Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (21 page)

I could only nod in silent agreement.

"Tell me," she went on urgently, "could we have helped
her if we had known? Could we have talked to her - have
helped to free her from the endless activity -that despairing
cycle?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "Before we moved into
the mansion, I never had the faintest idea that things like
this could happen. I've learned a lot -and I intend to learn
a lot more. I know something, though. I'm not leaving the
mansion the same man that I was when we moved in."

Dorothy sighed. Suddenly she cried out, "I want to drive
away and never look back!"

I started the motor. "We're going to do just that," I
assured her.

Logically, that should have been the end of the story. But
logic had never been characteristic of happenings in the
mansion. I stopped in Wynne, and dropped the envelope
with the keys at the post office. Brooks would get it in the
morning mail. The gesture was my last tie with the mansion.
From that moment on it belonged to the past.

We drove on to the new house at Valley Forge. All the
lights were on in welcome. The youngsters were waiting
impatiently for our arrival. They were hungry and I had
promised to take them out to dinner. The moving van, partially unloaded, was parked in the driveway with the final
unloading to be done the next morning under Dorothy's
supervision.

Brooks called me at the office the next day. He was angry
and sounded upset.

"I didn't think you'd pull a trick like that, Mr. Cameron!
I really didn't! The place could have been cleaned out overnight! If I hadn't driven over to look around, I don't know
what might have happened!"

"What are you taking about?" I demanded.

"We've had our differences," he went on angrily, "but
this was a pretty cheap trick. You had no right to go off
and leave the place open like that!"

"Open?" I echoed incredulously.

"That's what I said."

"But I didn't," I protested swiftly. "I locked everything
up and mailed you the keys. Didn't you get them?"

"I did. That's the reason I went over. I knew you people
were finally out. But what do you mean you locked up?
Every door in the place was standing wide open!"

It took me a full minute to understand him.

"Well?" he prompted when I didn't speak. "I'd like an
explanation!"

I thought of certain conversations I'd had with the indignant Mr. Brooks-conversations where I had been at a distinct disadvantage. I had waited a long time for this and
I was savoring it. I laughed aloud.

"Okay, Brooks," I said. "I always had the feeling you
didn't believe me when I tried to get out of that lease. So
you listen now -and you listen well. I put new locks on every
door. There are no extra keys floating around, either. You
have them all. I locked the house and I left it locked!"

"B-but then h-how . . ." he stuttered.

I ignored him. "If you found every door wide open this
morning, it wasn't done by human hands. Now it seems
that you have a little problem of your own. I hope you can
keep the place locked. At least that's one area where we
had no trouble. I wish you luck in renting that place," I added cheerfully, "and in keeping it rented. As for me and
my family, we're through with all the problems connected
with the mansion-now and foreverl"

I hung up the phone on a dead silence at the other end
of the line-a silence broken only once by a startled gasp.

At dinner that night I gleefully reported the conversation
for I was human enough to get a certain satisfaction out of
Brooks' discomfiture. The dining room was cheerful and
a fire was burning on the hearth. After only a few hours, the
house felt like home.

"I wonder if you spoke the truth," Dorothy mused. "Are
we really free from all the problems posed by that house?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "But from now on they are
in the mental, speculative area and I hope to have some
answers to them before I die."

I had taken Hal aside earlier and told him of Enoch's
disclosures and we agreed the less discussion of the tragic
details of those long-ago events in Dorothy's presence, the
better. Now he spoke thoughtfully.

"You know, Dad, I've felt for a long time that there might
be more of them around than just the lady and the coachman. You always said that our case would be a weak one
in court, but we know we have witnesses to everything that
did happen except one incident that still bothers me."

"And I know what that is," I said quickly. "It's my midnight visitor-that crazy womanl"

"Rightl It seems so out of context when you think of everything else that went on and it doesn't fit into any category
that ties in. There's no one to corroborate your story except
that Mom remembered the barking of the chows that night
and that you went downstairs. The only evidence was the
two cups on the breakfast table the next morning. But how
strong is our evidence that this was another case of a psychic
phenomenon?"

"Not strong at all," I replied promptly. "You'll remember that I was so sure it was an entirely physical event that
I contacted the police and the cab companies. I saw the
woman and I spoke to her, but I never touched her at all.
I saw the cab and heard the motor but, again, I didn't go
out to open the door for her or to talk to the driver. It wasn't
until later that things didn't add up -the strange behavior
of the dogs that was entirely out of character, our fruitless
search for the site of the drinking spree she had described,
no record of a cab even being in the vicinity and the absence
of any police report. These are mystifying, but I admit if
it hadn't been for the other strange things that had happened in and around the mansion, I wouldn't have felt that
it might be a psychic happening."

"Could it be that time as we know it isn't really relevant?
Could it have been something that happened at a different
time and place entirely?"

"It would have had to be later," I reminded him. "Telephones and cabs - they don't belong a hundred years or so
ago.

"Well, we have facts enough for the rest, that's for sure.
But have we any answers that cover everything?"

"Merely speculative ones. But suppose there is a magnetic, psychic atmosphere around that old mansion that
could be compared to a piece of sticky fly paper. The paper
wouldn't discriminate as to the kind of flies or insects it
attracted, would it? A magnet wouldn't attract a certain
thumb tack or a specified nail. There were so many tragic
events connected with the mansion - the fire and death of
several people living in that house, the runaway slaves, some
of whom may have died there; the other tragedies . . . All
of that must be taken into consideration when we postulate
a theory of a powerful magnetic field in that specific area."

We were silent for a moment, each busy with our own thoughts. Suddenly Hal grinned. "No matter how many
there might have been," he observed, "it looks as if they
had the last word, doesn't it?"

