When Rollie and Angie arrived at the house, they found that Neil was still inside.  Not wanting to disturb him, Angie took Rollie around to the backyard.

“Well, this looks nice and creepy back here,” the Aussie commented, looking at the weeds, patches of dead grass, and dead shrubbery.  Cobwebs festooned the back porch, and several broken windows revealed the darkness beyond.

“Yeah, I thought so too when I saw it yesterday.”

Rollie looked around the yard.  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to what appeared to be a wooden door in the ground.  It was half-covered by weeds.

“It looks like a storm cellar,” Angie replied.  “They do have tornados around here.  A lot of these old houses have storm cellars that the residents take shelter in when a tornado threatens.”

Rollie’s brow knit in puzzlement.  “But if that’s the storm cellar, then what’s this?” he asked.  He walked around to the front of the house then to the far side.  There was another door going into the ground there, this one right beside the house.

“I don’t know.  I have no idea why there would be two storm cellars.”

They approached the door.  There was no lock on it, so Rollie opened it.  The rusty hinges squeaked loudly.

Peering down into the darkness, the Aussie said, “Well, it’s definitely some kind of cellar.  We’ve got a flashlight in the car, don’t we?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get it.”

Angie came back with the flashlight a minute later.  Carefully, Rollie descended the rickety stairs, Angie right behind him.  Once they’d reached the bottom, the Aussie started flashing the light around the area.

“This cellar isn’t as old as the house,” he commented.

“How can you tell?”

“Well, if it was, it would have been dug before the foundation was laid.  Every basement I’ve ever seen is the same dimensions as the house.  This one looks like it only goes partway under the living room.  Aside from that, if it was put in at the same time, there would be a regular door going down to it from inside the house.”  He shone the flashlight on a staircase leading up to what looked like a trap door.  “They wouldn’t have done it that way.  That shows that the cellar was put in afterwards, and the trap door was added to access the cellar from inside the house.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Angie agreed.  She walked to the staircase and looked up.  “Unless I’m off, this would come up in the living room to the right of the fireplace.”  Her statement was met with silence.  She turned to Rollie.  He was standing utterly still, staring at the far wall.  “Rol?  What is it?”

Not answering her, he walked up to the wall.  His hand reached out and touched the wood.

“Rollie, what’s going on?” Angie asked, getting worried.

“There’s . . . something here,” the Aussie said, his voice distant.

“What?”

Again not answering, Rollie started look about for something.  He spied a crowbar, along with a few other rusted tools.  He got the crowbar and handed the flashlight to Angie.  Then he began tearing at the wood, ripping the boards off.  The wood, rotten from the dampness, broke off easily, crumbling into pieces.  Soon, he’d reached bare earth.  Rollie dug at it with the crowbar, tearing out clumps.  He’d gone in around three inches when he hit something solid.  Dropping the crowbar, Rollie continued to dig with his hands.  Slowly, what looked like a large rock was revealed.  The Aussie brushed away the dirt from a portion of it.

“Angie, look at this,” he murmured.

She came closer and focused the beam of the flashlight on the rock.  “Those look like pictographs,” she said.

“Yeah.  They’re carved into the stone, and this looks like the remains of some kind of paint.  I think this was put here by the Native Americans who used to live here.”

“But how?  This rock must be a good four feet underground.”

“It may have been above ground at one time.  This house is on the side of a hill.  There could have been a landslide many years ago that covered this whole area under several feet of earth.  We have no idea how old these writings are.”

“But what do they mean?”

“I don’t know.”  Rollie was bending forward to take a closer look at the pictographs when he heard someone call his name.  “I think Neil is looking for us.”

He and Angie left the cellar.  The ghost hunter was standing by their car.

“There you are,” he said.  “I couldn’t figure out where you were hiding.”

“We were down in the cellar,” Rollie explained.

“So, what did you find?” Angie asked excitedly.

“Nothing.”

Both Angie and Rollie blinked in surprise.  “Nothing?” Angie repeated.  “What do you mean nothing?”

“Exactly that.  I scanned that house from top to bottom.  I checked for EMF's and cold spots, two things you will often find when ghosts are present.  I took a couple dozen photos with my Polaroid.  They all came back clear.  I could find no evidence of ghosts, though I haven’t checked the audio tape yet.”

“But . . . but how can that be?” Angie asked.  “There has to be ghosts in there.  What about all the stuff that’s been happening to Rollie?”

“I don’t know.  All I can say is that I didn’t find any.”

“Okay, I’m still not saying that I believe in this ghost theory,” Rollie said, “but, if, and I repeat, if there were ghosts, could they be hiding from you?”

