7 Never Haunt a Historian (12 page)

“Amen to that!” Adith added, putting one hand on Dora’s mattress and attempting some sort of squat.

“From the very beginning, I saw the orbs,” Dora insisted. “Always in the wee hours. I had trouble sleeping, you know, so I was up while Bert snored away. The renters saw the same thing. Lights, sometimes sounds along with them, disappearing well before dawn. Not in one place, but all over. When the place was empty, the ghosts got bolder. Vandalism… that’s what really scared the renters away.”

“Vandalism?” Leigh repeated. Adith had all but disappeared from view as she painstakingly lowered herself to hand and knees, presumably to look under the bed.

“Oh, yes,” Dora insisted. “We heard about all sorts of things. Belongings moved, but never stolen. Tools, shovels, that sort of thing. Poltergeist activity, of course. Windows left open, doors ajar. Coins dropped, but no money ever taken, which only goes to prove it wasn’t people doing it!”

Adith remained out of view. Leigh’s jaws clenched.

“It happened to us, too, but Bert wouldn’t believe it. He always said I left things out of place and didn’t remember. But I knew. The spirits at that farm were
disturbed.
Whether Tom killed his daddy I don’t know, but they say insanity runs in families, so who could swear that he didn’t? Either way, it’s clear they both still haunt the place. Misery and unhappiness… and hostility. That’s what I sensed. And I don’t mind telling you it scared the living daylights out of me.”

Adith’s gray head at last popped back up, and Leigh breathed a sigh of relief. But her respite was short lived. Adith had to struggle to pull herself up by hanging onto the bedframe, and as she rose she accidentally caught her shoulder under Dora’s bedside commode. Leigh watched in horror as Adith unknowingly pulled the entire contraption off the ground, the pot swinging square against her backside.

“Well, what the—” Adith swore like a sailor as, to add insult to injury, the potty lid flipped down on the back of her head.

Leigh was halfway out of her chair, but Allison was quicker. “Excuse me, Mrs. Klinger,” the girl said loudly, covering the vulgarity spewing from behind, “But could I use your bathroom, too?”

“Why of course my dear,” Dora answered, still mercifully oblivious. “Now, as I was saying…”

Allison leapt to Mrs. Rhodis’ rescue as Leigh pretended
not
to see the octogenarian flapping her arms and spinning in circles while the potty seat’s rubber feet careened dangerously close to an antique lamp.

“Bert didn’t believe a bit of it, of course, until he started having to make weekend trips to Steubenville to take care of his folks. There I was, first time all alone, just me and the chickens, and I wake up in the dead of night to find some man—dead or alive I never knew—rattling on my back door! Well, I got up and turned on the lights and he disappeared quick as he came. Happened more than once after that—every time Bert left town.”

Leigh relaxed slightly as Allison succeeded in freeing Mrs. Rhodis, then replaced the commode where it belonged and scooted dutifully off toward the bathroom.

“Now isn’t that just like a man!” Adith chirped, returning to her chair and the conversation as smooth as butter. “Never believe a thing you say until it bites ’em on the nose. Then they say ‘why didn’t you tell me!’”

“Indeed,” Dora nodded. “He said it was all in my head, until his mother passed and we went to Steubenville for the funeral. That was the first time we were
both
gone from the farm, and when we came back, even Bert had to admit someone had jimmied the back door open. He knew because I’d made him lock it himself.”

“That’s thinking,” Adith praised.

“Well, after that, he told me to wake him up next time I saw those lights bobbing, and I did, and he went running straight out there with his shotgun. Said he didn’t see anybody running away, but of course he wouldn’t. Never did admit the place was spooked, but he did decide right then and there to pull up stakes and sell it—and that’s what we did.”

“The time someone broke in,” Leigh asked, her trepidation growing again. “Did they take anything?”

Dora shook her head. “Not a toothpick. But we did find something strange afterward. One of the stones in the cellar wall was loose. It had been chiseled all around, like someone wanted to take it out. Bert said that was fool nonsense, the mortar was just old, it was crumbling everywhere and a lot of the stones were loose, but I knew better. It was a
sign.
”

“A sign of what?” Adith asked breathlessly. “The apocalypse?”

