Taking a breath and doing the first thing that sprang to mind, I retaliated. “What the hell do you mean by ‘done’? We’re not roasting something in the oven that’s on a timer. This is a serious business and clearing the building isn’t a dead cert. We can’t set our watches by it either.” The man had absolutely no concept of what we did and had no intention of trying to understand, either.
“Can you not be in there around four this afternoon as the contractor and architect are coming from Amsterdam to take a look?” He hadn’t heard a damn word I’d said.
“Maybe you’d be happy if we could remove the ghosts to order, how’s that?” Ellen replied angrily.
“No, of course not, take your time. Marcus doesn’t have a problem; neither do I. It’s just that if they see what you guys are doing in there, it could jeopardize everything.”
I got what was happening real fast. Chris believed that because the new contractors were from out of town it meant they were clueless. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that if we were hanging around, the cover was blown and questions would be asked. A haunting is one thing. But an unexplained death is something else.
“The contractor doesn’t know that someone died on the job, does he?” I asked.
“Why would he? He’s Dutch and doesn’t live in Belgium, he doesn’t know shit.”
I hadn’t socked anyone in the mouth in quite a while. But I didn’t dare. Ellen and I looked at each other in knowing disbelief; not only was the guy living on a different planet, he had become almost mocking as his arrogance grew. If anything, we were a hindrance to him. We had nothing to prove to him except that we meant business. But I was sorely tempted to throw my fist in his direction as he took off, laughing and joking without a care in the world.
“What a hard nosed, arrogant son of a bitch!” I said angrily.
Ellen was philosophical. She could let go easier than me and told me not to stress about Chris, the contractors, or the shoes; apparently she’d found another pair of flats among the layers of clothes she’d packed for a whole season. In the midst of it all, I’d forgotten something very important. The EVP machine that I’d sporadically switched on and off in the building and was still in one piece hadn’t been monitored. With breakfast over and back in the room, I reminded Ellen.
“Switch it on. I can’t believe we haven’t listened to it. What’s wrong with us?” she replied excitedly.
I was hoping there was something in the recordings—with so much activity, there had to be. We sat side by side on the edge of the bed and listened patiently for anything. No matter how unintelligible, to come through—a sound, blip, rasp…anything.
Then faintly we heard a whisper, one time, two times, the same, but I didn’t understand what it was as it was going by so fast. Ellen grabbed my arm, excited. “It’s German I hear German.”
“What’s it saying?” I asked urgently.
We replayed it once more as Ellen closed her eyes and listened intensely. “It says ‘Get out, leave or die.’”
“What?”
“Get out, leave or die. I’m sure that’s the translation from raus oder sterb but don’t quote me.”
I fell back on the bed with my arms outstretched as if I was about to be crucified. “Are you telling me that this could be the ghost of an evil psycho Nazi?”
“Could well be, and maybe it was his spirit that possessed me and forced me up the ladder.”
“The same one I encountered on the stairs or more like him?” I replied.
Jumping up off the bed, Ellen switched off the machine and turned to me in utter defiance.
“I don’t care if it’s Hitler himself, we’re going back in and we’ll do whatever we can to clear the spirits even if we have to find a priest to help us. Get up, Monty, we’re leaving!”
Did I have anything to say? Like: “Can I call the airline to see if we can get on a flight today? Or: “My wife was sent up a ladder against her will and could have fallen to her death, so we’re leaving.” But I didn’t share my worried, stressed out thoughts. Instead I wondered what twist of fate or destiny brought us to a country where German wasn’t widely spoken. The message on the EVP was in the one language Ellen understood; did that mean it was a higher force that guided us to be in the right place, halfway across the world, knowing that we wouldn’t be harmed because they’d protect us—or was it just a plain old coincidence?
“I’m with you.” I replied. “No more messing around. Let’s get on with it, and we don’t need a cab. I know the route. We’ll walk.
Chapter Nine
It was nice to walk in the early morning sunshine.
So far, the Northern Europe weather had been kind, a little rain here and there but surprisingly warm. Ellen couldn’t take her eyes off the shops. Elegant European fashion enticed her with every step she took.
“Look, there’s Calvin Klein...oh, Armani.” She squealed with delight. “Monty, look, another chocolate shop, just look at the range. Oh my God...truffles. We must get some of those to take home.”
“Yeah, very smart, they’ll be a melted pulp by the time we get back.”
She looked at me with a cheeky grin on her face, giving a direct, no-nonsense answer. “I’ll have no problem eating them all before even get to the airport.”
We stopped by the cafe to return the flask and ask Ingrid about the letters. She was as intrigued as we were and read them carefully. “One is a letter to confirm a meeting with someone about his salary,” Ingrid explained, “The other one is about a job interview.”
“So there’s nothing unusual in them?” Ellen asked.
“It was a stock exchange, so these letters are nothing special.”
