Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (7 page)

"We don't know who you are, but we do know that you
don't seem to like us," Hal interrupted emphatically.

"And we don't like you much better," I agreed. "We
know you'd like to get rid of us and we'd like equally as
much to go. The trouble is that we can't leave. We're stuck
here on a lease-and we have no place to go. So we are staying for a while longer. Is that understood?"

My words would have seemed completely idiotic to an
outsider-but we were very much on the inside. I went on
calmly. "We'd like to make an arrangement-or an agreement-with you. This is a sort of truce - a pact."

I fell silent for a moment. Somehow it seemed important
that I choose the right words. I had to say just what was in
my mind.

"We'll be here less than two years more if time means
anything to you in your present state. But maybe you can
remember what two years mean to us on a physical plane.
During this time we'll keep any bargain we make with you.
And now we'd like to draw up some boundary lines."

Again I hesitated. Again it didn't seem at all incongruous
that I should be speaking to something I couldn't see, but
could certainly sense.

Dorothy spoke for the first time. "The kitchen should be
mine,' she said. "It's all new, anyway, and not what you
were used to."

I agreed. "None of you have been interested in the new kitchen and that should be Dorothy's domain. You seem to
want us to stay out of the library here and, after tonight, we
will stay out except to clean and dust once in a while - and
that should please you regardless of where you are. You can
have the entire third floor to yourselves. We don't need it
or want it and I'm going to shut it off with plywood, anyway, because it will be too hard to heat this winter. I suppose you'll use the halls just as you always have, but try and
be quiet about it."

"What about the outside?" Bob prompted.

I nodded. "As for the old coach house, you can have that,
too. I'm speaking to whoever uses it as headquarters. We'll
not interfere with you if you don't interfere with us. Is that
agreed?"

There was complete silence in the room. I refused to give
in to my own sneaking feeling that I might well be talking
to empty air. I refused to accept the fact that I might be
some sort of fool.

"I know there is a woman here," I went on. "I should say
a lady because that's the way we have come to think of her.
She has good manners as a rule. She doesn't throw things
around or make noise. I feel that she is curious about the
people in this house, but that is her privilege. Otherwise,
she seems to mind her own business-whatever that might
be. I also presume that she was once mistress of this house
and doesn't want to leave it. Well, she doesn't have to leave
it. We will keep her house clean and attractive, but we'd
like to be treated as her guests until we can leave."

I rose to my feet. "I am sure the lady has nothing to do
with the bad odor in our bedroom at times. This must be
the man. It isn't going to push us out because, as I have
explained, we have no other place to go. I still think, however, that this is the lady's house and she can help control
things."

I motioned to the family and they rose quietly and started for the hall as I concluded. "That's all for now. We are
leaving the library to you. We wish you nothing but the
best. Goodnight!"

After we left the library there was no idle conversation.
We all felt that somehow my words had been heard. All of
us were very quiet and reflective. I turned off the light and
closed the door firmly behind me. Then we went upstairs
to bed.

"I suppose I should feel like an idiot of sorts," Dorothy
remarked as she sat in front of her dressing table. "But
somehow I don't. These people have become very real to
me and I think this conversation was long overdue. Even
though," she added as an after thought, "it appeared to be
a one-sided talk."

We don't know if anyone but the family listened to my
speech. At least it gave us all an emotional boost. We felt
that we had cleared the air in some inexplicable way. Perhaps because we really felt that to be true, we were less disturbed from that time on.

The odor in our bedroom continued in spasmodic fashion
for the rest of our time there, but we took it in stride. Sometimes we even admitted, rather sheepishly perhaps, that
when we heard footsteps in the hall we were inclined to step
courteously aside and let them pass.

There was only one drawback to this inner assurance and
regained confidence. Other people, unfortunately, couldn't
share it.

Our first visit from relatives was heralded by a letter from
my sister Elda Clare Tillman who lived with her husband,
Burchell, on a cattle ranch in New Mexico. We had sent
her a picture of the house and she had immediately decided
that a vacation was in order. She soon wrote:

I can't wait to see your mansion. It intrigues me no
end. I, also, can't wait to see some of my favorite people
that I've missed very much and I'm ready for a shopping trip to New York with Dorothy to help me pick
out hats. Will bring Lana and Larry and will notify
you of our intended arrival just as soon as my plans at
this end are completed which won't take long.

Much love,
Elda Clare

My sister had been active in politics and club work, had
a beautiful singing voice and was much in demand to perform at important functions. She was also a devoted mother.
We always enjoyed Elda Clare; tall and slim, with a smile
for everyone. She was talented, level-headed, and about
as normal as a person could be. Larry was eight and just
the right age to play with Carrol, who was missing youthful
companionship. Lana was Janet's age and the two had
always loved each other. This was a perfect family with
whom to initiate our entertaining in our new home. If we
were without help during her visit -and we were in that
condition more often than not-she would pitch in with
the work. But there was a problem. How much should we
tell her about the house being haunted?

"I rather think she should be warned-at least a little,"
said Dorothy thoughtfully. "Remember the shock that poor
little Joe got!"

