Spirit Eyes (12 page)

“Absolutely. That’s what she said.” Ruth pet Puddles between the ears.

“How come Daddy doesn’t believe Pearl?” Lotus asked.

“It’s not that he doesn’t believe, honey, he’s simply, well—he’s more analytical.”

“What’s that?” Pearl asked, her button nose scrunched up.

“It’s a way of saying if he can’t see it, or smell it, or feel it, it doesn’t exist.”

“I think I’d really hate to be
anna little kal
.” Pearl snuggled into her mother.

“Not me,” Lotus said. “I like things that are easy to figure out.” Her eyes flooded with a light rarely seen when addressing her bothersome younger sister. “I want to tell you that even though I don’t know if you’re seeing ghosts, I really do love you.”

Pearl looked at her sister and smiled. “Thank you, Lotus. I love you, too.”

“Hi, Laura.”

“Hey, hon. How ya doin’?”

“I’m doing okay, I guess.” She put the phone to her other ear and stirred a pot of sauce on the stove. It was one of the few times she felt strong enough to make her family a home-cooked meal.

Her friend, aware of the happenings in their home, questioned Ruth. “Is that investigator helping?”

“Yeah, you know what…he is. I don’t feel so alone anymore. Are you sure you’re not the one who had him send that email?”

“For the hundredth time, it wasn’t me and I’m sorry that Sheila the Shaman, as you call her, didn’t want to get involved. She remembered you, but…”

“The way she ran out that day,” Ruth retorted, “I think she thought of me as some sort of phantom myself.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Laura seemed genuinely concerned, as if she were responsible somehow for all of this.

Ruth sat at her kitchen table and rubbed off a spot of oatmeal that had dried on Pearl’s placemat. “I think it must have been a receptionist at one of the doctors we took Pearl to. She was listening in, I could tell. I bet she’s the mysterious friend who suggested he email me. Anyway, Al’s great. He explains what I should or shouldn’t do with Pearl. The best part is we communicate via email, so…I don’t have to involve Paul.”

“Did you at least meet the guy?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s not what I thought. He’s around sixty or so, gray hair, very distinguished. He’s a professor at a local university, so he doesn’t want it spread around that he’s into ghosts.”

“I can understand that, for sure.” Laura said.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this or not because frankly, if you told me this story, I’d question your sanity.”

“What?”

She accepted the ramifications of allowing this piece of her life out but, she needed to tell someone so, she’d just have to trust Laura to keep it quiet.

“I saw someone.”

“Who?”

“A woman in my living room.”

“Are you saying you saw a, um—ghost?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She explained the entire incident to her, and as she spoke, tears trickled down her cheeks.

“What are you going to do?”

Ruth blinked and found herself once again grinding her teeth, a nervous habit she’d acquired during all of this. “Pray.”

“Is it helping?”

“Yes—and no. I don’t feel as anxious as I did at first. That’s because of Al, too, but I don’t know. I’m ready to take this head on.”

Laura let out a deep breath on the other end of the phone. “Well, as you know, I’m guilty as hell about all of this.”

“Laura, I’ve told you a thousand times, you had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m the one who had the stupid psychic party,” she said. “Remember?”

“This would have happened anyway.”

“Thanks,” Laura said, a hint of relief in her voice.

“Another thing,” Ruth said, “I hope you don’t feel, when I say that Al is my only help, that I mean you aren’t. You have been there with me, believed me and haven’t had me or my daughter committed, so—well, thanks.”

Ruth stirred the sauce again and went to the computer in the home office. She went online to read the article about the Eberstark family and found it fascinating. Mrs. Eberstark, haunted by the war years in Germany, had fled to America at the young age of twenty-two. Only in the United States for a few months, she met her husband, Daniel Eberstark, the self-made millionaire.

Their marriage made the society papers and from then on, the little waif who escaped the horrors of war, became a woman of great philanthropy and culture. It made a wonderful
rags to riches story,
and of course the public ate it up.

