"Hey, wait up. I didn't say no. I only said I wasn't threatened by what the community would think of me if I let you go alone. I have a lot of friends here, you know,” Mark baited.
Joel stopped, looked at Mark darkly a moment, continued his trek toward the house with Mark close behind him. “You didn't say what you were doing here,” he prodded.
"That's true, I didn't,” Mark countered.
Joel continued around the house to the back door, found the key under the stone to the right of the door, unlocked the door and peered cautiously inside before inching into the room. “So...” he said as he advanced farther into the house, “what are you doing here?"
"Well, I sort of got spooked at the Halloween party and left rather abruptly; I stopped by to apologize,” Mark said.
"What spooked you? Fear and superstition?” Joel asked as he closed the door and headed for the kitchen.
Mark scratched his chin, shot a glance at the ceiling. “Yeah, in a manner of speaking, I guess it was exactly that,” he confessed. “Sondra asked Kim and Liz about ghosts and well, after a couple of stories, I started feeling quite uneasy. When John said he was calling Sam Reynolds to fly the caterers out, I jumped at the opportunity to desert the party as well. When he saw how uncomfortable I was, he said he and Sondra were also leaving. Then in the light of day, I started thinking that was really rotten of all of us. I tried to call, but there was no answer and John didn't answer his phone either, so I headed out this way as soon as I had some spare time and the roads had drained enough."
"Oh, John and Sondra left for Florida first thing yesterday morning,” Joel said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"What? John left town? Why?” Mark asked.
Joel shrugged. “Time to think?"
"Think about what?"
"Listen,” Joel commanded in a hushed whisper.
"Huh? Listen to what? I don't hear anything,” Mark whispered back.
"Exactly my point. Doesn't that seem odd to you? The cat and dog have been here alone for two days and they aren't here to greet us and ask for food or attention or anything?” Joel pointed out.
"Hmm—now you mention it, I suppose it is a little strange. Where are they, anyway?"
Joel hurriedly read the note Liz had left on the counter, placed food and fresh water in the bowls, per Liz's instructions. Still no animals came. He called, but Spooky and Ghost remained eerily absent. “Where, indeed?” he mused. “I suppose we had better try to find them."
"They are probably just upstairs or something, or in their runs,” Mark offered hopefully.
"Maybe, but we passed Ghost's run on our way in and he wasn't in it,” Joel said. “I would feel better if we knew their whereabouts for certain. They ate all their food since Liz and Kim left yesterday morning and they aren't here close enough to start nibbling on the new supply. That doesn't feel right to me."
"Well, we're not their mistresses, so maybe they're just waiting for us to leave before coming to chow down,” Mark suggested.
"I could believe that about Spooky maybe, but not Ghost. He is very gregarious and I know he would be here to greet us. Besides, he thinks too much of his stomach not to come if he hears fresh food being put into the bowl,” Joel said. “Come on, we need to find them."
Mark sighed heavily, but allowed himself to be led through the house behind Joel, who was turning on lights as he sped to the second floor where the first screened-in cat porch was. He opened the door that led onto the balcony and was met by an angry white Peke and a disgruntled black cat. Ghost growled at the two men as he ran into the house and sniffed his way out of the room. Spooky made a wide berth around the two, but followed hot on Ghost's trail.
"Well, we found them, I guess. What was that all about?” Mark asked.
Joel leaned down to inspect the pet door, found it latched and unhooked it before closing the door. The knot in his stomach was growing tighter as he locked the outside door and returned to examine the latch on the small pet door. “That's strange,” he said.
"Why? They accidentally got locked out on the porch. What is so strange about that?” Mark asked.
"No, Mark, this was no accident,” Joel said. “This latch is hard to move and it slides side-to-side, not up-and-down. There is no way it could have flipped into position by itself when they went out."
"So?"
"So someone had to deliberately lock it when the animals were outside,” he explained.
"Maybe Kim and Liz forgot to unlock it before they left,” Mark suggested.
