The Blackham Mansion Haunting (The Downwinders Book 4) (3 page)

“What do you mean, different?” Carma asked.

“It was still run down, but in different ways,” Deem
answered. “Slightly different. A chunk of plaster that was on the ground in a
particular place had been moved. Holes in the wall were a little smaller.
Stains on peeling wallpaper were in different places, and were different in
color.”

“What happened if you walked out the hallway door?” Winn
asked.

“You came back into the kitchen,” Deem answered.

“And the kitchen was different each time, too?” Carma asked.

“Yes,” Deem replied. “Sometimes it was less messy. The walls
looked in better shape.”

“So these were new rooms, not just the original room?” Winn
asked. “You weren’t looping back into the same house?”

“It seemed that way,” Deem replied. “It felt like you were
stepping into a whole new instance of the house each time. We tried
backtracking and were able to go back to the original house just fine. Once we
realized the hallway door led to the kitchen entrance, same as the front door,
we wondered if it was the same instance of the new house regardless of which
exit you took. It wasn’t. The hallway door and the front door led to completely
different kitchens.”

“Christ!” Winn muttered.

“That’s when I got nervous, realizing it would be really easy
to get lost,” Deem continued. “So we tried dropping out, just to make sure we could
get back to our bodies. We left the River, found ourselves back in the original
house, sitting on the floor in the living room, just as we were when we started.
When we jumped back in, it’s like we were starting from scratch in the original
house.”

“And when you went back through the duplicate houses, were they
the same as the first time you went through them?” Carma asked.

“The exact same,” Deem replied. “We went maybe six or seven
deep. Who knows, it might go on forever.”

“And what happened to David?” Winn asked.

“We would separate in each house,” Deem replied. “I was
intrigued with the mirror, and I wanted to check how it appeared in each new
house. The mirror is on a vanity in a room upstairs, and David was tired of
following me up each time, so we got into a routine where I’d look through the
upstairs, and he’d look through the downstairs. We’d meet up at the base of the
stairs, and pick which door we wanted to leave through.

“All the mirrors I was finding were just frames; the glass
had long ago been broken out and was missing. But I had just found a mirror
that still had a piece of glass in it when you pulled me back. Most of its
mirror backing was gone, but there was something there, some kind of power
within it. I don’t know how long I’d been looking at it when I felt the slap,
you hitting my face. Pulled me right out.”

“David’s body wasn’t in the room when I got there,” Winn
said. “If he was pulled back here somehow, it happened before I arrived.”

“How long did it seem you were in there?” Carma asked.

“A couple of hours at most,” Deem replied. “But that couldn’t
be…we got there around one-thirty or two. And it was eight when you pulled me
out, Winn?”

“Just after,” Winn answered.

“So time is a little odd there, too,” Carma replied.

“The question is, what happened to David?” Winn asked.

“He’s no help in figuring it out, since he doesn’t remember,”
Deem answered.

“You two will have to figure it out,” Carma said. “Whatever
caused him to show up back here has done something to him.”

“What?” Deem asked. “What has it done?”

“I don’t know,” Carma replied. “I only know something is
wrong, and it’s a big problem right now, that’ll become a much bigger problem
if we don’t figure it out and do something about it.”

“What do you suggest?” Deem asked.

“You two concentrate on finding out about that house,” Carma
answered. “Start with Lyman. I’ve never heard of the place, but then I was
never into the whole Spiritualism thing. He might know something of it, or he
might have some ideas. I’ll see what I can do about getting David diagnosed.”

Winn followed Deem as she led him downstairs, to the basement
of Carma’s house. Based on the moon that night, they had to meet Lyman at 3 AM.
Winn found himself groggily reaching out for the handrails to steady himself,
not quite fully awake.

They walked through a large family room, to a closet near the
back. Inside, a second door at the back of the closet opened to reveal the
entrance to a tunnel. Deem reached out to flick on a switch, and bare-bulb
lights strung overhead popped on, illuminating the pathway that led
underground, to the caves hidden deep in the hill behind the house. The route
was smooth and clear, free from rocks and debris. Deem started down it, and Winn
followed.
I wonder how many years Carma has used this tunnel,
Winn
thought.
Those light bulbs look very old.

Lyman was standing near the solitary wooden table in the room
at the end of the tunnel, and Winn could see Lyman’s expression change as he caught
sight of Deem.
That’s right, Deem reminds him of Sarah,
Winn thought.
Sarah,
the girl he was going to marry, a hundred and fifty years ago.

Although Lyman appeared remarkably clear outside of the
River, Winn sensed Deem entering it in order to have an easier conversation
with him, so Winn dropped in as well. He also knew to leave the matter to Deem;
Lyman’s interest in her was all they’d need to get the information they
desired.

