October 28, 1999

The following morning and first part of the afternoon were spent talking to the mayor of the town and members of the city council.  Everyone was delighted about the prospect of a film crew coming into the area, knowing that it would be a boon for the local economy.  They were just about falling over themselves in their attempts to push things through quickly.

It was mid-afternoon when Rollie and Angie returned to the house.  Like the day before, the place felt cold to the Aussie.  Angie was watching him closely as they went from room to room, deciding which would be the best ones to film in.  Rollie hesitated before entering Nicholas’s room.

“This bedroom definitely has the most natural light,” Angie commented.  “And the walls are a good color.  I’d say we should use this one for the son’s bedroom.”

Angie’s voice faded into the background as Rollie stared at the bed.  The feeling he’d had yesterday was growing in intensity, and, along with it, there was this sensation of fear pervading the room, pushing down on him with an almost physical presence.

Angie turned and saw her partner staring fixedly at the bed.  “Rollie?  Rollie, are you listening to me?”  There was no answer.  The Aussie seemed totally unaware of her presence.  She walked up to him and touched his arm.  He jerked and gasped sharply.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you,” Angie said.  She watched him closely as he ran a hand through his hair, noticing that it was shaking slightly.  “Rollie, what’s wrong?  Are you feeling the same things as yesterday?”

“Yeah, but it’s stronger today, and I’m feeling . . . other things too.”

“What other things?”

“Fear.  I feel fear.”

“Fear?  You’re afraid?” Angie asked, surprised.

“No, not . . . not me.  It’s not me.”

Angie stared at him.  “Rollie, if it’s not you, then who is it?  There isn’t anyone else here except us.”  She looked around, suddenly nervous.  “At least that we can see.”

Rollie opened his mouth to say something, then his gaze snapped back to the bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.  A faint sound was coming from under the bed.  It sounded like the whimpering of a child.

“Angie, can you hear that?” he asked in a whisper.

“Hear what?”

“A voice.  I can hear a voice, a child whimpering.”

A chill went through Angie.  “Rollie, I don’t hear anything.”  Her eyes went to the bed.

Ignoring his own fear, Rollie slowly approached the bed.  He cautiously knelt beside it.  He looked up at Angie and met her gaze for a moment, then, with a quick movement, pulled back the covers of the bed, hastily moving backwards at the same time.  He stared under the bed, seeing nothing.

“There’s nothing there,” he said, both relieved and confused.

“Can you still hear the voice?”

“No, it’s gone.”

“This is spooky.  I still don’t understand why you’re feeling and hearing these things and I’m not.”

“I don’t know, but I’d be happy to trade places with you.”  Rollie got up off the floor and left the room.  He’d never felt like this before.  All the times his life had been in danger, all the moments when he’d faced death, he had never felt so apprehensive, so unnerved.  The difference was that, all those other times, he’d understood what he was up against.  This time . . . this time he didn’t understand, and he didn’t like it one damn bit.

Angie followed her partner downstairs.  “Rol, maybe we should call someone.”

“Who?”

“One of those people who investigate reports of places being haunted.”

Rollie looked at her.  At any other time, he’d have laughed, but he didn’t feel much like laughing right now.  “Angie, I’m not going to have somebody come out here and start going through the place, looking for ectoplasm, or whatever it is they look for.  This is not a job for the Ghostbusters.”

“Then what is it, Rollie?  Something’s obviously going on.  What’s it going to take for you to admit that it might be some kind of spirit activity?”

Rollie just shook his head and went into the kitchen.  He uncovered the table and one of the chairs and sat down.  He put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his hands.  Angie came up behind him and ran a hand through his hair.

“How are you feeling now?” she asked gently.

“Okay.  I feel fine in here.  I don’t get that sensation of uneasiness and fear.”

“Hmm.  What about the other rooms?”

“I’m all right in the nursery.  There’s no problem there.  The dining room is okay too.  The room that looks like it was the oldest daughter’s is . . . a little tense and, I don’t know, sad, in a way.  The other boy’s bedroom is the same, though not nearly as strong.”

“What about the living room?  You sort of skirted by it.”

“Yeah.  I didn’t like the way it made me feel yesterday, so I decided to avoid it.”

Angie hesitated.  “You want to try again now?”

Rollie didn’t say anything for a moment, then he nodded.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Rol.”

“No, I’ll do it.  I want to figure this thing out.”

They headed into the livingroom.  Standing in the center of the room, Rollie looked around.  The unsettling feelings had returned with a vengeance.  He had to force himself to step further into the room, closer to where Hannah and three of her children had died.  His gaze went to the floor before the fireplace hearth.  Stamping down the almost overwhelming sense of dread, he knelt and touched the floor.  And that’s when everything went insane.

