Dark Night Part 2

So, before I keep going, I need to go slightly off topic for a minute…someone messed with the first part of this story. I mean they really messed with it, because I remember specifically mentioning that I drove from Texas to Michigan, about twenty two hours. Somehow that got removed from my final post. I tried taking it down, tried editing it afterwards, but every time, the same block of text went missing. This is going to require some investigation.

Where were we?

They were cool with Scott coming in, but Scott was not, so he hung out in the backyard with some water. Some “professional ghost hunters” take that to mean there was clearly a ghost in the house, but it also could have been because the couple was just arguing and that negativity was still in the air. Yes, animals pick up on that. Now I sat awkwardly across from three disheveled people with bags under their eyes as we all sipped coffee, wishing Scott was at my side.

"So who are you again?" George, the husband and father of the family asked. I smiled. I get that a lot. Lots of beat reporters do. Our faces aren't known. I suppose I could do a YouTube channel, but that looks like more work than it's worth.

"Ned Spencer. I'm a freelance journalist. I do mostly stories on the paranormal. By most, I mean I've been doing exclusively paranormal stories for about seven years now. So, cutting to the chase..." I positioned the letter in the center of the table, "Who sent this?"

George shook his head. "I have no idea. Really."

Judith, the wife, leaned into her husband's arm. Stacey, the girl, however, kept an eye on the letter. "Do you know who sent this?" I asked her.

She started to shake her head.

"It’s OK," I reassured her. "I'm not here to cause any trouble, but...did you send this letter?"

I expect a quick defense; the standard issued fast "no" followed by stonewalling or a lengthy explanation that did not answer the question. Instead there was a long pause as she stared at the letter. "Who sent the letter?" George asked.

"Beverly." She said quietly. There was a lot in that one word.

“Okay, that’s fair enough. Who is Beverly?” I asked.

“She lived in this house when it was first built. She died here too, again, about forty years ago.” Judith’s answer was short, sweet, and to the point. Stacey let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. That told me there was a lot more to the story.

“Tell me about the strange things that happen around here,” I said, folding my hands.

Stacey scoffed again. “Stay the night. You’ll find out.” She went upstairs “I have to get ready for practice.”

I smiled politely and got up.

“Wait…” George said touching my arm. This man was living a nightmare. “Can you help us?”

I thought about it for a moment, picking up the letter and regarding it. I got the impression that someone there really needed my help, but I wasn’t sure yet who. “I’ll be upfront with you, sir. I’m not a ghost hunter. I don’t go in case by case looking for ways to beat the thing in the shadows. Sometimes I find away, most of the times when I find a haunted place I leave it usually just as haunted as it was when I got there. I will not promise you anything. But I can look. I’m already here, so I can look.”

Judith didn’t seem particularly impressed. I smiled at her. “Look me up on the internet, let me know what you think, I’ll be back at about six-ish. We’ll talk more then.”

I took Scott with me to the public library, a chore unto itself trying to find the place in a city the size of Chicago, and ran into a little trouble at the door. An elderly woman with pen tucked behind the ear piece of her glasses stopped me.

"No dogs, mister."

I looked at Scott. "I said you'd be trouble," I pulled out my service animal registration card. "He's a service dog ma'am. I promise he won't be trouble."

She glared at me. "Guess that's one work around. Can't just do the shifty thing?"

I blinked a few times. "What?" I asked, but she ignored the question and waived me in. Scott led the way before she changed her mind.

In retrospect, it’s probably not really healthy that my best friend is a dog, but hell, I like him better than most people. We looked around for a bit. I found a few books I had written. Call it my narcissistic side, but I like seeing my name in print, and made our way to the city records. Our unfriendly librarian came by re-shelving books and I got her attention again.

"Excuse me, I don’t want to bother you, but do you know if a 'Beverly' that lived on Stillman street, passed away maybe forty or so years ago?"

"Yeah I knew her. Shameless hussy."

"Ma’am, we barely know each other."

She stared at me a moment, then a smile crossed her face. "No, Beverly Hamilton. Everyone in town knew she was the town floozy. Course back then the town was much smaller."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Well, she took up with a colored fella, name of Childs, as I recall. Then one night, he took off."

Something wasn't adding. The town slur plus a black lover skipping town did not equal me getting fan mail from beyond the grave.

"Do you recall when this all happened?"

"Between March and June, 1976." She answered confidently. I thanked her, but felt her eyes on me as I went to the newspaper archives. I found what I was looking for quickly enough and pretended to read them while discretely taking photographs of the stories as best I could. One of the great benefits of modern technology was that you could pretend to be reading a text while secretly taking a photograph.

Why was I taking photographs of readily available news articles? It was a hunch. More specifically a hunch tempered by years of trust issues. The way the librarian was acting—watching me from afar as I was looking over these old articles gave me the feeling this was my one and only shot at getting this information, and I didn’t want to waste time with a note pad. Well, the latter part was mostly because I was being mindful of Scott’s restroom needs. Back in the day, I would have shut this place down taking notes. Now that I say that out loud, shutting down a library doesn’t sound so impressive. But I would have gone to a bar afterwards.

No, that sounds lamer.

The point was, as much as I needed this information, I needed it fast and I could pour over it later when I got back to the hotel. I also had an appointment with a ghost to keep.