"No, just that there were more than a couple. He said they and also that there were babies." Her hand lifted, brushing her cheek lightly where the small phantom hands had touched her, remembering the way her hair had been tugged playfully.
Marlowe closed his notebook and leaned back; after a few seconds, he shut off the voice recorder and the video camera as well.
"April, you're an adult, so I'll say this once and then let you make your own choices. Be careful," he said.
His voice was pitched low so the security cameras in the corners of the room wouldn't be able to pick up exactly what he was saying, at least that was what she assumed. She nodded, without looking at him.
"I'll get Carson started searching for records on John Binder, he added. “If, as he stated, he was partners with the original owner of the house, it shouldn't be any problem to find him. From there, we can verify if what he's told you is probable. Spirits have been known to lie, trick, and deceive people, April." In a louder voice, he announced that they'd be ending early that day. "We have a lot of material to analyze today, and the equipment back at the lab will be much more efficient," he explained.
"I'd like to hear some of the EVP stuff," she said. She'd been curious about that since they'd mentioned the recordings.
"Sorry, April, but as long as you're an active part of the experiment, I'd rather not expose you to indirect evidence. It could color your experiences. I promise at the end of the month, I'll be happy to share everything with you," he said firmly. He offered her a small smile in recompense as he gathered up his things to leave.
"All right, professor, I'll hold you to that," she said.
She had every intention of it, too. She now had a vested stake in learning as much as she could about the house and everything in it. She cursed the fact that she'd never listened to her grandmother and learned how to use her gifts better, but there was nothing she could do now but hope science could discover what she couldn't.
"Please, call me Ben. No need to be so formal when we're not on camera. I do try to keep things professional during the interviews, but otherwise—"
He smiled like he was bestowing a gift on her. His team always called him professor, so maybe he was. Of course, they were both his students, as well, whereas she was what—co-worker? Lab rat was more like it, she decided.
The three of them cleared out by one o'clock, leaving her with an empty house. It was silent and lonely, and she realized she was watching the clock, waiting for it to get dark so that John would come back. She dug into her bag, pulled out one of the books she'd brought with her, and settled down on a comfortable over-stuffed sofa to read. Her fingernails dragging idly across the rose patterned fabric as she made herself comfortable. The story was a romance, which she'd always used to fill the lack in her life before.
At that point, though, she found herself replacing the main character with John and drifting away in a daydream that made her all hot and melty. She was debating on whether taking the novel up to the bathroom for a little one-on-one time or letting the excitement build for a few hours so that she could greet her lover with it would be more satisfying when the doorbell rang.
She sat up and dropped her book on the floor in surprise. The gate was locked and the team was gone for the day; who could it be? She shook her head and got to her feet. Maybe one of them had forgotten something and didn't want to just walk in unexpectedly and scare her. She hurried out of the library and down the long hall to the main entrance. She paused; the old doors were beautiful but not meant for security. There was no peephole, and the thick stained glass panels only showed a shadow.
"Hello?" she called through the door.
There was a sound of metal sliding over metal and a click as the door was unlocked. It swung open to admit an expensively dressed woman who looked to be in her forties. April's first impression was that the wheat-colored hair had been styled a little too severely for her face shape, but she was immediately struck by the woman's eyes. They were a lovely shade of gray-blue, but that wasn't what caught her attention. It was the way they darted left and right nervously, as though on the edge of panic.
"You have a key, so I assume you're supposed to be here, but I don't know you," April said after a moment when the woman just stood there examining April from head to foot.
She seemed ill at ease, anxious as she waited on the porch. The statement almost seemed to startle her, and she blinked twice. April had the idea that she was having to gather her thoughts, as she continued to examine April in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.
"You look a lot like your mother," the woman said finally. She folded her arms across her chest, pinning a thick accordion binder against her. A small smile curved her lips.
April's eyes narrowed, "How do you know that?" she demanded. Of course, she knew they'd done their research on her history, but it was an oddly personal comment to make.
"Because I know your mother, of course. Well, I suppose knew would be more appropriate, since I haven't spoken to her in years." The woman smiled wider. It was a brittle smile without much warmth to it, but after a few seconds she seemed to relax and the expression became more real. "Foshi was a wonderful woman. We were roommates in college before she dropped out to marry your father. I was actually a witness at the ceremony." She paused. "I was sorry to learn about her accident," she added.
April relaxed slightly, though it raised even more questions in her mind. "Oh, Mom will be fine eventually. She hates being laid up, though. With both legs broken, she can't do much but rest. Luckily, the drunk driver who smashed into her car had good insurance. They're covering everything, plus a nice settlement, and she didn't even have to go to court for it," she said. Then she paused, tilting her head and looking thoughtful. "If you and Mom were so close, how come I've never heard of you?" she wondered. She tried not to sound accusatory; after all, her mother had never really said much about college at all. It was a bit of a sore spot, because of how her family and friends had reacted to her dropping out.