Nice to see you again, Deem,
Lyman greeted her.

You as well,
she replied.

You taking to the house well, now that you’re living here?

Were you behind that?
Deem asked slyly.

Carma’s idea, but I was wholeheartedly in favor of it. The
house has been too quiet with just her here.

And it makes it easier for me to visit you!
Deem replied.

Yes, there’s that bonus, as well.

We were wondering if you might feel inclined to share some of
your knowledge of the past with us,
Deem asked.

I’d be happy to impart my invaluable wisdom,
Lyman replied, smiling. Winn had to
keep reminding himself that although Lyman looked like a sixteen-year-old, as a
ghost he was much, much older. He was also particularly ruthless in his fight
against local Mormon leaders.

There’s a place in Paragonah, called the Blackham mansion,
Deem said.
It’s right next to the
town cemetery. Know anything about it?

Lyman paused.
I’m afraid I don’t. Why are you interested
in it?

Winn listened as Deem filled Lyman in on their situation.
Lyman seemed to be listening intently. When she had finished, Lyman was looking
very intently at Deem.

You need to be very careful right now,
he said.
What you’re describing
to me sounds extremely dangerous.

Have you heard of something like it? Before?
she asked.

Not exactly,
he replied.
But the complexity of it reminds me of a
spider web, something designed to trap you in a way that makes it impossible to
get out.

We just drop out of the River and we’re back,
Deem said.
It doesn’t appear to be
a trap.

Those are the best traps, Deem — the ones that look innocuous.
All the more reason to be cautious. Promise me you’ll think twice before taking
any unnecessary risks.

I promise,
she replied,
but we’ve got to do something about David.

When a bug is trapped in a spider web it twists and turns,
trying to get free. It usually just makes things worse
.

Deem seemed surprised at Lyman’s reaction.
Are you saying
we should abandon him?
she asked.
Because I won’t do that, Lyman.

I’m just saying you need to tread lightly and be extremely
careful, or you’ll wind up like David. That’s all. I admire your loyalty to
your friend. One of the things I like most about you.
He smiled at her.

I give you my word I’ll be careful,
she replied.

Good.
Lyman began to pace.
The best direction I can send you is to Hobble
Creek, outside Springville. Thomas Cloward, Professor Emeritus of History from
the University of Utah. Grandson of Joseph Cloward, a friend of mine. He’s a
repressed gifted; higher education always beats it out of you. But he’s not
self-loathing, and he’s opened up to it a little since his retirement. To the
real world he always published scholarly pieces and made quite a name for
himself. Somehow he managed to stay on the good side of the church, which is
tough to do and be an honest historian. His latent gift has been eating at him
for years, though, and it drew him to study people and places that were a
little different, or odd; the kinds of things most people preferred to forget
about history. Go see him and ask him about the Blackham mansion. As long as he
thinks what he tells you will go no further than your ears, you may get a lot
out of him.

 
We’ll do that,
Deem replied.
And thanks, Lyman. I
appreciate it.
She turned to leave.

Remember your promise,
Lyman called after her.
Think twice.

I will,
she replied.

Winn turned to follow Deem, and glanced over at Lyman.
Goodbye,
Lyman,
he said.

Goodbye, Winn. See you again, soon.

▪
▪
▪

Winn pulled his Jeep into the long driveway of the home in
the hills above Springville. It was just after noon, and he was still tired
from their middle-of-the-night conversation with Lyman, but two stops for
coffee along the way had kept the juices flowing. Deem, for her part, was
finishing off a Big Gulp she picked up in Cedar City.

The homes were stately and impressive, but not ostentatious.
It wasn’t the type of home you’d expect a millionaire to build, but it was
definitely upper middle class.

As they walked to the front door, Winn noticed a
twelve-year-old boy in the front yard, struggling to push a mower. His face was
red; Winn wasn’t sure if it was sunburn or anger. The mower would occasionally
falter, and he would push on the handles to raise it up a little and soldier
on. He seemed completely focused on his task and didn’t notice them walking by.

Winn rang the doorbell and after a few moments they were
greeted by a very tall, thin man who had an impressively full head of hair,
nicely coiffed, with only a hint of grey on the temples. He also had a look of
irritation, as though he’d been interrupted.

“Professor Cloward?” Deem asked.

“Emeritus,” the man answered. “What do you want?”

“I’m Deem, and this is Winthrop,” she replied. “We drove up
from Leeds this morning to talk to you.”

“Yes?”

“We were hoping you might help us out,” she continued. “We
need some information on a town in southern Utah, and you come highly
recommended.”

“You know,” he said, “normally you’d pay a few thousand
dollars and take one of my courses. That’s how it’s usually done. Back when I
did it.”

