Spirits of the Pirate House

by Paul Ferrante

  “What about handhelds?” asked T.J.

  “Each team will have one infrared camcorder and an EVP recorder.”

  “Could you explain that to me?” asked Ronnie. “I don’t watch too many ghost shows over here.”

  “No problem,” smiled Mike. “EVP stands for electronic voice phenomena. It’s been found that spirits can manifest themselves through sound waves that are not readily picked up by the human ear. These recorders are tuned at a much higher frequency so that if you ask a question, and there’s a spirit present, you might just hear a response when you play back the tape.”

  “For real?” asked Ronnie skeptically.

  “Oh yeah,” said Mike assuredly. “We get some feedback almost every investigation. Now, in some cases the words or sounds might be garbled or very faint, but with computer enhancement, we’ve actually captured intelligent responses.”

  “And have you actually had a ghost, you know, show up?” she questioned, her eyebrow arched.

  “Over the first few seasons of the show we’ve had shadow figures, knocking, and stuff falling or even being thrown around in the dark, but we have yet to experience a full manifestation. But your three buddies here are living proof that ghosts exist. Right, dudes?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, Ronnie,” said T.J., “but believe me, last year we were talking to a ghost who seemed as real as you or me.”

  “I know,” she said. “Bortnicker kind of filled me in on your adventures from Gettysburg, although I’d still have to see it for myself to become a believer.”

  “Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” said Bortnicker.

  “That’s why we’re all here,” said Mike. “That’s why millions of people tune into Gonzo Ghost Chasers every week, and other paranormal shows. We all want to be the first to capture a full body apparition on video. It’s the holy grail of paranormal investigating. And you guys, based on what’s happened to you already, have as good a shot as any to be the first.” His passionate words hung in the air.

  “But no pressure, right?” joked Bortnicker, breaking the tension.

  Another rumble of thunder rolled across the island, causing vibrations throughout the house. “This could be problematic,” grumbled Mike. “Lots of extraneous noise outside can wreak havoc on the audio, and if we get a lot of lightning there will be shadows flying all over the place.”

  “What if we lose power?” asked Ronnie. “That happens a lot here with tropical storms.”

  “Well,” sighed Mike, “the one thing we weren’t able to lug over here was a generator, and I couldn’t find one on the island that would suit our needs. My bad.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Mike,” said Bortnicker. “You couldn’t think of everything.”

  “I agree,” said Tom Sr. “The command post you’ve established here is pretty impressive.”

  “Yeah,” said T.J., “and it’s not like the famous Bermuda National Heritage Trust was killing themselves to help you out.”

  Mike held out a hand to stop them. “Listen, dudes,” he said, “it’s as simple as this. If we lose power, you’ll still have the small light on your camcorder, and I’m going to give LouAnne and Ronnie a flashlight to stick in their pocket. T.J. and Bortnicker will also have a walkie-talkie clipped on their belts, so we’ll always be in communication.” He looked at his watch. “With the stormy conditions outside, I estimate that we’ll lose most of our sunlight within the hour. Then we’ll go lights out. Until then, I want both teams to take all their equipment and become comfortable with it. We’ll also do a walkie-talkie check. Okay?”

  “Got it,” said T.J., offering Bortnicker a high five.

  As the two teams separated, Ronnie latched on to Bortnicker’s arm with a force that made him flinch. “Oww!” he cried. “I didn’t know you were so strong.”

  “It’s all those years of lugging diving tanks, I guess,” she said apologetically. “And maybe because I’m, ah, a bit afraid of the dark.”

  He turned to her, his eyes widening behind his Coke-bottle glasses. “You wait until now to tell me? Are you sure you’re up for this, Ronnie? You can still back out—”

  “Just stay close to me,” she whispered, and brushed his cheek with her lips.

  “No problem there,” he smirked.

  * * * *

  It was just before 8:00 p.m. when the team gathered around the command post. All the equipment had been checked and re-checked; it was time to get underway.

  “Okay, dudes,” said Mike, as rain drummed on the windows, “we’ve got ten rooms upstairs: five on each side of the hallway, and eight down here, five and three. Bortnicker and Ronnie, you start up top. T.J. and LouAnne, cover the first floor. Then you’ll switch.” He paused, as if searching for the appropriate words.

