by John Mimms
ELVIS HAD FOUR FUNERALS which was a below average week in a recession proof business. They were all routine, except one was for a little boy who drowned in a neighbor’s swimming pool.
Working with death is not an easy profession. It becomes unimaginable when children enter the workplace. Whenever the young wound up on the embalmer’s table, Elvis always recited a poem by Richard Hooker.
“Think of your child; then, not as dead, but as living; not as a flower that has withered, but as one that is transplanted, and touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colors and sweeter shades than those on Earth.”
It helped get through the day, but it did not diminish the horror of lost youth; nothing could accomplish that.
DEBBIE’S WEEK WAS FAR from routine; she had experienced her nightmare two more times. They had both yielded the same results, profuse sweating, and loss of bladder control. The nightmares had been bad enough, but Debbie’s fear was of a physical nature. It was not normal for a 23-year-old woman to start wetting the bed. She made an appointment with her gynecologist for Thursday afternoon.
After a thorough pelvic exam, Dr. Kathy Boyd found nothing physically wrong.
“I can refer you to a urologist, but I think it would be a waste of your time,” Dr. Boyd told her.
Debbie began to cry in frustration as she dressed, there was something wrong with her, there had to be.
Dr. Boyd returned to the room a brief time later and saw Debbie’s swollen eyes. She pulled a business card from a drawer and handed it to Debbie.
“Debbie, judging by what you have told me about your nightmares, I think maybe you ought to explore another possibility. This might be mental and not physical.”
Debbie read the card. It was for a psychiatrist named Dr. Conroy Staples.
She glared at Dr. Boyd.
“So, you think I need a shrink?”
Dr. Boyd shook her head. “I don’t know that Debbie, I’m only saying it is an option you should explore. Going to a psychiatrist doesn’t mean you are crazy, Debbie, not at all. In fact, I have sent several patients to Dr. Staples. He helped them a lot.”
Debbie forced a smile and put the card in her purse. She would wait. Maybe the nightmares would go away on their own eventually.
“If they don’t go away then I’ll call this head doctor,” she told herself.
Chapter 8
FRIDAY NIGHT FINALLY arrived. Jeff met Dr. Freely at the Chilton House shortly before five o’clock. Dr. Freely gave everyone a tour of the house before he left them to “have their fun” as he put it. Pac arrived first, followed by Elvis, and finally Debbie.
The house seemed to lose some of its ominous appearance in the daylight. Debbie wondered if it would wake up again. When she thought of the preteen pranksters, Debbie giggled despite herself. They passed the two ancient oaks and ascended the steps to the front porch. The old boards creaked, giving them a moment of pause.
“She likes to talk, but she is structurally sound,” Dr. Freely assured them before unlocking the front door
“Why did he have to stay talks?” Debbie thought.
The interior of the Chilton house was a contrast to the exterior. While the roof was replaced recently, the peeling paint, sagging shutters, and decrepit porch railings portrayed to the world a sense of advanced age and neglect. The inside was surprisingly clean with a good portion of the downstairs renovated. A peculiar odor hung in the air which was a mixture of old and moldy intermingled with new construction.
Modern sheetrock in some rooms had replaced the cracked and flaking plaster. The new walls were painted a rich shade of burgundy. The kitchen on the backside of the house had been gutted. New cabinets were installed around openings for yet to be installed appliances.
Dr. Freely said most of the wiring was brand new and there was electricity to the house for lights. “I’m afraid we don’t have air conditioning installed yet,” he said, cracking open a window in the renovated dining room. “You’ll have to open a few more windows to get the air flowing in here. Be sure to close and lock them before you leave.”
The heat of the day had turned the old house into an oversized sauna. By the time the tour was over, everyone was sweating, especially Elvis. As he mopped perspiration from his brow and cheeks, he bore an eerie resemblance to the King in his 1975 Las Vegas Hilton concert.
“Tell me Doc, have you experienced anything unusual in the house?” Jeff asked.
Dr. Freely pursed his lips into a thin line.
“Well...” he began hesitantly, “I used to come here to do some of the work myself, sheetrock, and painting, and such, but I don’t anymore.”
“Why not?” Pac asked.
His eyes met everyone in the group before he took a deep breath and replied, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy and need a shrink.”
Debbie winced.
“I used to work on the house some by myself on evenings and weekends. I’m a cheapskate because I don’t want to pay anyone to do it. I also enjoy the work. It gave me a chance to unwind and be alone with my thoughts for a few hours. I haven’t done anything to the house in a while. In fact, this is only the third or fourth time I have been inside in the last six months.”
Dr. Freely stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes as he said, “I guess the problem is, I never really felt I was alone.”
He walked a few paces to the doorway of the dining room.
“I was working in here one night and I swear I heard footsteps on the stairs.”
He pointed to the staircase outside the dining room door.
“It was enough that I called out to see who was there and, when no one answered. I called the cops,” he said.
“Let me guess,” Pac said with a wry grin, “they showed up, searched the house, and no one was here.”
Embarrassment bloomed on Jeff’s face at Pac’s sarcasm, he diverted the conversation by asking, “Dr. Freely, did the footsteps sound as if they were going up or down the stairs?”
