I took a flashlight out of my purse and shown it towards the ceiling. “Yep, nothing of interest really stands out. But then she said the moaning doesn’t start until later.”
Syd turned off her flashlight. “Thing is the moaning starts here about the same time the yelling and chain rattling begins at Hoffman’s place. So we’re going to have to split up the team. Why don’t we come back here this evening, and the boys can remain at the antique shop. Hopefully they won’t have to move any tables.” Syd snickered, remembering last night’s activities.
It sounded good to me. I wasn’t in the mood to have my neck and throat feel constricted again. Besides, this gave me a chance to look at more of Jasmine’s paintings.
I looked at my watch. It was already 4pm. Funny how fast time flies. “Let’s get back to Hummel House and see if the boys discovered anything interesting.”
Chapter Six
After freshening up, we all met in the private dining room at the Hummel House to go over what we’d discovered from our journeys. Syd and I told Luke, Matt and Goog about the art gallery and that we hadn’t found anything inside the basement, which is where Mrs. Dunkin heard the moans.
“So what did you guys find out?” Syd poured herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher Joanne brought into us.
“The town’s records began around 1752, when a settler by the name of Blitz bought up much of the acreage in what’s known as Trent County. After he died in 1765 his children started selling tracts of land. Eventually the town of Willet’s Pike was born in 1775. It’s remained about the same size since then, although most of the shops back then were what you’d see in any old town. A sawmill, apothecary, general store, saloon…things of that nature.”
“Did you run across anything out of the ordinary?” Luke asked as he pulled some papers from his briefcase.
Matt stretched back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “No. I really couldn’t see anything from the early history or settlers that would account for the haunting.”
“Maybe we’re stretching too far back in time,” Goog mentioned. “Luke and I found some interesting facts from the library.”
Luke passed around copies to all of us. “Yeah, some of the ghost stories originate from actual people. Like the woman in white that several people have seen right here at the Hummel House…well, she didn’t live in this town. Her name was Betsy Price and she was traveling through the town back in 1835. However, she became ill and died from a respiratory illness here in the inn. I figure it must have been pneumonia.”
“Why do you think she stays around and why hasn’t she contacted you Eden?” Syd asked as a couple of waitresses brought us all a light dinner of chicken velvet soup and ham salad croissants.
I took a whiff of the chicken velvet soup, which smelled heavenly. I could tell why they called it velvet as the texture was certainly smooth and creamy. “Not all ghosts want to talk Syd. Some are content to observe and just want to be left alone. I have a feeling Betsy is like that.”
Goog took a bite of his croissant. “Seems like it would be lonely, not talking to anyone for years on end.”
“Not talking to the living Goog.” I took a sip of the soup. “I didn’t say they weren’t talking to the dead…someone like them.”
Goog nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Was there anything else that stood out?” I asked.
“I copied another story from an old newspaper about the runaway wagon in which four children were killed.”
Syd looked up from her soup bowl. “Is that the story about the Victorian house with the orbs?”
Luke nodded. “Yes it is. Seems that this Mr. Wilson had four children. His wife died in childbirth with the last one.” Luke looked at the paper on which told the story. “He owned a large sawmill on the outskirts of town but built the Victorian house on the opposite side. One summer day his children accompanied him to the sawmill. On the way back the children were all sitting in the back of the wagon while Mr. Wilson sat alone on top guiding the two horses through the middle of town.”
Luke leaned back in his chair. “Nobody is for sure what spooked the horses. Some accounts had a dog barking at them, and others say it was a gunshot. Anyway, the horses became spooked and took off racing down the middle of Main Street. Mr. Wilson tried to stop them as best he could, but to no avail. Then he fell off. Now some people said he jumped, but I doubt that. The horses keep going with the children screaming in terror in the wagon. Now at the end of Main Street was the Victorian house that Mr. Wilson built. So the horses were going to have to turn left or right at the end of the street, but they were racing way too fast for the wagon to make the turn. And unfortunately it didn’t.”
Luke looked up from the paper he was reading from. “The horses turned left and the wagon rolled, crushing the children and killing all four of them.”
“How horrible,” I said. “What happened to Mr. Wilson?”
“He sold out and left,” Luke answered. “The Victorian house remained empty for 10 years or more until someone finally bought it. But ever since the children were killed, people have seen the orbs flying around the spires on the top of the turrets on the house.”
Syd laid her cloth napkin to the side of her plate. “Fascinating, but does it tie into our haunting?”
Luke sighed and pushed his hand through his thick brown hair. “Unfortunately no…at least I don’t think so. At first I thought maybe the moans could have been Mr. Wilson, but the chains and the calls not to take him….it doesn’t add up.”