The breath froze in Rollie’s lungs, and he stared wide-eyed at the sight that was suddenly before him.  A lovely woman with golden brown hair lay on the floor, looking up at him in terror.  Her scream rang through his mind.  Then there was blood, everywhere blood, on the hearth, the fireplace, the floor.  It oozed toward him, a bright crimson river flowing from the mangled lump of flesh that used to be a human being.

Rollie cried out and stumbled backward, scuttling away from the horrible sight, his eyes wide and staring.

“Oh, God!  Oh, God!” he choked, shaking violently.

Angie grabbed his shoulder.  “Rollie, what is it?!  What did you see?”

“I-I saw Hannah Powell.  I saw her die.  There was blood everywhere.”  Rollie scrambled to his feet and ran outside, taking deep, shuddering breaths.  His stomach twisted, threatening to dump their contents on the ground.

“Angie, I can’t go back in that room.  I can’t see that again.  And the kids. . . .  God, if I saw what he did to those children. . . .”

Angie stared at Rollie, frightened by what was happening.  What was going on?  Why was Rollie experiencing all these things when no one else was?  She wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Okay, Rol.  You don’t have to go back into the living room.”  She studied his face, which was white and drawn.  “Do you want to forget about filming here?  We can use one of the other houses the location scout found.”

For a few moments, Rollie considered taking her up on it, but then he shook his head.  “No, this was the best one that we saw.  It’s exactly what we were looking for.  I’ll be all right, Ange.  Once the place is full of people, it will probably be okay.”

“Are you sure?  You know, we’re going to have to set up the effects in those rooms.  Are you going to be able to handle that?”

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”  Rollie looked at her, smiling faintly.  “I’ll just let you place whatever equipment needs to go in the areas where the deaths occurred.”

“Gee, thanks, Rol.  That’s so generous of you,” Angie responded sarcastically.  Then she gave him a smile.  “You want to call it quits for today?”

“No, we have to go through the rest of the house.”

“Are you up to that right now?”

Rollie nodded.  “Let’s just get it over and done with.”

Staying as far away from the living room as possible, they went to the library.  It was a beautiful room with floor to ceiling bookcases that must have once been filled with books.

“This is a good room,” Rollie said, speaking both of the fact that it would work well for filming and that there were no bad feelings in it.  In fact, it felt quite pleasant in there.  He walked over to one of the bookcases.  “I can picture the family in here, Hannah reading to her kids,” his gaze went to an easy chair in the corner, “Robert going through the paper and watching his family.  Everyone was happy then.”  His voice trailed off as the smile that had curved his lips faded.  He turned to see Angie looking at him strangely.  He gave her a wider smile to let her know that he was okay.  “Shall we go back upstairs?”

They headed up to the second floor, checking out what looked like a sewing room.  Then came the room Rollie was dreading, the master bedroom.  Seeing the expression on his face, Angie went in ahead of him.  Like before, Rollie got to the threshold and could not get himself to step beyond it.

“Rollie?” Angie inquired worriedly.

“It’s even worse now,” the Aussie told her.  “The feelings in this room are so strong.”

“What kind of feelings?  Is it still just that sensation of wrongness?”

“No.  I feel . . . I feel anguish and despair and . . . I can’t describe it.  It’s all mixed up.  There are so many emotions in here I can’t sort them out.”  Rollie took a step back.  “I don’t think I should go in there, Ange.”

“It’s okay, Rol.  You don’t have to,” Angie told him gently.  She looked around.  To her, it was just an ordinary room, though the knowledge of what happened in here seventy years ago did change the way she looked at it.  But, for Rollie, it was not just a room.  Somehow, all the emotions the Powell family felt in their last moments of life were coming back to life through him, and she had no idea why.  Had the ghosts of the murdered family and their murderer chosen Rollie as some kind of conduit?  Why him?  He didn’t even believe in ghosts.  Whatever the reason, she wished that they’d leave him alone.

“Well, this would be the room we’d use for the master bedroom,” Angie commented, “though the color of the walls isn’t good for filming.  I wonder if Fred would mind if we repainted in here.”

“We can ask.  I doubt he’d mind.  It’s not like there’s anyone aching to buy the place.”

Finished with her assessment of the room, Angie headed for the doorway.  Rollie glanced into the room again, and, all at once, there was someone standing behind her.  The man was covered in blood and stared at Rollie with eyes bright with the sheen of madness.  In his hand he held a gun.

“Angie, watch out!” Rollie yelled.  He grabbed her and pulled her out of the room, diving away from the doorway.

“What’s wrong?  What did you see?” Angie asked, shaken.