“Down ... I just knew, at any moment, whoever it was would reach the bottom. When they did I would be able to see them through the door here,” Dr. Freely said, rubbing the cherry trim around the dining room door. He frowned and said, “That reminds me of another incident. When I was working on the kitchen, I kept having the feeling of someone watching me. I turned around once and thought I saw a man standing in the door leading out back. It lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was long enough. I almost asked him who he was.”
“What did he look like?” Elvis asked.
“Tall and slender with a mustache; it was so fast I don’t remember any details other than his clothes were unusual.”
“Unusual?” Jeff asked.
“Yes, I can’t remember any more.”
“Have you ever heard any children call out?” Debbie blurted.
She turned three shades of red once the question slipped out of her mouth.
Dr. Freely raised his eyebrows and stared at her, as did everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” Debbie croaked, “I guess I should have explained the question.” Debbie recounted her visit to the Chilton house the previous Friday night. She included the odd smell and the two young tricksters. Of course, she left out the part about falling on her butt.
Dr. Freely gave a hearty belly laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh; it just struck me funny.”
Debbie laughed too. After all, if it hadn’t been her; she would have thought it was a darn good joke.
“I don’t know about the skinny kid, but I would have to say the chubby one was the Alexander’s little trouble maker. They live a few houses down. He is a big reason I had to start putting a padlock on the gate outside. I caught him on more than one occasion skulking about in the yard.”
He paused a moment and then frowned. “The smell, I’m afraid, was a dead cat. I found it out back last weekend when I came around to check the house. Even though I don’t go inside very often, I still come by once a week to check.”
“Di
d the boys kill the cat?” Debbie gasped.
“I don’t think so, not unless they poisoned it. There were no marks on it. I have found several dead animals the past year in almost exactly the same spot.”
“Where?” Debbie asked.
“Back by the old well.”
Debbie’s heart fluttered until Pac grabbed her by the arm and yelled, “Boo!”
She shrieked as her heart went into overdrive.
Jeff put his arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze before releasing her.
“Can we see the old well before it gets dark, Doc?” Jeff asked.
“Sure,” he said, and then led them through kitchen to the back door. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see now. The prior owners filled in the well years ago. They converted it into a flower bed.”
The well was a modest structure, a ring of stacked flagstones filled in with dirt. There were no plants blooming in it. The only thing inside were the brittle remains of long dead flowers. They lay crumpled and matted in the dirt ... an outward reminder of the death that once dwelled below them.
Dr. Freely glanced at his watch and exclaimed, “Wow, time flies! I’m supposed to meet my family for dinner in fifteen minutes.”
“I think we have everything we need, Doc. We’ll take good care of the place and lock up when we’re done,” Jeff said.
The doctor showed Jeff a stray brick by the back door and told him to leave the key there when they finished.
Everyone returned to their vehicles and retrieved their equipment for the investigation. Between the four of them, they had four digital cameras, four digital voice recorders, two EMF meters, a Kestrel weather tracker, and two camcorders. They reconvened on the front porch for a pre-investigation meeting. Jeff produced a manila folder from his laptop case and opened it for everyone to see.
“One of the most important things about a scientific investigation is to establish baselines. I have five separate forms we can use for five separate rooms. We will take temperature, EMF, barometric pressure, and humidity readings in each room before we start. Once we have these baselines logged, it will be a lot easier to establish if there are noticeable fluctuations in the environment. If something does happen, such as a personal experience, we can see if there was a deviation in the readings coinciding with the experience.”
Despite the warmth of the evening, Jeff and Elvis went through the house, making sure all doors and windows were closed. For safety and integrity, the environment must be as controlled as possible.
Elvis and Debbie took the forms and studied them with great interest. Pac resembled a kid given a homework assignment over Christmas break. He wanted the spooks, he wanted the sass, not boring paperwork.
Since they only had one Kestrel weather tracker for temperature, humidity and barometric pressure readings, they stayed together. They soon logged all the readings for the dining room, the parlor, the kitchen, and two upstairs bedrooms. They set up two camcorders with infrared lights for night vision. They placed the first in the dining room and the other in the back, upstairs bedroom.
It was now 7:30 and the sun was bidding farewell to another day. It was almost time for lights out.
“Does everyone have a flashlight?” Jeff asked.
Three sets of eyes stared at him like deer caught in headlights.
Jeff laughed, “Well at least we have all our other equipment. I have an extra flashlight, we’ll just need to pair up. We’ll pretty much be sticking together tonight.”
Jeff handed a light to Elvis, and then turned on his own before walking to the breaker box in the small closet under the stairs.
“Everyone ready?”
The group acknowledged and Jeff threw the main breaker. They were plunged into total darkness except for the faint glow coming through the parlor window from the street light. Debbie’s skin crawled as her eyes tried to adjust to the dark. Pac began making moaning noises.
“Okay, from here on out we are going to need as much silence as possible,” Jeff said, pointing the beam of his flashlight at Pac.
“Yes’um boss!” Pac replied.