The pictures of her were beautiful. The picture, as Miss Berlin, showed a little girl kneeling in front of her and handing her a large bouquet of flowers. The thing was, the girl wore an outfit from The League of German Girls, the Nazi equivalent of the Girl Scouts. This picture would have been taken in the early years of the Third Reich. At this time, quite a few people thought of Hitler as the savior of Germany. They hadn’t wised up yet to what a vile man he really was. According to the story, it was after this that her life changed for the worse. They also showed her life in America and her family as they grew.
Wow, what a lady. She really did have quite the life.
Now, her family was into politics, and the dynasty simply continued to grow.

This little bit of information whet her appetite for more. Turning off the burner, she took hold of her purse and now, with the help of a cane to walk, headed out the door.

“Mr. Puds, keep a watch over everything. I’ll be back soon.”

The library scanned all the newspapers ever printed onto microfiche, which people could then view on specific machines. She could browse around and find more information on the Eberstarks. She wanted to know why she decided to hang around after death, and most of all, why she wanted to hang around her daughter.

Seated comfortably at a machine, she opened the box of film, dated nineteen fifty-one. She figured this would be a good start date, and struck gold. A wedding announcement for Daniel Eberstark and his young bride, Klara Kohler, caught her eye. They married in a downtown synagogue. The picture showed a fresh-faced, happy couple ready to take on the world after a history of loss. Daniel Eberstark, also from Germany, was a wealthy self-made man, according to the article. He’d made his fortune here in the states. They’d met at the German American Club.

Scanning further on, only a few months later, there was an article regarding the club that caught her eye. It had burned to the ground early one morning, the owner still inside, and was ruled arson.
That must be the man in the ballfield
.

Ruth sat back and rubbed her tired eyes, and scrolled on. She’d have to quit for the day and get home, but right before she switched the machine off, another, smaller article, jumped out at her, titled
Local Family is still Missing
.

The family of Herschel Schuster has not been seen since the night of October 27, 1951. Neighbors say that the Schusters, recent immigrants from Poland, were a quiet family. Mr. Schuster works as a pipe fitter and Mrs. Schuster is a housewife. Their daughter, Elise, attends the local public school. Friends and acquaintances could think of no reason anyone would want to harm them. No immediate family members could be found for questioning.

Stunned, Ruth reread the article. “
Elise!
That was the name of the little girl visiting Pearl. Her name was Elise Schuster.

Deep in thought, Ruth turned off the machine, gathered her belongings, and stood. Dark spots swarmed in front of her eyes, but that was normal for her now. She had transformed from a healthy mother taking care of her family into an old, frail woman overnight. She headed out of the library, the last sentence ringing in her head. “Why couldn’t they find any relatives?” she said aloud to herself. She opened the door of her car, got in, and started it up. She pulled out of her parking spot and made her way home, more confused than ever.

“I don’t care, Paul. I don’t give a damn what you think anymore. Our marriage is suffering, our family is in shreds, and all you want to do is stick your head in the sand. Not anymore. He’s coming, and if you don’t like it, then get out.”

The words still rang in her head two days after she spoke them, and Paul, now staying at his mother’s house, wouldn’t or couldn’t let go of the fact that because this wasn’t scientific, it didn’t exist. He took the girls with him, which was a good thing. She didn’t want them exposed to the type of lunacy about to come forth in their home. The shock of finding the little girl, Elise, in the paper proved too much for Ruth, and she was done. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

Her mind, in an attempt to wrap around the reality her world had entered, went deep into introspection and when the doorbell rang, she yelled out. “Oh, God.” She breathed deep. “Come in,” Ruth said nervously as she opened the door.

Al Geist came to do a full-out investigation. The box of equipment he brought sat on her front step and baffled her.

“Here, let me help you.” She bent for the box, but Al gently insisted she go inside while he brought it in. She’d forgotten to put Puddles in the back, and he growled at the stranger in his home.

“Please, don’t be afraid, his bark is much worse than his bite.”

He smiled nervously at the dog.

