Rhayven House (14 page)

     He was in the kitchen putting crackers in a bowl when Toby came flying in. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Ian asked his friend.

     “That thing came out of the fire,” Toby told him, his eyes wide, his face a whiter shade of pale. “Came out, came right at me. Totally messed up, pal. Didn't you hear me yell for you?”

     Setting the cracker box down, Ian said, “You better not be messing with me.”

     Holding up a hand, Toby said, “Swear. It slithered out of the flames, looking like it was on fire itself, or composed of flames, and came right at me. I think it looked me right in the eye. That's what was so disturbing. I felt like it knew I was there.”

     “Holy shit.” Ian had to admit to himself it felt pretty good to have a witness, to finally know it wasn't all his imagination screwing around with him. “What did you do?”

     “What do you think? I got the hell out of there and ran in here.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Completely unexpected. I was putting a couple pieces of wood on the fire when it happened. So fast, I almost don't believe it happened. You know what I mean?”

     Toby looked at him with eyes imploring him to say he did. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. When it happens that quick, you wonder if you really say anything at all.”

     “At least now you have your witness. You won't hear me say you're imagining it.” Toby picked up a cracker and took a bite. He chewed, swallowed, and then said, “I don't know how you've stayed here with all this weird shit going on around you.”

     “It hasn’t scared me to the point I want to pack up and leave.”

     “Still takes a lot of balls,” Toby said, reaching for another cracker. “Inner spiritual fortitude to not run for the hills, or at least back into town.”

     Leaning against the countertop, Ian ate a handful of peanuts before speaking. “It feels different to know you saw something. I mean, the contractors heard stuff and Jeff saw a woman in the kitchen, in here, but it's different because I guess you're my friend.”

     “Reflecting back on it, it startled me because I wasn't prepared for it, but, honestly, it didn't scare me. I jumped when it came at me, but that's a normal reaction to anything,” Toby said. “As long as it's just weird, harmless stuff, I don't blame you for staying. It's your house now. Circle the wagons and cover your ass.”

     “What do we do now, besides mix metaphors?” Ian said to no one in particular.

     “Let the fire burn out. We can hang around in the living room and eat this while we watch something,” Ian said, waving at the snacks he was preparing when Toby rushed in. “You know, I have a bunch of complete series of TV shows. And I just got
The Addams Family
,
Hunter
and
Mama's Family
.”

     “
The Twilight Zone
?”

     “Of course.”

     Toby helped him gather up the bowls of snacks to carry into the living room. “You know, you could write a true-life book about your experiences in the house. People love that stuff and it's really been popular the last few years. You could have a big bestseller on your hands if the universe aligns just right.”

     Ian hadn't given it a thought, but it made a lot of sense. He could chronicle his experiences in the house in a manuscript and shop it around to publishers to see if any showed interest. A shorter non-fiction book couldn't be so difficult to write. He'd call it his
Ghostly Memoir
. And he could be a guest on some of the paranormal radio shows and podcasts.

     “I read one of your books,” Toby said as he put the bowls he'd carried in on the coffee table and then sat down.

     “Really? You always said I didn't write your kind of stories.”

     “I didn't want to say anything in case I didn't like it. But I did like it.”

     “Which one did you read?”

     “The one about the people who converted the old asylum into an upscale apartment building.” Toby took some pretzels. “Some of that stuff was seriously twisted. The whole atmosphere was creepy.”

     “It had its elements of
Grand Guignol
,” Ian said.

     “Resurrecting the old penny dreadful style is brilliant. It was gothic and erotic and would make one hell of a movie, if it was done right.” Toby smiled at his friend. “Who the hell in their right mind would want to live in an old insane asylum, whether or not it was converted and updated with modern luxuries? That takes a special kind of stupid, and you're just asking for trouble.”

     “
Blackthorne Estates
. Excellent. I didn't come up with anything new. It's a story that's been told many times over. I just tried to tell it my way,” Ian said. “There really was a Blackthorne Asylum in the early 1800s, you know.” Ian offered the bowl of nuts to Toby, who declined. “I stumbled across it doing research and it stuck with me. Not a very nice place. It had such a stigma attached to it; the locals finally tore it down to the foundations about fifteen years after it was forced to close its doors. There wasn't too much publicity. I guess they wanted to keep it all in the shadows.”

