What's a Ghoul to Do? (19 page)

"No, and it's the strangest thing. See that?" I said, pointing to a small window at ground level. "That's the window in the cellar that faces to the right of the stairwell. The door to the tunnel is to the left of that, which means …"

"It goes under the pool," Steven finished.

"Yeah. But that's got to be wrong. I mean, who would construct a tunnel under a pool?"

"Would be very dangerous," Steven said as he scratched his chin and looked from the window to the wall of the indoor pool.

"Exactly. Plus, I have to wonder why someone would build a tunnel in the first place. Your grandfather must have had a reason for its construction. Any ideas?"

Steven smiled and shook his head. "My grandfather was a bit on the … what is the word you use … ecstatic? Like the nice way of saying someone is unique?"

I smiled. "I think you mean eccentric."

"Yes, that is what he was. And there is no way to know what would have motivated him to do that."

"I guess, then, we wait until morning to find out."

"I guess we do. Did you want to go back to Helen's?"

"No," I said, reaching for his flashlight. "Thank you," I said when he gave it to me. "I think it's better if I stay here and try to make contact with your grandfather or Maureen."

"Good. There's a place in town called Angelo's. They have really good pizza, and they deliver. I'll go order for us. You coming in?"

"In a minute. I want to check around out here for a bit," I said as I switched on the beam and played it across the lawn.

"Give a scream if you find anything," he said, and moved off toward, the house.

"You mean shout," I murmured as he walked away. I moved the flashlight beam around the lawn, searching for any outside opening to the tunnel. I had no way of knowing whether the tunnel even opened up aboveground, but my gut told me it did. The problem was that Steven and I had gone only a short distance into the tunnel when the light got too dim to see. That meant that I couldn't be sure about any twists or turns the tunnel might take after a certain point. Nor did I know how long it was, but somehow I knew I was in the right area.

As I walked across the lawn in the direction of the woods I suddenly had the very distinct feeling I was being watched. I stopped walking and looked around, thinking maybe Steven was watching me from inside the house, but when I checked I could see him through the kitchen window, punching in a number on the phone.

I turned in a circle, trying to feel where the sensation was coming from, and my eyes kept moving back toward the house. I scanned the kitchen window again and my breath caught in my throat. Right behind Steven was the shadowy figure of an older man standing in the entrance to the dining room. Steven was talking on the phone, completely unaware that anyone was behind him. I ran straight for the kitchen window, waving my arms to get Steven's attention. As I got within twenty feet or so of the window I saw Steven's head snap up and our eyes met. I stopped and pointed as I mouthed,
Behind you,
at him. He seemed confused, so I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, "Behind you!"

Steven turned, gave one hell of a shout, and dropped the phone. A split second later the ghost of Andrew Sable disappeared.

"You're sure you're not picking him up?" Steven asked.

"Andrew Sable is one slippery ghost," I said as I moved back into the kitchen after searching the entire ground floor. "I keep reaching out, encouraging a reply, but he won't answer me."

"Maybe it's what you're wearing," Steven said, looking at my jeans-sweater-and-hiking-boots combo critically. "My grandfather liked the ladies. You should change back into that dress you wore for me."

I scowled at him. "First of all, what I'm wearing is perfectly acceptable ghostbusting attire. Second, I did not wear that dress
for you."

"You have worn it out with other men?" he asked me, and his confident grin told me he knew I hadn't.

"Maybe it's not me he's not responding to. Maybe he's just appalled that his grandson squeals like a little girl," I snipped.

"Ouch," Steven said, putting a hand over his heart. "I am wounded."

His unwavering smile said otherwise. "Sorry," I said anyway, feeling bad about the comment. "I get snappish when my blood sugar gets low. How long before our pizza arrives?"

"Let's hope they deliver it at all," Steven said with a small chuckle. "I believe the man who took the order was a little upset after I yelled in his ear."

"Got anything I can snack on?" I asked hopefully.

"There are some crackers in the pantry. You may help yourself," he said as he waved his hand in the direction of a set of double doors next to the fridge.