  “Now remember,” he began, “that this is a serious investigation. We’ve done a lot of amazing groundwork already, with our two dives. But don’t forget that the thing that makes Gonzo Ghost Chasers different than the other paranormal shows out there is our style. We like to be provocational and confrontational. When you’re asking questions on the EVP recorders, don’t be afraid you’ll hurt the feelings of William Tarver or anyone else. Make sure your questions are stated in a way that can be answered with simple responses. Also be sure to allow long pauses after questions so the spirit can respond clearly. You want to be a little on the dramatic side? Hey, go for it. This is Hollywood, after all.”

  The last comment drew nervous chuckles from the teens, except for Ronnie, who remained stone-faced.

  “If there’s an emergency, both of you boys have the walkie-talkies. Tom and I aren’t going to move from this post unless you need us. Comprendo?”

  They all nodded.

  “Okay then, at the beginning of each investigation we have a custom with our team. Everybody huddle up and put your hands in.”

  This they did, their bodies trembling with excitement.

  “Gonzos rule, on three. One, two, three.”

  “Gonzos rule!” they cried aloud, and the sound of their cheer echoed throughout the halls as the first crack of lightning cast an eerie flash of light on Hibiscus House.

  * * * *

  As they made their way slowly among the downstairs rooms, the cousins couldn’t help jumping each time thunder boomed. “Sure is different now that we’ve gone lights out,” said T.J. “Mike wasn’t kidding.”

  “We’ll get used to it, Cuz,” said LouAnne bravely. “Those lightning flashes are freaking me out, though.”

  They found themselves in the bedroom of Lillith Tarver, which was only slightly less grand than that of her husband. “You think it’s strange she had her own room?” mused T.J.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, panning the infrared camcorder around. “Seems that back in the day if you were very wealthy you got your own bedroom, married or not. Want to ask Lillith some questions?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  They settled gently on the somewhat lumpy mattress of the elaborately carved mahogany four poster bed. T.J. clicked on RECORD and spoke into the EVP unit. “We’re trying to contact Lillith Tarver. My name is T.J. and this is my cousin LouAnne, and we’re visiting your island from America. Are you here, Mrs. Tarver?” He paused for a response, then continued, “Is your husband here with you? Are you aware that we have found him to be a slave master? ... Do you have any regrets about your lives in this house?”

  T.J. rewound the tape and hit PLAY. But there was only dead air in the response spaces. “Oh well,” he said, “let’s keep going. Remember, when the TV show airs, people only see a few highlights out of hours of footage.”

  “You’re so encouraging, Cuz,” she replied sarcastically.

  * * * *

  Upstairs, Bortnicker and Ronnie weren’t faring any better. “I can’t get over all the woodwork in these rooms,” marveled the boy. “It must take hours to polish it.”

  “Not if you’ve got slaves,” Ronnie bitterly retorted.

  “Good point. Let’s try to bring
him out. Sir William,” he announced, raising his voice, “we’ve come a long way to meet you and hope not to be disappointed. Are you annoyed that we are in your home? ... Are you trapped here, or is it just that you don’t want to leave? ... Are you ashamed that you subjugated others to live so well?” He rewound the tape and they both put their ear to the miniature speaker. Nothing.

  “Oh well, on to the next room,” he sighed.

  At 11:00 p.m. Mike radioed the teams to meet back at the command post for a break. “So you thought ghost chasing was easy?” he said, noting their sense of frustration.

  “There’s nothing, Mike,” complained T.J. “Not a peep on the EVPs, or a knock, or anything. Once I thought I heard a rap on the window, but it was only a palm frond blowing in the storm breeze.”

  “Which by the way keeps picking up,” added LouAnne.

  “You dudes don’t want to quit, do you?” Mike challenged.

  “No way,” said Bortnicker doggedly. “Let’s just switch floors and see if our luck changes.” He turned to Tom Sr. “Mr. J, have you seen anything at all on the monitors?”