"They would never have done that, Mark, because they don't lock the pet doors. Anyway, they dote on these animals too much to have just forgotten to let them in. Besides, all the food in the kitchen was gone, which means the animals must have been loose in the house most of the time the girls have been gone,” Joel said.
"If you're trying to unnerve me, you're doing a darn good job of it,” Mark said. “Hey, where are you going?"
"To see where they are going,” Joel said.
Mark scratched his head a minute before following Joel back down the stairs to see where the dog and cat were leading them. Downstairs, Ghost went from room to room, sniffing and growling, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Spooky, hissing, followed the Peke into each room, his tail bushed out twice its normal size. At last, Ghost sprawled in the middle of the living room floor, panting from his brisk search, satisfied no one out of the ordinary was in his house. Spooky, tail still resembling a pincushion more than an appendage, wasn't thoroughly convinced, but he jumped onto the sofa and continued to keep vigil over the room, voicing a low, throaty growl.
Joel observed the two for a moment before heading out of the room. “Someone was here, I'm certain of that. We need to check all the doors and windows and make sure everything is undisturbed,” he told Mark.
"Won't that take a lot longer than if we split up?"
Joel stared at him, a blank expression on his face. “Mark, I don't mean to unsettle you further, but there are things you don't know about this house. I would hate for you to accidentally find anything you didn't want to find and weren't prepared for,” he said at last.
Mark eyed him suspiciously. “Joel, my friend, you had better come clean right here and now, or I'm out of here. I mean it. Where are Kim and Liz? Why are you so antsy here in this house? What's going on?"
"I promised not to tell anyone,” Joel protested.
"Fine, don't tell me anything. See you at mass,” Mark said as he headed for the front door.
"Wait—please,” Joel said.
Mark stopped, turned to face Joel and waited.
Joel looked like a child caught in a lie, his shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.
Mark waited a long moment, then headed again for the door.
"All right; here's the story, but you probably aren't going to like it any more than you like not hearing it,” he said. “I'll tell you about it on our way around to inspect everything. I don't truly believe anyone has broken in, though that is the alternative I would prefer to believe. I think it was someone—or something—who was already here,” he said.
"There's no one here,” Mark said.
"You are wrong; there are a lot of spirits here,” he began. “Liz, Kim, John and I have been working on translating some very old manuscripts for several weeks. Between the manuscripts and what psychic impressions the girls have received, we managed to learn a bizarre tale of magic and curses. Kim and Liz have gone into the past with Benjamin McCann himself to a house almost exactly like this one, built by McCann's ancestor in Scotland more than three hundred years ago. They're trying to undo the beginnings of the curse that still holds this house and all the people who come here in its grasp even today."
"Oh, well, why didn't you say so to begin with?” Mark asked sarcastically. “That explains everything."
"Look, you forced me to tell you this story. At least have the courtesy to listen to it, will you?” Joel chided.
M
ark shrugged. “I'm sorry, it's just hard for me to believe these sorts of things really do exist. Please continue."
"There is a portal here—a door through time and space. Somehow it connects to other portals, one of which is in Scotland, at Peaitarrh McCann's manor there. Liz has the theory—well, more than a theory, actually, but she believes all the hauntings and mishaps that have happened here began with the Scottish antecedent of Benjamin McCann and the witch he wed,” Joel began as he led the way through all the rooms on the first floor, checking windows and doors as he went.
"Witch?"
"I know, it seems to transcend the bounds of what most of us think of as possible, but I assure you, it is not only quite possible, it happens. My grandmother was something of a witch herself. With my own eyes I saw things you would not believe,” Joel said. “Benjamin as well as old Peaitarrh McCann, or Tarrh, as we have come to know him, were both quite excellent wizards as well."
"Tarrh? Is this the Ptarmigan John said Missy talked about?” Mark inquired.
