Part 15 (1/2)

The spirit I had just felt had begun to distance herself. Although I still felt her presence lingering, it was nothing more than a faint thrumming of low-level current on my skin. Like the echoing of a train whistle in the distance, it faded into the background.

I had taken no more than two steps into the room when an icy hand gripping my leg stopped me in my tracks. ”Ah, let go!” I screamed. ”What the h.e.l.l?”

Startled, Ron yelled, ”What, what?”

I stepped away from the bed, backing up to the wall. ”Something from under there grabbed my leg.”

”Get out. Really?” He said as he dropped to the floor, lifted the bed sheet, and peered under the bed. ”Maureen, there's nothing here.”

”I'm telling you what happened. Here,” I said, raising the pant leg of my faded jeans, ”look at my calf. I'm not sure if we'll see any marks, but it feels like it's bruising already.”

Together we walked to the bathroom, and turned on the light to get a better look.

”Wow, I guess you did feel something,” Ron said, looking at the red handprint on my leg.

As we returned to the group, I tried to put what I'd just felt into words. An impression of the incident popped into my head, and instinctively I knew. ”I think it was an elderly woman who had fallen off her walker and was reaching out for help.”

I couldn't help but notice Ron's look of disbelief, but then Paula spoke up. ”Well, actually, in the fifties, this building was a nursing home.”

I smiled at Ron, ”Did you hear that?”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Ron said.

I wasn't surprised at Ron's next suggestion. ”Why don't we try to communicate?”

”What are we going to do?” Paula asked.

”We are going to make contact with the spirit and see if we can calm things down a bit.”

”I'm up for that,” Paula said. ”So what do we do now?”

”Let's all sit on the floor and hold hands. This way the energy flows freely from person to person.” Ron knelt down on the rug. Unable to sit Indian style, he adjusted his legs so that they were straight out in front of him, and then nodded for everyone to follow his lead.

Within moments we were all holding hands. The EMF meter, still on, lay eerily quiet in the center of the circle. Closing our eyes, we focused our intent.

”Are there any spirits here who would like to communicate? If so, show yourself now.” Ron raised his voice to be heard above the sudden blaring of the EMF meter. ”Thank you,” Ron replied to the spirit.

Ron continued, ”If anyone in this circle receives a message, just speak up.”

A sharp pain sliced through my chest. Unable to breathe in deeply, I took short, quick breaths. ”There's negative energy here. He doesn't like Bridget, he wants her gone.”

”Who the heck's Bridget?” Ron asked.

”Oh my G.o.d, Bridget's my daughter,” Paula said, her voice shaky. ”That must be why, why-she can't sleep in this room.”

Ron, picking up where he left off, continued. ”They are only making changes in this house to make it comfortable. We ask that you not hurt this family, rather that you protect them.”

The EMF slowed down, eventually stopping. The ent.i.ty was gone.

We closed the circle, dusted off our b.u.t.ts, and continued our investigation of the building.

Walking two flights down through a narrow stairwell, we stepped off the last step into pitch-black darkness. ”Where are we now?” Ron asked.

”In the bas.e.m.e.nt,” Paula answered.

I heard a slight ting of metal sc.r.a.ping, as Paula pulled the chain to the naked light bulb. ”I want to show you the hidden room that David and I found.” She gestured with her hand for us to follow. ”It's over here. But be careful, there's not much light. David and I believe it might be part of the Underground Railroad.”

We gathered in an area just in front of the door.

”It's right here, behind these pieces of wood.” Paula pointed to a stack of wooden panels leaning against the wall.

Like peeling an onion, Ron and Ron Jr. removed one board after another. Layer by layer, they struggled with the weight of old beams and planks of rotted wood, until nothing was left except for a small wooden door, its edges masked by globs of mortar and stone. Together they pulled on the handle. It was stuck. Refusing to be thwarted, they yanked even harder. The door finally gave way. The sound of wood sc.r.a.ping on cement was like fingernails drawn across a chalkboard, causing my teeth to ache. I hung back and waited as Ron peered into the secret room. Realizing he needed light, he retrieved the flashlight from his rear pocket. Taking a moment to juggle the items in his hands to make room for the light, he aimed the beam in front of him, ducked his head ever so slightly, and headed into the dark abyss.

”Hey, Maureen, come take a look at this,” Ron's voice echoed.

As I stepped into the secret chamber, I felt the first chilled breeze brush over my skin. After the rest of the group filed in, Ron reached his left hand out and yanked on the wooden door, sealing us inside and preventing any outside interference. I stood there, holding my breath in antic.i.p.ation, as I watched the low light of the cellar fade into blackness. And I couldn't help but wonder about the door. Once inside, the door had closed behind us as easily as a hot knife cut through b.u.t.ter, like someone or something wanted us inside. How odd?

Now standing in utter darkness, I closed my eyes to focus my senses. Although I knew there were no more than five of us huddled within the secret chamber, it began to feel crowded. Almost too crowded.

I opened my eyes, struggling to see the silhouettes of our team in the darkness, but my mind looked past them, through them, until all I could see was the images of women and children, huddled in the corner of the room, gasping for breath. I stood there watching as streams of tears washed down their filthy, soot-soiled faces. My mind was transported to a different time.

Suddenly, my breathing turned heavy, raspy.

The air around me grew thick with smoke.

My chest tightened, constricted. I held my hand over my mouth to stifle the spasmodic cough. I took a sharp intake of air. It burned. I coughed again. The image slowly receding, I said, ”Ron, I...I...I need to leave.”

”Did you see something? Are you all right?” His voice sounded as thick as the air felt.

”The room is filled with smoke,” I coughed, ”and death.” Ron Jr. pushed the door open. I left and all but ran up the cellar stairs, making my way to the front of the house and out the door into the night. Pacing back and forth, I inhaled and then exhaled slowly, struggling to clear the irritation in my lungs. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say I'd just exited a burning building. But that was impossible. I turned to stare at the house that from this vantage point looked fine. Hmmm, looks are definitely deceiving Hmmm, looks are definitely deceiving, I thought.

Not pain-free, but feeling somewhat myself, I went back into the house. Being empathic can be a challenge. Especially when I open up to communicate with spirits and end up wearing their pain and their suffering like a glove.

Karen's screech caught everyone's attention.

Ron, Leo, Ron Jr., and I ran toward Karen, who had been standing in the hallway, near a very large mirror, recording EVPs. Ron asked, ”What's the problem?”

”All my recorders are empty!”

”You're kidding,” Ron replied.

”No, I'm not. I've been recording all night. Oh my G.o.d, would you look at this one...” Karen held up one of her digital recorders, and angled it for us to see the screen. The numbers on the recorder were running backward, in reverse. ”I didn't even push the b.u.t.ton,” she said, distraught. ”They're erasing themselves!”

”Well, looks like we can forget capturing any EVP evidence,” Ron muttered.

Ron's remark pushed Karen over the edge. She turned off her recorders. One by one she dropped them into her kit.