Syd nodded. “I have to agree.”
I looked at Matt. “So what do you think Matt? Could it have more to do with somebody pulling our chain?”
They all moaned. “That was really bad Eden…please don’t do that again or I’ll have to kick you out of ghost club,” Goog said with a grin.
“Sorry y’all. Okay Matt, any ideas?”
“I went over the footage from last night of the moving table and the yelling. A person can use various magnetic systems or pulleys to move furniture. That’s not a big deal. Nor is the rattling chain or yelling as someone can pipe that in as well. It’s just a matter of finding the sources.”
Luke stood up from the table. “Hopefully we’ll get more information tonight either way. That it’s either ghost related or non-ghost related.”
I stood up and pushed my chair in. “So Syd and I are to camp out at the art gallery while you three go back to the antique store, right?”
Luke nodded. “I’d feel better if you didn’t go to the antique store after what happened to you last night. But I don’t feel right about you and Syd being alone at the art gallery either, especially if it should happen again.”
Luke’s concern was what I loved about him. But I knew we had to get to the bottom of this even if it took some discomfort on my end. I placed my hand on his arm. “We’ll be fine…besides Syd is more protection than you three combined.”
Syd walked over to us. “That’s right. And if you ladies need me to move any tables tonight, just text me.” Syd laughed as she walked out of the room.
Goog looked at the rest of us. “I really wish I was going with the girls tonight.”
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Dunkin let us into the art gallery and left soon after. Syd and I had an infrared thermometer to detect any cold spots. We also set up a motion sensor in the art gallery to alert us if anything moved within the store while we remained in the basement.
We sat up a couple of chairs and Syd took a magazine and bottled water from her backpack.
I removed a water bottle from my own backpack. “What kind of magazine you got there?”
Syd held the front up for me to read.
“Oh no,” I exclaimed. “Jennifer Anniston’s getting a divorce already? Syd you can’t believe those rags.”
“Hey, the girl didn’t take his last name did she?” Syd thumbed through the magazine. “That’s never a good sign. You marry the dude, take his last name. Maybe I’m ol
d school. At the very least use a hyphen.”
I had to laugh. Syd was set in her ways and that was okay. She may appear tough on the outside, but she had a heart of gold. She’d drop everything to be there for her friends. She was always someone you could count on and I hoped I was as good a friend to her as she was to me.
We sat for a few minutes in silence. Her looking through her magazine and me gazing at the covered paintings sitting on the easels, wondering what lay under them. Syd laid the magazine on top of her backpack and took a bottled water from her bag. After taking a swig of water she looked at her watch.
“So what time is the moaning supposed to start?” Syd wasn’t known for her patience.
“Mrs. Dunkin said it usually occurred between 7 and 9pm.”
“Well it’s 7:30 now.”
“Earthbound spirits don’t always run on our time Syd.”
“If it is a ghost,” Syd said as she took another drink. “Probably just a bunch of bored kids that need a good tail twistin.”
I turned in my chair to look at her. “Is Matt rubbing off on you?”
Syd made a face. “Heck no. However, I can see what he’s talking about with the table moving and piping noises into an area from somewhere else.”
“Have you forgotten that the guys couldn’t lift that table, only we could? How does that happen?”
Syd looked perplexed. “That’s true. But then why isn’t the ghost touching base with you?”
“Syd, you know that it doesn’t always work in a clockwork fashion. This ghost may not trust us yet, or he or she is waiting for a certain time to come forward. You just never know.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with those kids being killed in the wagon incident?”
I shook my head. “No I don’t. But I do believe those orbs that dance around the spires do.”
Syd stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Matt says it’s a reflection and that’s why they can only do it when the moon is full, or some kind of crap like that.”
“So he is getting to you,” I exclaimed.
“Nah,” Syd replied. “But I like to take everything into consideration.”
“I get it, and it’s good to have someone like him on our team to ensure we look at all angles.”
Syd pointed towards the covered paintings. “Whatcha think is under those cloths.” She stood up. “Want to take a peek?”
I wasn’t sure. “Think we should? I hate to be nosy.”
Syd waved her hand. “Listen, we have to be nosy in order to find clues to what’s going on. Besides, the cloths over the paintings just keep them from getting dusty.”
She had a point.
There were three easels with covered paintings. Syd pulled the cover off the one to the left. We stood in silence looking at the almost finished painting. It depicted African-Americans during slave times in the south, but unlike the ones I saw upstairs displayed in the gallery, this one was more heart wrenching.
The painting displayed a woman with bleeding hands as she picked the cotton from its thorny resting place in the cotton fields. Sweat poured from her downtrodden face. Under her long skirt you could see one bare foot, scratched and blistered.
