Page 8 of Air Of Mystery (Witches On The Hill #4)

Her quote from the old Ghostbusters movie had me laughing. Relaxing for the first time in days, I finished my meal and enjoyed the rest of the evening with my cousin.

***

A week later George, Larry, and I drove across the river into Missouri and headed for the historic district of old town St. Charles. The cobblestone streets were charming, and many of the buildings on Main Street dated back to the 1820s.

We pulled up and parked behind the row of historic buildings-turned-businesses in a public parking strip that was situated between the road and riverfront park. A full moon was rising over the Missouri River as we discretely hauled our equipment cases to the side door of the restaurant.

I’d spent the past few days doing my research on the history of the location.

The restaurant was originally a family home, built in 1846 by a German immigrant, Franz Kolbe.

Kolbe had prospered in his town and had also owned a warehouse that he used to store flour from his mill.

In 1855 he married, and he and his wife raised their family in the location.

The house was a two-story brick with dormers on opposite ends of the roof.

It featured black shutters and an elegant white portico, which was likely a later addition.

As we approached, I spotted the plaque that announced the building as being listed on the national historic register. The current owner, Jim, was waiting for us, and he let us right in.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he began.

Larry went into a small bar area and began to set some of his cases up on the tables.

With a wave to me he went back out to the parking lot to go get the rest of his tech equipment.

I was immediately ushered off to the dining room, where four of the staff were waiting to speak to me.

The cook, Joanne, two wait staff—Darrin and Kathleen—and the dishwasher, Frank.

After saying hello, I quickly shrugged out of my jacket, set up my video camera and audio recorders, and began their individual interviews in the main dining room.

Almost immediately I got the sense of a female spirit in the dining room. Good news? It didn’t feel threatening to me at all. In fact, it felt almost maternal. But it felt like she was curious…or perhaps interested in what was going on.

A few of the employees did not want to appear on camera for my YouTube program, so I simply aimed the camera off to one side, where they could be heard but not seen.

Interestingly, they all had similar stories.

Darrin and Kathleen told me how flatware often went missing at the end of their shift.

Kathleen explained how one night she went back to the kitchen to go and get a few more forks to finish the table set up for the next day, and when she returned a moment later all of the silverware was missing from the table she had just completed.

Darrin, who was a college student, informed me that he hated the attic. “Won’t go up there ever again,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“It feels bad,” he replied. “Makes me feel like I’m choking.”

When it came time to interview Frank, the dishwasher, I got even more information.

Frank, it turned out, was a veteran. I spotted several military style and patriotic tattoos on his forearms. He was far too thin, and although his shirt was a tad threadbare it was spotlessly clean.

It was clear to see that the man had fallen on hard times.

Polite and very direct in his manner, there was something about him that tugged on my heartstrings.

“It’s the cellar that’s the real problem,” Frank told me.

“How so?” I asked.

“For starters there’s an odor in the cellar that we can’t get rid of, no matter what we use or how hard I clean. Number two, I’ve heard and seen things down there. Out of the corner of my eyes,” he said, waving his hand at his peripheral. “But when I go to look at it directly it fades away.”

While he spoke, I took notes. “What have you heard down there, Frank?”

“A child’s voice. High pitched, maybe a girl, or of a young boy.”

I nodded. “Could you make out any words?”

“No,” he said, shifting uneasily in his chair. “I couldn’t understand them; not sure they spoke English...but I have heard them crying.”

About a half hour later, Jim and his staff started to leave.

I texted George that it was okay to come in now.

He had stayed outside waiting in the car during the interviews as to not be influenced by anything the employees might say.

The owner wished us luck and promised to be back at six o’clock in the morning.

Joanne the cook pointed at the bar top and at the three to-go containers that were there.

“I left y’all some coconut cream pie,” she said from the front stoop. “In case you get hungry later.”

“Thank you, Joanne.” I smiled at that. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Sweet!” Larry made a beeline for one of the boxes.

“Hey George,” I said as he walked in.

“There’s bottled water left out for you as well,” Jim said. “We’ll see you in the morning.” With a wave he went out and locked the door behind him.

