Hamelton (Dr. Paul)

Hamelton

As told by Christopher Blake Edited by Dr. Paul Hamelton

All rights owned by Dr. Paul Direct inquires to:
[email protected]

Back Cover by Permission: Jon Wos, WWW.WosArt.com
© 2010 PEH

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior expressed written permission of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1460906354
ISBN-10: 1460906357
Preface
By Dr. Paul
I believe the story that you are about to read will not be complete without knowing how it came to be written.

I am a psychologist. In my teenage years I had an interest in psychic phenomena. I read everything I could from accounts of ghosts to crop circles. Then in my college years I took several courses, when available, on subjects such as myth, magic, folklore, and whatever else was obtainable on the unknown.

Before you make the incorrect assumption that I am a metaphysical junky who believes in every U.F.O. sighting you should know that I enjoy looking at these topics from a scientific point of view. I demand facts and evidence. Then, and only then, can I possibly come to a conclusion as to the truth of what I have been told.

After I got my degree I was struggling to pay back my school loans. I happened to acquire some patients that had difficulty due to reasons to which other doctors seemed unsympathetic, reasons of the supernatural. My name got somewhat well known as the "Paranormal Doc" (a name I do not care for but it has made me prosperous). Other doctors started referring all their "freaks and weirdoes" to my office. Consequently making me a very busy man. I do not claim that all my patients really experienced what they think they did, most had no proof of their tale and had conflictions. Some on the other hand, supplied logic and evidence.
Christopher Blake was referred to me from a large well known mental institution. I had no knowledge of the doctor he had been seeing as a patient. Christopher was out of my geographical area and I was busy, so I originally turned his case down. His doctor explained that Christopher was willing to make a two hour commute to my office three times a week, as long as he could get help from someone who would not patronize him. This desperate cry grabbed my curiosity and I agreed to see him on a temporary bases.

After 2 months of seeing him, I found Christopher to be an extremely intelligent man with a large culpability complex. He was so overwhelmed with his past that he had a short attention span when it came to anything not related to the incident that happened to him. He told me bits and pieces of his story in vivid detail, but flighty and the complexity was too involved to grasp in an unorganized conversation. I instructed him to put on paper a day to day account in chronological order, so I could better deal with understanding his problem. He completed this very involved task in less than a week. When I read his writing, I found it not only fascinating, but it lacked any contradiction whatsoever. I asked for proof that his story indeed really happened. He brought me confirming testimonies, news clippings and some physical evidence. Amazing! I asked Christopher if I could edit his writings for an article. He agreed if I removed some of his more personal information, kept most of the detail and allowed him to approve the final copy. Being too large for a scientific publication, we turned it into a book. I completed the task with Christopher's help and consent.

Christopher's sessions are coming along great; we are down to one a week. We hope you find Christopher's story fascinating, thought provoking and enjoyable.

Hamelton

Christopher Blake
I

I have been asked to put in writing an incident that happened to me in my youth. Perhaps it was a mistake to have told anyone not involved in the unique happenings about it in the first place. I knew before I ever mentioned it that I may seem crazy, or may have changed the facts to hide information about an unexplained death.

The year was 1974; I had just finished my second year of college. My best friend's name was John Handy; we called him just "Handy." Most people called him that, in fact he wore a gold bracelet with just his nick name on it. Handy was the happy go lucky type. You know the sort; things always went his way without any effort on his part. It's easy to find yourself envious when you're working as a waiter in a pizza parlor every night to pay rent and your roommate makes more money taste testing new flavors of ice cream two hours a week. Not that Handy really needed to work of course; his father was an executive with an oil company. The one asset that I had over him was physical size. I'm six feet tall and a healthy 175 pounds, while Handy was only five foot six and about 125 pounds.

To get back to the story, Handy's dad was offered almost a month's vacation in an English mansion while his friends, the Simons, were vacationing in South America. Handy's dad in turn offered it to Handy. Handy, not wanting to be by himself, invited a couple we know named Jeff and Cindy, and me, if we could pay our own transportation. We all found the money for the vacation.

We really did not know exactly what to expect when we arrived at the airport. An elderly butler named Albert met our plane. The sky was still dark as dawn had yet to come and we were tired from the time change and the flight so we could see or notice little on the drive to the house. After about an hour and a half Albert, in his shaky old man‟s voice, broke the silence. “We are entering the town of Hamelton and nearing the estate”. Then, becoming aware of our surroundings, the four of us peered out of the darkened windows of the limousine with big eyes like small children.

The sun was just making an appearance over the rolling hills. The town of Hamelton was like no place this Californian had ever seen before. A strange mixture of yesterday and today. We were on a wide cobble stone street with buildings crafted out of stones and mortar hundreds of years ago, sheltering photo stores and TV repair shops. The town was just coming alive for the day. Some shop owners were arriving for an early day of work. I saw few cars moving, apparently most people walked to work in the small town. After looking down narrow side streets, I realized the town was not designed for automobile parking. Little notice was taken as our Bentley limousine slowly rolled down their main street.

