The Haunting of Pitmon House

by Michael Richan

  “Since those of us with the gift aren’t going to be spooked by the kinds of things that might scare normal people,” Eliza said, “then designating something with a black spot must be pretty severe.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Or just a way to scare off gifteds,” Eliza said, “from something someone doesn’t want them to see.”

  “Hmm,” Rachel replied. “Hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  They arrived at Granger’s and transferred to his car, a tiny Fiat. Eliza couldn’t believe that Granger would fit into the front seat, but as she watched, he opened the door and slipped behind the steering wheel, his knees almost touching it and his head scraping the roof.

  “Tell us about the trustee,” Rachel said, as Granger drove to Pitmon House. “What did he have to say about the place?”

  “After Nick’s death,” Granger replied, “which, by the way, Harlan considered a result of the supernatural forces inside the house, he couldn’t get anyone interested in investigating the place. He tried for years and eventually gave up. The trustees looked into selling it, but in the end decided to sit on the property until land values made it more profitable to put onto the market. He also thinks they felt that the more time that went by, the more people would forget about the deaths.”

  “Deaths?” Eliza asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Granger replied. “He told me what happened to the residents. Funny that Nick didn’t mention it in his journal. And you can’t find anything about it in the reference materials on the house. The trustees did their best to bury the story.”

  “Which was?” Rachel asked.

  “A gas leak,” Granger answered. “All of the residents were found dead in their beds, asphyxiated by an overnight gas leak. He said it was a miracle the place didn’t explode. Staff aired the place out, but each of the residents were gone — nineteen of them. The trustees sealed the place up and it’s been vacant ever since.”

  “A gas leak,” Robert repeated. “And I suppose they found the leak and repaired it.”

  “Harlan didn’t say,” Granger replied, “though he seemed similarly skeptical.”

  “Wow,” Rachel replied. “So we’ve got plenty of deaths in the house.”

  “I asked him for a list of names,” Granger continued. “But he’s old and forgetful. He told me to contact their family lawyer. He said he’d call her and ask her to share information with me. We’ll go to her if we need to.”

  “So the plan for today is still to contact Reid?” Eliza asked.

  “That’s the plan,” Granger said, pulling his car to a stop alongside the high brick wall of the Pitmon estate, but well before the iron gates. “We’ll see where it leads us. Now. Let’s be smart about this.” He passed a flask back to Rachel and Eliza. “Two big swigs, each of you.”

  Eliza took the flask and downed the protection, then passed it to Rachel. She swallowed and passed it back to the front seat, where Robert drank and then Granger. He slipped the flask into his jacket pocket, and they got out of the vehicle.

  Eliza imagined their exit probably looked like a clown car — four grown adults emerging from a tiny Fiat. She resisted the temptation to crack a joke.

  It was early afternoon, and Granger led them as they walked down the sidewalk. Eliza looked up at the brick wall as they went. Ivy had grown up some of its surface, but had been obviously cut back by gardeners. The top of the wall was capped with black ironwork, freshly painted.

  When they reached the gate, Eliza peeked through the bars as Granger slipped a key into the lock. In the bright daylight the place still looked foreboding. She could see little details above windows, ornamentation that signaled the mansion’s opulence. Looking up, the windows of the second story came into view. She wondered what was going on behind the glass up there; something so dangerous it had scared off every gifted for miles.

  The lock clicked and Granger pushed the gate open. “Let’s get inside quickly,” he said, allowing the others to enter while he remained to lock the gate closed. They stepped swiftly down the cement walkway toward the building. Trimmed shrubs lined the path.

  “Someone obviously pays to keep the place maintained,” Robert muttered.

  “I got the feeling from Harlan that money wasn’t an issue,” Granger replied. “Whatever endowment was established years ago to care for the aging members of Pitmon’s family, that money has kept flowing, even without residents.”

