Chapter Four
Directions, or the following of them, had never been Dennis’ strong point, particularly when it came to locating places he had never visited. To make matters worse, he was becoming increasingly convinced that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, despite the name of the street being the same as the one scrawled on the napkin. After all the time he had spent navigating San Francisco, he thought, finding his way through the suburbs to the north should have been a literal walk in the park. He squinted through the windshield, trying to make out the numbers displayed on the front of the houses he passed. If they were to be believed, then he was going in the right direction, although a nagging doubt was still present in his mind.
The neighborhood, although traversed by one of the more narrow roads Dennis had encountered, was far more upscale than any of the areas he had previously visited while masquerading as a paranormal investigator. Stone columns and well-kept gardens dotted the scenery, and the presence of tall, verdant evergreens gave the area a feeling of calm but active luxury. Black iron lampposts stood guard along the sidewalk, each of them still dormant in the fading light. It looked, Dennis thought, like a scene from an inspirational holiday movie, albeit without the snow.
Although he was driving slowly, Dennis slammed on his brakes as he nearly passed the house he was searching for on the opposite side of the street. The car bucked in protest as his foot slipped from the clutch, and the engine died with a pained cough. Dennis closed his eyes and turned the key again, restarting the car with a resounding roar that would have made even the most steadfast of rabbits consider looking up. He drove forward to the next block before parking, and took a moment to examine his destination in the rearview mirror.
The house was definitely one of the more lavish in the area, even when compared to some of the mansion-like places Dennis had passed earlier. A stone walkway led up from the street and ended at a set of low-rise steps, flanked on either side by thick marble banisters. The covered porch was furnished with an ornate swing seat, and even from his vantage point in the car, Dennis could tell that it had been painted expertly to match the rest of the house’s white color scheme. The feeling that he was looking at a film set remained, only now he was convinced that it was taken from one of those horror shows that always seemed to afflict opulent neighborhoods.
After making sure that his cell phone was securely locked in the glove compartment, Dennis left his car and began a slow walk towards the house. He absent-mindedly removed his pipe from a pocket, and began filling it from a foil pouch with a practiced motion. There was something odd about this place, Dennis decided, although he would be damned if he could figure out what it was. It was clean, well-kempt, and very obviously the home of someone successful, or at least possessing respectable sums of money. Perhaps it was the symmetry of the place, or the way the windows seemed more suited for looking out of than letting light in. The translucent white curtains were far from a mark of something sinister, but Dennis nonetheless felt like he was being watched.
A trail of smoke followed him as he walked past the house once. There were spreads of winter flowers growing along the side of the path, no doubt maintained by a well-paid gardener. Even the mailbox, which was again white and emblazoned with gold numbering, appeared to have been recently polished. Dennis realized that he was stalling, and reluctantly tapped out his pipe, leaving a pile of ashes and dry tobacco on the otherwise spotless sidewalk. He scuffed his shoe at the blemish. There should at least be some dry leaves on the ground or something, he thought. Anything to make this place less perfect.
He spied the gold knocker on the door before he had even reached the steps, and recalled being told to use it when he arrived. He squared his shoulders and took a breath, then reached forward and grasped the smooth metal. It let out a series of dull thumps as he tapped it, and there was a wholly dissatisfying thud as it fell back into place. Still, it seemed to have achieved its intended purpose, as the door swung open to reveal a small, thin woman with short white hair and piercing hazel eyes.
“Doctor September?” the woman asked. Dennis recognized her voice from the phone conversation. She was much more petite than he had expected, but the firmness of her tone was matched by her posture. Dennis bowed his head with what he hoped was a humble expression on his face.
“Yes, I am Doctor Darvyn Luciano September. You may call me what you wish. Ms. Palin, I presume?” he asked. She nodded, but continued to look up at him as though she were appraising a suspiciously-priced piece of fruit.
“Hm,” she murmured, apparently in response to some inner thought. Elspeth Palin, Dennis decided, was a no-nonsense sort of woman, and he wondered if it might have been a better idea to simply have told her that he was already committed to another job. It would have saved him from feeling like he was talking to the principal of his old elementary school, anyway.
“Well,” Elspeth said finally, “I suppose you should come in and see her.” She moved to allow Dennis through. Behind her was a large foyer, furnished in the way one might expect a hotel lobby to be.
“In a moment, yes,” Dennis replied, stepping through the door. “First, if you do not mind, I would like you to tell me some of your sister’s history, and how she came to be haunting you.” He had learned, via a rather embarrassing misunderstanding on his part, that it was always best to know a ghost’s story right from the beginning. That way, when it came time to “communicate” with them, there was less chance of saying something stupid, or coming across as a necrophiliac.
