That Frequent Visitor: Every Face Has A Darker Side (The Ghost Whisperer Chronicles Book 1)

by John Harker

  There were around a hundred glass jars placed on wooden racks on all three sides of the chamber behind the staircase. They were all emitting golden rays. What were they filled with?

  Coins of gold? Some hidden treasure?

  However, if they were gold coins, then why were they moving? They were floating inside the jars and hitting the walls of the jars.

  I inched closer to the rack on the southern side and zoomed in to see the magical entities inside the glass jar.

  Fireflies!

  Not one, but a hundred fireflies in each jar, and over a hundred thousand fireflies in hundreds of jars emitting brilliance that lit up the dark hell of a chamber. That was the source of the buzzing sound. Why were they kept there, I wondered? In fact, who had kept them there? Had it been the so-called Frequent Visitor? But in that case, these poor creatures must have been caught at least a year ago, the last time he was rumored to be there. But fireflies do not live so long, do they? They hardly live a few days or weeks at the maximum.

  There was confusion in my mind. I pitied the fate of those captive fireflies. They did not cause rabies. They did not bite and give infections. Nobody had the right to trap such harmless objects of beauty; they were nature’s own watchmen. I started opening the jars one by one, setting those who were alive free!

  In about five minutes, over thousands of fireflies had started floating around the cellar. Some could hardly fly and crashed down and lost their glow. While others flew high in joy and escaped out of the open trapdoor. Their buzzing suddenly shifted tempo. They seemed to be thanking me in chorus. It felt nice. The thunder outside grew louder, but that was all. I was excited upon uncovering the secret that existed beneath my own house. I was very curious to know what they were doing there in the first place.

  And that was when I heard a loud cry; that of a woman from upstairs. It was my wife, Lavanya. The shriek shook me and I accidentally dropped the jar that I was holding. It shattered instantly and a few shards of glass pierced into my feet. I cried in pain and limped towards the stairs. The trapdoor had been knocked down; I thought that it must have fallen down accidentally. I flew up the stairs and pushed hard but the door did not move at all. It was locked from above. But who had done that?

  I pushed again and again. Yes, I remember that vaguely. It was getting darker and my breathing got heavier. I struck at the door with my shoulders, but to no avail. It was an old building, but built with the strongest of materials. The shriek was getting louder and accompanied by constant cries for help. Oh my dear Lavanya! Yes, that was her! I tried harder. I was exhausting myself. I knew my feet were bleeding and that I would black out soon. My hands were trembling and I droppedthe lantern. It fell down and exploded into a quickly spreading fire that caught my trousers first and then spread up my body.

  I cried in pain, not from the physical burn triggered by the fire, but from an emotional one of not being able to help my wife who was screaming under mysterious circumstances on the floor above. As the fire finally broke into the innermost tissues of my skin I shrieked out my beloved wife’s name,

  ‘Lavanyaaa!’

  I lost my balance and all I remember is falling down, knocking my burning head and limbs on the steps and finally settling down on the mushy floor amongst the buzzing of the frightened fireflies and the noise of the crackling fire.

  I breathed in sighs, and wrenched in pain, and slowly every event in my life started playing in front of me.

  The childhood memories with my brother.

  The day I caught my brother kissing Cecily near the railing of Howrah Bridge.

  The day I smashed that six in Eden Gardens. My first and only victory as captain.

  My arguments with mother.

  The peaks of Hindu Kush, dips in the Ganges, chants in Tirupati, sajdas in Ajmer, sevas in Amritsar, peace in Gaya and then ultimately the call of destiny in Kochi.

  The visuals swept across my mind.

  The taste of Mishti Doi.

  The moment I first set my eyes on Lavanya; the moment I fell in love.

  Moments spent in love. Moments spent together.

  The day I married her. The night she accepted me as her God.

  The shuvo mudro that she gave me, did I still have it?

  This is the symbol of luck and I have prayed to all the gods to bless the holder of this coin at all times. Please accept this.