“There was a man.  He was covered in blood, and he had a gun.”

Cautiously, Rollie poked his head around the doorframe, afraid of what he’d see.  What he saw was nothing.  The room was empty.

Angie joined Rollie, searching the room with her eyes.

“He was there, Angie.  I saw him.  I . . . I think it was Robert Powell.”

Angie pulled Rollie away from the room.  She was getting more frightened by the moment.  Whatever was happening, it was getting stronger.  Rollie was no longer just feeling things.  He was now seeing people who died more than three decades before he was born.  Angie had a sudden premonition that something bad was going to happen if they didn’t leave.

“Rollie, I really think we should get out of here,” she told her partner.  “I don’t like this at all.”

“Angie, if we leave, I’m never going to know why these things are happening.”

“And would that be such a bad thing?  This isn’t a case you’re working on with the police.  There’s no unsolved crime here.  We know what happened.  Robert Powell killed his family then himself, end of mystery.”

“Is it?”

Angie frowned in puzzlement.  “What do you mean?”

“Why did he kill them?  You heard what Fred said.  Why did a man who seemed to have everything going for him suddenly kill his entire family?  I just. . . .  I have this feeling that there’s something more to the story.”

“And if there is, what difference would it make now?  There’s no one left to care.”

Rollie looked at her, an expression on his face that she knew well.  “Angie, you’re the one who believes in ghosts.  If this place is haunted by the Powells, like you believe, don’t you think that they’d care?”

Angie scowled at him.  “You know, I really hate it when you use my own words to shoot down one of my arguments.”

Rollie chuckled.  “Hey, it’s your choice to believe in ghosts.  If you were like me, I wouldn’t have been able to use that logic against you.”

“Okay, wiseguy, have it your way.  But I still think it’s a bad idea.”  Angie went to the door across the hall.  Just then, they heard a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Rollie told her.  “You go ahead and check out that room.”

The Aussie hurried down the stairs and to the front door.  He was surprised to see Cecilia Parker standing on the porch.

“Hi.  I didn’t expect to see you here,” Rollie said, surprised.

The woman looked about nervously.  “I’m not particularly thrilled to be here, but I wanted to make sure you were doing all right.  Mayor Holt told me that you were coming back over here, and I just wanted to check up on you.”

Rollie smiled at her.  “That was nice of you, Cecilia.  We’re doing all right.”

Cecilia studied his face.  “Are you feeling all right, Rollie?  You look a bit peaked.”

“Um, yeah, I’m okay,” Rollie told her, not wanting to reveal what was happening.

The woman continued to look at him closely.  “It’s the house, isn’t it.  You feel it too.”

Rollie’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“How bad is it?” Cecilia asked.

The Aussie lifted his eyes to hers.  “Pretty bad.  I haven’t told Angie this, but, sometimes, it’s so bad that it takes all my will power not to run out of here.”

“Then she doesn’t feel it?”

“No.”

Cecilia gave his arm a comforting squeeze.  “You feel the sense of death in there?”

“Yeah and more.”

“More?  What more?”

“Emotions, like the Powells must have been feeling that last night.  And pain.  I’m starting to feel their pain.  I haven’t told Angie that either.”

“I didn’t feel anything like that,” Cecilia told him.  “You must be extremely sensitive to the emanations of the spirits.”

Rollie chose not to tell the elderly woman that he didn’t believe in ghosts.  He also decided that it would not be a good idea to tell her what he’d seen.

The Aussie heard Angie coming down the stairs.  She came up beside him, smiling when she saw who was at the door.

“Hey, Cecilia.  What brings you here?”

“Just making sure you two were doing all right.  Call me an old worry wart,” she returned her eyes to Rollie, “though it sounds to me as if I have reason to be worried.  You be careful, Rollie.  This place has seen too much suffering and death already.  I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’ll be careful, Cecilia.  I promise.”

“Well, I’ll take leave of you then.  Even standing here on the porch is giving me the willies.  Will we be seeing you for dinner?  I’m fixing chicken and dumplings tonight.”

“Wow.  I haven’t had homemade chicken and dumplings in more years that I can even remember,” Rollie said, his mouth already watering.  “What do you say, Ange?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Cecilia beamed.  “Wonderful.  We’ll see you at six o’clock then.”

The partners waved goodbye to the woman as she drove off, then went back inside.

“The room across from the master bedroom looks like a study.  It’ll be perfect for the scene where the father sees the ghost sitting in a chair reading a newspaper.”

Rollie nodded.  “I’ll check it out tomorrow.  I think I’ve had enough for today.  How about if we walk around town and take in some of the local culture?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

They locked up the house and drove off down the hill, putting out of their minds the horrid events of the day.