I went to the pantry, opened the door, and gasped. Steven must have heard me because he asked, "What is it? Is it him? Are you picking up my grandfather?"

"In a matter of speaking," I said. "Check it out."

Steven came over to me and looked in. His mouth hung open. "That is so freaking out!"

My head swiveled to Steven. "You really shouldn't try to use American slang just yet," I said.

Steven ignored me and continued to look at the pantry. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

"No," I admitted. "We'll definitely want to take a picture; I think it's pretty unique, and Gilley and I have a collection of odd stuff on our Web site." The pantry didn't offer much in the way of food—some dry goods like cereal, flour, sugar, and pasta, along with some canned vegetables and soups. The unusual thing wasn't in the contents. It was in the way they were displayed.

Every item had been turned upside down, save one. A container of Quaker oatmeal, right side up, sat front and center, prominently displayed among all the other upsidedown items. "What did I tell you?" Steven said as he lifted the container. "My grandfather wanted to live a healthy life. He didn't commit suicide, and this message from beyond his grave proves it."

"I'll never doubt you again,'' I said, and took the oatmeal from him to examine it more closely.

Just then there was a
bong
from the front of the house. "Pizza's here," Steven said, and went to get the door. I put the oatmeal back exactly as it had been and dug my digital camera out of my pocket. After taking a quick picture I closed the pantry door and turned around to face the area where I'd seen Andrew. Again I focused all of my energy on attempting to make contact. I closed my eyes and reached out in my mind.
Andrew! Andrew Sable, if you're here, please speak to me!

I waited and finally, with the softest touch, I got a message that sounded like
M… was… trouble…
My eyes snapped open and I walked forward, attempting to make a stronger connection with him.

I'm sorry; I didn't catch that. Could you repeat that?

Andrew didn't reply. I got frustrated and said loudly, "M was trouble?"

"Who's trouble?" Steven said behind me.

I jumped because I hadn't heard him come up behind me. "You scared me!" I said as I whipped around.

"So then I'm trouble?" he said playfully. "Come on; we'll eat and you can tell me what I've done … this time."

"You haven't done anything," I said, following him over to the counter, where he put down the pizza and opened the lid. "Man, does that smell good!" I said as he got me a plate and a slice and handed me a soda. "What kind is it again?"

"Chicken parmesan."

"Kind of a weird combo for pizza," I said, picking up my slice and taking a bite. "Okay, so it's fantastic," I mumbled as the delicious mix of roasted chicken, parmesan cheese, and a hint of garlic played across my taste buds.

"When I came here for the summer holidays, my grandfather always let me order pizza whenever I wanted. It was one of the things I missed when I would go back to Germany," Steven said, taking his own slice. "Now, what is this about someone who is trouble?"

"While you were getting the door I did one last call-out to see if Andrew would answer me. He did."

Steven's piece of pizza paused midway to his mouth. "What did he say?"

I shook my head and scowled. "It was weird. It sounded like 'M was trouble.'"

"Who?"

"M. But clairaudient information isn't always crystal-clear. He could have meant the letter M, the letter N, or even the name Em, like Emma."

Steven scratched his head as he considered the possibilities. "How do we find out for sure?"

I chewed on the bite of pizza I'd just taken before answering. "I think we need to go with the obvious first. I think we need to continue to make contact with Maureen."

"She's the M," Steven said flatly.

"Not necessarily, but if Andrew was saying the letter M, then it fits. Along with the fact that she most likely pushed Gilley down the stairs."

"I am telling you this," Steven insisted. "She must have pushed my grandfather too. Off the roof."

"You can't keep jumping to conclusions here, Steven. And even if she did push him off the roof, we still need to find out what he was doing on the roof in the first place. I think we need to be cautious about—" I was interrupted by a loud clanging noise that made both of us jump.

"It's the elevator," Steven said as he set down his pizza. "Come on; it's going upstairs!"

