Authors: Goldie Browning
“Oh, no. The Crescent has many ghosts. Well, here we are. Fourth floor.” The door creaked open and Jimmy pushed the cart out of the elevator.
They stepped into a long, pink plastered hallway. Emma squinted to see in the dim light as they made their way through the eerily quiet passage. They walked toward the far end of the huge building, passing a sign halfway down the hall that read
Dr. Baker’s Lounge
. Another small twinge of recognition jolted.
When they reached the end of the hall, they made a right turn to a shorter hallway. There it was, just like in her dream.
Room 419
.
Jimmy opened the door and they stepped into the parlor. At first glance, it was like walking into the nineteenth century. The suite of rooms had a Victorian style ambience, yet all the modern amenities. An antique turquoise swooning couch in the parlor faced a flat screen TV. Set into an alcove near the bathroom was a small refrigerator, microwave, and coffee maker. The sloping attic walls were painted bluish-green, decorated with gold stenciled stars. A locked, child-sized door built into the parlor wall appeared to lead nowhere. The next room was almost filled by the massive king-size bed, which faced yet another television atop an antique sideboard.
Emma raised the mini-blinds to reveal a spectacular panorama of mountains and trees. In the distance, she saw an odd-looking structure, standing like a huge white cross above the trees. “What is that?”
“That’s the Christ of the Ozarks statue. It’s where they have the Great Passion Play every summer. Thank you, sir. I hope you both enjoy your stay at the Crescent.” Jimmy pocketed Zan’s tip and left.
Emma remained standing at the window. That statue hadn’t been there before.
Before what?
She frowned and watched a pigeon land on the windowsill. It paced back and forth, and then preened its feathers. She stared at the bird, trying to occupy her mind with anything but the irrational thoughts creeping into her head. Quit being such an idiot. It was only a dream.
The warmth of her husband’s breath on her neck brought her to awareness. She leaned against him as his hands gently massaged her shoulders. She closed her eyes and relaxed.
“This place is pretty romantic,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “What do you say we christen the bed right now?”
“Do we have time? We still have to shower and change.”
“That’s okay,” he replied, holding her tighter. He reached up and pulled the blinds closed, then drew her toward the bed. “We’ll make time.”
Her heart pounded as she kicked off her sneakers. She lay with him and returned his kisses. To heck with thermometers and cycle charts—they were on vacation. She’d worry about all that next week.
A flowery scent filled her nostrils and she wondered if Zan had changed brands of cologne. He always wore Ralph Lauren Polo, but now something smelled more like Chanel Number Five. Her eyes opened into lazy slits when he let her go to pull his tee shirt over his head—and that’s when she saw the blinds move, rippling out in a cascading wave from one end of the room to the other. She sat up and screamed. “Zan! Somebody’s in our room!”
Zan lost his balance when Emma shifted on the bed. He tumbled off the side, with his shirt still up over his face. For a few seconds he grappled with it, then jerked it back down as he sprawled on the carpeted floor. But he was back on his feet in an instant. He grabbed the nearest weapon—the television remote control—and stalked the room, searching for the intruder.
“Where?”
“By the windows. The blinds moved. Like this.” She tried to demonstrate by waving her arms like a hula dancer.
Zan jabbed at them with his remote control sword, then pulled each one forward and shook them. Two dead crickets and some dust bunnies fell out. He looked annoyed. “There’s nothing here.”
“Well, I can see that.
Now.
” Emma bristled at his tone. She knew what she’d seen. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“I don’t know. Whatever moved the mini-blinds.” She pursed her lips and then shivered. “It’s cold in here.”
Zan joined her on the bed and started nuzzling her neck. “Come on, honey. I’ll warm you up.” He tickled her and started chanting, “I do believe in ghosts... I do believe in ghosts... I do believe in ghosts…”
“Now you’re making fun of me.” She laughed and buried her head in his chest. She snuggled in his arms, then pulled away and sat up as a thought popped into her head. “If the procedure next week doesn’t work, do you think we ought to try adoption?”
“I think we need to just stop thinking about it for now. Wait and see what the doctor says.” He gently stroked her arm and bussed her neck with his lips. “Pay attention to
me
.”
“Stop it. That tickles.” She squirmed and batted at his hand. “You know, my parents adopted me and a year later they had Tommy. The same thing might happen to us.”
“Uh huh. Could be.” He slid his hand underneath her top and started pushing her backward on the bed again with the other.
“We are gonna be soooo late for dinner.”
“I don’t care.” He ran his hands up and down her torso. “I thought you wanted to make a baby?” His voice lowered to a whisper, “Let’s make one right now.”
Emma flinched when she saw a shadow move on the ceiling and she turned her head toward the windows. The mini-blinds quivered. She went rigid with fear. Zan released her and sat up, holding up his hands in defeat.
“
Okay.