“Suit yourself, I suppose.” Elspeth led him to a circle of large armchairs arranged at the right side of the room. At their center was a round wooden table, and atop that, a silver tray of tea and cookies. “I don’t imagine this is done steeping yet; I’d have thought that you’d want to talk after meeting her.” Her voice echoed off the high ceiling, and Dennis struggled to keep his own from doing the same. He stared at the steaming kettle.
“How did you know that I would be arriving when I did?”
“I saw your car stall outside,” replied Elspeth. Dennis winced, but quickly turned the expression into a smile. Elspeth regarded the kettle with a distrustful eye, giving the impression that she suspected it of having done something naughty.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to meet her?”
“I think it would be better if I knew more about her, first. What was her name?”
“Her name is Evelyn.”
There was no stress to the word, but Dennis made a mental note that Elspeth had used “is” instead of “was.” In her mind, he thought, her sister had become an everyday part of her life. He sat down in one of the armchairs and stroked the edges of his beard.
“Evelyn, yes,” Dennis repeated, nodding his head in thought. “You weren’t twins.” He phrased it as a statement instead of a question. If the two of them had been twins, then Elspeth would hear it as a question, and assume that Dennis – or, rather, Doctor September – was possessing of some supernatural knowledge. If they hadn’t been, she would hear it as a statement, and think much the same thing.
Elspeth sat down opposite to Dennis. “No,” she replied plainly.
Or maybe she wouldn’t, thought Dennis. The woman wasn’t rude or temperamental, he thought, she was just difficult to read. Or impress. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could take anything in stride, up to and including the manifestation of a real ghost. Maybe that was why she was imagining that she had one, he thought. It could be a way of adding an element of the unknown to her life.
“How did she die, may I ask? How did she come to be haunting you?”
Elspeth lifted the lid on the tea kettle and peered inside. “This will be weak, but it’s probably good enough to drink by now.” She poured two cups, and without consulting Dennis, dropped a cube of sugar into each of them. “I’m not avoiding the question, Doctor,” she said, stirring the tea with the tiniest spoon Dennis had ever seen. “She was always fairly unhealthy, and one day she fell ill. They
never told me any more than that.”
“Who is ‘they,’ precisely?” Dennis asked.
“My parents. They both died about a decade back, which is when she first showed up.”
“Ah.”
Seemingly satisfied that the tea was to her liking, and thus would be to Dennis’, Elspeth placed one cup on a matching saucer and handed the entire thing over. Dennis accepted it with another bow of his head, but did not immediately try to drink it. Doctor September was not the sort to spill hot beverages into his lap.
“Ghosts typically manifest immediately after death,” he said. “Why do you suppose your sister waited so long to appear, Ms. Palin?”
“I don’t know.”
As far as providing backstory went, this woman was an abysmal failure. Then again, Dennis supposed, that might make things easier.
“I meant to comment earlier, Ms. Palin, that your front garden is quite lovely.”
For the first time since meeting her, Dennis saw a hint of a smile cross Elspeth’s face. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I tend to it myself.” She took a quiet sip from her cup. “Does it have something to do with my sister?”
“I cannot be sure yet,” Dennis replied. “I do not mean to pry, but knowing some of your own background would make this process easier.” It was ironic how true that was. The more familiar he could make his own “findings,” the easier it would be for the woman to believe him.
If Elspeth had any qualms about revealing details from her personal life, she did not show them. Instead, she treated Dennis to a story about being born in Britain, coming to America in her early childhood years, and never seeing much of her father. He was, she explained, an artist of some kind, and was contracted by individuals from all over the country to churn out works of intrigue and beauty. Her mother had been a simple homemaker, but had been incredibly sharp when it came to finances, and had managed to turn their modest earnings into something considerably more substantial. Throughout the entire story, though, there was little mention of the sister, Evelyn, apart from her being ten years Elspeth’s senior. It led Dennis to wonder if he had missed a crucial detail somewhere.
“When did you say your sister died, Ms. Palin?”
There was a tiny hint of movement in the vicinity of Elspeth’s right eyebrow, but her expression remained otherwise unchanged. “She was seventeen,” she responded. “That was forty-six years ago.”
A discrepancy immediately jumped out at Dennis. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that your family moved around quite a bit when you were younger.”
“It was only my father who did any traveling,” Elspeth answered. “I have lived in this house for most of my life.”
“I see.” He closed his mouth and silently counted to five, pretending to consider some internal thought. “And presumably, your sister now haunts it for that same reason?”
“Oh, no, Doctor,” Elspeth replied. Maybe it was her accent, but Dennis thought he heard a touch of sarcasm in her tone. “No, she has never haunted the house.” She took another sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she swallowed. When she opened them again, they were fixed directly on Dennis’.
“She haunts a chair.”
The silence hung heavy in the air. Dennis felt his sense of paranoia returning with a vengeance, only instead of the fear that this was some kind of legal setup, he now had the growing suspicion that it was an elaborate practical joke.
