Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (11 page)

"A disorderly house is an indication of a disorderly
mind," she often said.

I was pretty grim about it, however. It was even getting
difficult to persuade her to take time out to eat a leisurely
meal with the rest of the family. Something had to be done.
The solution to my problem came from a totally unexpected
source and the solution had been there for weeks. I just
hadn't realized it.

It was during one of my trips down to the old red barn
where some of the furniture was stored, that I first caught
sight of an ancient black man. He didn't appear too friendly
and almost dissolved before my eyes in his anxiety to get
away. Evidently he wanted no conversation with a stranger.
However, as I ran into him from time to time and always
spoke pleasantly and acted as if it was the most natural
thing in the world for him to be hanging out in the barn,
he gained more confidence. One afternoon he actually hesitated when he saw me so I stopped and spoke to him.

"Hello, there!" I hailed.

He hesitated. "Hello, Boss."

"I've seen you a lot down here. You living in the barn?"

He nodded. "That's right, Boss."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Enoch."

"Now that's a good Bible name," I observed. "I know all
about the Bible, you know. My dad is a Baptist preacher
and I nearly become one myself. I'm Harold Cameron. I'm
glad to meet you, Enoch."

He studied me sideways for a minute and then smiled a
pleased sort of smile. He held out his hand and I solemnly
shook it.

That was the extent of our first conversation, but I ran
into him on the path again. This time I learned that he
had been sleeping in the barn, with no other place to go.
When I mentioned that it might be pleasant enough in the
barn during the summer, but winter might well tell a different story, a shadow fell on his wrinkled old face.

"I been thinking 'bout that," he admitted.

"Well, don't worry. Barns aren't too cold and I'll see that
you get plenty of blankets and some provisions, too, if you
need them," I promised.

He looked at me in pleased amazement. "You're mighty
nice to do that, Boss," he exclaimed.

On my next trip down, I ran into him again and then I
felt sure he had been waiting for me.

"Hello there, Enochl"

"Hello, Bossl"

I feigned fatigue and took out a handkerchief to wipe my
forehead. "I've been going pretty hard today, Enoch, and
I'd like to rest a bit. Why don't we sit down here and visit
for a while?"

We sat on the ground and I noticed that even though he
was old and very thin (he could scarcely weigh more than
ninety pounds fully clothed), he seemed wiry and tough
enough to get through many winters.

"How long have you lived around here, Enoch?"

"All my life. Yes, sirl All my life."

"And how old are you?"

He frowned. "I don't rightly remember how old-but it's
a lot more than ninety. Closer to a hundred when I figger
things out."

Enoch seemed proud of the fact that he'd probably make
it to the century mark. I found myself as excited as he was
proud. If he had been in the neighborhood for nearly a
hundred years, he was the person to question about the old
mansion. I wondered where to start.

"I live in the big house, you know," I remarked casually.

"I know," he replied briefly. There was a closed-in look
on his face at the very mention of the place and I had an
inner warning to go slow here. I didn't want to rush things.
Reluctantly, I changed the subject.

"I haven't forgotten about the blankets," I informed him.
"I didn't think you needed them just yet and I wouldn't
want rats to get at them if you stored them just any old
place."

"It won't be any old place," he assured me. "And there
ain't any rats-not with Butch around."

"Is Butch a cat?"

He looked his scorn. "Butch is my dog. He's part mastiff
-and he's my best friend."

I imagined that during cold nights he had snuggled up
close to his best friend for warmth. I made a mental note
to remember Butch when I bought food for Ching and
Chang.

"We ain't got rats in the barn, but I got me a mouse,"
Enoch announced proudly.

"A mouse?" I echoed. "What for?"

"A pet mouse. Not scared a bit. Butch likes him, too."

I chuckled. "You certainly have an interesting family."

"Yep. Keeps a guy from gettin' too lonesome."

