Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (14 page)

"Mind telling me how old she is, Enoch?" I thought if she
was near his own age and this relationship had gone on for
some years that it might not be such a bad arrangement at
that. At least funeral expenses would be taken care of.

"She's young-real young-she ain't fifty yet."

I had a little trouble keeping the car on the road and took
my foot off the gas pedal in surprise. This was something
that would take a little thinking about but I changed the
subject because I didn't want Enoch to think I was prying
into his personal affairs.

"Enoch, the other day you mentioned a doctor who put
in the stained glass windows in the library. He must have
been quite a fellow."

"Yessir. He was a nice man, all right. But the Missus
really had it done. She was sure one for nice things. I was
workin' in the house then like I do now and everything had
to be just so. In them days the two big lights in the liberry
had to be dusted every week an' kept sparkly. We had to
shine them floors 'til you could see your face in 'em. She
sure did want that liberry just so and she had it fixed up
real pretty."

I felt a surge of excitement. "So the Doctor did just what
she wanted-is that it?"

"Yessir. 'Bout everybody done what she said. She was sure
one for gettin' her own way."

Enoch paused for a moment as if searching his memory.
At last he was talkative and relaxed. I silently blessed Willie
Mae and his impending visit with her for this unexpected
change of attitude. He went on easily.

"'Twas her what had the summerhouse built. She had more flowers 'round than anyone. Most all was roses. She
had roses climbin' all over that summerhouse."

"She must have been an unusual woman. How long ago
was that, Enoch?"

He squinted. "Long time back. Hard to tell. I was just
young then. I slept in the old quarters. They're all gone
now - all torn down and gone long ago. But I worked in
the house. I was always helpin' the cook and sweepin' floors
and makin' beds. I remember that all right. We learned to
work real young then, seems like." He gave a sigh.

"Must have been around eighty-six or eighty-seven years
ago, then?"

"Sumthin' like that," he agreed. Then he leaned forward
and touched my arm, indicating a driveway. I was sorry we
had arrived at our destination so soon for I felt the conversation might prove to be fruitful. But now I was sure of the
identity of the unseen lady in our house. She was still particular about her library and, judging from Ernestine's
experience, she was still headstrong about getting her own
way.

We drove into the yard of a pretentious home-one that
was characteristic of the vicinity. Hat in hand, Enoch knocked
at the back door. I had a glimpse of a large black woman
as the door opened. She and Enoch exchanged a few words
and then he came back to the car.

"I'll stay here a while," he told me. "There's nobody
home right now and I want to visit with Willie Mae. You
don't need to wait."

"I'll tell you what," I said. "I have business at the office.
I'll drive in and take care of it now. Then I'll pick you up
on my way back. It will be at least two hours."

Enoch was grateful. "I'll be waitin' out in front," he
promised. "If I ain't there, I'll be startin' to walk home and
be down the road a piece."

He went back into the house and I drove off, chuckling
to myself. I wondered what the family would say to this
latest bit of news about Enoch. None of us had ever seen
Enoch with Willie Mae and I didn't expect we ever would,
but that would be a sight to beholdl Little Enoch, only five
foot two when he stood on tiptoe, and this young giantess.
If this relationship was on the up-and-up, the romantic
involvement couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow.
They must have something in common, I told myself. I
hoped it wasn't just the insurance policies because it was
obvious that Willie Mae would get the better of that deal.
I would have given a lot to know whose idea the policies
were and whether the original suggestion had come from
Enoch or his Willie Mae -or even from an ambitious insurance agent.

True to his promise, I found Enoch a couple of hours
later just around the bend in the road and trudging toward
home. He climbed gratefully into the car and seemed in
good humor. I got a strong whiff of gin on his breath and
thought that it must have been payday for Willie Mae, too.
Either that or she'd helped herself from someone's liquor
cabinet.

I picked up our conversation where I had dropped it a
couple of hours ago.

"Enoch, did you ever hear of a tunnel of any kind -a sort
of short cut -that led up to the mansion?"