"Yes, in a manner of speaking, but not exactly. See, the entity Missy knew as Ptarmigan is actually a complicated sort of conglomerate spirit consisting of old Tarrh, his wife Moira and his half brother Sean, not to mention probably everyone else they have accosted since. Mostly, Liz believes, and I'm inclined to agree, Ptarmigan is primarily Moira, masquerading as Tarrh, to make a very long story short,” Joel explained.
"You make it sound so simple,” Mark said, shaking his head. “You mean they have gone to fight wizards and witches and some weird kind of combined spirit in an old Scottish equivalent of this place? Isn't that dangerous?” Mark quizzed.
"That was my assessment, yes,” Joel admitted.
"And you let them go, just like that? Does John know?” Mark demanded.
"Liz made me promise not to tell him, or anyone else, for that matter. So now you know and I have broken my word to her. Do you realize I have never broken a confidence to anyone before?"
"Hey, don't feel too bad. It isn't like she was one of your flock who confided in you in the sacred confessional, you know,” Mark soothed.
"I broke my word, Mark and my word is supposed to mean something,” Joel said sadly.
"You know, as a physician, I understand how important it can be not to break a confidence, but I'm not going to tell anyone. Who'd believe me? Besides, I coerced you unfairly,” Mark said. “Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Nothing I know of, except to pray. You know, the spirit Ptarmigan is the one who choked Liz in a dream and caused that episode of swelling that nearly cost her life,” Joel added.
Mark looked at Joel in shock. “Then I would say they're in way over their heads. Any spirit that can do that in a dream is one strong spirit that I wouldn't want to tangle with,” he said.
Joel nodded. “I agree totally, but she didn't ask my opinion or advice. She just told me what they were going to do and asked if I would see about the animals if they weren't back by now. Anyway, I guess you know now why I wasn't exactly anxious to come in here by myself,” he said.
"I guess I do!” Mark agreed. “Speaking of which, looks like no one broke into the house, doesn't it? Anyone else have a key?"
"John does and there is this one, hidden by the back of the house, but no one knows about it except you and me, as far as I know,” Joel said.
"John is gone and neither of us would come in here unaccompanied, that's for sure,” Mark said. “Could a ghost have latched that pet door?"
"A ghost like the one we are speaking of could do almost anything, I expect, but I get the feeling it was no ghost,” Joel said with a shiver.
"What do you mean?"
"Liz, Kim and Benjamin went to the past through the portal. What is to keep Moira or someone else from coming here from the past through the same portal?” Joel asked.
"Wait a minute. You talk as if you think Liz and Kim went with Benjamin, not the ghost of Benjamin,” Mark said.
"Hmm—funny, but that is the way I think of him, not as a ghost, but as the genuine article. He would have no need of traveling through a portal if he were a ghost, would he?"
"Is that a question, or are you just pondering the obvious?” Mark asked.
"Of course! Benjamin was a wizard. He could easily have felt us poring over his manuscripts and come forward in time through that very same portal to see what was up. He must have come here and convinced them to go into the past with him,” Joel surmised.
"Or just as likely, he appeared here and the girls convinced him to go with them,” Mark suggested.
"Well, whichever way it was, if they could go into the past, someone else could come here from the past,” Joel restated, more to try to get a handle on the concept than to repeat the thought. Suppose Moira had slipped through time to this house and found no one here? Would she have guessed what was afoot and returned to try to outfox the others? Why would she have locked the animals out of the house? Was it perhaps a warning for him and Mark to find? What did it mean? Was she merely trying to frighten them? If so, it had worked, he thought as he felt his pulse racing.
"Where did you go?” Mark asked.
"What? Oh, I was wondering what the purpose had been in locking the animals out of the house. I was also wondering if someone needs to stay here to guard against any further intrusion, I guess,” he said.
"You're not suggesting we stay here, are you?"