“Ghosts don’t hide, Rollie,” Neil told him.  “They’d have no reason to.  However, it has been surmised that not all spirits like human company.  They have been known to leave an area that is inhabited by a large number of people.”  The ghost hunter got a thoughtful look.  “It is possible that the ghosts have temporarily left.  They may have some reason for not wanting their presence recorded.”

“But they’ve made no secret of their existence, at least not to Rollie,” Angie pointed out.

“No, they haven’t.”  Neil looked at the Aussie.  “I have no idea why they’d want to make their presence known only to you.”

“Neither do I,” Rollie said.  “I wish they had picked on someone else.”

“That may not have been an option.  It’s clear to me that you have a natural ability to communicate with the spirit realm.  That is quite rare.  The ghosts here may have been waiting for years to find someone like you.”

Rollie’s mouth twisted.  “If I have some weird ability to communicate with dead people, then why hasn’t it happened before?  I have been around death quite a few times.  I’ve been in a lot of old buildings and several graveyards, yet I have never once seen, heard, or felt anything like what’s happening to me here.”

“That I don’t know.  It could be that your abilities were latent before and that something made them active.”

“So, what all this means is that the ghosts might only come out for Rollie,” Angie stated.

“Yes, that might very well be the case, though it will be a first in my experience,” Neil responded.

“What do we do now?”

“I need to get some food, then get checked into a motel.  I want to listen to this audio recording.”

“The motel we’re staying in has vacancies,” Rollie told him.

“That would be perfect.”

With Neil in his car and Rollie and Angie in theirs, the three of them headed into town.  Finding a restaurant, the F/X artists sipped on tea as Neil ate a late lunch.  Angie plied the man with questions, wanting to know all about his ghost hunting career.

“Why did you start doing this after your wife and daughter died?” she asked.

“Because, for six months, they haunted our house.”

Angie leaned forward, her eyes glowing with interest.  “Really?  Wow.”

“I’d had no previous experience with ghosts,” Neil explained.  “It was very strange for me and very difficult emotionally, to know that they were there but not be able to see them, or touch them, or even talk to them in a conversation.”

“What finally made them leave?”

“I came to accept their deaths and found the strength to go on without them.  I think they stayed with me those months because they were concerned that I wouldn’t be able to handle their deaths.  Once they knew I’d be all right, they moved on.  Afterwards, I decided to spend my life seeking other spirits that have remained on earth, to help both the humans affected by the haunting and the ghosts themselves.”

“How can you afford to do this full time?” Rollie asked.  “Angie said that you don’t charge for your services.”

“Money is not something I worry about.  My father left me rather well off.  Not really rich, but there’s enough money collecting interest in my bank account that I don’t need to work for a living.”

Neil finished his lunch and followed Rollie and Angie to their motel.  He got a room several doors down from their rooms, which the couple was happy about.  They’d have felt rather uncomfortable making love that night knowing that the ghost hunter was just on the other side of the wall.

After Neil had gone to his room to listen to the audio recording, Rollie and Angie turned in the key for Angie’s room and moved her stuff into Rollie’s since they knew that they’d be sharing a bed that night again anyway.

“No sense in paying for a room we won’t be using,” Rollie had pointed out reasonably.  Angie had agreed wholeheartedly.

The couple spent the time waiting for Neil snuggling on the bed and talking, sharing their thoughts about many things.

“Rollie, why are you so set against believing in ghosts?” Angie asked.

Rollie thought about his answer for a while before replying.  “Part of it is that I don’t want to believe in them.  I don’t like the idea that the spirits or souls of some people may be trapped forever here on earth, never going on to whatever it is that waits for us after death.  That would be so . . . lonely to exist like that, never being able to interact with people in a normal way, never being able to touch or hold someone, having people fear you and want you to go away.”

Angie looked at him in surprise.  “I never thought about it in that way.  You’re right.  That would be a terrible way to exist.  It would hurt to think that a loved one of mine was like that.”

“Yeah,” Rollie said in a low voice.

Angie gazed at him closely.  “Are you thinking about your mom?”

The Aussie nodded.  “I’d hate the thought that she was a ghost, wandering the earth all these years, alone and unseen.”

Angie hugged him closer.  “She’s not, Rol.  If heaven exists, I know that she’s there.  Any mother who could raise someone as terrific as you would deserve that.”

Rollie looked up at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears.  “Then she’s there with your mum, Ange.”

Angie pulled him to her and gave him a gentle kiss.  There was a knock on the door a moment later.  It was Neil.

“Well, I listened to the whole tape and found nothing,” he informed them.

“So, what now?” Angie asked.

“It’s getting too late in the day to go back there now.  We don’t have a lot of daylight left.  We’ll resume things in the morning.”