One thing about Enoch that had interested me from the
start was the fact that he was immaculately clean. He wore
faded old denims. They were threadbare in places, but they were clean. His old blue shirt - faded and worn - was also
spotless. I wondered how he managed to look so neat and
clean under the circumstances in which he was living. It
certainly testified to a strict early training. I respected him
the more for it.

Cautiously, I brought the subject around to the mansion
again. "You ever been in my house, Enoch?"

"Lotsa times. Why?"

"I just wondered. I love the old mansion, myself."

He swung around to stare at me. "You love it?" He sounded
so amazed that I found myself on the defensive.

"Sure. There's a lot of atmosphere about an old mansion.
Any reason why I shouldn't love it?"

The odd look crossed his face again and he scrambled to
his feet. "I gotta go now, Boss. I got things to do." With
that he was gone, leaving me mystified and exasperated.

I told Dorothy about our meeting later that evening. "It's
got me going," I admitted. "Here's a guy who can give us
all the answers-and I have a feeling he isn't about to do it.
I think he's scared."

"All you have to do is win his confidence," Dorothy
replied. "It may take time - but time is something we have
plenty of -at least for the next year."

"It all ties in," I mused. "I feel that something violent
and vicious and hidden has to account for these hauntings -
for the dark cloud over this place. I've been doing a lot of
reading. You know why old castles and old houses are
haunted the world over? Because they are old. Because
things have happened there. Evil has often been done with
the impetus of raw emotional force."

She blinked a little. "Raw force?"

"Look at it this way," I said. "Creative force just is. It
could be used the wrong way as well as the right and wouldn't
a thought that directed a vicious action leave a sort of vibra tional pattern in the ethers-like a sooty thumbprint on a
white piece of paper?"

"I guess it could," she conceded. "The older I get the
more I realize how much I don't know."

I grinned. "Then there's hope for you, Honey. It's these
people who know it all that are a pain in the neckl But
seriously," I went on, "isn't it possible that the directed
force - backed with strong emotion - would have to exhaust
itself? Even though it might take years of time as we know
it before the force is spent?"

"You may be right, Harold. I wouldn't know. But what
connection does this have with our mansion?"

"I think there is a connection. Maybe we have some
entities here that are trapped in an emotional vortex. Maybe
patterns have to be repeated until the force is spent. You
told me, yourself, that you felt our unseen visitors might
be in trouble. Now I have the feeling that if I could just
find out the true history of this place, I'd have the key-be
in a better position to handle certain things."

"Well, don't let it become an obsession with you," she
advised calmly. "You have other important things to occupy
your mind. In the meanwhile, things are going along pretty
much all right, aren't they?"

"That they are. But do you realize that we've never had
a conversation like this in our entire married life?"

She nodded. "That's true enough."

"And I know something else," I added.

"Now what?"

"I'm hungryl"

She laughed. "Dinner's in the oven. It will be on the table
in half an hour," she promised.

It was the day after Sam and Margo left that I had yet another talk with Enoch. This time he had wandered up
toward the house and I invited him into the summerhouse
for a chat. I was feeling disturbed about the resumption of
our servant problem and welcomed an opportunity to talk
to Enoch and, maybe, to be more successful in my probing
about the past history of the mansion.

"Somethin' botherin' you, Boss?" Enoch asked, his keen
old eyes on my face.

"Yes," I replied. "Sam and Margo have left us."

He gave me a shrewd look. "Why?"

I shrugged wearily. "Same old thing, I guess. People are
afraid of the house. Nothing has ever happened to any of
us in it. We aren't afraid. What's the matter with people,
anyway? It seems that they just don't have faith in a God
that can protect them and deliver them from evil."

Enoch looked thoughtful. "Maybe. Some things, though,
we feel are too much for God to bother himself about down
here."

"Well, that's wrong," I said emphatically. "But faith is
something each person has to have for himself, I guess. You
can't have it for anybody else. That's a big house, Enoch.
It's too much house for my wife to have to keep up by herself."

"I know that, Boss. I used to work up there."

I stared at him. "You worked there?" I echoed. "What
did you do?"