"It was a long time ago, April, and I have a long story to tell you. I'd rather not come inside to do it," the blonde said, a touch of anxiety in her voice. "Why don't we sit outside and talk? It's a lovely day today, anyway, and I'm not sure if you knew it, but there's a nice little patio behind the house where we can be comfortable." It was phrased like a suggestion, but the woman acted like April had already agreed to it, turning and heading down the stone steps without looking back.
A brief frown crossed her face at the woman's presumption, but she shrugged it off and followed her, closing the door behind her. She hadn't had a chance to see the grounds that surrounded the house yet, so she lagged quite a bit behind the mysterious woman as she looked around. Things were somewhat overgrown and ragged. There was little space on the sides of the house, with a street to the left and another house to the right, but the property extended from the back as far as she could see.
There was a flagstone patio, as the woman had said, with an elegant little cafe-style dining set. The iron table had a mosaic tile surface that was lovely, though not in the same time period as the interior of the house, nor the same style, so it seemed out of place against the castle backdrop. The matching iron seats were uncomfortable, and she shifted as she settled into hers.
"So, you know my name. Maybe we could start with yours?" April suggested, one eyebrow raised.
"Sorry, you're right, of course. My manners. I'm a little nervous to be back here, so please forgive me. I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Hagmaier, and I own this house." She shot the stone facade a dirty look. "Worst mistake of my life," she said in a lower tone, as though afraid the house would hear her. Elizabeth dropped the tan binder on the table with a clatter and sighed.
"You're the owner?" April exclaimed in a startled voice. "Right. The attorney did say a woman had bought it, but he never mentioned your name. I'm sorry if I was rude when you came in. I wasn't expecting—"
"No, no, it's fine. You're probably on edge—this house— T
o be honest, I wasn't planning on coming here ever again, but I decided I wanted to meet you and talk to you." She tapped the binder nervously with her forefinger, delicately manicured nails drumming out a pattern of anxiety. "I'm the one who chose you for the, uh, job. Like I said, your mother and I were roommates in college. I knew about her gifts. Hell, they scared the shit out of me sometimes. She always knew when—"
She stopped and shook her head. "Anyway, the professor and his team were getting nowhere. I'm sure they explained the problem to you? Since things don't happen every night, the suggestion of hiring a medium to spend an extended time here came up. We tried a number of supposed psychics, but none of them worked out, and finally I thought of your mother. I've only known a couple of other women whose powers I truly believed were real and neither of them will ever set foot in this house again, after—" A red glow was slowly rising on the blonde's pale skin, and April wondered exactly what experiences the mediums had had. "So I suggested your mother and had Charles hunt her down, but of course I found out about her accident and realized she wouldn't be available. However, his investigation also turned up you and I thought—"
"You thought maybe I had inherited her gifts?" April acknowledged, nodding her head slightly.
"Exactly. And it seems I was right. The results have been incredible." She looked both impressed and eager as she leaned in. "More than I'd dreamed. In fact, um, well, the footage gave me an idea for a whole new angle on the game I was planning. My understanding is you can see and hear a male ghost clearly and you can feel him as a physical presence. This same entity has also spanked you on two occasions and invaded your dreams with a sexual scene on another, correct?" There was a barely contained excitement in her voice.
Now it was April's turn to blush. She wondered when she'd get used to discussing this and stop turning red every time. At least the red wasn't as vibrant against her tan skin as it was on the peaches and cream skin of her employer.
"Yes," she said simply.
"Have you had sex with him?" Elizabeth asked immediately.
"I—what? Why would you ask— You would have seen on the cameras," April pointed out, evasively.
"April, no one actually believes you took a five hour bath yesterday." There was a low throaty chuckle of amusement as Elizabeth shook her head. "Don't lie to me; just tell me the truth. I promise not to judge."
April sighed, and her shoulders slumped, thinking that the little privacy she had was about to be taken away. "Fine. Yes, we— We had sex," she admitted. She stared down at the tiles, tracing the patterns visually to avoid looking at the woman. She felt like some kind of pervert, fucking a ghost.
"Don't be embarrassed about it, really. I have a story to tell you." The blonde settled back in her chair and crossed her legs, waiting for April to look at her. "It's just us; there are no cameras here, and I'm about to share a really humiliating story with you, so relax." She smiled, though she did look embarrassed, and that helped April to feel slightly better about the situation. "I bought this house with money I made in early computer tech. I was in on the ground floor out in Silicon Valley and I made a fortune. But after a while, I got sick of the rat race and decided to come back here and settle down, maybe open my own company out here. This place, well, it had always fascinated me as a kid. It was cheap; because of its reputation no one wanted it. So I picked it up for pennies and started renovating it. It was a huge job, but the structure was sound, so I had them start with the master suite. I intended to live here while the renovations went on. I travel a lot, anyway so it wasn't like the noise and mess of construction would bother me much.
"I kinda thought the ghost stories were bullshit, to be honest. But they weren't. I found that out really fast. They finished the suite upstairs after about a month, and I moved in and things got—well, weird. I started having these really sexual dreams but, ugh, they were full of spanking, and that's never been my thing. I mean, smacking a cute guy on the ass during sex can be fun, I admit, but these dreams were freaking me out because I kept getting my ass smacked and I hated it." She paused, smirking as she shot April a pointed look. "Guess you didn't mind, though."