     “Just like the place up near Altoona. Wasn't it shut down in the nineteen-fifties or something for neglect and abuse, and then torn down all real quiet like in the seventies? Something about because people kept reporting how they heard all kinds of horrific screams coming from the place?”

     “Allegedly,” Ian said. “You'd be amazed how many records have gone mysteriously missing from places like those. In fact, people have gone missing, and families, when they cared enough to check, never heard anything about them again.”

     “Probably because those patients ended up in unmarked graves, either on the property or wherever. Were there unmarked graves discovered on the property of the real asylum, like in your book?”

     “I think there are unmarked graves on the properties of almost every asylum, from the earliest right up until the latter part of the last century, if you can believe some of the case studies and documentaries on the subject.”

     “Tell your agent to take it around to movie studios,” Toby advised. “Somewhere, there is a small studio who will think it's a perfect fit. Personally, I think it would make one hell of a film.”

     “Funny you should say that.”

     Toby's mouth hung open. “Seriously? You have interest from a movie studio?”

     “Yes, but it's very early. Too early to be sure of anything, so keep your mouth shut about it,” Ian said.

     “My lips are sealed,” Toby promised and then ate another pretzel.

     “I don't want to say anything until it's a done deal,” Ian told him. “I'm keeping my legs crossed we can hammer out a deal for a television miniseries.”

     “Tell me something I don't know,” Toby cracked.

     “Oregon has more legit ghost towns than any other state.” Ian grinned at his friend.

     “I did not know that.”

     “Now, let's watch something,” Ian said to Toby as he reached for the peanuts. “
Stigmata
sounds good.”

Fifteen

     Deciding he’d get some kind of answers to his questions if he made a trip back to the hall of records, Ian drove down and made a beeline for that downstairs office. The woman behind the counter with the dark hair all spiked up, smiled and asked if she could assist him. He asked for Mr. Kane.

     “I’m sorry. I don’t know a Mr. Kane. Normally, I work in this office and have for a long time,” she said. Her engraved nameplate read Catherine E. Peterson. “May I be of assistance?”

     “I spoke to him when I came in for information concerning a property I was interested in purchasing,” Ian explained, but that didn’t remove the puzzled look from her face. “I have the paperwork right here.”

     He handed it to her and she looked it over.

     “Unfortunately, there aren’t any names here in reference to the person who assisted you,” she said. “I can assure you, we don’t have a Mr. Kane here. The best I can suggest, is you go upstairs and speak to the secretary. She may be able to help you further, but I have to say I’ve worked here for many years and I don’t ever recall that name.”

     Ian thanked her and, gripping his paperwork in his hand, went upstairs.

     Speaking with the secretary provided no further information regarding R. Kane. She showed Ian the current list of employees and the name was not on the list. To her recollection, there had never been a Kane who worked there.

     So no one knew the man. Okay. Ian calmly walked outside. There was no use in getting pissed off and making a scene, not over something as silly as this. He highly doubted it was some intricate conspiracy to keep Kane under wraps. No. Somewhere along the lines, he suspected someone had some false data.

     R. Kane. That was definitely the guy’s name. “
R. Kane,
” Ian said aloud. And then something clicked—an epiphany. “
Arcane.
But what the hell? No way was it a coincidence. Who could have…”

     Trailing off into thought, he wondered if the ghost had sensed his presence as he wandered around outside that very first day. He’d definitely thought he felt something, but wasn’t sure at the time and wrote it off as nerves. The place did have a bit of a creepy abandoned atmosphere going for it. What if she’d used her abilities or powers or whatever it was ghosts possessed, to influence the outcome of his quest to buy the house?

     Recalling the run-around and all the double-speak without actually telling him anything, the sending him from one office to the next because they couldn’t find a record of the property, Ian still didn’t think any of it was out of malice or on purpose—just eventually over the years the information had gotten filed wrong or whatever and people forgot about it.

     Certainly, he’d come across the helpful R. Kane and was glad to finally have someone who appeared like they could actually assist him—and the man did. But now it felt strange—not scary, just extremely odd—finding out there was no R. Kane presently working and had never been one employed in the records office or any other office there.