“Not what I expected,” Syd said. She looked at the right hand corner of the painting. “This is the same artist…Jasmine Harris, but wow, this sure is different from the ones upstairs.”
I nodded as I walked to the next easel, unsure if I should uncover it. However, something pulled me to do so. I threw the cover over the back of the painting, and cringed. This painting depicted the scarred back of an African-American man. Lashings evidently from a whip criss-crossed his back. I could tell he was a big man, muscular and strong. He held his head high, despite whoever tried to whip him into submission. It was difficult to look at as it elicited strong emotions from the viewer. If I thought the paintings in the art gallery by Jasmine were emotionally charged, these were 100 times more intense.
I looked over at the third and last covered painting.
“Do we dare look at it?” Syd’s eyes glistened. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen her hesitant to go forward.
I didn’t answer. I pulled the cloth slowly from the painting, and then I gasped. In this painting the man whose back was whipped was facing forward. This time however he was in chains. He was shackled with large metal cuffs around his ankles, legs and neck, and the cuffs were connected to the chains. I grabbed my neck.
I jumped when Syd touched my arm.
“Are you okay?” Syd asked.
“I think I know who our ghost is.”
Chapter Eight
We covered the paintings and I sat down. But before I could say anything, the moans began. Syd reached for the infrared thermometer in her backpack. The moans were low and suffering. I could tell it was a man and that it was the one in the painting. I don’t know how I knew, I just did.
“Sir,” I said. “Would you like to talk to me. Tell me why you’re here.”
The moaning stopped. Syd and I looked at each other. I could feel his presence and it was filled with a heavy burden. I spoke again. “Do you have a message for someone? Is that why you’re here? Or are you lost and looking for a way home?”
I wasn’t sure what to ask the spirit. I had no idea what he’d gone through in life or what he wanted to convey in death. So we waited. Then suddenly the motion sensor we had installed went off upstairs. Syd and I looked at one another and then bounded for the stairs.
We heard banging noises as we raced up the stairs, which stopped as soon as we entered the gallery. The lights were left on so we could see clearly into the shop once we crested the stairwell.
All of Jasmine’s paintings had toppled from the wall onto the floor. They lay with the art facing the floor. I walked over and picked up one of the paintings. It wasn’t damaged so I set it to the side. Syd and I looked over the rest of the paintings lying on the floor. None of them were damaged although a few of the frames were dented from the fall. I then looked at the hooks from which the paintings were hung. They were all intact. It was as if someone had taken the paintings off their hooks and slammed them to the floor.
“Okay, what’s going on Eden?” Syd asked.
“I think the man in the paintings in the basement is trying to make a statement.”
“I agree,” Syd said as she looked at the now barren wall. “But who is he, what is he trying to say, and to whom?”
I looked at Syd. “Has to be Jasmine don’t you think?”
“I would say so, but you’re the ghost whisperer.”
Yes I was, but sometimes it was like putting a puzzle together. “I think we need to meet Jasmine Harris.”
We stayed for another hour at the art gallery. I called Mrs. Dunkin and reported what occurred during our stay and reassured her the paintings that fell were not damaged. She was relieved to hear that. She also promised to put us in touch with Jasmine. After another hour without any disturbances we decided to walk over to the Antique store and see how the boys were doing.
We walked quietly into the store and promptly found them trying to move the same table as the night before. Syd and I had moved it back to its original position last night, but it seemed to have moved again and the boys were having the same difficulty moving it back.
“Not this again,” Syd said, scaring Goog right out of his skin.
“Lordy Syd!” Goog yelled as he clutched his chest. “I don’t know how many more times my ticker can take it.”
“You need to relax Goog,” Syd said as she and I walked over to the table they surrounded. “Maybe you should start carrying a flask of Jim Beam.”
I could tell Goog was considering it.
“So what happened here?” I asked. “The table decide it wanted better company and tried to hightail it out of the store again?” The table was wedged in the doorway that led to the basement.
Matt was crouched under the table inspecting the underside again. “There’s got to be something causing this t
able to move and lock into place. I just don’t have enough light down here to inspect it properly.”
Syd motioned for me to get on the other side of the table. I patted Luke on the arm so he’d move out of the way. Syd and I lifted the table without a problem.
“Well that’s just peachy,” we heard Matt say from under the table.
Syd and I laughed as we put the table back in place. “So what happened?” I asked. “It moved again on its own?”
Goog walked over and leaned against the wall. “Same as last night. Chains rattling, someone yelling, and then the table moving.”
The Mystery of the Morbid Moans (Eden Patterson: Ghost Whisperer Book Three 3) Page 3