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CHAPTER FIVE

The inside of the house looked a lot nicer than the outside, but the energy was heavy and oppressive. Ghosts filled the house. I wasn’t sure if they could see or sense us. Spirits weren’t always aware of the living around them.

Some were caught in a time loop, reliving their deaths over and over, unaware of anything else on the physical or spiritual plane.

Others watched, some content to be where they were, some as guardians, and some hating the living because they no longer had that option.

I glanced at Kerris, who caught my eye and gave me a little nod as though she knew what I was thinking.

There was a reception desk in the foyer, and a bell sitting on it. Straight ahead, as we entered the house, a staircase ascended to the upper floors. There were doors to both the right and left, and a hallway ran parallel to the staircase, with yet more doors on either side.

Rowan rang the bell, and we waited. Another moment and the door to the right opened, a man peeking out. His eyes lit up as he saw us, and he scurried over to the desk, taking his seat behind it. He seemed an officious little man, though he had a smile on his face.

“Welcome, ladies. My name is Abernethy, and I’m the caretaker of the Wildcat Cove Pest House. Are you here for the tour?”

Rowan nodded, giving him her best smile. When she wanted to, my grandmother could be incredibly diplomatic. “Yes, we’ve been exploring local historical sites, so we thought we’d come visit.”

“The Pest House has a long and involved history,” Abernethy said. “It was built in 1875, and for ten years served as a mansion for Jimenez Garcia and his family. He was a local grocery magnate. He ran a chain of stores back east until he and his family traveled here to open a new line of markets.”

“So, how does the tour work? How much does it cost?” I asked.

Abernethy brought out brochures and what looked like tickets.

“We charge ten dollars per person, five dollars for children under twelve. You’ll get a brochure, and we’ll lead you through the house and then let you look around the grounds for a while.

The cemetery is off-limits at this point, since we’re doing some renovation.

But you can see some of the old gardens.

We’ve restored them, so they’re still beautiful even though we’re in the off-season. ”

I brought out my purse and handed him thirty dollars. He gave us each a brochure and a map to the area, then stood.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll start in the living room.” He led us through the door to the left, into a large room.

“This was the parlor originally, and through that door, was the original living room. As I said, Jimenez Garcia owned the house originally. It was built to his specifications. But in 1885, his parents grew ill. They were back east, as were a number of his brothers and sisters who were still under age. Rather than move everyone out here, Garcia sold the house to Dr. Calvin Johnston, and he and his family returned to the East Coast after selling off the grocery marts he had already opened in the area.”

“Who was Dr. Johnston?” Kerris asked.

“Calvin Johnston started out as a medical doctor, and he specialized in lung disorders. At this time, Pest Houses were spreading across the United States. They probably started with good intentions, but most of the doctors who ran them were on the shady side. And if one thing could be said about Calvin Johnston, it was that he was shady. He was a greedy man, looking to make the most money he could, with the least amount of work. At first, he marketed the house as a spa to help treat tuberculosis patients. Then, as cholera, TB, diphtheria, and other diseases spread, he turned it into a sanatorium.”

Abernethy led us into the living room beyond the parlor.

It was just as beautiful as the parlor, but that same sense of foreboding followed me.

There were ghosts everywhere in this house, and I had the feeling they were walking the grounds as well, especially given the cemetery adjacent to the house.

“How many people were housed here over the years?” Rowan asked.

“We don’t have accurate records,” Abernethy said.

“But it’s theorized that over a hundred and fifty people came through the doors of the sanitarium.

And well over a hundred and twenty died here.

Johnston hired nursing staff that weren’t fit for the job, because he could pay them less.

They were basically guards rather than health care workers. ”

I shuddered. “That sounds horrific.”

“Oh, it was. A few of the guards had some knowledge on how to help, but most of them just kept order and ignored the needs of the patients. It’s documented that a few of them were actually abusive.

There were reports of beatings and rapes, but nobody looked into it.