He thought a moment. "No-never did," he replied at
last.

"I was thinking about the springhouse," I said.

Behind the house there was a drop of some hundred feet
-too steep to be negotiated by foot. However, a welldefined path wound down over to the side of this sharp incline and ended up at the springhouse which was used in
the old days to keep dairy products cold and also for storage
of perishables. Beyond the springhouse one could follow the path to the barn where Enoch slept. There might have
been an original tunnel leading to the mansion from the
springhouse-and I said as much to Enoch.

"Don't know nuthin' 'bout it," he confessed and I felt
he was telling the truth. "Could be, I 'spose, but I don't
know. But they kept runaway slaves at the house. It was a
sort of station."

Again I felt a stir of excitement. "Runaway slaves!" I
echoed. "Those must have been amazing days, Enoch."

"Mebbe so, but I was too young to know much. Folks
didn't talk-they didn't dare. Sometimes I knew someone
was bein' kept some place in the big house and the next
day he'd be gone. Sometimes there be more'n one. An'
sometimes they was sick or hurt and I'd have to clean up
blood in the kitchen. I was told not to ask questions 'cause
it was safer I didn't know nuthin'. So I didn't ask." He was
silent for a moment and then gave me a sideways glance.
"My mama said that most people's troubles was 'cause they
didn't know 'nuff to keep their mouth shut."

So Enoch had been taught discretion at an early age. As
far as I could see, he was still taking his mama's advice.

"But you know, Enoch, there could well be a secret room
in the old house. We've looked all over, but we haven't
found it."

"Why you want to find it, Boss? You need another room?"
Enoch sounded incredulous and I didn't blame him.

"No, of course not. But it might be the answer to some
of the things that go on. Maybe someone could come into
the house by a secret way and-well-do things."

Enoch lost his geniality. "Them as comes into the big
house don't need no secret way," he said grimly.

His reminiscing was definitely over for the day, but I was
grateful for the bits and pieces he had furnished. I knew
there was much more to learn and it was going to take time
and patience to get it out of Enoch but at least some of his reticence had given away under my persistent and sometimes offhand questioning. In spite of Dorothy's advice not
to get too involved, I felt that I was becoming obsessed with
the necessity for finding out what had happened in that
mansion. It was as if the place was a great gray spider in
the midst of a torn web and I was trying to repair the old
web.

I reported the events of the afternoon to Dorothy after
we had gone to bed. She laughed indulgently over my
account of Enoch's courtship.

"Did you see the woman?" she asked.

"Just a glimpse, but I'd know her again, I'm sure."

"Who thought up the insurance deal?"

"I don't know yet. I'm not too happy about it, either. I
hope someone is looking out for Enoch's interests."

"Well," she remarked. "I suppose it's really none of our
business. He seems to be happy with the arrangement and
that's what counts. Did you find out anything else?"

"I found out that our house was once a station for runaway slaves," I announced triumphantly. "Enoch remembers something of that but was cautioned to keep quiet - to
keep out of trouble. Then there was a doctor and his wife.
They lived here when Enoch worked in the house when he
was very young. Now get thisl The wife was a headstrong
lady who always got her own way. She was inordinately
proud of the library and kept the servants busy shining
chandeliers, polishing floors and furniture. She had her
husband install the stained glass windows. She also had him
build the summerhouse and she was very fond of flowers -
roses were her favorites. She had more flowers than anyone
else around."

I could sense Dorothy's concentration. She finally murmured, "This woman had determination and drive-and
was overly-fond of her library. She loved flowers and would naturally feel that they were a gracious gift. Well, I suppose
that's it."

"Has to bel" I stated positively. "And it was over eightyfive years ago, according to Enoch."

"But Harold!" Dorothy cried in a distressed voice. "That
isn't enough! Pride in a home and love for flowers-even a
headstrong nature-our world is full of these human attributes. That isn't enough to keep an individual chained to
a spot all of these years!"