"I'm not sure what I am suggesting at this point; someone came here, possibly to look for something they could use against Kim and the others. Maybe the animals got in the way, so this person or persons lured them outside and locked them out,” Joel said, looking around the room. “The question that comes to mind is: did they find what they were looking for?"
"How would we be able to tell that?” Mark asked. “What could they have been after?"
"Most likely it would have been something personal, something like—” Joel stopped his sentence abruptly and ran out of the room and up the stairs toward Liz's upstairs bathroom.
"Something like what?” Mark called after him. “Joel, wait!” Mark raced up the stairs behind Joel, found Joel with Liz's hairbrush in his hand. “What is it?"
"There are lots of spells that require nothing more than having a lock of hair from the person you are trying to hex,” Joel declared.
"Hair?"
"Yes, hair. This brush has been cleaned recently; not a single hair left here, and there is no hair in the trash."
"That doesn't prove anything,” Mark said.
"No, it doesn't prove anything beyond all doubt, but this trash hasn't been emptied in at least a couple of days, see? There are a few floss picks here and more than a couple days’ worth of cotton swabs, but no hair. If Liz brushed her hair before she left, and I'm sure she did, there would be at least a few hairs somewhere, either in the brush, in the floor, on the counter or in the trash, but there is nothing,” Joel stated with a growing sense of foreboding.
"Maybe she flushes it,” Mark suggested.
"No, I don't think so. You know what kind of hair those two have. If they flushed their hairs, they would have all kinds of plumbing problems,” Joel said.
"Now where are you going?” Mark asked as he followed Joel down the hall to the other end of the house.
"To check Kim's hairbrush,” Joel explained as he sped into Kim's boudoir and grabbed up her brush. “Aha! You see? No hair here, either. I tell you, this can't be good news."
"Aw, come on, Joel,” Mark pleaded. “Surely there's some other logical explanation."
"Such as?"
"I—well, maybe they collect and save their hairs for—for what? Something! Or maybe they hid their hair, you know, just in case someone might come looking for it to use it against them,” Mark stammered. “All right, I can't think of any logical explanation at all, but that doesn't mean there isn't one, does it?"
Joel laid the hairbrush carefully on the counter and studied the assortment of items lying there. He noticed a nail file, clippers, ma
keup and various other feminine accouterments that included dusting powder. With the exception of the powder, everything was nicely arranged and appeared to be undisturbed. Yet he had the feeling things weren't as neatly untouched as they appeared. The powder had ostensibly been used and was sprinkled on the counter and spilled off onto the floor in an inordinate richness that suggested it had been spilled in an alternative manner than simply dusting one's body. He looked closer and noticed the small tracks of cat paws that left their imprint in the powder and trailed off across the counter and quite unexplainably disappeared as though the cat had jumped straight into the air.
On still closer examination, he saw there were other tracks as well, though these were in the powder that was on the floor. Larger than Kim's or Liz's feet, the prints were quite obviously those of a man. And there in the powder were several unmistakable red spots mingled with the talc and carpet. Joel picked up one of the red globs, found it to be still slightly damp. He rubbed it between his fingers, coagulated as it was with the talc, held it to his nose and inhaled the determinant brassy smell of blood mixed with the subtle perfume of the powder.
"What is it?” Mark asked.
"Blood. Undoubtedly that of our intruder, which proves it was no ghost. And if my guestimator is working, I would guess it was probably Sean,” Joel said.
"Tell me, Sherlock, how did you deduce that?"
"Elementary, my dear Adams,” Joel retorted. “Look, these boot prints are larger than mine. We already pretty much established no one had come in from outside or we would have found evidence of it in our earlier exploration of the house. From what I have heard of Sean from Liz's accidental visit to the past, Sean is, or was, a large man whose feet would undoubtedly be about this size. And the soles of his shoes—well, look. You can see the imprint of the cobbler's crude nails ... very old ... ancient, in fact, compared to anything we have ever seen."
"I see your point. You know, you are really quite good at this. But when did Liz accidentally visit the past?” Mark queried.
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