“A chair?”
“A chair,” repeated Elspeth.
Dennis stared across the table, searching for some sign of amusement on Elspeth’s face. There might have been a hint of a smile there, but it was more a look of satisfaction than anything else. Satisfaction at what, though, Dennis could only guess.
“When you said that you were selling the house…” he began tentatively.
“I’m selling it furnished.”
“But surely –”
Elspeth shook her head and placed her teacup on the table. “I told you on the phone, Doctor, I’m dying, and I don’t intend to hang about. Not now, not ever. By the time I go, I intend to see that she has gone as well.”
There was another moment of silence, although it was considerably more tense than the last one. Dennis brought his own cup up to his lips and peered down into it.
“How long do you have?” he asked quietly. His accent slipped slightly, but he didn’t think Elspeth would notice.
“Six months, maybe less,” she replied. “Cancer, before you ask.” Dennis opened his mouth to speak, but Elspeth interrupted him. “And don’t tell me you’re sorry, Doctor. I’ve had enough of sorry to last me two lifetimes.” She smiled then with the first genuine warmth that he had seen from her.
“Well,” Dennis began, slipping back into character, “perhaps it is time that I met your sister.” He started to rise, but paused midway through the motion and sat back down. “I really must ask, Ms. Palin… Why a chair?”
“You’ll have to ask her, Doctor.” She stood and walked across the foyer, her footsteps sending echoes from the tiled floor. Dennis took a hurried swallow of his tea, grimaced at the heat, and then set the cup down on the table before getting up to follow. He was led down a darkened hallway to a closed wooden door, where Elspeth turned and looked up at him with an appraising half-squint.
“In here?” Dennis prompted, angling his head towards the door. Elspeth nodded and fished a key out of her pocket. “You lock her in?” asked Dennis. That was strange. After all, ghosts were famous for their ability to drift through walls.
“That’s how she wants it,” replied Elspeth, more to the doorknob than to Dennis. The latch opened with an audible click, and the door creaked inward – that was certainly ominous, Dennis thought dryly – to reveal a small bedroom. The hushed light filtering through the single curtained window cast a blue tint over the space, but it was still better lit than Dennis had expected. There was a bed pushed up next to one wall, and a dresser, as well as a mirror on top of a vanity against the room’s opposite wall. In the very center, where it was undoubtedly going against some rule of feng shui, was a brown cushioned armchair. It was obviously worn and weathered, but still in surprisingly good condition, if one believed the story about how old it was.
“So, how does this work?” Dennis asked. Neither of them had moved to step into the room, and he felt a bit silly staring through the doorway. The question seemed to jar Elspeth out of a private reverie, and she walked forward, pulling a wooden stool out from the corner behind the door.
“Sit down and wait. Sometimes it takes her a little while to wake up.” Elspeth placed the stool down in front of the armchair and motioned for Dennis to sit. He had a fair guess about how this would go: He’d sit down and wait, then Elspeth would make an excuse and hurry off. The room would get darker, probably by means of a shade being drawn outside the window, and the chair would start tilting around and shuddering. Hell, it might even start glowing, Dennis thought. He had been treated to this before, during one of the few occasions that he had visited an alleged psychic. It was really just a bad magic act, executed by means of hydraulics and well-placed hidden lights. Still, he was here now, and he might as well enjoy the show. He straightened his tie, and with a display of curious self-assurance, sat down on the stool and stared at the chair.
Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen. Nothing went into an encore performance and kept its show going until well after the audience had gotten bored. Then, just as Dennis was about to greet the empty air, he saw something strange: The armchair was… blurred. He blinked a few times and tried to refocus his eyes, but the chair kept its wavering quality. It was almost as though there were heat waves playing with the dim light, making the chair’s brown material shimmer.
“Here she comes,” said Elspeth, startling Dennis. Thankfully, he’d resisted the urge to jump, even though the sound of her voice had come as a surprise. The chair must be on a timer, then, or she’d turned it on when they were still out in the hall. Hell, she mig
ht have even flipped a hidden switch while Dennis had been in his staring match with the upholstery. Really, though, it didn’t matter how she had done it. There was probably a hotplate in the seat, and it had taken some time to warm up.
Well, I’ll play along, thought Dennis. He cleared his throat.
“Hello, Evelyn,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “My name is Doctor September. I’m here to talk to you.”
The heat waves intensified, making the chair’s center appear to bulge outward. Dennis suppressed a triumphant smile as he heard Elspeth shuffling behind him. She had a remote control in her pocket, he was sure of it. Well, it was disappointing that the woman wouldn’t be a candidate for Harding, but the act was enjoyable, at least. He wondered what she got out of it. Just the satisfaction of tricking people who made a living at playing exorcist? Dennis had met a few other folks in his line of work, and there were even a handful who truly believed that they had some otherworldly gift. He wondered if Elspeth had mistaken him for one of them, or if she played the prank on anyone who would sit still long enough.