"I was young then. I was a sort of man-of-all-works, as
they say. I cleaned and swept and dusted and took care of
the beds. I cooked a little, too. I'm a good cook."

"You even cooked?" I repeated incredulously.

"Sure 'nuff."

"Tell me about yourself, Enoch." An idea was floating
around in my head but I wanted it to settle a little. "You
must have had a mighty fine mother -you keep so neat and
clean-you're an upstanding person."

He brightened. "Oh, I had a fine mama, all right." He settled down with a reminiscent look on his face. At last
Enoch seemed willing to talk about the past.

"My mama loved the Bible. She read me a lot from it,"
he started after a moment's reflection. "She could readthe folks who owned her taught her that. She went to church
regular. She made me learn a lot of the Bible. I know whole
pages by heart. I know Genesis, Job, and the Twenty-third
Psalm. She was always mighty particular 'bout my raisin'.
She wanted me to have faith in God, too, 'cause I'd never
know when I was goin' to need Him. You see, she always
feared I'd be sold as a slave and would be gone from her
forever. It didn't happen that way. God took her himself,
instead. Oh, she was a mighty fine mama!"

"Enoch," I asked abruptly. "Don't you ever get lonesome
down in the barn by yourself?"

He looked a little injured. "I ain't by myself. I told you
'bout my family-Butch and my mouse. We know each
other real well."

"But you need folks, too, Enoch. Everyone does. How
about going to work for me?" He looked very startled and
I hurried on with my pitch before he could argue against it.
"You don't need to do the heavy work at all. What I need
is someone in the house in the daytime to help Dorothy and
if you could cook some and serve meals - that would be
wonderful. I'll pay you well," I went on as he still heistated.
"Then when we move away, you will have some money of
your own."

He was thoughtful for a long time and I held my breath.
Then he turned to me questioningly. "Did you say daytime,
Boss?" he asked point-blank. "I could still sleep in the barn
with Butch and my mouse?"

"You can sleep anywhere you want to if you'll help out
during the day. You can leave just as soon as dinner is over.
We eat as early as we can."

Once again I put a request on a personal basis. "Enoch, please come-as a favor to me. I need you badly." I didn't
intend to remind him that he owed me a favor because of
the help I was giving him. I didn't have to. As he had said,
himself, his mama had brought him up right.

"I'd be right proud to work for you, Boss," he said at last.
I heaved an immense sigh of relief.

"I'll get you some clothes," I promised. "A couple of pairs
of new blue pants and some white shirts. I'll get them right
away.

"New clothes?" He looked down at his worn-out jeans,
with a button missing at a strategic place. "Gosh, Boss, I
ain't had nothin' new for a long time now."

"Well, that's over," I assured him. Mentally I added
socks, shoes, and underwear to the list I was making-and
a warm sweater.

"When do you want me?"

"How about six in the morning? I'll let you in the kitchen
door. We'll give Dorothy a surprise with some hot coffee
when she comes downstairs in the morning."

He grinned. "Okay, Boss."

So we hired Enoch who was as good as his boast when it
came to cooking and cleaning. Because he was so slight, he
wore one of Dorothy's aprons when he worked in the kitchen.
He wasn't about to get any spots on his new clothes. The
boys liked Enoch and little Janet tagged after him like a
puppy. Sometimes he recited passages from the Bible to
her. You could tell that the little girl meant a lot to him.
I had been right. Enoch had been lonely and was proud to
have "folks" again.

He had been working for us about a month when I began
to tire of the routine of getting up early to let him in the
kitchen door.

"Enoch," I finally said, "you know it's going to be cold in
the tackroom pretty quick now in spite of the blankets and
comforters we've given you. You'll have to walk up here a quarter of a mile every morning. Why don't you just sleep
upstairs in the servants' quarters where it's warm and cozy?"

He stood motionless at the stove, not bothering to turn
around to face me.

"You'd have conveniences that you don't enjoy in the
barn," I pointed out.

"I got all the conveniences I need now, Boss," Enoch
replied in an expressionless voice.