“Good.  That will give me the opportunity to go to the library,” Rollie said.

“The library?  Why do you want to go there?” Angie asked.

“They may have some information on the history of this area.  They may also have copies of past issues of the local newspaper.”

“Good idea,” Neil said.  “While you’re doing that, I think I’ll wander around town and talk to some of the locals, see if they’ve got any stories to tell.”

“You might want to talk to Cecilia Parker,” Rollie suggested.  “Her husband is the one who watches over the house.  She went in there when she was a child and had a bad experience.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.  Can you give me her phone number?”

After giving the number to Neil, Rollie and Angie headed for the library.  The librarian, who looked to be at least ninety, smiled warmly as she saw them come in.

“Why, hello,” she greeted, the youth and vigor of her voice belying her age.  “You must be those two young people that I’ve been hearing so much about, come to make a movie here.”

“That would be us,” Rollie confirmed with a smile.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for history on the area, any legends or tales, especially regarding the Native Americans who lived here,” Rollie replied.

“Ah, well, we have a few books about the history of this region, but you won’t find much in the way of legends in them.  They’re pretty much just dry facts.  What in particular do you want to know?  Wait, let me guess.  It’s about the house, isn’t it.”

“Yes, or, rather, what used to be there before the house.”

“There wasn’t anything there before that house.  When I was a little girl, the stories of that place were still being told.”

“Stories?  What stories?” Rollie asked intently.

“The place was cursed, according to the Indians.  They believed that evil spirits resided in the earth there.  There were tales of some who spent too much time there and went mad.”

Startled, Rollie and Angie looked at each other.  When they turned back to the woman, she was smiling at them.

“I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking about poor Robert Powell, how he went round the bend and killed his family.  I remember Robert.  I was twenty-one when that terrible thing happened.  Before then, he really was a sweet man, adored his family.  The house was built back in 1895 by a rich easterner who moved into this area.  It was, by far, the fanciest house in the area.  The locals thought the guy was crazy building there, what with all the stories of the place being cursed.  Well, nothing bad happened to that easterner or his wife, so, after a while, the stories of curses faded away.  The man’s wife died of cancer in ‘26, and the man decided to sell the place and move away.  Robert had had a hankering for that house right from the start, and when it went on the market, he snatched it right up.  By then, he’d made quite a nice little bit of money on the stock market.  The Powells just loved the place.  It was plenty big enough for a growing family and had lots of land for the kids to play on.  Everything seemed perfect for them.”  The woman signed sadly.  “Until the curse returned.”

Rollie and Angie looked at each other again.  A strong feeling of uneasiness was building inside the Aussie.

“Mrs. . . .” he looked at her name tag, “Mrs. Mackenzie, we noticed that someone added a cellar to the house.  Do you know when?”

“A cellar?  No, I can’t recall anything about that.  But then, it was a very long time ago.”

“Well, thanks anyway, and thank you for the information.  It’s a big help.”

Rollie led Angie out of the library.

“Aren’t we going to look at the newspapers?” she asked.

“No.  I don’t think they’re going to tell us what we want to know.”

Angie laid a hand on his back.  “Rollie, you’re all tense.  What is it?”

The Aussie stopped by their car and turned to her.  “Angie, I have a really bad feeling about all this.  I think I know what happened to Robert Powell.”

“The curse?  Rollie, even I know that Native Americans were--and still are, in some cases--extremely superstitious.  This whole curse thing might have had no real basis in fact.”

“But what if it did, Angie?  What if a landslide generations ago covered up that area, buried . . . something under tons of earth, making it impotent?  And what if Robert Powell dug that cellar and released that something, brought it back, and it slowly drove him insane?”

Angie felt goose bumps spring up on her arms.  Could Rollie be right?  Could Robert Powell have inadvertently brought forth something that would result in his and his family’s doom?

“Angie, what if the same thing’s going to happen to me?” Rollie whispered.

Angie looked up and saw fear in his eyes.  She took hold of his arm.  “No, that’s not going to happen to you,” she said emphatically.

“How can you be sure?  You can’t be sure.  Something is happening to me, and I have no control over it.  What if I can’t stop it?  What if--” His voice broke off, and he abruptly turned away.

Angie walked around and faced him.  “Rollie, listen to me.  You are not going insane.  You are not going to go insane.  What’s happening to you is something different.  In fact, I think that this may be what the Powells have been trying to tell you.  They’ve been attempting to warn you that the place is dangerous, get you to do something about it.”

Rollie lifted his eyes to Angie’s.  “I’m scared, Angie.  I’m afraid of what’s going to happen.”

Angie pulled him into her embrace.  “It’s going to be all right, Rol.  I know it will.”