Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (3 page)

"Yes, I do," I said flatly.

"But do you think they'll go to all of that work for us?
We won't be paying much rent for a place like this if they do."

"They'll do it," I replied confidently. Again there was
that feeling of inevitability. I was going to live in that house,
come what may. "Houses have to be lived in and this one
has been empty a long time."

"I wonder why?" she questioned, half to herself.

"It's rather obvious, isn't it? Just too much house for the
average family. We don't want to buy it-we only want to
lease for a couple of years. It would be an interesting experience-just living here for a while." My words were more
prophetic than I realized at the time.

As she still didn't reply, I went on persuasively, "The
owners want to lease this now. They want to improve the
place and have it looked after by good tenants. They'll do
what I ask."

The boys had been quiet in the back seat. They realized
as well as I that the final decision must rest with their mother.

"Well," she admitted at last. "I'm tired of living out of a
suitcase. I'm tired of no room at all. We have to settle down somewhere near Philadelphia and we certainly haven't found
anything else. The country is pretty enough."

I held my breath as she went on musingly. "I hadn't expected anything quite so ... so...." Words failed her for
a moment and then she went on resolutely. "I wasn't looking for anything so grand and overwhelming, but if the
owners will meet your terms and you really want it as much
as you seem to, I'll go along."

There were whoops of joy from both boys. They, too, had
been impressed with the mansion and it would lend itself
readily to entertaining their college friends during vacation
periods and over special weekends.

Hal chuckled. "We could always turn it into a hotel if
we got hard up."

"I'll feel like the King of England," Bob put in.

"Which one?" his mother wanted to know. "Edward VI?"

"Oh, come now," I laughed, relieved that we had finally
reached a decision. "The place isn't that oldl"

"Wanta bet?" Bob chuckled.

I looked up at the dark shape looming above our heads
in the moonlight.

"Not really," I admitted as I turned the car toward town.

I was excited that night and didn't sleep well. However,
I was calm enough when I presented myself at the real estate
office the next morning. I expected a little argument over
my demands and was braced for it. But surprisingly enough,
the realtor, Mr. Reginald Petre-Wymer Brooks, promptly
agreed that a new paint job was needed, a thorough cleaning from top to bottom, plus kitchen renovation and an
up-to-date heating system. He assured me that these things
would be specified in the lease that would be ready for my
signature the following day. He also stated that the work
would start immediately and that the place would be ready
for occupancy in thirty days.

The next afternoon Dorothy and I were in the office for the signing of the lease. I had heard about Philadelphia
lawyers and the lease was drawn up by one. I'm a pretty
good businessman and I read the fine print. It was what
was written in big print that I didn't pay enough attention
to. I remember thinking that the lease was unusually binding, but that was what I wanted at the moment. I didn't
intend to go through another house hunting session for at
least two years and I seemed to have ample protection
against a raise in rent after the renovations were completed
and we were comfortably settled.

Feeling that I had struck a good bargain and could now
turn my attention exclusively to earning my salary, I signed
the lease with a happy flourish of the pen.

"I can forget this mess now," I told Dorothy back at the
motel where she was preparing the evening meal for Michael.
"I'll be too busy from now on to let it bother me -but I
know the waiting will be hard on you."

"I'll manage," she assured me. "You can stand anything
when you know it isn't permanent."

I was to remember that remark.

During the ensuing month we occasionally drove by the
mansion where trucks and carpenters' supplies in the driveway indicated that work was going according to plan. Once
or twice I stuck my head in and satisfied myself that there
was no stalling on the job and that we'd be able to move in
as promised. In the meantime we were free to use the basement for storage of things we had no pressing need for and
that was a help.

"I'd rather do the final cleaning up, myself," Dorothy
announced one day. "The boys can help me."

Her words didn't surprise me. Very few cleaning women
had ever completely satisfied her.

When I could spare the time, which wasn't often, we drove around and tried to familiarize ourselves with the
neighborhood. About the only information we succeeded
in obtaining was geographical. I learned what roads to
avoid and which offered a short cut to the highway. Regarding the occupants of the other impressive homes in the area,
we picked up odds and ends of information from tradesmen, but I gained the most knowledge from inquiries that
I made in Philadelphia. I did learn that the house was
something of a landmark. The local drugstore sold post
cards of itl

Bob hadn't been too far off base when he had mentioned
royalty-and neither had the broker when he assured me
that no one would bother with us. I discovered that we were
in the midst of a section even more exclusive than Philadelphia's famous Main Line. Our neighbors were referred
to as "The Horsy Crowd." They still followed tradition; they
still had fox hunts. Here dwelt the real elite-more than a
step above the nouveau riche that made up part of the Main
Line social register. For this reason there was no near neighbor I could comfortably call upon to pass the time of day
and learn something about the history of our old mansion.
It would have required an engraved invitation to get me
past the butler.

"You are a lucky man," Dorothy observed one afternoon
when we had watched a front door being opened by a black
man in livery while a chauffeur drove a black Rolls Royce
around to the rear of the house. "I could be eating my poor
heart out with a yearning to be noticed. How nice that five
children keep me from having social ambitions!"

"I planned it that way," I told her with mock solemnity.

The day finally arrived when everything was ready for
my final inspection. We were to move in the following
morning when the electricity would be turned on. I was
again delayed at the office and it was early evening when
we drove up to see the final results of the renovating job. All physical evidence of the carpenters and other workmen
had been removed and the yard was orderly. I parked the
car in the driveway and left the headlights on so that they
focused on the front porch. It was dusk. I would have preferred more daylight in which to examine the work, but I
had noted the progress to date was satisfactory and thought
I could still give the kitchen and furnace room a quick look.

