The spirit box came to life in a burst of static. “My name is Oscar,” he said to the air. “What’s your name?”
Nothing but static.
That was fine. The ghost might be reticent or even confused. “I know this device in my hand must look strange to you,” he said conversationally. “It’s safe—it just lets you communicate with us. Can you tell us your name?”
“Get out!”
The roar from the spirit box was so loud Oscar nearly dropped it in shock. Nigel jumped, then said, “I guess he’s not happy to see us.”
Oscar mentally firmed up his wards and got ready to grab for the salt if need be. “Is this Seth Ullman?” No answer. “Are you angry because we’re in your house?”
Nothing more. After a few minutes of trying, Oscar shut off the spirit box. “Either he doesn’t want to talk, or he used up all his energy to tell us to leave.”
“Can’t say I like how angry he is,” Chris said.
“We know the Vanderwall family was driven out, so it’s to be expected.” Nigel glanced uneasily over his shoulder at the mirror. “Still, I’d prefer?—”
A child’s running footsteps sounded from the floor above them.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Oscar and Chris both swung their cameras toward the ceiling, revealing the stamped tin tiles. Nigel did the same, then turned back to the mirror, just in case. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared, at least to his sight.
“That sounded like a kid,” Oscar said with a frown. “I thought it was only adults who summered here.”
“There would have been servants. Maybe one of them had a child.” Children died of all sorts of things back then: disease, poorly stored poison, accidents. Fortunately most of them didn’t linger as ghosts.
“Let’s go check it out.” Oscar moved toward the hall, and they followed.
Oscar went up the stairs first, testing the soundness of the steps. Though the risers groaned and complained, they seemed solid enough, and he beckoned them up after him.
The air grew hotter and more stale as they climbed. The dust here was underlain by a whiff of rot, as if something had died in the walls. A bird, perhaps, nesting in one of the chimneys? Though they hadn’t seen any birds since arriving on the island.
The same oversized hall ran past the landing, though on this floor the old furnishings hadn’t yet been removed. Decaying chairs that had probably once been comfortable were gathered into clusters for easy conversation. The old wallpaper was striking: a repeating patter of art-deco trees, the faces of animals peeking out between the trunks and branches. Though the sun had faded it, darker squares betrayed where paintings had once hung. Maybe they’d been valuable, and the Vanderwalls had sent them off to be appraised?
Oscar shone his flashlight on the floor. “No footsteps in the dust, at least not out here. Let’s go to the room above the parlor.”
More doors opened off the hall up here than downstairs, indicating the floor had been divided into smaller chambers. Oscar went to the one furthest at the end, which would more or less be above where they’d been standing when they heard the footsteps.
The door creaked open to reveal a bedroom that contained a bed with a moldering down mattress, partially covered by an equally decrepit comforter. It conformed to what Nigel thought of as the late Victorian notion of masculine style: brown wallpaper, heavy wainscoting of dark wood, the furnishings very square and heavy with not a curve in sight. As with the hallway, the walls showed darker patches where paintings once hung.
Sweat trickled down Oscar’s forehead, but rather than open the windows, he switched the spirit box back on. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
No answer.
“We heard you running. My name is Oscar. What’s your name?”
The static briefly dropped out. “Gloria,” replied the voice of a little girl.
Ullman’s daughter. But hadn’t she died in the winter, when The Cottage was deserted, at least according to Montague? Could there be a servant’s child who had the same name?
Oscar met his eyes, clearly having the same thought. “Hi, Gloria. Did you live here?”
“I do now.”
It was an odd answer. “Did you die here?” Nigel asked, hoping for clarification. Chris backed up a little to get him in the shot as well.