I agreed with a rueful smile. "Well, I can't think of a
better way of telling us that the house on Plum Tree Lane
needed a good airing outl"

Many years have passed since our two-year residence in the
house on Plum Tree Lane.

Our children have grown, married, moved away. Bob
cued unexpectedly of a heart attack while still young. Dorothy,
my loving wife, died a few years ago. I have since remarried.

I retired from my business career and moved back to the
West Coast. Spurred by my personal experiences with
psychic phenomena which could not be explained by logic,
rational reasoning or even materialistic science, I turned to
the study of metaphysics.

I am now the pastor of a Religious Science Church in
Paradise, California. I always meant to write my own personal "ghost story," but never started it until I met Connie
Westbie, who just happened to be a member of my congregation. (Another psychic coincidence?) Together we set down this story. Night Stalks the Mansion is a true account
of what happened in a haunted house.

What started in Wynne-my sensitivity to psychic phenomena-seems to have continued since then. I'm not sure
why. Perhaps because I am more aware of other dimensions-and my consciousness has been raised.

Two such psychic experiences stand out. Once, after
Dorothy died, I was preaching a sermon at my church on
Sunday. After the service, one of my congregants asked
who the woman was who sat in a chair on the platform during my sermon. I hadn't seen a woman, but the congregant
insisted she had. I asked for details; she described Dorothy!
She had never met my wife, but was able to depict Dorothy's
face and appearance, even down to her dress, an oldfashioned favorite that Dorothy had worn years ago!

The other incident was just as inspiring as the first. I had
received the news of Bob's death, all the more shocking
because it was so unexpected. I was in my study, preparing
myself for the two different sermons I was to give later that
day. I stood at my desk and decided that I didn't have the
strength to face my congregations. I looked up and there
was Bob! He was smiling at me, and I remember noticing
that his front teeth, which had been broken and repaired,
were now perfect. He gave me a sign, one that seemed to
say, "Hang in there. You can do it." So I did.

Everyone in the family who was conscious of the lady on
the stairs and the coachman on the path felt touched in
some way by them. My son Harold, questioned a few years
ago, still remembers the experiences vividly:

"The strange events at the house on Plum Tree Lane are
as unexplainable to me now as when they happened some
thirty years ago.

"I remember Enoch saying, `Yes, boys, there are two
ghosts in the old house-that's why I always leave before
dark. But don't worry. Old Missus is a good ghost and will
never hurt you. The other one has done all the harm he ever
will -and he won't hurt you now, either.'

"Enoch had been right. We spent almost two years with
those two earthbound souls, but they never hurt anyone in
the family. After the first six months, we even came to
appreciate our unique experience.

"I am my father's oldest son, nearing sixty, but the memories of the days when, as a college boy, I lived in that house
on Plum Tree Lane, are as vivid and mystifying now as then.
They remain the most exciting and memorable days of my
life."

Carrol was only ten when we moved to the mansion, but
has assured me that he will never forget the two years we
spent there:

"I was really too young to appreciate the beauty that the
mansion held for me, although I did believe that we became
`special people' as a result of living there. The old house
held a presence of history and I was aware of the stories it
could tell. This awareness seemed to be a constant companion as I walked through the halls and the various rooms.
But what I remember most clearly was my constant fear at
being there, for I knew that the house was master and holder
of many secrets that I'd just as well not know. I would like
the mansion to know that during our brief time there, I was
carrying a white flag of truce.

"Living with the 'Grand Dame' in the house was a rewarding experience. Like the sea, it was beautiful, but you learned
to beware."

Janet and Michael were too young to carry any vivid
memories of our hauntings. We were never sure that they
even knew when the lady was walking around and checking
on the nursery, or when the heavy footsteps sounded outside. To the youngest children, the house was like one large
play area. They were never menaced by the spirits, nor by
our fearsl

And the mansion? I never went back to the house, although
I did drive by it several times while we still lived in the
Philadelphia area. The house still stands, but the owners
finally moved with the times. They decided it was too much
house for one family and turned it into apartments. There
was usually full occupancy in all the units-save one. One
apartment always stayed vacant - the apartment which had
been the lady's libraryl

"During the promotional tour in the East, where I appeared on
several shows in Philadelphia, I seized upon the opportunity to
revisit the mansion.

"I knocked on the front door and waited hopefully, but
there was no response. I felt a strange hush, as though the old
house were listening, waiting for whatever might follow. Again
I knocked, loudly and insistently this time. Then, instantly, a
high-pitched, quavering scream came from the third floor. My
first thought was, `Someone is tied to a bed up there in one of
those bedrooms.' Then in a moment of realization I said to
myself, `My God, she is still here!' My knock was not answered."

-Harold Cameron

More than twenty-five years have passed since the first printing
of Night Stalks the Mansion. Harold Cameron passed away in 1986. All but one of Harold's siblings have died as well, but
many of his children and extended family survive today. The
mansion still exists, but it is not the same home that it was during the Camerons' stay there. Over the years, several people
tried to restore it and live there, but for one reason or another,
their tenancy was short-lived. The mansion was eventually
abandoned and became a haven for curiosity seekers and vandals. All the rich furnishings, fixtures, and decor were either
stolen or defaced, and the mansion was boarded up and abandoned for good.

Then on June 4, 1987, the mansion burned to the ground in
the middle of the night. All that remained was four stone walls
and the foundation. The cause was arson, but there were no
arrests. Shortly after that, the owners of the mansion and land
sold it to a local developer who turned it into a high-scale subdivision with dozens of luxury homes. The mansion was rebuilt,
and the developer incorporated the remaining walls into the
design, but the look of the mansion changed dramatically. It is
now a beautiful, well-maintained home owned by a private family. They knew of the history of the house but state that they
have had no paranormal experiences since they have lived
there. Out of consideration for the owners, please respect their
privacy by leaving them alone.