I get the point. I’ll leave you alone.” He stomped into the bathroom and began unpacking the champagne gift basket left by Allen and Phoebe.
Emma saw by his clenched jaw and red face he was angry. Well, so was she! She stared at him in disbelief . “I saw what I saw and you don’t believe me.” She jumped from the bed and stood glowering, her legs planted far apart, hands on her hips. “You are the most thoughtless, self-absorbed jerk!”
“
What
did you say?” Zan came into the bedroom and glared at her.
“You heard me.”
Two loud thumps from the closet startled them both. Their attention diverted, surprise replaced anger. They stared at each other before hurrying to open the door. An ironing board lay cattycornered on the closet floor and an iron dangled by its cord, which was looped around its wall bracket.
“How in the world did that happen?” asked Emma.
Zan thought for a moment before answering. “I remember seeing what looked like a penthouse right above this room. I think the stairs are up there.” He pointed to the corner of the room nearest the bed. “Somebody must have gone upstairs and caused the ironing board and iron to vibrate off. Yeah. That’s got to be it.”
Emma stared at the mess in the closet, rolled her eyes, and shook her head no. “I didn’t hear anybody in the penthouse a minute ago, did you? Somebody would have had to be stomping like crazy to have done this.”
“Well, what’s your explanation then? Ghosts?”
“You know I don’t believe in that stuff. Maybe it
was
somebody in the penthouse, but I seriously doubt it.”
Goose bumps rose on Emma’s arms when a sudden blast of frigid air permeated the room. Hairs at the back of her neck stood on end when she again heard a crashing sound followed by a pop, this time from the bathroom. They ran toward the sound and stopped, staring in awe at the destruction. Moet & Chandon puddled on the white tile, while the remains of two long-stemmed crystal flutes created a mine-field of broken glass across the bathroom and parlor floors.
Within seconds the temperature returned to normal. Zan was the first to recover. He grinned at Emma, scooped her up, and carried her back to the bedroom. “Have we been into the bubbly already?”
She giggled as he dumped her on the bed. Ha! He’d seen it too. She wasn’t the only one who was crazy. “If we have, we must have had a lot—‘cause I don’t remember having any.”
“Did you see what I saw?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What did
you
see?”
Zan craned his neck and peeked into the parlor. The shards of glass were still scattered all over the floor. “I think I saw you throw the champagne basket.”
“You did not,” Emma cried and punched him in the arm. “You know very well it just fell all by itself and smashed into a million pieces.”
“So you didn’t see me throw it?”
“No.”
“Well, if
I
didn’t throw it. And
you
didn’t throw it…”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe we’ve had a
visitation
.”
Zan smirked and picked up the telephone. “Hello, front desk? This is Zan Fuller in Room 419. We need a broom and dustpan up here ASAP…No, something just got broken …Yes, ma’am. A bottle of champagne and two wine glasses…No, I don’t know how they got broken…Uh, yes. We were…Okay…Thank you very much.”
‘Well, what did the desk clerk say?”
Zan shook his head and hesitated. “She sounded like it was the most natural thing in the world and then she asked me if we’d been quarreling.”
“What a strange question.”
Zan nodded and looked pensive. “I figured she would think we broke the stuff while we were fighting, but I couldn’t imagine why she would care. But when I told her yes, she said
‘Theodora doesn’t like it when couples argue.’
”
The vacuum cleaner’s roar sliced through the silence. Emma’s mind swirled with wonder as she watched the hungry machine suck up the last bits of the wine glasses. She smiled when Zan squeezed her hand, feeling more excited by their experience than she could ever remember. Her fear of the paranormal had vanished, replaced instead by a sense of exhilaration.
“Thank you very much.” He stood up when the maid finished her work, reached into his pocket to hand her a folded bill, and helped her with the door. She nodded and lumbered away, dragging her cleaning supplies.
“Well, that’s that,” Zan said and closed the door. “So what do you want to do? Do you want to move to another room?”
“No. I love this one.”
“You’re not afraid of things going
bump in the night
?”
“Zan, it’s the weirdest thing. You know I’ve always been a skeptic, but I feel so comfortable now. I get the impression we’re being watched over. Like we have a guardian angel or something.”
“Do guardian angels throw breakable objects?”
“Oh, she was just trying to get our attention.” Emma giggled.
“So you’re calling our ghost a
she
now?”
“Yes.” Emma leaned forward and playfully kissed the tip of his nose. “
Our
ghost is named Theodora.”
“You’re a nutcase.” He slapped her on the rear.
“Hey, watch it. We’ve gotta get changed. It’s almost time to meet everyone for dinner. No time for a shower now.” Emma peeled off her sweater, unzipped her jeans, and shimmied out of them. As she reached around to unhook her bra she noticed her husband lounging on the bed, staring. Their eyes met and she smiled seductively, then pursed her lips and wagged her index finger. “Stop looking at me like that, you horny old goat—later—I promise.”