~ ~ ~

   
 
Toby listened in silence as Ian explained what had happened at city hall.

     “That's seriously messed up and if it weren't for the stuff going on here in this house, I'd think somebody was pulling a fast one on you,” Toby said.

     “It's not some elaborate, diabolical prank,” Ian said. “Makes me wonder if the elusive Mr. Kane is himself a ghost.”

     “Make notes for your book. If nothing else, he's an interesting plot point for your non-fiction account.”

     “I don't think non-fiction books have plot points,” Ian said. “And I also believe getting to the bottom of this riddle, wrapped up in a mystery, and inside of an enigma—to paraphrase Churchill—will be more difficult than discovering a black flamingo.”

     “But it's still worth the try,” Toby insisted. “Whether or not you uncover the answer, you'll still have the whole experience to draw upon in your writing, especially if you write the non-fiction account of all this.”

     Resting his hands on his lap, he continued. “And I understand your reasons behind not wanting any of those paranormal research groups in here, and I agree with you—the way they conduct themselves on the TV shows, who knows what kind of mess they'd leave behind when they left? No offense to the ones who don't behave like that during their investigations.”

     “Given the alternatives, I believe I'm better off on my own investigating—present company excluded, of course.”

     “I got your back,” Toby assured him.

     “One idea I had was to conduct a séance,” Ian said. “To see if I can reach her and have a more stable verbal exchange. Find out some answers that way since there doesn't seem to be anything at all in the courthouse records downtown.”

     “Do we sit at a table full of candles and hold hands while you call on the spirits or what?”

     Ian ran his finger along the front of his shirt collar. “I'm not sure. Online I've found all kinds of stuff, but I think the best bet is to go talk with Belle.”

     “How about the spirit board?”

     Shaking his head, Ian said, “I think that could be more dangerous than helpful, considering what I've read about those boards.”

     “And you think a séance is safer?” Toby asked. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

     “Maybe not safer, but more controllable, I guess,” Ian said.             

     “See what your friend Belle has to say and let me know. I'm not sure if I believe there's a way to contact the spirit world, but I'm totally willing to help you give it a shot.”

     “Hear that?”

     Toby listened. “No.”

     “Piano music. I hear it a lot.”

     “Phantom piano music only you can hear.” Toby tilted his head to the side and looked at his friend. “I wish I could hear what you're hearing.”

     “Some kind of classical piece, I assume. Light, almost a tinkling of the keys.”

     “Our ghost might have tickled the ivories during her lifetime, so why would she stop now? Or, she might be trying to expose you to culture.”

     “She's stopped playing. It's never very long.”

     “Maybe she heard us talking about her and got self-conscious.” Toby looked over Ian's shoulder. “Listen.”

     Ian did, not hearing anything. And then he heard it—another round of music, different this time. “You hear it now?”

     Toby nodded, a big grin on his face. “I don't really understand why I couldn't hear it before, but now I can. Maybe she's the one who decides who she lets see and hear and she's letting me in. It's like being let in on a secret.”

     “Amazing, isn't it? You hear the music and you know it's not coming from a radio or a record or whatever. Not from any physical piano, either.”

     Meeting Ian's stare, Toby said, “This situation just keeps getting stranger and stranger.” He popped the last pretzel into his mouth and set the bowl down. “To intentionally change the subject, I have a present for you. Sort of a housewarming gift.”

     “You didn't have to do that.”

     “I know, “Toby said with a wink. “I left it out in the backseat of my car so you wouldn't see me bring it in.”

     “So it's bigger than a bread box then?”

     Toby went out to retrieve the present. “You'll never in a million years guess what it is,” he said when he came back in holding the wrapped item.

     “Judging strictly from the size and dimensions, I say it's a picture,” Ian said.

     “I meant you'd never guess what kind of picture.” Toby put the present in front of Ian. “I knew as soon as I saw it I was getting it for you, and then I had it framed nicely so it would fit in with your décor.”

     “Now I'm totally intrigued,” Ian said as he carefully began to peel the tape off the wrapping paper piece by piece.