  They walked up five wide steps and were on the porch. Ornamental brick surrounded the large door, and in one or two spots where there was wood trim, the paint was a dark grey. A round window was situated at eye level, made of panes of exquisite stained glass, each held in place by thin streaks of lead, forming a geometric pattern. Eliza felt a chill as she saw it again, worried what might be behind it.

  Granger fumbled for another key, and after a moment he located one and inserted it into the lock on the door. He twisted it, and the door opened.

  A rush of stale air rolled out.

  “Feel that?” Robert asked.

  “I do,” Rachel replied. “This might be a problem.”

  “What?” Eliza asked.

  “The pressure,” Robert replied. “You don’t feel it?”

  “No,” Eliza answered.

  “We’re protected, at least for a little while,” Granger said. “Come on, let’s not waste the time we’ve got.”

  Granger walked in first, followed by Rachel and Eliza. Robert closed the door behind them.

  The entryway rose up two stories, housing a curving staircase that stretched out before them, and a giant chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Sofas and chairs formed sitting areas under the chandelier; they were covered with dust cloths. A giant fireplace sat to the left; you could see through it to whatever room was beyond it on the other side.

  Wide archways to the left and right led to side rooms. Eliza looked down; the flooring was some kind of stone. Marble, she guessed.

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “I can see why the politicians couldn’t afford this!”

  “I’ll say!” Robert replied.

  Eliza listened carefully. It bothered her that their voices seemed muffled; she would have expected some type of echo or reverberation in such a tall, massive room with stone floors. The sound of Rachel and Robert’s voice didn’t return at all; it sounded dull and abbreviated, clipped to silence the moment the utterances were complete.

  “As much as I’d enjoy exploring this floor,” Granger said, “I think we should take advantage of the protection and head straight for Reid.”

  “Agreed,” Robert replied. He followed Granger to the staircase.

  A red carpet was attached to the stairs, held in place over the marble by thin bronze rods tucked into the base of each step. As a result, their ascent was silent, and Eliza turned to look up the massive, curving staircase to the three doors that comprised the landing. They were taller than normal doors, with intricate inlaid wood patterns. The carpet continued from the stairs, running alongside the doorways, but the landing itself was very wide, and had room for more sofas and chairs, each covered in white sheets. They stopped when they reached the middle door.

  “According to Nick,” Granger said, “this is Reid’s room. Everyone ready?”

  “He just talks, right?” Rachel asked.

  “Wait,” Robert said, sniffing at the air. “Smell that?”

  Eliza inhaled. There was a fragrance; she knew she recognized it, but couldn’t place it.

  “Smells like flowers,” Rachel observed. “It’s strong.”

  “What if it wasn’t gas?” Eliza asked.

  “Wasn’t gas?” Granger asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Harlan said they died of a gas leak,” Eliza said. “But that was a long time ago, and they’ve been trying to rehabilitate the house’s image. What if it wasn’t a gas leak, but some kind of poison?”

  “You mean,” Rachel said, “like what we’re smelling now?”

  “Exactly,” Eliza replied.


  “If it’s a poison,” Robert said, “I’m not feeling any effects. Do any of you feel anything?”

  “No,” Granger replied. “Then again, we’re full of protection.”

  “I’m not feeling anything other than nervous,” Rachel said.

  “You, Eliza?” Robert asked.

  “No, I was just speculating.”

  “Let’s stay aware of the possibility,” Granger replied. “If you start to feel anything unusual, speak up.” He reached for the handle and twisted it, pushing the door open.

  It was a large room with a sitting area and desk in the front. Toward the back was a large four-poster king size bed, stripped down to the mattresses, and next to the bed was a giant armoire. A door to the right was open, and Eliza could see a bathroom inside.

  “OK,” Granger said. “Let’s see if Reid will talk to us.”

  They walked in, Granger still in the lead, and Robert bringing up the rear. As Robert attempted to close the door, Granger stopped him. “Leave it open while we do this, will you, son?” he asked. “I’m feeling claustrophobic as it is.”

  Robert pushed the door back open, revealing a view of the sitting area on the landing.