“I’ve seen these ghost shows,” Ruth said apprehensively. “Where’s all the computer equipment? Ya know, the technological stuff?”

“As much as I’d love to use that type of paraphernalia,” Al said, “as far as I’m concerned the old ways are the best ways.”

“What I plan to do is set up a few of the things I brought, spend as much time as I need to gather information and then do my conclusion. Are you planning on staying?”

“Yes. I want whatever is here to know I’m not backing down. They’re messing with my baby, and that’s unacceptable.”

The first thing Al pulled out was an ancient barometer. “This,” he said confidently, “is essential in knowing the barometric pressure in a room. Ghosts are known to affect that.”

She pushed a question his way. “That sounds very complicated. Is there anything else that can affect that?”

“Yes, but I don’t just depend on one thing registering a change. That’s why I have pieces of equipment that compliment each other.”

Next, he pulled out candles and matches. “These are self-explanatory. If a ghost wants to let me know they are around, they will often times simply make the flame of a candle rise up, or bend. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, they will go out completely.”

She tried to keep her tone light. “Sounds intimidating.”

Energized with him there, she took deep interest in all he did and glanced at a compass he put on the table.

Al explained. “A compass is useful for navigation and for picking up electromagnetic forces. It will react to electrical and magnetic stimulus. It’s better to avoid an electronic compass and use the kind where the needle points north.”

“These things work, huh?”

“Much better than the modern stuff. Those things can be easily manipulated, malfunction or lose battery power. These cannot.”

Next, he traced a quarter on a sheet of paper. “This,” Al explained, “is to see if there is any change in the position of the coin. Many times a ghost will use these types of things to let us know they’re around and want to communicate.”

He turned to Ruth with a smile. “Now, I’ll ask you to go around with me and turn off all the lights.” He spread his arms out and grazed the air around him. “I’d like to unplug as many electronics as we can. These are the tried and true methods that have worked for centuries.”

“I’d love to help you, but as you can see, I’m not well. I don’t mind you going around and doing that yourself. I trust you.”

He left the room and she heard him unplugging appliances and turning lights out all over the house. She listened to the click of Puddles’ toenails on the ground following him. Afterward, they sat and waited, listening to the creaks and clinks typical in any house that had suddenly become quiet. It didn’t seem to be her house at all, with the candles burning in several rooms and the complete lack of activity. She might as well have been sitting in some historic home in a place like Williamsburg or Gettysburg for that matter.

The ambiance unsettled her nerves and she chewed at her fingernails.

“Sometimes,” Al said, “it’s best to sit it out and wait for some form of activity.” He entertained her with tales of different places he’d been and the different things he’d seen.

“What you must understand, Mrs. Adler—Ruth, is that ghosts are tricky and can be liars. They will say things to vulnerable people to make themselves look good or kind, or to simply mislead, when in reality, they are evil. That’s why I’m concerned for your daughter. She’s young and impressionable. She states that some ghosts are friendly, and some are mean. She must understand, though, not to trust any of them. One exception is Mrs. Eberstark. She knew the old woman in life, so she can be believed.”

“That makes me very nervous,” Ruth heard herself say. “But, that’s why it’s good for you to get to the bottom of this. How long does it usually take for an occurrence?” Ruth whispered.

“It depends. Sometimes nothing at all happens. But then again, sometimes goings-on happen all night.”

“What do you think about the fact my daughter had a visit from a young girl who told her she had been killed?”

“I think that we must be very careful. This truly could be a sweet, young girl, or it could be someone very rotten masquerading as such.”

A bump upstairs startled them and they exchanged glances. Puddles let out a warning bark and stood. “Shall we investigate?” he said.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Al stood slowly, and stared at her as she struggled up.

“Yes, I’ll just take it slowly.”

They climbed the stairs at a snail’s pace while Al carried a candle, which gave them a monastic appearance. The only things missing were the robes and chants. Puddles beat them into the room and sat staring into a corner, growling.

“They’re both out,” she said with a matter of fact tone. “The candles we lit in there.”