April sighed but didn't comment. Instead, she settled back to listen. She relaxed and let her mind drift, filling in the images of the tale as Elizabeth told it. She'd always been able to take someone else's story and picture it so vividly that it was as if she were recalling something she'd experienced herself; another unwanted gift, but one that she'd often found useful, and she let herself be drawn into Elizabeth’s narrative in exactly that way.
Because of the place’s history, I'd hoped the purchase and renovations of the castle would stay quiet, but the secret didn't keep for very long. Somehow, the story must have gotten out, because in addition to contractors wanting to bid on the work, I'd also received a number of calls and visits from so-called paranormal experts. Everything from ghost squads who wanted to research the property to religious people wanting large donations in return for cleansing the house of spirits. I'd snorted and set those letters aside as an amusing entertainment to share at my first dinner party.
The house was going to be magnificent when it was finished, and I was already planning a huge gala to celebrate when it was complete; after all, what else was I going to use the grand ballroom for, if not parties? In the meantime, I was stepping over piles of wood and tripping over construction debris every time I turned around, but it would all be worth it. I decided to bring back the opulence of the early eighteen hundreds and made very few changes to the layout of the house, concentrating instead on fixing or repairing as much of the original fixtures as I could. The old bones really were worth restoring, I thought.
After a couple of months, an army of electricians and plumbers were in the process of updating the wiring and the pipes throughout the house. Carpenters had remodeled the second floor bedroom I'd chosen. It had always been the master suite, but I'd decided to expand it to nearly twice the size by absorbing a smaller bedroom next to it. I kept all the beautiful dark wood but replaced the wallpaper with a lighter flowered pattern and installed a thick plush carpet in off-white before I moved in. I never could stand putting my bare feet on cold wood floors and I intended my room to have every luxury and comfort.
When things first started to happen, I had dismissed it as faulty wiring, old plumbing, which would soon be entirely replaced, or creaky floorboards. I was sure there was some rational explanation for the events that kept occurring, but one by one those things got fixed, and still odd things kept happening. I'd wake freezing in the middle of the night with all my covers on the floor. Lights would go on and off when I walked into a room. Things would fall. The flat screen TV I'd had installed on the bedroom wall somehow came loose and crashed to the floor at two AM one night.
It was always something. But as the physical renovations got closer to conclusion and I started to plan out the décor, it seemed to get worse. Now, I love antiques, but with the house itself being so old and with so much of the original features, wainscoting, and such being left, it just felt like too many antique furnishings would make things look dark and broody around here, and I prefer a nice light atmosphere. So I had put together a plan for a mostly modern look with just the occasional old-fashioned item to evoke the age of the home.
The master suite's furnishings I'd been living with were temporary until I could find the perfect set, and I decided to take a trip into the country for a few weeks of antique auctions and searching for what I wanted. Those old estate sales often have some amazing finds, and I had an idea of what I was looking for. Plus, I had my eyes open for anything else that might fit the look I was putting together for the house. While I was gone, I arranged for my bathroom to be gutted and modernized. I just wasn't into the old-fashioned clawfoot tub look. And, like I said, I really wanted every comfort for this place. It was my dream home, after all.
The contractors kept me up to date on the progress with daily photos, and at first, things were going well, but then a ser
ies of concerning messages arrived. Things were being delayed, there were issues with work being undone overnight, two men quit but refused to give any reason for their abrupt departure. I did my best to manage it from a distance, and eventually the bathroom was finished.
By the time I returned to the house from my successful buying trip, I had exactly what I wanted. The pieces I'd handpicked for the bedroom were installed immediately; the furniture I'd picked up for the rest of the house was settled into storage until the renovations were complete. But the unexplained incidents escalated almost the second I unpacked.
It was as though something in the house didn't like what I was doing. I felt watched everywhere in the house, except my bathroom. I started taking really long baths and finding excuses to spend hours in there because I could only seem to find the peace and relaxation I craved in that one room. Every luxury had been installed in the bathroom, from heated towel racks to a small sauna for one, so that I could pamper myself. But elsewhere in the house, things were not so calm. It got harder to explain away the things that were happening, and at the back of my mind, the stories of the house being haunted lingered, prickling insistently.
And then the dreams started. There was a man with long dark hair that hung in loose waves to his shoulders, when it wasn't tied back at his neck. He was handsome, but his eyes seemed so angry. And every time I dreamed about him, he was angry, furious, in fact. He yelled at me for ripping apart his house. He complained bitterly about the modernization I'd had done, even though I'd left most of the house to its original style and had even restored it. And—he warned me that I had to stop, or else.
I ignored the dreams, though they made for restless sleep, and I was tired all the time, but they escalated until I was having them every night. I couldn't understand it. I thought maybe I was feeling guilty about the changes I'd made in the house, but I couldn't figure out why. I even thought of making an appointment with a therapist. And the dreams were so odd—they always had an old-fashioned feel to them, like they were taking place years before I was born. My clothing and his often reflected that, as did the oil lamps and candles.
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