"No," I agreed gently. "I'm afraid it isn't. And it isn't
enough to scare the wits out of Enoch, either."

"Perhaps we're better off not knowing what really happened. Maybe we're prying-interfering-sort of."

"They interfered with us first," I reminded her a little
tartly.

"They did at that," she admitted. "Well, I do know one
thing! We don't lead a dull life!"

"Sorry?" I asked.

"Never!" she replied stoutly.

I gave her hand a little squeeze and went on thoughtfully.
"Then let's look at the facts we do have. We are living in a
house that went through the tragedy of a fire with seven
unexpected and untimely deaths; a house that was a station
for runaway slaves and held all the misery of those days,
including fear and violence and panic; then a doctor on the
premises who was under the thumb of an impetuous, headstrong wife who was mistress of this place and had an obsession about her library. Some sort of emotional background
is beginning to emerge."

"But," she insisted, "it isn't enough. What Enoch has
kept quiet about must be the real crux of the hauntings."
She hesitated and then went on slowly. "Something must
have created what you called the power vortex-the whirlwind of negative and terrible emotions that act now as a magnet for unseen entities. Maybe there are more of them
than we realize, tool"

"I thought of that," I admitted. "But then I didn't want
to think of it. But I'll bet you're thinking right now of Hal's
experience the other night."

"Yes, I am. I'm trying to reconcile the fact that sometimes doors are opened and knobs turn while, at other times,
whoever wants to, simply comes in."

Hal's experience had puzzled me, too. There had been a
college dance and when he arrived home, he didn't feel particularly sleepy. He went into the living room and listened
to some records for a while. Then he decided that he was
hungry because refreshments had been on the light side.
He went to the kitchen and was fixing himself a sandwich
when he heard a slight noise, like a mouse nibbling. He
looked over at the basement door and saw the knob turn
back and forth as it had done the night my sister had been
with us. He put the sandwich down and noiselessly removed
his shoes. Then he sped upstairs and shook me awake as the
boys had so often done before.

"Dadl Wake upl We've got 'em this time with all those
lights in the basement. They can't get away!"

I automatically reached for my slippers. "Got who?" I
questioned sleepily.

"Someone in the basement. I heard him. He's trying to
get into the kitchen through the door. I saw the knob turning. Hurryl"

I armed myself with a gun. Once in the kitchen, I switched
on the basement lights and flung the door open at the same
time. As I went down the stairs, Hal stood behind me, blocking the way upstairs but ready to spring to my aid if I needed
him. I finally went back to where he was standing, looking
dejectedly at me.

"There isn't a soul down here," I told him flatly. "There isn't even a mouse! It's just like that other time, but much
easier to see with the bright lights."

"But Dad!" he cried. "This time I heard the noise and I
saw that knob turn back and forth for a full half-minute!
It couldn't be a ghost. They don't need to open doors. They
can go right through."

Together we made another search and then gave up.
Back in the kitchen with the door locked once again, Hal
finished his sandwich, munching thoughtfully, while I made
a cup of coffee. I felt that sleep was forgotten for the night,
anyway.

This was one of those contradictions that Dorothy spoke
of. Something was always unbalancing my thinking and I
couldn't find a parallel in any of the accounts of hauntings
that I had read.

"Well," I told Dorothy now, "maybe some entities have
more energy than others-more abilities-just as humans
have."

"We might as well get some sleep," she sighed.

"Maybe we get instruction in the sleeping state," I ventured. "We know that certain problems are seen in a different light when we wake up."

"I could stand a little instruction on some of the things
that go on around here," she admitted. "But my mind has
already been stretched in directions I didn't think even
existed. I'm not sure that I'm grateful for the exercise,
either."

I chuckled. "Unaccustomed exercise has a way of making
muscles sore at first. Let's give it time. Who knows-we
may develop into mental giants yet?"

As usual she had the last word. "I've never really wanted
to meet a giant. I still think they belong in fairy tales."