Dora scowled with disapproval. “Of course not! A sign that the evil spirits were staking their claim. They didn’t want anyone else to live in that house. Ever.” Her scratchy voice lowered to a growl. “
Or else.”

Leigh thought of Archie, and despite herself, a wave of goose bumps crept up both her arms.

“If you ask me,” Dora continued, “I’d guess poor Mr. Pratt must have seen something he couldn’t quite handle. I expect he’ll come back when he’s ready. And when he does, he’ll put that cursed place right back on the market—you see if he doesn’t!”

The toilet flushed.

A few seconds later, Allison emerged. “You have a nice bathroom, Mrs. Klinger,” she flattered. “I like the ocean pictures.”

“Why thank you, dear,” Dora answered. “It seems quite” —she stifled an obvious yawn— “
popular
tonight.”

Taking the cue, Leigh rose, thanked their hostess profusely, and readied the trio for their exit. Dora graciously showed them out, thanked them for an evening’s conversation, and urged them to come back for another visit any time. She warned them all to be on their guard around the farm and made Adith promise to keep her updated about Archie.

The second they were out of earshot, Adith practically burst. “You can trust what she says, I can tell you that!” she assured proudly. “No psych meds at all, not even a sleep aid! Just something for thyroid and blood pressure. She had her vitamin D and the bone meds, but nothing heavy for pain—just over the counter stuff. Now, if she was on the narcotics I’d be a little wary, but with a profile like that her mind’s good to go!”

“That’s
why you were snooping in her medicine cabinet?” Leigh asked incredulously, “To assess her mental state?”

“Well, of course,” Adith said innocently. “Why else would I?”

“And her underwear drawer?” Leigh accused.

Adith’s lips pursed. “Some people keep their drugs in their undies.”

“You missed half of what she was saying!”

Adith waved a dismissive hand. “I’d heard it all on the phone already anyway.”

Leigh’s face grew hot. “Then why on earth did you insist I drive you out here on a Saturday night?”

Adith gave a shrug, her merry eyes sparkling with mischief. “Some stories, you really need to hear firsthand. Besides, she sounded lonely. When
I’m
old, I can only hope three such young and gorgeous ladies will want to spend a Saturday evening chatting with me.”

Allison let out a giggle.

“So, are you convinced now?” Adith asked, looking at Leigh intently.

“Convinced of what?” Leigh grumbled.

Adith frowned. “That the farm is under the evil influence, that’s what! That Archie’s gone missing because of the spooks!”

Leigh hesitated. She didn’t believe in the supernatural elements of Dora Klinger’s tale for a second, and despite all appearances to the contrary, she’d always suspected that Adith didn’t really believe in such nonsense, either. But it was getting harder and harder
not
to link Archie’s baffling disappearance to the mounting evidence that for the last half century,
someone
had been searching for
something
at Frog Hill Farm.

Oh, Arch. What have you and Lester gotten yourselves into?

“There’s evil out there, all right,” Leigh agreed soberly. “But given the choice between an orb and a flashlight… I’d rather run into the orb.”

Chapter 10

The Sunday morning sun shone bright and pleasantly warm for the season, even at the ungodly early hour at which Leigh found herself heading off for a quick check on the mother dog and pups. She hadn’t slept well. Again. Warren and Ethan had returned quite late after the baseball game went into extra innings, and although Warren had dropped off immediately into peaceful slumber, Leigh had continued to toss and turn for hours. Giant pottery crocks had danced in and out of her vision, all dull and boring as dirt, except that a few had tiny black puppies hiding inside, and one had a baby in a police uniform. When her mind’s incarnation of Theodore Carr had shown up in blue overalls and started firing at the crocks with a rifle, she had jerked awake in a cold sweat.

Being up and fully conscious was better. Even if she was exhausted.

Listening to the birds chatter and admiring the maple leaves just beginning to turn color, Leigh could hardly believe that anything bad could happen in a place as peaceful as the banks of Snow Creek. She smiled as she passed the low spot in the Sullivan’s yard, where every spring she and the children would collect hundreds of wood frog and toad tadpoles from the dwindling rain pools, raise them in myriad tanks on her sun porch, then watch as they hopped back into the wild. She was thinking about the herons that inevitably staked out the same spot—and not watching where she was going—when she stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle.