  “Sorry, Bortnicker,” said Tom Sr., “Mike and I are practically going cross-eyed looking at these screens. We’ve seen a few dust motes and stuff, but outside of the occasional lightning through the windows, it’s been dead. No pun intended.”

  “I’ve been listening to your questions,” said Weinstein, “and you’re doing good. But maybe it’s time to get a little nastier.”

  “Not a problem,” said T.J. “Let’s get after it.”

  * * * *

  Outside in the car, Chappy was getting a little edgy. Not only had the storm intensified to the point where wind damage was probable, every minute more that those kids spent in the house was pushing their luck. After hearing Winnie Pemburton’s story and the news of Willie B.’s demise, he was convinced that something was certainly wrong in that house. However, being a rational man, he was reluctant to give in to his gut impression. He checked his watch. “Just a couple more hours,” he said to himself, “and it will all be over.”

  Then the lights went out.

  * * * *

  “Uh oh,” said LouAnne, suddenly clutching her cousin after a particularly nasty crack of lightning. “That sounded way too close.”

  Almost immediately T.J.’s walkie-talkie crackled, making him almost jump out of his shoes.

  “Come in, T.J. and LouAnne,” said Weinstein. “Can you hear me? Over.”

  “We-we’re here,” answered T.J. “Jeez, Mike, you scared the crap out of me. What’s up?”

  “We’ve lost power, dudes. The computers are all down. You want to call it a night?”

  T.J. looked at LouAnne, who shrugged with an It’s up to you look. “Nah, our handhelds are still working. I’ll just flip on my flashlight. Over.”

  Bortnicker gave Mike pretty much the same response. “Okay, then,” said Weinstein, “Tom and I will be here if you need us.”

  “Hey,” said Ronnie. “Why don’t you give me a try? Maybe it will change our luck.”

  “Well,” reasoned Bortnicker, “it’s not in the script, but I don’t see why not.” He handed her the EVP recorder in exchange for the video cam. Suddenly he froze. “Do you smell tobacco, like a pipe?” he said.

  “Now that you mention it, I do catch a whiff.”

  “Maybe it’s him. Let ‘er rip.”

  “William Tarver!” she called. “I will not refer to you as ‘Sir’ because you don’t deserve my respect, or anyone else’s for that matter. Are you here? Come forward, you coward. Are you in our presence?”

  She paused and then proceeded with her line of questioning: “Did you die in this house? ... Are you aware of the despicable nature of your deeds?”

  “Play it back,” said Bortnicker.

  “Okay, here goes,” she said after rewinding.

  “William Tarver! I will not refer to you as ‘Sir’, because you don’t deserve my respect, or anyone else’s for that matter. Are you here? Come forward, you coward. Are you in our presence?”

  “Yes.” The voice was somewhat faint, but clear. The teens’ eyes widened in horror.

  “Did you die in this house?”

  “No.”

  “Are you aware of the despicable nature of your deeds?”

  A chilling laugh was the only reply.

  “Wow!” cried Bortnicker, hugging Ronnie excitedly. “We’ve broken through! He’s really here! Keep going!”

  “Okay,” she answered, then shivered. “Bortnicker, are you cold?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah,” he replied. “It’s like the temperature’s dropping by the second. I’ve seen this all the time on ghost shows. When a spirit is trying to manifest itself it could lead to an extreme temperature drop where it is. Let me check the thermal imaging camera,” he said, pulling the device from his pocket. “Holy Toledo! The temperature’s at 70...65...50...45...”

  “Get T.J. and LouAnne up here,” she said hurriedly. “I think something’s about to happen!”

  “I’m on it!” He fumbled with the walkie-talkie, then clicked on. “T.J., come in.”

  “What’s up?”

  “You got anything going downstairs?”

  “Not really, and this lightning outside isn’t helping any.”

  “Well then, you’d better get up here, ‘cause things are getting weird.”

  “Really? How?”

  “We got a response on the EVP recorder, it’s getting colder in here, and—”

  “Bortnicker? Bortnicker!” T.J. turned to LouAnne, who looked on pie-eyed. “His walkie just cut out. Remember last year in Gettysburg how Hilliard drained the batteries in the tape recorder when he manifested? It could be happening upstairs, right now!”