Hello.
… That was odd. The voice hadn’t really been audible, so to speak, but Dennis was still certain that he had heard it. Someone had told him once that it was possible to play sounds in such way that the ears didn’t really hear it, but the brain did. He had never experienced it before. He stole a quick glance around the room, trying to spot the speakers. Well, you wouldn’t expect them to be visible, would you? No, that would have been a mistake on Elspeth’s part.
“She might be like that for awhile yet, Doctor,” Elspeth said from behind Dennis. “One can never be sure. Would you like some more tea?” Dennis considered. When Elspeth left the room, she’d undoubtedly rush off to wherever she had the microphone stashed, and treat Dennis to a real two-way conversation with her “dead sister.” If he refused the tea, she wouldn’t have an excuse to leave, and the performance would likely drag to a halt.
“Perhaps later,” replied Dennis. “For now, I would like you to stay here with us.” There, he thought. If she leaves, she’ll know that I’m onto her.
“Suit yourself.”
Thin trails of smoke started to rise from the seat of the armchair, and Dennis felt a moment of concern. It hadn’t occurred to him that the hotplate could start a fire, but now that he thought about it, the amount of heat necessary to bend the air was probably more than enough to spawn flames. Then again, maybe the smoke was part of the act. Elspeth didn’t seem concerned about it, anyway.
“Evelyn,” Dennis began, once again addressing the chair, “I’d like to talk to you about something important, if I may.” As if in response, the smoke began to thicken and coalesce. From the right angles, it could almost be mistaken to be the shape of a person.
Dennis shrugged off the thought. The human mind was instinctively driven to recognize patterns, and it could find familiar shapes in almost anything. If he tried, he was certain that he could even see a face in the smoke. It would be a much younger, more attractive version of Elspeth’s face, with more open eyes, shoulder-length hair and a curious smile. She would be slender, too, and clad in a short-sleeved day dress with a tight waist and a v-shaped neckline. In fact, if Dennis looked hard enough, he might even be able to pick out the subtle shape of a bracelet around her left wrist. Not that there was actually anything there, he chided himself. It was just a trick of the mind.
Albeit a very convincing one. In fact, the more he stared, the more he was unable to see anything but a girl, sitting with her hands folded on her lap. Dennis squeezed his eyes shut and tried to clear his mind, but when he looked again she was still sitting there, watching him with a look of puzzled amusement.
“Are you alright, Doctor?”
There was no mistaking it this time. He had heard a voice, and it had come from directly in front of him. As far as illusions went, this one was quickly moving beyond impressive and into the realm of unbelievable. The girl seemed to cock her head, and her expression grew more quizzical.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Dennis snapped, sounding impatient. Was it a hologram? Maybe there was an array behind him, casting an image into the smoke. That would make sense, and it meant that all he had to do was stand up and block the projection. He rose, but the image remained, following him with her eyes. Okay, it must be coming from somewhere else, then. He walked a slow circle around the chair, examining every inch of the room. The ceiling was much lower in here than it had been in the foyer, and there weren’t many places to hide a projector. The girl seemed to watch him in his path, going as far as to sit up on her knees and peer over the back of the chair. Elspeth stood by the door, saying nothing, an unreadable expression on her face.
I’ve had enough of this, thought Dennis angrily. He returned to the front of the chair and stood with his hands in fists. He didn’t appreciate being made into a fool, no matter how convincing a prank it was. With a defiant motion, he reached forward and slammed his palm down onto the seat of the chair, determined to reveal the location of the hotplate.
The chair was cold.
“Doctor September!” exclaimed the ghost, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her face was a mixture of shock and anger, but there was a touch of excitement there, too. It barely registered over the feeling of Dennis’ heart pounding in his chest, underneath the soft vibration of his cell phone, which had chosen that moment to go off. He reached in to silence it, but felt a wash of icy fear as he realized that he had left the phone in his car. With a sense of dawning horror, Dennis’ fingers closed around the stone that he had been given at the curio shop. It hummed in his grasp as he pulled it out, which he was certain was not a natural action for a piece of polished rock.
His eyes darted from the stone to the chair, where the ghost sat looking at him with an expression of aghast confusion. He reached out and waved his hand at her, making a last attempt at dissipating the illusion.
“Stop it!” the ghost snapped, holding up her hands. His fingers passed right through them. There was no heat, no smoke, and the image of the girl remained completely untouched.
Dennis slowly turned to face Elspeth. The mirror atop the vanity showed his face as an emotionless mask, and behind him, an empty armchair. Then, with as much poise and professionalism as he could muster, Doctor Darvyn Luciano September fainted.