  In a desperate attempt by my burning body to save itself, my right hand went inside my blazer’s breast pocket. That was where I usually kept the coin. I prayed for the first time in my life for the coin to be in its place. Lavanya had said that the coin would save its owner from ill fate. In the face of death, a human forgets all principles and surrenders to whatever gives him a glimmer of hope. I had surrendered to the mumbo-jumbo.

  Sadly, it was not inside my pocket. I remembered placing the coin on the table where I was reading Camus’ book.

  Then I realized the one irrational mistake that I had committed in my life, despite living a rational life since I remembered; the mistake of putting my life on the outcome of a coin’s toss.

  The beauty of the city, the blissful backwaters, and the solitary mansion that captivated my soul; all came back to me. The tea-seller, the broker Sammy, the owner de royale, the maid Chinamma and ultimately that legend. The one that haunted… the one about whom everybody had warned me… the one whom I did not believe in… the one who was perhaps up there trying to kill my wife… the one whom they called…

  That Frequent Visitor.

  My wife’s final cries faded away, so did the buzz of the fireflies and the crackling of fire.

  I slipped into whiteness.

  Coming Soon on Red Olyfaunt Paperbacks

  Book 3

  The Frequent Visitor

  Chapter 29

  Clifford Mansion, Kerala

  27th December, 2013

  Dawn spawned over the horizon as the topmost follicles on the sun’s head germinated from the seemingly flat bed of water that was the Arabian Sea. The first rays of the morning made their presence felt as light glimmered into the dining room through the broken window on the southeast corner. The fireflies lost their shine and quickly retired to the darker corners of the mansion.

  ‘I think it is time for you to leave.’ Richard’s ghost said looking at the girl’s tired eyes, ‘Child, you never blinked your eyes. Not even once and I am really sorry I should barred myself from narrating some of those dreadful incidents. It was after such a long time, somebody was here to listen to me that I forgot that I was talking to a little angel like you who should not be indulged with the tales of the tainted.’

  ‘There are worst things to read about in the newspapers these days and then teachers at our schools say Read Your Newspaper Everyday.’ The nine-year-old informed.

  ‘Is it?’ The ghost was surprised.

  ‘My mother gave me Mr. Clifford last year. She said that he would always protect me. I believed that, however my friends told me that the soft furred bear was nothing more than a toy.’ Shiuli said.

  She looked out at the rising sun and continued, ‘When mom died, everything she had said and had given me became very dear to me As if all those kept her alive in my world. That was when Mr. Clifford made so much more special. I carry him everywhere and people laugh at me,’ she looked at the furry teddy bear.

  ‘Coincidentally after listening to your story I realized that my mother had been right. Mr. Clifford did save me last evening.’ She looked at Richard’s ghost and smiled, ‘But in a different form altogether.’

  ‘I did not understand, child.’ The ghost shrugged.

  ‘My life was in danger; those rascals could have done anything to me. I was helpless and then you saved me from them, Mr. Richard Clifford Baxter.’ She revealed his name with a sense of pride.

  ‘Oh yes, that is my middle name. I knew I had heard that name somewhere when you mentioned it earlier.’

  ‘Yes, you told me a lot. But don’t you remember anything after you were bu
rnt that night?’ Shiuli pressed.

  ‘Next thing I remember is waking up in this mansion feeling light as helium gas. I do not remember anything after that. I only remember things in bits and pieces.’ The ghost revealed.

  ‘Things were different; I realized that I could pass through locked doors and walls but could not step outside the perimeter of this mansion. I could not find any trace of my wife, there were torn curtains in the bedroom where she was sleeping that night and my coin had disappeared. The visitor did not leave my coin either. My only companions were the fireflies that were burnt with me that night.’

  ‘The magical fireflies!’ She exclaimed.

  ‘Indeed!’

  ‘How can the fireflies step outside the mansion?’ Shiuli asked with curiosity.

  ‘They do not.’