“No, what’s unusual is what happened in the building during the war. We believe that the place was used by the Germans to interrogate and torture people and make the lists for deportations to Poland.”
Ingrid paused and I surmised we’d hit on a sensitive subject. “It’s possible; bad things happen in war, and Belgium had its share of good and bad. There were many who despised the Germans and some who supported them, betraying their Jewish neighbours while others hid them. I don’t know anyone who will be able to confirm your theory. You should go to the city hall and ask to see the archives.”
“Do you think they’d let us see them when they know what we’re doing?” I asked.
“Maybe, maybe not, but don’t forget that many documents were destroyed by the Germans when the Allies were coming, especially the evidence that they had shipped thousands off to concentration camps.”
Ingrid appeared uncomfortable. “We prefer to leave the past behind and move on. The need for justice has long passed as nearly all the monsters that did such evil things are either dead or nearly dead.”
Ellen wasn’t deterred by Ingrid’s comment, even though she accepted her view she was convinced, like me, that it was never too late for justice, in this life or the next. “I do understand you find it hard to be reminded,” she told Ingrid. “But I’m sure there’s a really bad spirit in the building connected to the war, extremely powerful and dangerous.”
“So you really
think after all these years that you can put things right?”
“I believe in spiritual justice—that is, if a soul refuses the light then he’s doomed to darkness.”
We were grateful for any snippet of information we could get, and as we were leaving, Ingrid touched Ellen lightly on the arm and opened her heart. “Every night at nine thirty a man named Herbert comes into the café. He stays for one hour, drinks three small beers and then goes to his home around the corner. He was very young when war came. The Germans dragged his father out of the house into the street and shot him dead. He’d been helping to hide resistance friends but someone betrayed him. His mother was also taken away, never to be seen again. He would want spiritual justice.”
This time I knew which key it was before I opened the high wooden door that creaked more each time, with Ingrid’s words ringing in my ears. I braced myself for the damp smell that didn’t seem to bother Ellen as much as it did me. We headed straight through into the main hall to a sunlight that was streaming through the glass roof, creating a bright picture postcard scene. “It’s so beautiful.” I said.
“Beautiful but damned,” Ellen replied.
Then…a crashing sound—as if something heavy had been thrown. The noise was coming from one of the rooms and Ellen caught on immediately to what it was. “They’re angry we’ve come back. This is their way of showing it.”
“They…how many?”
“Two for sure; the rest are trapped, how many I don’t know. Whether it’s because of them or for some other reason isn’t clear to me yet.”
It was hard enough to move one trapped spirit on, let alone half a dozen; if I was Ellen I wouldn’t know where the hell to begin.
“There’s a mix of passive and aggressive ghosts here from different time zones, centuries apart merging together…a blend of good and evil.” She was interrupted by another loud bang, this one coming from the direction of the building supplies. It was the twelve-foot ladder, the same one I had rescued Ellen from. Not only had it fallen, it was far from its place halfway across the hall as if it was hurled through the air with force.
“My God, that’s some paranormal energy; it must take some power to be able to achieve that,” I announced loudly, hoping to flush out the perpetrator by tuning into his ego. It worked.
Click…click…click…we both heard it as Ellen moved toward one of the many doors leading to what were once offices. I followed closely behind, camera and heat sensor at the ready.
“It’s the door handle,” she said quietly. “Look, its turning.”
An unseen hand was repeatedly flicking the door handle—the source of the click, creating a light echo around the desolate building.
“What do want?” Ellen asked in a firm voice. “Speak to me. Tell me why you’re still here…what’s keeping you, why are you stuck?”
She lifted her hands slowly into the air as if she was searching for something, her fingers pointing into the room. “I’m going to follow you,” she said to the unseen force.
The meter was reading it was red hot so there was no doubt we were close to something. Plus I got the distinct feeling that something was right behind me as close as it could be.
“There’s more than one with us right now,” I said.
“Yes, I know….and I’m sure there are two of them right now.”
The room was no different from all the others. Years of decay had left rotting wallpaper that was hanging off in shreds, layer upon layer of dust, and an old filing cabinet standing in the corner was the only piece of furniture to be seen.
“He’s speaking to me in German. He’s very angry we’re here; this is his territory…..he wants us to leave him alone. He’s saying he was acting on orders and proud to do so.” Ellen was talking at the speed of light, not uncommon when she’s picking up messages. “His eyes are bloodshot, really red, and his skin is pale…there’s a small scar near his lip...he’s snarling at me.”
I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting Ellen’s connection. “Who the hell is behind me? It’s freaking me out. It feels like a hand on my shoulder.” I tried to stay in control but the hairs were going up on the back of my neck.
“I see them.” Ellen said. “They’re German officers, it’s the uniforms…one has a cap that’s braided at the top in silver, two layers. They’re very angry.”