“I’m afraid we can’t take that amount of time to find out
what we need to know,” Deem replied. “A friend is in danger. We wanted to ask
you about Paragonah. Specifically, about the Blackham mansion.”

The man’s look changed from irritation to intrigue. Then Winn
felt the man’s eyes running up and down their bodies, sizing them up.
He
wonders if we’re gifted,
Winn thought.

“We don’t have to take much of your time,” Deem said. “We
have a friend who’s been hurt by the place, and we need to find out as much
about it as we can.”

“Hurt?” the professor asked. “What kind of hurt?”

“You’ll think we’re crazy if we tell you the truth,” Winn said.

The man’s eyes widened, and he took a step outside. He looked
up and down the street, as though he was concerned neighbors might have seen
his visitors.

“You two had better come inside,” Cloward said, opening the
door and waving them in. He quickly shut the door behind them.

“Let’s go down to the family room,” he said, leading them
through the house. “That’s my grandson out there mowing the lawn, and it’s kind
of loud.”

After snaking down hallways and a set of stairs, he invited
them to sit on an oversized sectional that surrounded a large-screen
television. “Something to drink?” he offered, walking to a mini-fridge at the
other end of the room. “I have the normal non-caffeinated selections.”

“Nothing for me,” Deem said.

“A water,” Winn said.

“No water,” the man replied. “I’ve only got pop. Orange, root
beer, Sprite. That kind of stuff.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Winn replied.

“Don’t do the sugar, huh?” the man asked, popping open a can
of root beer and joining them on the sectional.

“I try not to do pop at all,” Winn answered.

“Probably wise.” He took a long swig. “I don’t have them very
often myself. Now. What do you want to know? Paragonah, was it?”

“The Blackham mansion,” Deem replied.

“Ah, yes. The Blackham mansion. I remember it well. Built in
the 1880s by Henry Blackham, second son of Moroni Blackham from his fifth wife.
The house has a difficult and unpleasant past; it wasn’t at all easy to dig up
information on it, but I gave it a real go.”

“How did you learn about it?” Deem asked.

“I went down there several times, in my late twenties. The
house was abandoned at that point. I did go inside it. Have you both been
inside?”

They nodded in the affirmative.

“Then you know how unpleasant it is. I’ll never forget
walking around in there; there was such an unholiness to it, like it was
something very alien that appeared in the heart of the Mormon west. Very
disturbing. I interviewed a number of the older residents of the town, and then
sought out some of the Blackham family that remembered Henry. That led me to a
number of other people who were connected with the whole Spiritualist movement
at that time. Fascinating stuff. I almost wrote about it, but so many of the
people involved asked that I not. So I didn’t.”

“Henry was a Spiritualist?” Winn asked. “Like Amasa Lyman?”

“Oh, you do know your history!” the professor said, lighting
up a little. “It’s interesting that you bring him up, because Henry had
connections to Amasa’s children who shared the interest.”

“What can you tell us about the house?” Deem asked. “We need
to find out as much as we can.”

“You know,” the professor replied, “if we were going to talk
about any number of other places in this state, I’d ask you to wait while I dug
up my files on the subject. I have all my research here, at the house. I’m organizing
it before I donate it back to the university. But when it comes to some places,
I don’t need my notes; some places I remember the details I learned about them
very distinctly. Don’t know why.”

I know why
, Winn thought.
Because you’re gifted, and you recognized
something in those places. You were naturally attracted to them.

“So,” the professor continued, “Henry built the house in the
1880s, as I said. Interestingly, he deliberately chose to build right next to
the town’s cemetery. He wanted close proximity, because he intended the house
to be used for séances with his Spiritualist friends right from the beginning.
Much of the house was constructed with that in mind, including a large room able
to accommodate a sizeable group. He added all kinds of occult touches to the
place. Some were ornamental, such as the inverted pentagrams and such that you
see today on the temple in Salt Lake; people back then weren’t nearly so
bothered by folk magic and the like, and it wasn’t seen as anything
objectionable. Other touches had a more spiritual side to them — dedications,
blessings, other rituals consecrating the place to the pursuit of contacting
the dead.

“Many people were wrapped up with Spiritualism during that
time; it was a bit of a fad. Remember, there was no television or radio. No
movies. Entertainment came from books or newspapers, or from social events,
like dances. When Spiritualism came along, and entertainment could be had by
just gathering together with some friends and trying to contact the deceased,
it appealed to people as an alternative way to spend an interesting evening.
Most people didn’t take it seriously, but Henry and his associates did. It
became a kind of religion, a belief that we could learn everything we needed to
know in this life by contacting the dead — that they had all the answers. For a
while it was socially acceptable, and you could engage in it without risking
your church membership, although the church wasn’t very fond of it, and said as
much.