     “For the love of...Just rip it off,” Toby said. He reached over and tore off a section. “You're taking too damned long. I want to see your reaction when you realize what it is.”

     Smacking his friend's hand away, Ian said, “Quit trying to take the joy out of it. You got this for me, so let me open it my way. “And then he went back to removing the tape—even slower than before—to irritate Toby. “Okay, okay. Stop giving me the look.” He ripped the rest of the paper off to reveal an ornate carved wood frame; the frame held a painting on velvet of
Dogs Playing Poker
. “It's...”

     Letting loose with a roar of laughter, Toby slapped the back of the sofa. “I discovered this beauty in an old thrift shop on my way home from an out-of-town meeting. It's not a repro. This is an original, pal, and it's in excellent condition, almost pristine. Do you know how rare it is to stumble onto one of these?” He sucked in a deep breath and tried to reduce the laughter to a slight giggle.

     “It has to be a miracle of Biblical proportions,” Ian said dryly.

     “Don't be a smartass.” Toby reached over and ran his finger down the side of the frame. “I had to get it put in a real nice frame so it would suit your house. Admit it, you know you like the bulldog best. He's a little cheater. Look; he's passing the ace of clubs surreptitiously underneath the table to his buddy.”

     “How long have you been sitting on this special little surprise?”

     “A couple months.”

     “Just happened to stumble across it at some out of the way thrift shop when you made a pit stop, huh?” Ian looked one by one at the faces of the dogs. “Had to have been the Hand of Fate intervening. Sometimes Fate can be a cruel mistress.”

     “There are more modern ones with cats and other animals, but this is an original. A piece of art history,” Toby told him.

     Underneath it all, Ian had to admit to himself he rather liked the gaudy painting, and he liked the thought behind the gift. “I guess it's not so bad I have to bury it out in the backyard by the light of a blood moon or anything like that. Do you know there are something like three different scenes of this?”

     Toby nodded, a big grin still plastered on his face. “I knew there were a couple different ones, but not exactly how many and what they were. Where are you thinking of hanging it?”

    
And there was the question
, Ian thought. Actually it would look right at home in his library once the room was completed, and that's what he told Toby. “I might even hang it over the fireplace.”

     “Just as long as there are no freak accidents and it somehow mysteriously falls down into the fire. Do you really like it? I didn't intend for it to be a gag gift, but I want you to tell me true if you like it or not.”

     “I know you didn't. The custom frame alone must have cost you a couple bucks. And I do like it; it's not nearly as horrendous-looking in person as it is when I see it on TV. Thank you.”

     “No problem. Maybe I'll come across the others and you can have the whole set.”

     “No, you don't have to do that. It's the thought that counts. Really.”

     “Let me take it into the library and find a place to lean it against the wall or something so the frame doesn't get scratched or nicked. I'll be back in a minute.”

     Toby grinned. “Make sure you find a nice, safe place for the pups. Can't have anything happening to them.” he called after Ian.

     When Ian came back, he said, “They're all safe and sound, so don't worry. I'll call Lloyd's of London in the morning.”

     “Armed Pinkerton guards should patrol the hallway and be on the lookout for potential burglars and other forms of skullduggery,” Toby said.

     “I'll get right on your request,” Ian said as he sat down. “We never did decide what we wanted to watch. You in the mood for funny or serious?”

     “Surprise me,” Toby said.

~ ~ ~

   
 
Toby and Ian fell asleep sitting on the sofa. When the piano music started, they didn't hear the soft strains as they floated on the air. Nor did they see the woman walk into the living room; as if she, too, floated on the air, coming to stand silently by the sofa and watch them as they slept. She reached out her hands and gently stroked their hair, entwining her fingers in the strands.

     Glittering like diamonds in her eyes were unshed tears, born both from loneliness and happiness.

     When Toby moved in his sleep and opened his eyes, she drew her hands back and leaned over him. He stared through her, not seeing her even though she was mere inches from his face.

     “Wake up. You're snoring,” Toby said as he pushed against Ian's shoulder.

     “I don't snore,” Ian said without opening his eyes. “Stop waking me up.”

     “We have to get up and go to bed. If we sleep sitting here, we'll have sore, stiff necks all day tomorrow,” Toby said, and then covered a big yawn.