  “Come on!” she cried, grabbing her cousin’s hand. “Let’s get up there now!” They took off running through the darkened hallway toward the grand staircase.

  * * * *

  “T.J.? Bortnicker? Can you guys hear me?” Mike shook his walkie-talkie, listened, then gave it a whack. Nothing. “We’re out, Tom,” he said with concern. “The storm shouldn’t affect them, since they run on batteries. Something tells me Tarver is trying to manifest himself...but to drain all our radios is pretty extraordinary. Takes a lot of energy for something that dramatic.”

  “Think we should go find them?”

  Mike thought a second. “Nah, let’s sit tight. These kids can handle themselves.”

  * * * *

  T.J. and LouAnne burst through the doorway to find Bortnicker and Ronnie literally shaking in their sneakers. No sooner had T.J. uttered the words “Jeez, it’s freezing in here!” than the door behind them slammed shut, prompting them all to jump.

  “Think the wind caused that?” said Bortnicker shakily.

  “Are you serious?” answered LouAnne. “Have you checked out how heavy the doors in this place are?”

  “Okay, okay, everyone calm down,” said T.J., bringing his voice down a few octaves. “Ronnie, tell me what’s happened.”

  “W-well, we’ve been trying to make contact all night,” she said, holding herself against the chill, “but it wasn’t till I started asking the questions that we got a hit on the EVP.”

  “Could you play it back for me?’

  “Sorry, Big Mon, the batteries went dead,” said Bortnicker. “But believe me, he responded.”

  “Okay, then. Ronnie, he seems to be reacting to you. Why don’t you try again.”

  “If you want.” She cleared her throat. “William Tarver! We’ve all assembled here to meet you. The least you could do is show yourself. Or are you—”

  “No need to scream, lass,” came a burly voice from another part of the room. “I can hear you just fine.”

  The teens froze, then slowly turned to see a figure silhouetted against the huge balcony window, sheets of rains sliding down the outside glass. He was large, over six feet, boots planted wide, shoulders thrown back and balled fists on hips. His long hair, tied back, nearly re
ached his shoulders. Flashes of lightning revealed a weathered, somewhat handsome face framed by a prodigious dark beard. A cutlass hung from his wide belt, and the butt of a flintlock pistol protruded from his brass buttoned waistcoat.

  “C-Captain Tarver?” said Ronnie, her voice quivering. “Captain William Tarver?”

  “In the flesh,” he replied, chuckling at his own joke. “And what brings this group to my humble home?”

  T.J. stepped forward. “Captain, we’ve come here from America to speak to you—”

  “All that way across the ocean. My, my. What is it you seek?”

  “Some information,” said Bortnicker. “Specifically, about your life and death.”

  “Really, now.” He looked directly at Ronnie, who was doing her best to appear unruffled. “And you, young miss? Are you the personal attendant to this other lass? You seem rather mouthy for a slave. A more respectful tone is in order here, I think. But I must say, I love the color of your eyes. A wonderful shade, that. Too pretty to be a field slave.”

  “Why, you—” She stepped forward, but LouAnne put herself between the black girl and the ghost.

  “Ronnie is most certainly not our slave,” she said firmly. “What’s more, she is a full member of our team, and we don’t appreciate the tone you’re taking with her.”

  “Is that a fact?” said Tarver with mild amusement. “Let me remind you, lass, that you’re in my home, and you’ll watch your tongue when addressing me.” His voice turned harsh. “Now, state your business plainly before I lose patience.”

  Sensing that the situation was escalating, T.J. again took the lead. “Sir William,” he said calmly, “your house is regarded as a historic landmark, a national treasure of the Bermudian people—”

  “As well it should be,” he growled.

  “Then why are you chasing away those who visit this place?”

  The pirate glowered. “There are those who belong here and those who do not,” he replied.

  “Like me?” asked Ronnie indignantly. “And to think, I considered you a hero. I remember being so sad when I visited your tomb years ago, and proud at the same time when my teacher told our class about your brave exploits. She never mentioned how you worked people like me to death, all for your own benefit!” Bortnicker tried to rest a calming hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.