They spent an hour in the dining room. All baseline readings were rechecked every ten minutes. There was no change except for the temperature and humidity level dropping, which was to be expected after the sun set. They asked standard EVP questions such as: Is anyone here with us? What is your name? What year is it? Why are you here? There was no response, or at least they couldn’t hear one.
The only excitement in the first hour was a stray cat outside, and a mysterious fart from the darkness, which no one would claim. Debbie thought the odor of decay she had experienced last Friday was preferable.
They rotated to the kitchen next. After another hour of similar boring results, including another appearance by the phantom farter, they rotated to the back bedroom upstairs. Dr. Freely had not gotten to the upstairs yet. Several chunks of the ancient lime plaster had fallen away exposing the wooden lath beneath. It gave the walls the appearance of an old west saloon after someone went trigger happy with a shotgun. Dust filled cobwebs graced the windows like macabre valances. The musty aroma of an old house was prevalent in this room.
Elvis verified the camcorder was still running, but was perturbed to find the battery down to twenty percent. It had maybe forty-five minutes left before it would be necessary to recharge it. They readied their equipment again before starting the rotation. Thirty minutes passed with the same tiresome results.
Pac was getting bored. He had been bored since Jeff first handed them the data sheets. He decided he was going to spice things up a little. He started provoking any entity that might be present. Pac was in the mood for pissing something off.
He got up from his seated position in the corner, walked to the door, and closed it. He then stood in the center of the room and started ranting.
“Pervis Chilton, you child killing piece of shit! Come out and stop being a damned coward!”
Jeff started to put a stop to this. Provoking did not fall in the prevue of the scientific method, but it had been a tedious three hours, so he decided to let this play out for a little while.
Chapter 9
THE PIERCING DIATRIBE continued for a couple of minutes, growing viler with each insult hurled into the darkness. Jeff was about to put an end to Pac’s little show, until two things happened in rapid succession.
“Hey, Pervis, I banged your wife too! What are you going to do about it?” Pac hissed.
Pac did not have time to inhale for a follow up insult. The heavy wooden bedroom door slammed shut with such force, dust and plaster rained down on them. Debbie screamed as she hit the floor. Elvis stumbled backwards, dropping his camera, Kestrel, and EMF meter on the old floor. The clatter of equipment hitting the timber planks was drowned out by another sound. A high-pitched shriek split the darkness. Jeff and Elvis thought it was Debbie, but Debbie and Pac knew better. Pac’s effeminate shriek was accompanied by a loss of balance and he landed on the floor with a hard thud.
“Is everyone okay?” Jeff called.
He shone his light around to each of them, revealing varying states of disarray and confusion. Debbie was picking herself up off the floor and brushing dust and cobwebs from her hair and clothing.
Elvis, red faced, bent over to retrieve his equipment. His bulky frame did not make the task easy. He squinted into the light as he gingerly picked up his EMF meter. He gave a rueful smile and nod.
“I’m okay; keep the damned light off me!” Pac snapped before Jeff could bring the beam to bear on him.
Jeff abided by Pac’s demand and passed the cone shaped beam near enough to verify Pac’s position in the room. He didn’t know whether to be mad at him or pat him on the back. His provocation had gotten a result, but of course, he had to debunk it. This was his mission. If he proclaimed the ghost of Pervis Chilton slammed the bedroom door, he would be no better than the hundreds of other petty groups out there.
Jeff walked over and, with a great deal of c
aution, opened the bedroom door. He inspected the hinges and the force it would take to open and close. The hinges were rusty and the door was heavy. It did not swing easily. The outside air was an eerie calm. No chance of a draft from a strong wind. He was about to ask Elvis for the Kestrel to determine if there was any incidental air flow in the house when he heard Pac shout at Debbie.
“I’m alright; just leave me alone!”
“Debbie, would you mind bringing me the Kestrel?” Jeff called.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Elvis said as he placed it in her hand. “I think it survived my fumble.”
Debbie appeared at his side a moment later and they began to check for drafts in the upstairs hallway.
Pac sat fuming in the darkness, his ass hurt, and even more so, his pride. Moments after his hard landing, he thought he had injured himself. He felt warm moisture seeping over his legs and butt. To his horror, he discovered he had not only lost his balance, but lost control of his bladder as well.
He had to get the hell out of here before they turned the on lights. He would rather have been impaled by a jagged piece of loose flooring than suffer this humiliation. Pac slipped his cell phone out of his pocket. He was thankful it avoided the flood of urine, his pants were soaked from mid-thigh to his waist. He opened the phone and thought up a quick lie.
“Well, shit!” he exclaimed. “I got a message from my mom’s neighbor. He said she got sick. They took her to the hospital. I need to go check on her.”
There was silence for several moments.
“Are you okay?” Elvis asked, training his flashlight towards Pac.
“Yes, damn it! Didn’t you hear what I said? My mom is sick!”
“Okay son, calm down,” Elvis replied. “Do you need any help?”
“He knows! The old fart knows!” Pac thought. “He had to smell it, didn’t he?” The ammonia scent of his urine was now piercing his own nose. “If I can smell it, I know he can, the old bastard fart!”