We raced out of the kitchen and over to the staircase, where we dashed up the steps as fast as we could. Reaching the second floor we were both out of breath, but didn't pause as we ran to the master suite and stood in front of the elevator, waiting out the last tense moments before it inched up to our level. But instead of stopping the elevator passed the second floor and continued to climb. "It's headed to the third floor!" I said, and bolted out of the room with Steven hot on my heels.

Again Steven and I climbed the stairs and dashed down the hallway, unsure where the elevator would stop. "Where does it let out on this floor?" I asked.

Steven looked up and down the hallway. "I don't know," he said. "I've never seen it go past the second floor."

We had no choice but to wait for the creaking to get louder and louder as we listened intently, ready to dash into the room where it stopped. At first I thought the elevator would let out in the guest bedroom where we'd seen the orbs, but a quick peek in that direction showed us there were no doors for it to let out in.

Finally the creaking ceased, and we knew the elevator had come to a stop. It was hard to tell where, though, so Steven said, "The doors must be hidden. You look in that room and I'll look in this one. Scream if you find them."

I ran into the guest bedroom and listened intently, searching the room. I could hear the faintest whirring sound coming across the room from one of the closets. I hurried over to it and opened the door.

Behind the door I found an empty walk-in closet outfitted with elevator doors on the opposite side of the entrance. As I watched, the doors slid open and I felt the temperature plummet. "Steven!" I called as I opened up my radar. "In here!"

I heard Steven's footsteps come pounding toward me, but my attention had shifted to what was sitting on the floor of the boxcar. I stepped forward to retrieve the object, and just as I lifted it Steven was behind me, asking, "What's that?"

"Honey," I said as I twisted the glass jar around in my hands.

"What's it doing in the elevator?"

"That's what I'd like to know," I muttered.

"What do your six cents say?" he asked.

"My sixth sense," I corrected. "Hold this," I said, giving him the honey and closing my eyes. In my mind I reached out to the energy and asked it to come forward and talk with me. I had the sense that this energy was female, and in my mind I could picture her clearly. She had brown hair, about shoulder length, ending in a short curl at the bottom. Her eyes were hazel; her nose was long and narrow and matched her chin. I didn't think she was very tall, a few inches shorter than me. Her build was average to a little plump, and she wore a long skirt and a white blouse. I held the vision of her for only a second or two, long enough for me to identify her, and then she was gone.

"It's a woman," I said.

"You can see her?"

I opened my eyes and looked at Steven. "Yes. And she looks very familiar. Hang on," I said, and crossing the room I picked up the photo framed on the nightstand. "It's her," I said.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes. I saw this woman, but older."

"How much older?"

"Twenty or thirty years, but I'm convinced it's her."

From behind us we heard a creaking noise, and Steven and I looked at each other for a beat, then looked to the corner of the room, where the rocking chair was again rocking back and forth. I called out in my mind to the chair, knowing the woman I'd seen was rocking it.
Who are you?
I asked.

Follow the bees….

"What?" I said aloud as Steven looked at me curiously.

"I didn't say anything," he said, thinking I'd been speaking to him.

Follow the bees….

Again I called out with my mind,
Okay, I'll do that, but please tell me who you are and why you don't want to move on. I can help you.

The rocking chair stopped rocking abruptly, and the tiny flying orbs we'd seen earlier appeared again and began whizzing about the chair in little darting motions that looked exactly like a group of bees hovering around a beehive.

"There …" I said, pointing them out to Steven. We watched with our mouths wide while the little orbs seemed to buzz around the chair; then one by one they crossed to the window and out of the pane as if the glass weren't there at all.

"What
are
those?" Steven whispered.

"Ghost bees," I said as I looked out the pane to see where they went. They buzzed around in the darkness, white dots of relief against the darkness of the night. Steven came up beside me, and we looked on as the little group of them made their way down to ground level and across the lawn.

"Where are they going?" he asked me.

"I don't know, but we're supposed to follow them."

"How do you know?"

"Maureen told me," I said, and pointed to the cluster of orbs as they stopped just before the woods and buzzed in a tight little circle to and fro. "Come on," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the window. "We've got to follow them."