  “I would like to sit for this, if you don’t mind,” Rachel said. “My legs feel a little shaky.”

  “Shaky — as in poison shaky?” Eliza asked.

  “No, as in nervous shaky,” Rachel replied. Robert pulled the sheet from a sofa, and Rachel took a seat on it, right in the middle. Robert looked up at Eliza, wondering if she wanted to sit too. Eliza shook her head; she was too amped up to sit. She felt like pacing, but resisted the urge.

  “Reid!” Granger called. “Reid Pitmon! We want to speak with you!”

  Dead silence. Granger looked at the others. “Nick’s journal made it sound like this guy was readily available.”

  “That was years ago,” Rachel replied.

  “Let’s start by dropping into the River,” Granger said. “We’ll go further if that isn’t enough.”

  Eliza sensed the others entering the flow, so she allowed herself to jump in as well. She’d learned to expect changes in her physical surroundings when she did so, but the room they were in didn’t change at all.

  Reid? Granger called again. Reid Pitmon?

  There! Rachel called, her hand pointing to the bed.

  Eliza turned; a ghostly form was stretched out, lying on its back. She could see through it to the pattern of the mattress below, and as it slowly rose up, she felt the hair on the back of her neck come to attention, expecting its face to be the same as the one she’d seen on the riverboat. Instead it was old and lined with wrinkles. He was wearing a finely pressed shirt and tie, and swung his feet off the bed, onto the floor. His head turned to look at them.

  You caught me taking a nap, he said, his voice echoing slightly in the way Eliza had expected their voices to sound downstairs.

  Reid Pitmon? Granger asked.

  The figure on the bed stood up to an imposing six foot six. He took a step toward them. Please, sit. I see the lady already has. Please, dear, it’s not impertinent. I would have asked you to. Don’t feel any need to apologize.

  He turned, but Eliza caught a small smirk on the man’s face that he tried to hide.

  We want to talk to you about Nick, Granger said. Do you remember him? Nick Fesco? He visited you many years ago.

  Reid folded his arms over his chest, and one arm raised so that he could tap a finger against the side of his forehead. Nick Fesco…no, the name doesn’t sound familiar.

  He died in this house, Granger said, about ten years ago.

  Well then, Reid replied, he must have stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Impropriety is often rewarded around here with severe consequences.

  We were hoping you might be able to tell us about your conversations with him, Granger said.

  If he died here, Reid replied, why not ask him yourself?

  He’s not communicative, Granger replied.

  Then your Nick Fesco is a smart man, indeed, Reid said. What is it they say, discretion is the better part of valor? He’s right at home here at Pitmon House.

  Nick had been asking about your family? Granger asked.

  If he did, I assure you he didn’t learn anything from me, Reid replied. When people come around here asking for my family’s dirty little secrets, they find in me a solid stone wall, firm and impenetrable! I do not allow gossip about the Pitmon name. I have always been relied upon as someone who will defend the family! He raised his chin defiantly.

  We’re here on a different matter, Robert said. We’re trying to find Yessler. Do you know him?

  Yessler? Reid said, walking to Robert. Where did you hear that name? Don’t think your good looks will charm me into an answer. I’m far, far too experienced in the art of subterfuge to let handsomeness get under my skin.

  Robert smiled and turned to Eliza, raising an eyebrow as he met her gaze. She resisted a temptation to laugh.

  We learned of Yessler because we encountered one of his automatons, Granger replied. A fishing scene. It had an ill effect on someone who’s now in the hospital. It was made by Yessler, and we understand that he lived here. Under a different name, perhaps.

  Not made by him, collected by him, you mean, Reid corrected Granger, irritated at his inaccuracy.

  So you do know him? Robert asked.

  No! Reid replied emphatically. I did not say that I did.

  But you know that he was a collector? Rachel asked.

  I know that you seated yourself before you were invited to do so! Reid snapped back at her. Gauche! His head threw back, and he stared down his nose at her.

  Yessler collected automatons, Robert said. Did he keep them here?