  ‘What do you mean? Those fireflies carried me over the clouds and brought me here.’

  ‘You see, they do not have to step outside the boundary. They can fly.’ The ghost explained.

  ‘I do not believe it. Have you ever tried it?’ Shiuli asked.

  ‘I have tried many times Every time I step outside the boundary of the house; I hit an invisible wall and fall back.’

  ‘There must be a rational explanation behind this.’ The girl concluded.

  ‘Dear child, I used to run after rational explanations during my lifetime and here I am; an irrational creature.’ Richard’s ghost sighed. Once again, he looked outside the window and said, ‘Perhaps it is because the undead soul has restrictions. The fireflies are restricted to daylight and I, being human, am restricted to the confines of my habitat.’

  ‘That is fair enough for a reasonable explanation.’ Shiuli smirked.

  She turned her gaze around at the old mirror of the dressing table. She moved towards the mirror and looked at herself in it. She looked like a princess. When she grows up, any high school boy would look twice at the gorgeous young woman that she would bloom into. Her eyes were Brown, while her lips were thin and pink. The breeze from her air travel earlier made her hair unruly. She never liked long hair, and always kept it trimmed.

  ‘You are a fine young lady, beautiful. Sadly, you resemble my mother when she was young or so I feel. I do not know, my memory has not been witty of late.’ The ghost spoke from behind.

  Shiuli turned back, the ghost was right behind her. She looked back at the mirror and as expected, she did not find its reflection in it, ‘Wow, so you do not have a reflection.’

  ‘I am afraid, I do not.’ The ghost confirmed. He continued, ‘I think you will have to go back home on your own. The fireflies are down until sunset.’

  ‘But I do not know the way,’ she checked her pockets and swore in despair, ‘Shit! I do not have my phone either.’

  ‘Do not swear, child.’ The ghost advised.

  ‘How am I gonna get home?’

  Just then there was a sound from the main door. Someone was unlocking the door. The sound of the latch cautioned the ghost and he quickly peeped out through the window and checked, ‘It is that the fat man again. I know he comes here often. He used to come here with that Broker Sammy. He is an clumsy young man, always breaks a thing or two, and farts around carelessly.’ Richard’s ghost revealed, ‘Wait, there is a lady. Was she not the one who took you back last evening?’

  ‘Pishi?’ Shiuli said surprised.

  ‘Is she the one? Dear, she is gorgeous. I can see where you get your beauty from; it is in your genes. But how did she know that you would be here?’

  ‘She is a journalist, one of the best.’

  ‘They have unlocked the door.’ The ghost explained, ‘Just pretend to be unconscious.’

  ‘And?’ Shiuli asked. She could hear Pakhi calling out Shiuli’s name in great anxiety.

  ‘Just do it. This is the uppermost room of the mansion, it will take them some time to reach here. When they see you, naturally they will try to wake you up. Just tell them that you do not remember anything. She will believe that you were sleepwalking or else the fat man will start a rumor that the frequent visitor had brought you here.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Just do as I say!’ The ghost ordered.

  ‘But I want to…’

  ‘… Pretend or I will make you faint for real and you do not want that!’

  ‘But I promise you that I will find out the rest of the story and set you free from this curse, you with me?’ Shiuli objected and right then they heard the door burst open.

  ‘Shiuli Dutta…’ Her aunt exclaimed upon seeing her talking to a portrait hanging on the wall, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Pakhi interrogated with a raised eyebrow, ‘Whom are you talking to?’

  ‘Errr… I… I was talking to…’ she stammered and suddenly saw her bear on the floor. She picked it up and said, ‘I was talking to Mr. Clifford!’

  ‘How can you talk to Mr. Clifford.’ The fat man spoke as he entered the room, ‘He has been dead for sixty years.’ His said in a shrill voice.

  ‘It is her teddy bear,’ Pakhi interrupted.

  ‘Wait. What did you say? Who is this Clifford that you are talking about?’