"And how do you warn just a little?" I demanded. "It
has to be all or nothing. Besides," I added with a grin, "I
don't see Elda Clare camping on the lawnl"

Joe was a friend of Carrol's from our Portland days who
had visited for a short time. The boys had decided to "rough
it." They set up a tent on the front lawn and had two dogs,
a gun, and a flashlight to bolster their courage. It was a
moonlit night and everything went well until the dogs
started to bark. Then, to Carrol's uneasiness, the dogs
crept closer to him, their barks changing to frightened
whimpers. Heavy footsteps were heard on the gravel. They
came to the front drive. Carrol turned on his flashlight but
no one was there. The steps passed them, went around to
the kitchen entrance and stopped. (This was the only time
to my knowledge they hadn't stopped at the front door.)
Boys and dogs fled to the house and that ended their camping venture.

"Gee, Mr. Cameron," Joe said. "The guy was so close I
could have untied his shoelaces - but I didn't see any shoes!'

"Did the kitchen door open?" I asked curiously.

Carrol shook his head. "It didn't have to," he replied
somberly.

Joe's eyes were wide with fear. It was probably the first
time that anything had happened an adult couldn't explain
away. It must have been a difficult experience for the boy.
It was even a harder one for Carrol as Joe would be going
home in a day or two where such things didn't happen.
Carrol would have to continue living in the house and face
the unknown along with the rest of his family. Carrol later
said this was the first time he ran into the house for safety!

As we continued to discuss the pros and cons of a complete confession to Elda Clare, Bob impishly embarked on
an impromptu parody on Hamlet.

"To tell, or not to tell, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler for their minds to suffer
The slings and arrows of . . . of ..."

Here Bob floundered, but Hal caught the ball.

"Of outrageous forces, or to forewarn them of our many
troubles,
And, in compassion, tell them."

Although we laughed together at the joint declamation,
we were still uncertain about a course of action.

"I don't know how she'd take it," I admitted truthfully.
"In the first place I doubt if she'd believe a word. Then, if
she should ridicule the idea of disembodied entities around,
they just might get angry enough to shake her upl"

"And us along with her," Bob pointed out. "Sometimes
I feel they are capable of causing a lot more trouble than
they already have."

"We'll just keep quiet and play it by ear," I finally decided.

Elda Clare arrived on schedule. She loved the whole place
-from the mansion with its spacious rooms and grand atmosphere to the grounds, the coach house, maple tree and
summerhouse. She was so enthused that we looked around
with new eyes and were happier about the mansion than
we had been for some time.

My sister had arrived with plenty of money for incidental
expenses and for the New York shopping spree she had
mentioned in her letter. This was in the "old" days when a
new hat usually answered any woman's problem from a
spell of blues to a fit of temper. I was amused at her excited
anticipation, but could understand it. Although Dorothy
had given no indication of needing a new hat to improve
her disposition, I felt that the outing to New York would
do her good. The two days following Elda Clare's arrival
had been uneventful as far as ghostly visitations were concerned and we were more relaxed.

Dorothy was able to get a baby sitter for a few hours so
they drove to the airport, parked the car, and flew to New
York which was only minutes away by air from Philadelphia.
There they spent a happy morning. They bought the hats
first and left the remainder of the shopping until after a
very swank luncheon which they enjoyed tremendously.

After lunch Elda Clare decided that she wanted a paper
to use as a shopping guide and laid her purse down for a
moment while she selected one. This is a mistake in any
city, but particularly in New York. When she turned around,
paper in hand, her purse had disappeared.

Filled with consternation, the two of them searched everywhere and asked questions of bystanders-all to no avail.
The purse was gone. Elda Clare was upset because personal
cards and identification were in the purse, together with
checkbook and four hundred dollars in cash. Fortunately,
Dorothy had put the return plane tickets in her own purse and still had some money left. But such a damper had been
put on the shopping expedition that they decided to return
home.

That night Elda Clare phoned Burchell, telling him
about the theft and asking that he forward more money.
He told her not to let the incident spoil her trip and promised to wire extra money the next day. While talking to
him, she laid her cigarettes on the hall table which was
located very near the library door. I noticed them there
before I went to bed, but only gave them a cursory glance.

The next morning was Sunday and breakfast was later
than usual. I hadn't had too much chance to talk with my
sister and looked forward to a leisurely visit. However, when
she came to the table, I noticed that she looked tired and
responded to our greetings in a bemused fashion. Suddenly,
I felt a stir of apprehension. I didn't feel that her distraught
appearance could be attributed to the loss of money that
Burchell could well afford to replace.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Didn't you sleep well?"

"No," she replied shortly.

I went on. "The kids okay?"

I knew the question was superfluous as Larry had already
bounded down the stairs, consumed an amazing amount
of ham and eggs, and was out in the yard with Carrol and
the dogs. Lana and Janet were still asleep upstairs.

As she still remained silent, I kept on. "Burchell wasn't
too upset about your losing that money, was he?"

"No," she replied slowly. "It isn't Burchell and it isn't
the children. It's me! Then she added in a rush, "Harold,
I've got something to tell you-and you aren't going to
believe a word!"

I sighed. "Try me," I suggested simply.

"Well-there's something wrong with this house. Something is here that doesn't belong here-that's what!" she
blurted out.

"You might as well tell us about it." I hoped I didn't
sound as resigned as I felt. Dorothy, who had been feeding
cereal to Michael, held her spoon in midair.

"Well - last night I was still so annoyed at being 'took'
like a country hick that I couldn't get to sleep." She suddenly
slapped her hand down on the table. "This would never
have happened in New Mexico. People there don't steal
like that!"