It was ten minutes outside of town on the same street since we had seen the last sign of life which was an old church and cemetery. We all seemed to be quietly wishing that one of us would ask Albert, "Where are we now?" "What does the house look like?" Or "Tell us about Hamelton." But there's something about a grim English butler that can intimidate even the most cocky college students. At last, as we rounded a small green hill, we saw the house to the North. It was a breath of fresh air. All the thoughts of haunted vampire castles vanished as the cheery mansion came into view.

The word castle means a fortified building. Not knowing the correct definition at the time, I would have called it a castle if it had a moat. The mansion was not fortified and did not have a moat. It was big and long with a wing on each side coming forward. Three stories tall in the middle and four in the wings. The smooth light stones that had been used to build it made it look from a distance that it was painted white. Several small protruding architectural stone work, enhanced its character. Approaching the house, we could see the ten foot tall stone wall that extended as far as the eye can see in both directions, seemingly surrounding the property line.

We drove through the gates in the perimeter wall. The gates and guardhouse, although well kept, seemed unnecessary and unused. The large surrounding landscape was now easy to see. The lush green lawn directly in front was well manicured. A fountain was in the front court yard just before the house. Tall shadows of trees sparsely outlining the lawn gave an appearance of more depth from the morning sun light letting in selected rays. Flower gardens could be seen off to both sides.

We approached the house, parking in the front between the fountain and the main doors. Peering through the ajar main doors was a puffy smiling woman's face. The woman emerged dressed in a typical black and white maid's uniform. She was in her fifties. Happy and energetically she came out talking so fast that I barely made out enough of her thick accent to put together what she was saying.
"You sure must be tired after your long trip. Don't worry about the bags, Albert will get them, after all it is his job. Are you hungry? Was the flight bearable? Come on this way I'll show you to the breakfast room." She held Jeff by the elbow and started walking him in waving for the rest of us to follow.

Handy finally came to life, his face lit up as he gave me an "I told you everything will be all right" look. He introduced all of us to her on the steps.

The woman responded while continuing toward the house, "I'm Maggie Mu... Oh just Maggie, everyone, just everyone calls me Maggie, just everyone. Did I ask you if you wanted food or sleep? It takes old Albert sometime, but he gets his job done..."

She talked on, but between trying to understand her, staying with the conversation, and being overwhelmed by my surroundings, her words faded away. The entry hall was big, I mean big, about the size of a basketball court. The sound of our feet on the marble floor echoed. The only furniture in the room was two somewhat plain hall trees to hang coats on. At the end of the hall were two circular staircases going up. There was one on each side of the room with enough room between them to drive a truck through. We walked between them into what seemed like a ballroom to me. The ceiling was about 25 feet high. On the far wall were windows that opened into the back garden. On one side of the room was the largest fireplace I've ever seen. The fireplace was ten feet high and over twelve feet long and had an intricately carved mantle. The room was nicely color coordinated, the walls and floors were sparse with more modern furniture. The owners of the home seemed to like more up-to-date surroundings for themselves than the town of Hamelton. I started to wonder what antiques would have looked like in the room and about all the life that had been lived in this home.

"...so what is it, eggs or muffins?" I looked into Maggie's round face that now stood silent before me inches from my nose. I had one of those moments where you were just not listening and had to respond to a question you must have heard.

"I'll have what everyone else is having" I said.

She turned and continued to lead us through the house. Maggie was slightly on the heavy side. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun. I noticed how boldly she plowed her way through the house, and how everything seemed to come alive as she entered each room.

We went through a door on the right, down a hall, made a left, and found ourselves in the kitchen.

"You yanks just set at the table. I'll make some breakfast. You don't mind being called yanks do you? I'll have some food up in just a minute." She started pulling items out of cupboards. She seemed very comfortable in this room.

The room was the equivalence of three stories tall and narrowed toward the top. The layout was split in two sections, one was a restaurant style kitchen, and the other was an eating area for hired help. The kitchen was modern, mostly stainless steel for easy to clean reasons. Apparently custom designed and very modernized to operate for large parties. All of the exposed walls were smooth and white. Through the double doors leading outside, I could see the flowers in the garden with the shadow of the house still darkening half of them.

Handy interrupted her gibberish "I'd like some coffee, if you have some."
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't ask," Maggie said sincerely with thought, "How about the rest of you?" We all said, “Yes”.
"How large is the property we are on?" Asked Handy.

Maggie replied, seeming to like an excuse to talk, "Only 960 acres now. When the house was first built four hundred years ago, I heard it had over three thousand acres. Pretty big, aye? I need to remember that you yanks don‟t like tea, I‟ll need to stock up on coffee."