  ‘The last resident of this mansion. He lived here sixty four years ago with his wife, and his middle name was Clifford.’ Iyer said.

  Shiuli looked around. The ghost of Richard was gone. There was a portrait of him in that room – the one with his wife. Iyer moved towards the wall on which the portrait was hanging. He procured the worn portrait in his massive hands and wiped off the dust and cobwebs from its surface.

  ‘He was a foolish Englishman who dared to move into the mansion against a million warnings from my grandfather. His wife was an Indian.’ Iyer revealed.

  Broker Saami is Iyer’s grandfather. Shiuli thought.

  Iyer continued, ‘My grandfather was a great scholar from Tripunithura. Every one called him Broker Saami for he also dealt in property and matchmaking. This was the last house that he brokered. The one that sealed his fate forever in a prison of its own. This foolish man and his wife lived here for two days and then on the third night both of them disappeared. Nobody ever knew where they went, but people at that time said they heard screams of the woman on that unfortunate night.’ He passed the portrait to Pakhi.

  Shiuli silently looked at her aunt who was studying the portrait closely.. However, she was glad that it was keeping Pakhi’s attention away from her. Meanwhile Iyer continued, ‘This mansion has a history and it is not safe for women at all. For decades this legend was locked out, but last evening your daughter broke into the mansion and released the curse again.’ He looked at the girl and asked, ‘Are you alright dear?’

  Shiuli nodded.

  ‘Let us get out of here before something else happens. I must call the tantrikan to perform some poojas on this mansion again.’ Iyer turned towards Pakhi and asked, ‘May I have the portrait back?’

  Pakhi gave back the portrait reluctantly.

  ‘It is weird,’ she said, ‘the lady in the picture.’

  ‘What about her?’ Iyer asked.

  ‘I want to know more about her.’ Pakhi said in a spooky manner.

  ‘I will tell you everything I know, if you agree to get out of here at this instant!’ Iyer requested.

  The women nodded and Iyer followed them out of the mansion. Shiuli noticed there was a sudden change in her aunt’s face. Pakhi had definitely picked up something that had completely lured her attention towards the woman in the portrait. Lavanya Baxter, Richard’s wife.

  Chapter 30

  ‘Yes Parosh, she is alright. We found her in the old mansion. She does not recollect how she ended up in the mansion. I think she was sleepwalking with her teddy bear. The toy feels a little warm and heavier than before.’ Pakhi said on her phone.

  ‘We are having breakfast here in a seaside café with Mr. Iyer. Yes, the man we met last evening. Sure, we will be back by noon. Take care.’ She disconnected the call and placed her phone on the table. Across the table sat a hungry Mr. Iyer who was mu
nching his masala dosa as if it was the last one on the planet. Shiuli sat next to Iyer; her mind seemed to be somewhere else though.

  ‘Mishti, ki holo? Aamke boluna.’ Pakhi asked.

  Shiuli ignored her aunt’s question; in fact, the question never even reached Shiuli’s ears. She was lost in a world of thoughts.

  ‘You know,’ Iyer spoke as he munched on the mashed potato from his masala dosa, ‘it is perfectly understandable,’ he chewed some more, ‘for a young girl like Sooli to go into a psychological trauma after spending an entire night in that haunted mansion.’

  ‘It is Shiuli, Sh…eeyu…lee, not Sooli.’ Pakhi corrected him.

  ‘Yes yes, Sh…oo…lee. You see, she must have been sleepwalking like you said but not a single soul on this island would take that for a logical reason, including me.’ Iyer took another bite and then continued,

  ‘You see, the mansion is almost a century old and has seen lot of doom and death since the year it was built. I am glad that your daughter, Shoolee, did not get a scratch on her body.’

  ‘Mr. Iyer, Shiuli is not my daughter. She is my niece and I am sorry but I think you do not understand the meaning of the word logical, do you?

  ‘Oh very well, I do, madam. I am a postgraduate in English literature.’