“Larry and I will wait down here in the bar while you do your walk through,” I said to George.

George picked up a small handheld audio recorder. “My pie better be waiting for me when I am finished,” he said pointedly to Larry.

Larry smiled and dug into his piece of pie with a plastic fork. “Wow, this is great .” He went over to a table where he had his monitors already set up and took a seat.

“I’ll protect your pie,” I promised George.

George went off to do his solo walk through and record any psychic impressions he picked up, and I sat in the tiny bar area with Larry while he showed me the other cameras he’d put in place while I’d been speaking to the restaurant employees.

Between bites of what was arguably the most decadent slice of pie I’d ever had, we went over the baseline readings Larry had gathered while I had done the interviews.

We also went over the rest of our equipment, ensuring that the batteries were fresh and that we’d be ready to go once George was finished.

Twenty minutes later, George returned from his walk through. He sat in one of the chairs at the bar. “How’s my hair?” he asked, as he always did before being filmed.

Because he was serious, I stopped and checked. George was very proud of his full head of silver hair. That day he wore it pulled back into a neat short queue. “Not a strand out of place,” I assured him.

“Trying out a new styling gel,” he informed me. Then George straightened his shoulders and smiled directly at the camera as Larry began to record. “As usual,” George began, “I know nothing about the location prior to my arrival.”

Larry adjusted the camera as he recorded George’s report.

“What did you sense?” I asked.

“This is an interesting and active location,” he said.

“I picked up on spirits on the main floor, in the area used as the dining room for the restaurant. The energy is positive and makes me think of my grandmother.” He paused.

“The second floor, now that’s a harder read.

It’s crammed full, used mostly for storage, but the energy there is stifling.

I felt short of breath a few times in those cramped rooms.”

“All right,” I said. “That tracks with statements from one of the employees. Anything else?”

“The basement.”

“They call it the cellar,” I told him. “Jim told me they use it for private parties.”

George smirked. “Bet that’s a hard sell.”

“Why?” I asked.

“For starters it’s cold, damp, and smells mildewy. I saw some industrial dehumidifiers down there—they weren’t running—but I don’t think those are helping.”

I nodded. “Frank, the dishwasher I interviewed earlier, told me there’s an odor in the cellar they can’t get rid of no matter what they do.”

“Yeah well…” George sighed. “It felt like someone was watching me the entire time I was down there. I could hear whispers too.”

“Could you make out what they said?” I asked.

“No.” George shook his head. “But the voice or voices were high pitched like a female or a child.”

“That too coordinates with what the employees told me about their own experiences,” I said.

Larry lowered the camera. “That’s a good place to cut,” he said.

Nodding in agreement, I stood. “Let’s get started and see what else we can find.”

George glanced over at his box of pie. “I’d appreciate it if that pie was waiting for me when I get finished,” he announced.

“Hey, man.” Larry frowned at him. “I’m not gonna eat your pie. Relax.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” George said. “I was talking to the grandmother who is listening and watching us all right now.”

A second later there was a loud thump from the dining room.

“Hello, ma’am,” George called out.

“And we’re off.” I grinned at my team. “Let’s get to work.”

It had been a long time since we’d investigated such a fun, active location.

And I do mean fun . The spirits in that house were happy to show off—and were almost playful.

Audible footsteps, many EVPs were caught on my digital recorder and at one point when I ducked into the ladies’ room, the water in the sink came on by itself.

It made me jump and start to laugh. It was a classic water tap, not a motion sensor one, and I discovered that you really had to pull hard on the handle to get the water to turn off, or back on.

Of course I didn’t have my camera with me, as I’d been about to use the toilet, but it was a hilarious personal anecdote to add to the investigation.

Around quarter to five in the morning, I stepped outside to take a breather.

George and Larry were starting to break everything down, and I wanted a moment or two to myself to go over the night’s investigation.

Tugging my jacket over the yellow-gold sleeveless top I was wearing, I walked over to a square of lawn at the side of the building.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, I allowed any residual energy from the house to slide off me.