"Wait in the car," I told Dorothy. "I'll only be a minute."

Hal and Bob had accompanied us but they wanted to
explore the grounds again so I was alone when I unlocked
the front door and stepped inside. I could dimly see the hall
extending back by the stairway with the butler's pantry
door at its end. A quick glance showed the library door to
be closed. I struck a few matches and inspected the paint
job. All was in order. In the dining room, I scratched
matches in succession at the fireplace and on a window
ledge as the fast-receding daylight didn't permit too close
a look. I wasn't too worried. I was already convinced that
the workmen were careful and skilled.

The kitchen was a joy to behold. It was all new. The
built-in ovens, freshly-painted walls and stainless steel equipment glowed in the matchlight as though welcoming me
into a modern miracle. This was the room that Dorothy
had worried about and I was tempted to bring her in to see
it but it was too dark for her to risk stumbling with Michael
in her arms. Besides, I wanted to be sure that the furnace
had been properly changed as agreed.

In the basement I proceeded cautiously. The furnace was
in the third room back and there was no light to guide me.
When I opened the furnace door, the air rushing out extinguished the match I was holding. For a moment I panicked
as I realized it was the last match in the book. I stood there
in the darkness frantically feeling in my pockets for another
book of matches and, to my immense relief, found one.
With the first flare of the new match I saw that everything was in order. Then I made my way back up the stairs to the
kitchen as fast as I safely could. I started for the front door.
It was then that I heard the library door open and heard
the approaching footsteps.

"Who's there?" I called out.

There was no answer and I was annoyed. Although my
two sons had gone in different directions after they scrambled from the car-one racing to the summerhouse and the
other to the old coach house -I was sure that one of them
had come in while I was checking on the new furnace installation in the basement, and was playing a trick on me.

I struck a match. I could see no one. Yet the library door
that I was so sure had been closed when I entered the
premises was now open-and beyond it only darkness.

The match flickered and died. Then I heard the footsteps coming from the library toward the bottom of the
stairs that wound above me into the upper hall. Again I
struck a match and, again, there was no one there.

"Hal?" I questioned tentatively. "Bob?"

Silence. After a few tense seconds, I heard the footsteps
start to mount the stairs and I knew then that they were not
the footsteps of either boy. They were, unmistakably, the
footsteps of a woman with slippers on her feet-the kind
that Dorothy would have referred to as "mules." The soft
flapping of the heels could be heard distinctly as she went
on up the stairs.

I had stepped forward and could have reached through
the railings and grasped her ankle as she passed, but I
couldn't have moved my hand to do so if my life depended
on it. The area in which I was standing was suddenly icy
cold.

"Who are you?" I yelled. At least I thought I was yelling,
but my voice came out in a sort of croak as it does in a nightmare. I wasn't too sure that I wasn't having one, eitherand would soon be feeling a sharp jab from my wife's elbow in my ribs. I reached for the newel post and felt the wood -
cold and solid -beneath my hand. I had to be awakel

I yelled again.

My challenges went unanswered. There wasn't the slightest
change in the rhythm of the footsteps as they continued
their steady climb up the stairs. I stood, dumfounded, as
I heard them in the upper hall. They went on up to the
third floor. I heard a door softly close and all was silent.

I finally moved . . . fast. I stumbled out the front door
where the porch was brightened by the headlights of the
car-a most welcome sight.

Dorothy, with Michael in her lap, was waiting for me
where I had left her. The two older boys were rummaging
in the yard. I could hear their voices. We had dropped
Carrol and Janet off earlier to see a movie and were to pick
them up on our way home. My family was accounted for.
None of them had entered the house.

The boys had come running when I yelled. "Someone is
in the housel" I shouted now.

"Who?" Hal demanded in amazement.

"That's what we're going to find out," I promised grimly.

I took a flashlight from the glove compartment, regretting
that I hadn't had it before. True, I had seen nothing by
matchlight in the dark hall, but a heavy concentrated beam
most certainly would have shown up the woman on the
stairs. Who was she? What was she doing in our house? She
was an intruder and had no business there. We were going
to confront her and demand an explanation.

I didn't tell them that I thought it was a woman. This
had only been my impression. It might have been a man
wearing oversized slippers. Hal picked up a tire iron and
Bob grabbed a bigger flashlight that we used on camping
trips and kept in the trunk of the car with other tools. Then
the three of us went back into the house. I glanced back
and saw that Dorothy was locking the car from the inside.

"Dad, are you sure?" Bob hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

"Of course, I'm sure!" My voice was sharper than I intended because I was still uneasy. I led the way up to the
third floor. We went through bedrooms and closets and
checked adjoining baths. We found only one locked door
leading into the hall.

"Open up!" I yelled, pounding on the closed door. "I
know you're in therel"

There was no answer. The only sound was the echo of
my voice in the empty hall. My elation that we had finally
trapped the culprit was shortlived. We walked into the room
through an adjoining one and found it empty. Then we
inspected the rest of the house and tested all doors leading
to the outside. They were securely locked. Finally we went
slowly back to the car.

"While you were waiting, did you notice anything unusual?" I asked Dorothy. "Did you see anyone go into the
house-or run out?"

"Of course not," she replied a little impatiently. "The
headlights were on all the time, too. What is the matter
with you, Harold?"

By that time I wasn't sure. Maybe I had been working
too hard and needed a rest. Perhaps I had only imagined
the footsteps. The whole atmosphere of the old mansion
was eerie at night and would certainly encourage fearful
impressions. But I had never been possessed of an overactive
imagination. I was a practical person, used to dealing with
facts and figures. Then I thought again of that library door.
Could I have only thought that it was closed when I first
entered the hall? Had I really heard it open? I was completely confused.