“Ellen, move…move now!” I replied with a sixth sense that told me loud and clear that the filing cabinet would come crashing down exactly where she stood. I was right—heeding my warning, she moved just in time as with a metallic bang it fell at her feet.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted. “We’re not afraid and I’ve met far worse than you!”
Before I could open my mouth, the meter flew out of my hand and with lightning speed hit the opposite wall, smashing into pieces. “Son of a bitch,” I called out. “Don’t think a dumb act like that will stop us!”
Ellen began moving around the room, stepping over the broken meter and avoiding the filing cabinet as she tried to tune in. “My guide is here and he’s telling me that these spirits are trapped in darkness; they also fear retribution for their crimes…unspeakable crimes. They are connected to the dark lower levels. They have evil intent.”
I was seriously concerned; for all my bravado, the thought of Nazis and what they did left me feeling angry and afraid for both of us.
Ellen was shaking and crying softly. “I think they were responsible for the list, Monty, I keep hearing the word list. On those lists were the names and addresses of the Jewish population of the city who they sent to the gas chambers, innocent men women and children. Thousands were taken and not many came back.”
“Shit, Ellen, remember how I couldn’t watch Schindler’s List all the way through? Now I have to be in the same room with these guys. You’re kidding me right?”
She was thinking hard about what to do next; with the psychic connection gone, her face frowned in anguish. “We should call Pieter to ask him to take us to the local city hall. Maybe they still have records proving that Germans were in this building. It’s worth a shot; then I’ll know for sure it’s really the cause.”
“We said that we couldn’t cope with going to a concentration camp. How are we going to deal with the pain of this?” I pleaded.
“There’s no choice. We’re meant to be here. I can’t walk away because it’s too upsetting. We’re investigators. It’s our mission to do whatever we can no matter how painful it is.”
I couldn’t refute what she said, so I picked up what remained of the meter, trying to get a grip on myself. The fact that these heathens from hell were still capable of inflicting pain on the human race from another dimension made my blood boil.
“What now?” I asked.
“Information, as much as possible, then we’ll come back.”
I called Pieter but it went straight to voice mail, reminding me that he worked nights and slept in the day. Grabbing the bags, we locked up just as Ingrid passed by. It was her day off but she was happy to help stash our bags in a safe place in the café.
“Before we hail a cab,” I asked, “shouldn’t we ask Ingrid where exactly city hall is?”
“The cab driver will know.”
“Maybe it’s just around the corner?”
“Really, are you getting a hunch? Could be, let’s ask her then.”
I had a hunch. It was less than fifteen minutes’ walk away in a pretty straightforward direction, making it easy to find. Armed with a drawn-out map, we headed off with the knowledge that they kept odd hours so it would be hit and miss if we made it on time. The walk gave us a chance to wind down and enjoy the city’s delights. Endless cafes and restaurants were giving off delicious and enticing food smells that whetted our appetites. I could taste the pizza as we went past an Italian restaurant and I could spot the tourists. They lingered, studying their maps and eagerly snapping photos. The locals, on the other hand, hurried past going about their daily business, immune to the never-ending
stream of foreign visitors that converged on their city every summer. We found it fascinating to hear a mishmash of languages from all over the world as we walked in what was a totally multi-cultural city.
I found it hard to believe what happened here more than sixty years ago. As Ingrid said “It’s all in the past.” Without any hassle, we found the large ornate building standing regally with its flags flying. Neither of us could help but be surprised and enchanted with the architecture.
Ellen volunteered to be the spokesperson, as I would be incapable of explaining to a public official that we would like information on something no one talked about because we were trying to get rid of a couple of Nazi ghosts. I would prefer to curl up and die.
The reception area was enormous and all the signs were in Flemish. My motto had always been “when in doubt, grab the first person you see,” and in this case, “pray they speak English.” Ellen was no different. She confidently strolled up to what appeared to be the main reception desk and spoke in an extremely polite voice. “Excuse me sir is there someone we can speak to about public records from the last war?”
She had requested information from a man behind a desk who looked as if he really hated his job and was counting the minutes till his lunch break. He barely moved, looking up from behind glasses that sat perched on his nose he answered in perfect English. “Can I ask why you need to see them and what exactly you’re looking for?”
“I thought we had a right to see them; that’s why they’re called public records,” Ellen replied. “This is Belgium, madam, not the United States, and not all our records are public,” he answered flippantly.
Mr. Bureaucrat didn’t know my wife. She was tenacious when she needed to be, and never more when her psychic work depended on historical information.
“Well then, can you please direct us to the person who will tell us what’s public and what isn’t- It can’t be you, surely?”
Firmly pointing his finger toward the staircase, it was obvious he’d been rattled. “Go up the stairs to your left. It’s the second door on the right. Bernice Steenburgen. Knock on the door before you go in.”
Ghost Hall (The Ghost Files Book 4) Page 6