There was very little oversight from the state. ”

We returned to the parlor and then Abernethy let us across the hall, into a long dining area. The kitchen was beyond it. As we entered the kitchen, a knot in my stomach made me freeze. Something horrendous had happened here. Rowan and Kerris both stopped still as well.

“Did anything ever happen in this room?” I looked around.

Abernethy gave us a long look, then said, “Yes. A number of our guests seem to sense that something tragic happened here. One of the kitchen workers was only eleven years old. Back then, child labor laws were only a vision of the future. Young Amanda Carter was in charge of keeping the wood stoves stoked, and it was her job to clean up after dinner. All for the princely sum of five cents a day. One evening, as she was scraping the ashes out of one of the stoves, an ember flared to life and caught her apron on fire. Before anyone could reach her, she was engulfed in flames. They managed to put them out, but she had burns over 70 percent of her body and died a very painful death two days later.”

I stared at the stove. It was a modern range now, but I knew full well that was where the old wood stove had stood. The entire area was infused with an immense sense of sorrow and pain.

“Do you have many problems with the stove?” I asked.

“Actually, we keep it turned off. And by turned off, I mean unplugged. I mainly use the microwave. There were too many unexplained fires over the course of the past twenty years. So if I want something hot, I use a microwave. Or I go out to eat,” he said.

“Do you live here?” Rowan asked.

Abernethy shook his head. “I did at first, but now I live in the guesthouse out back. It just feels safer. Are you ready to see the upstairs?”

I had the feeling that by now, a number of tourists had walked out on the tour, too uncomfortable from the energy that hung heavy in the air.

“Yes, please lead on.”

Abernethy led us toward the stairs and we began the long climb up. I imagined what it must have been like to have to climb these steep stairs while you were infected by a life-draining illness.

At the landing, we found ourselves on the second story.

The stairs continued up for two more floors.

But Abernethy led us down the hall, opening each bedroom door as we went.

The bedrooms were all beautiful, with high ceilings and the original wallpaper still intact.

However, I noticed that some of the floorboards looked new, and the molding had clearly been replaced.

Closet doors had been painted and the bathrooms were far more up-to-date than they should have been.

Renovations, I thought. Somebody had been renovating the house.

But why ?

Wouldn’t the house be more attractive to history buffs if everything was kept intact, in its original state?

As we listened to Abernethy talk about some of the inmates they’d kept locked up, I also began to notice that each room bore a number on the door, and those numbers looked all shiny and new. The carpeting was also new.

Abernethy prattled on, talking about the decor and the furnishings, but all the while I was searching psychically through the house, sensing for spirits.

By now, I had encountered about seven or eight, including the little girl in the kitchen.

I could tell a few of them were beginning to understand that I could sense ghosts and that Kerris could sense them, too, and so could Rowan.

As we made our way up through the bedroom suites and secondary parlors on the upper floors, I became more and more uneasy. Then, on the third floor, I heard someone whispering.

We need your help. We’re being held hostage. Please help us go through the Veil. Some of us are ready to move on but he won’t let us. I know you can hear me, so please, won’t you help us?

That wasn’t what I had expected to hear.

I’d expected a threat, or a warning, not a cry for help.

It wasn’t Penelope. While I hadn’t met her, I knew that I’d recognize her if she spoke to me.

No, this plea came from a spirit trapped inside the house.

I turned to Kerris and Rowan, wanting to tell them, but something told me to keep my thoughts to myself, in terms of saying anything aloud in front of Abernethy.

Are you in danger? It seemed odd to ask a spirit if she was in danger—she was still dead, after all, but there were threats to spirits and I didn’t want to make this ghost even more of a target.

If we don’t do what he wants, he threatens us with obliteration. He’s even worse dead than he was when we were alive. I don’t want to frighten people. I don’t like being used as a sideshow feature.

The woman solidified into view. She was wearing a dress from turn of the nineteenth century. She was a lovely young woman, around twenty. Or she would have been if she hadn’t been covered with sores and boils. She was standing at the side of one of the bedroom doors.

Who are you? I asked.