She looked down to see another recently dug and filled-in hole. But this one hadn’t been filled in so well, with mounds of dirt still piled nearby while the turned-up earth in the hole sank well below the grass line.

Amateurs.

Leigh’s brow wrinkled. Was the current digger the same person or persons who “haunted” the farm in Dora Klinger’s day? Certainly not if Archie and Lester were the culprits. She didn’t know the men’s exact ages, but even if they were older than they looked, they couldn’t have been more than toddlers in the days when Dora had intruders rattling at her door.

No, it seemed far more likely, if less pleasant to think about, that the mysterious map of which the children had found a photocopy must have been in various hands before theirs, and before Archie’s as well. It might even be the rumored “paper” that came to the attention of Harvey’s historical society back in the sixties. Then again, it might not. The search could be for something far more sinister than a Civil War general’s hat.

Oh, hell,
Leigh berated herself. She was starting to think just like Dora.

She spent the rest of her walk attempting to soothe herself with the blissful ambiance, but her anxiety was too deep-rooted to shake. Lester was a good and decent man, but he was not the brightest bulb in the ceiling. He might
think
he was helping Archie’s cause by staying silent about the search, but Leigh would have to convince him otherwise. And soon. The police would need the whole story to get Archie home safe and sound, and that couldn’t happen quickly enough—for any of them.

She reached the tool shed and leaned down to pull aside the cellar doors. Her arms stopped in midair when she realized the doors were already open, with the loose one flung wildly askew. She froze a moment and listened.

No sound met her ears.

Her heart beat rapidly as she pulled her small flashlight out of her back pocket and brandished it in front of her. The steps were well illuminated with sunlight, but she knew that dark corners remained below.

“Momma dog!” she called out, her voice quavering slightly. “Has someone been bothering you?”

It’s probably just Scotty again,
she told herself. He couldn’t resist sneaking another peak at the puppies, and of course he would forget to close the doors again afterwards.

There was nothing to panic about.

She took a steadying breath, held out the flashlight, and started carefully down the stairs. “Momma dog?”

The cellar was silent.

The near side of the room where she had first seen the pups was empty, and her heart skipped a beat. Only after several seconds’ panic did she remember that yesterday the dog had moved the litter to the far corner.

Calm down, you idiot,
she chastised.
Everything is fine.
She forced herself to take the last few steps at a quicker pace, then spoke again to the dog as her flashlight illuminated the newer nesting spot.

“I should have known you—” her voice broke off.

The mother dog and her litter were gone. They had been replaced with the prone figure of a man.

And he wasn’t moving.

“No!”
Leigh exclaimed out loud. She cast her flashlight quickly around the remainder of the room, but there was nothing else to see. “No, no,
no!”

She centered the beam back on the man, her heart pounding against her ribs. He was curled away from her, facing the wall. Nevertheless, he looked familiar.

Trembling like a leaf, she forced herself closer. She shone the light full on his face.

It was Lester.

Her heart fell into her shoes. She stood as if frozen, staring in horror at the paleness of his damp skin, a stark contrast to the oozing ribbon of blood that began at his temple and streamed down over his eye and across his cheek.

The cool stone walls of the cellar felt suddenly claustrophobic. Like an animal trapped in a hole she panicked, whirling around to seek the exit and run up and out and as far away as she could get…

She had gone halfway up the steps before her brain caught up with her.

Oozing
blood?
Damp
skin?

She stopped and turned around again. Was there really some cosmic rule that every horizontal person she came across on the ground, near the ground, or inside a major appliance
had
to be dead?

Not Lester. Please.

She stretched out a shaky hand and shone her beam on the figure’s chest. To her amazement, his ribcage jiggled slightly. Then it let loose with a full-fledged cough.

“Oh, thank God!” Leigh exclaimed, reaching the man in two strides. She patted his warm cheeks, and his eyelids promptly fluttered. “Lester! Lester, wake up! Can you hear me?”