  Eliza saw Reid’s attention become distracted by something in the doorway. She turned, and thought she saw movement, as though something had just passed by.

  I haven’t said anything of use to you, Reid said, his eyes still glued to the doorway. You can question me all day, and you’ll hear nothing of use. I am an exemplar of discretion. You’ll rend no further information from me!

  Eliza walked to the door and stuck her head out, looking for the figure she’d seen walk by. Nothing was there. She turned and looked the other way; the walkway was empty. As she turned to go back into the room, something caught her eye; past the sitting area on the landing, where the walkway ended and the stairs continued up to the second floor, she saw the bottom half of a figure, ascending. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out details; it was hard from this distance. The figure wasn’t wearing clothes; the legs looked as if they were covered in thick hair, like an animal. As its feet climbed the stairs, she thought she could see hooves. She watched as they stepped up, disappearing from sight.

  Eliza? Robert asked, coming up behind her.

  I thought I saw something, she replied turning back.

  You saw nothing! Reid said. He turned to Granger. Women are often subject to fanciful impressions, am I not right?

  You are not! Eliza spoke up. That thing with the hairy legs. What is that?

  Brazen impudence! Reid said. You were not invited in here, madam! You can hold your tongue, or I’ll call for Marvin to throw you out! He’ll do it! He does whatever I say!

  Marvin has the hairy legs? Eliza asked.

  No, you idiot! Reid yelled. Marvin is the director of the house. I have a mind to ask him to bar you from entry in the future. I don’t like your tone and I don’t like your insolence!

  Back to Yessler, Robert said.

  I told you I don’t know that name! Reid insisted. I can’t speak to something I know nothing about!

  You already told us you knew he collected automatons, Robert said.

  Don’t twist my words! Reid replied. I know the tricks handsome people like you play! You contort things until more dim-witted sorts become confused and say things they shouldn’t! It won’t work with me! I have far, far too much family pride to let the likes of you penetrate my resolve! Ask tomorrow, a
nd you’ll get the same answer. There! You see, it’s impossible! Don’t even try!

  This is going nowhere, Rachel muttered.

  First semi-intelligent thing I’ve heard from you, Reid replied. I have appointments, you know. I may be retired, but I lead a busy, busy life full of schedules and engagements. You can’t take up my entire day with your questioning!

  We’re leaving, Granger said, slipping from the River.

  Eliza turned to look out the door one last time before dropping; she couldn’t see anything on the staircase beyond the landing. She slowly let herself slip from the flow, trying to minimize the pain she’d feel in her neck.

  “Seemed like a waste of time,” Rachel said.

  “On the contrary,” Granger replied. “We learned that Yessler didn’t make the automatons; rather, he collected them. And we confirmed that he had some kind of connection to this house.”

  “Yeah, Reid kind of slipped up there,” Robert said. “He seemed obsessed with not telling us anything about the family. Makes me think there’s plenty to learn.”

  “And we discovered there’s some kind of creature in the house,” Eliza said.

  “What did you see, exactly?” Granger asked.

  Eliza walked out onto the landing where the sofas and chairs were arranged, looking down over the entryway. She pointed across the open space to the opposite wall, where the staircase to the second floor began. “There. It was just the bottom half of it, but it wasn’t human. It was covered in hair, like an animal.”

  “Walking on two legs?” Granger asked. “Like an ape?”

  “Didn’t have the gait of an ape,” Eliza replied. “It was walking like a person. But it wasn’t a person. It might have had hooves.”

  Rachel raised a hand to her head. “The pressure is getting worse,” she said.

  Granger reached into his jacket pocket and removed the flask. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Take a big gulp before we head back. Probably a good idea for everyone to take another dose, just in case.”

  As they passed the flask around, Eliza looked again over the landing to the second story staircase. She tried to replay what she had seen, but it had looked so odd, so unusual, that her brain hadn’t really had the ability to record it properly. The more she tried to recall it, the fuzzier it seemed.