The chandeliers glistened in the Crystal Dining Room, bathing the linen-covered tables in a rainbow of iridescent colors. Soft piano music wafted lightly through the room, evoking an impression of peace and relaxation. The delicious aroma of gourmet food caused Emma’s stomach to growl in anticipation.
“We’re here for the Fuller party,” said Zan.
“Very good, sir. Right this way.”
The hostess led them to an elegant table occupied by the small wedding entourage. Allen saw them approach and jumped from his seat. He looked like a redheaded, slightly younger version of his sandy-haired brother. His dancing green eyes and impish smile gave away his mischievous nature. He caught them both in a bear hug. “Hey big brother, it’s about time you dragged your skinny ass downstairs. We’re all about to starve.”
“Always thinking about your stomach, aren’t you Allen? I think he cracked one of my ribs.” Zan rubbed his side and pulled out a chair for Emma. “Phoebe, I hope you know how to cook.”
“I know my way around a kitchen,” retorted Phoebe. “I was once a sous-chef at Spago Beverly Hills.”
“Yeah, her cooking’s great if you like sushi and bean sprouts.” Allen made a face and grinned at Phoebe. She stuck out her tongue and then smiled brilliantly.
Emma watched the banter with amusement. Would the two brothers never grow up? They always acted like roughneck little boys when they got together. Allen and Phoebe came from such different backgrounds. She hoped he would be happy with his beautiful, Malibu Barbie bride. It still amazed her at times to think that Zan’s crazy little brother was a top trial attorney in Fort Worth.
Phoebe was a free spirit with a healthy California glow and flower child innocence. She looked gorgeous in a yellow empire-waist tunic with flowing sleeves and designer jeans. Emma felt plain and mousy compared to her sister-in-law-to-be with her silky blond mane, long slender legs, and perfect figure. She instantly regretted her choice of a sensible navy blue business suit.
“Okay, now that we’re all here…” Jonathan clinked a silver knife on his water glass. “I’ll make the introductions for those of you who haven’t already met. My name is Jonathan Fuller. I think everyone already knows Allen and Phoebe here on my left. I’m the groom’s father and to my right is my lovely wife Barbara.”
Barbara smiled and nodded. Emma noticed the rope of pearls on her neck and wondered if it bothered Zan that another woman was wearing his deceased mother’s jewelry. She regarded the diamond and sapphire ring on her own hand with pride, knowing that it too had once belonged to Zan’s mother.
“Next to Barbara is my beautiful daughter-in-law Emily and my eldest son, Alexander,” Jonathan continued. “I believe you all know them as Emma and Zan. He will be the best man at the wedding.”
“Of course I will be,” Zan quipped. Allen made a face and shrugged.
“All right boys, try to act your age,” Jonathan scolded, his eyes twinkling. “Continuing on—across the table is—Miss Moonbeam. Is that right?”
“Just Moonbeam.” Her voice was low and sultry, with an odd intonation. Emma noticed the stud in her tongue when she spoke, which explained the lisp. She had closely cropped spiky black hair that contrasted harshly with her pale complexion and kohl-rimmed gray eyes. Dressed in a black satin pantsuit, her blood-red lips and gold gypsy hoop earrings provided the only color to her Goth look. She waved a claw-like hand with long, black painted fingernails and pointed to herself. “Maid of honor.”
“All right then. On the opposite side are Phoebe’s parents, Professor and Mrs. Lowenstein. Sydney, I understand you teach philosophy at Stanford University?”
“Not any more. Maurine and I have retired to Sedona, Arizona now. We’re both leading seminar retreats in Yoga and metaphysics.” Professor Lowenstein appeared relaxed and comfortable. A long, gray ponytail and full beard compensated for his receding hairline. Maurine Lowenstein wore a floor length, multi-colored silk caftan. Her pale hair was piled on top of her head, held tight by a clasp covered with brightly colored beads.
“Seated next to the Lowensteins is Pastor Barnes, who will be officiating the wedding,” said Jonathan. “And next to him is Chief Whitefeather of the Yavapai Apache Nation. He is a Native American shaman who will bless the marriage.”
Emma fought to suppress a smile at the contrast between the two men. Pastor Barnes was a husky little man in a conservative blue suit, with friendly eyes peering out from above rounded cheeks. Chief Whitefeather, although dressed in slacks and a sports coat, looked the part of an Apache holy man, with his black braid, high cheekbones, and intelligent eyes. The assortment of character types at the table amazed her.
“What are you going to have, Zan?” Emma studied the menu.
“I don’t know…Ooh. The Chicken Boursin looks good. I think I’ll have that. Do you want an appetizer?”
“I’ll have the same, but no appetizer. I want to save room for dessert.” Emma’s mouth watered at the prospect of Crème Brûlée.