I imagined it rolling down my jean-covered legs and over my dark tennis shoes, where it could be absorbed by the earth.

Tipping my head back, I gazed up at the stars.

It was crisp and cool, and Main Street was silent in the darkness of pre-dawn.

The full moon was still visible and sliding toward the west.

I was bone tired, but the night had been great, leaving me in that half giddy, half wired zone that accompanied an all-night investigation.

Tugging my recorder from my jacket pocket, I recorded my overall impressions of the haunting while everything was fresh in my mind.

I was finishing up my report when I heard footsteps.

For a second, I wondered if there was another spirit outside, then I realized that it could very well be someone out jogging or walking before sunrise.

I saw the silhouette of a man moving toward me. He was big and I immediately clicked the recorder off and started back for the entrance and the lit portico of the restaurant. While I wasn’t afraid for my safety, I wasn’t stupid either.

The man paused. “Skye?”

I recognized that voice and belatedly the silhouette. “Charlie?” My jaw dropped. “What in the hell are you doing here at my paranormal investigation?”

“Investigation?” he asked, walking closer. Now he was close enough that I could see he was wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans—which of course looked incredible on him. Thanks to the light in the portico, I could also enjoy not only his physique, but also his suspicious scowl.

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Yes. My team and I were called in to investigate a haunting.”

His eyes slid from the building and back to me. “Of course you were.”

His slightly snide tone put my back up. “Well, this has been delightful,” I said, reaching for the doorknob, “but if you’ll excuse me.”

“Hey.” He reached out and took ahold of my arm. “Don’t go disappearing again. I want to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m busy at the moment,” I said.

Behind me the door opened, and George dropped a protective hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay out here, Skye?”

“Peachy keen, jellybean,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice.

Charlie immediately let go of my arm. “I’d very much like to speak to you, Skye,” he said again. “Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“I’ll try and get back to you later this week.” I eased back closer to George. “Right now, I have a job to finish up.”

Charlie nodded and stepped back. George drew me gently back inside and shut the door behind us. “Who was that?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the psychic, shouldn’t you already know?”

George gave me a look. “That evasive, sarcastic shit might work on someone else, Skye. It doesn’t work on me.”

“He’s just a guy I know.”

George stared at me, or perhaps through me would be a more accurate description. “You two had an argument recently...somewhere by the water.”

“Stay out of my head, George.”

“Whatever happened, you scared the hell out of him, Skye. That man’s a soldier; in fact the word ‘warrior’ is shouting in my head right now. He’s seen combat and a lot of ugliness in this world…and he doesn’t spook easily. What did you do?”

“Damn it,” I muttered. George’s words made me feel horribly guilty.

“You pulled a glamour.” George blinked, coming back to himself.

“Well, I—”

“Now, I’m no Witch,” he said, cutting me off, “but even I know that you aren’t supposed to go tossing around flashy magick like that in public.”

Sticking my hands in my jacket pockets, I winced. It was not unlike getting a lecture from my father. While George was old enough to be mine, we’d been friends for years. Opening my mouth to talk, I was surprised when nothing came out.

For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say.

“Skye?” George patted my shoulder when I stayed silent. “When you’re ready to talk about it, you let me know. I may not have all the answers, but I can listen.”

Behind us in the bar area, Larry snapped the last of his cases closed. “I’m ready to start hauling everything out,” he announced.

“Okay,” I called back to Larry. To George I quietly said, “Thanks.”

“This was a great night!” Larry said enthusiastically as he lifted a case.

“I’m not much on the metaphysical like you and George are, but I felt something tonight—a feminine energy I guess you’d call it.

I smelled lavender a couple of times too, but I wondered if it was from an air freshener or something. ”

George looked pointedly at him. “I smelled that too, when I was upstairs in the attic space. I remarked on it as I audio recorded myself walking around. When you go and review the footage tomorrow, Skye, be sure and note that.”

“I will,” I assured him. “Now, let’s get all packed up before the owner arrives. Oh, and George? Don’t forget your pie.”