“We’ll have your biggest rib-eye, mashed potatoes and pinto beans—with cornbread.” Allen drawled with exaggeration, pointing to himself and Phoebe.
“
I
will have the Vegetable Wellington.” Phoebe shot a disgusted look at Allen and closed the menu. “
Thank
you very much.”
“Hey, Zan. Are you and Emma going on the ghost tour with us later?” asked Allen. “Phoebe and I can’t wait to see something spooky.”
Zan almost choked on his wine. Reminded of the earlier events, Emma blushed, torn between the excitement of her experience and the need for prudence. Should they tell everyone what happened?
“What?” Allen looked from Zan to Emma. “Don’t tell me you’ve already seen something?”
“Shall we tell ‘em?” asked Zan.
“I guess so,” said Emma. “He’ll never let us rest if we don’t.”
Zan relayed the story to the astounded group, omitting only the personal parts as to why Theodora resorted to minor violence. Emma considered telling everybody about the coincidence between their room number and her dream, but instead decided to keep it to herself.
The only person who seemed to be alarmed was Pastor Barnes. “This is very, very extraordinary,” he muttered. “I think we should all bow our heads in prayer.”
Emma lowered her head and closed her eyes. She listened respectfully as the minister droned on and on, asking the Lord to bless everyone at the table and protect them from evil spirits. Wasn’t that Chief What’s-his-name’s jurisdiction? She covered her mouth with her hand in a make-believe cough to hide her smirk. When she sensed someone staring at her she sneaked a peek. Moonbeam smiled mysteriously when they made eye contact.
“…In the name of the Lord, amen.”
“Amen,” Jonathan echoed. “Well, that was a very interesting story, Zan. What did you call the apparition?”
“Theodora. That’s what the people at the hotel call her—it—whatever. But I wouldn’t exactly call it an apparition. Don’t they have to materialize somehow to qualify for that? We didn’t see anything except the stuff that fell.” Emma shot him a dirty look. “Oh yes. And the moving mini-blinds,” he added.
“The term is
discarnate
. She is a lost soul,” interjected Phoebe, and then exhaled rapturously. “This place is a hotbed of activity.”
“Perhaps she’s trapped in a vortex and needs help finding her way to the next level,” offered Phoebe’s mother.
“No, no,” Professor Lowenstein replied. “It’s more likely that Zan and Emma encountered some sort of anomaly on another astral plane…”
Emma listened in silence as almost the entire party argued about the source of her and Zan’s purported supernatural experience. Everyone seemed to have an opinion except Emma. What she felt was simply a sense of peace and homecoming. The debate finally died down when the entrees arrived.
“Allen, were you and Zan aware that my parents—your grandparents—met each other in Eureka Springs? Your great grandmother Turner was staying here at this very hotel,” said Jonathan. “That’s the main reason I suggested this place for the wedding. I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“They met here? At the Crescent?” asked Allen.
“Yes, in 1938. But it wasn’t a hotel then. It was a hospital.”
“Jonathan, remember that sign we saw in the lobby? Did one of your parents have cancer?” asked Barbara.
“No, but family legend has it that Grandma Ivy’s mother was being treated for cancer here when she met Grandpa Harry. Then later on
she
became a patient here too, although she said there was nothing really wrong with either of them.”
“I read somewhere that the guy who ran this place in the late thirties was some kind of quack who injected his patients with strange concoctions and claimed to cure everything from cancer to hemorrhoids.” Allen winked at Zan. “Too bad you weren’t living here then. He probably would have given a lot of business to my brother, the drug dealer.”
“Very funny—pharmacist,” Zan corrected. “So what was Grandpa Harry doing here?”
“I don’t know a lot of the details. They didn’t talk about it much,” Jonathan mused. “My understanding is he had been working with the CCC building a dam. His family lost everything after the market crash of ’29 and ended up as sharecroppers in Oklahoma. Then when the Dust Bowl hit, they gave that up and headed west. I don’t know what became of them after that, but I believe Grandpa Harry just drifted around a lot looking for work.”
“What’s CCC?” asked Phoebe.
“Civilian Conservation Corp,” Allen volunteered. “It was an agency President Roosevelt created to help get people back to work during the Great Depression. They built lakes and dams and parks and things. It was part of the New Deal.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said. “I never was any good at history.”
“So, Dad. Why did you ask about Theodora’s name?” asked Zan “Is there some significance?”
Jonathan frowned and hesitated. “A couple of times my mother mentioned two lady friends she met here when she was hospitalized. I had forgotten all about them until now. I can’t remember one of them. Something common. Like Ann or Alice…But the other one I remember vividly—you’re not going to believe this—her name was Theodora. Such a startling coincidence.” He shook his head and added, “Remember the bobtailed cat in all the family photos? It used to belong to one of them.”