There came a burst of indecipherable static, but no more words. After a few more prompts, Oscar turned off the spirit box. “I guess she’s done with us.”
“What did you sense?”
He considered for a moment. “Curiosity,” he finally said. “I think she wanted to know more about us.”
Chris lowered their camera slightly. “Can we get some of these windows open?”
“On it.” Oscar put away the spirit box and forced open the protesting windows. “Let’s take a look around at the rest of the rooms on this floor, then leave the PolterPal here where we encountered Gloria.”
Chris shuddered. “That thing is going to murder us all in our sleep.”
Nigel barely suppressed a sigh of irritation. “It’s just a tool that monitors EMF, temperature, and vibrations.”
“It talks.”
“It’s a doll that responds in pre-recorded ways to prompt child spirits to play with it!”
“Maybe, but it’s creepy as hell.”
“You’ve just seen too many movies.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “All right, let’s check out the rest of this floor.
Most of the other chambers turned out to be bedrooms as well. This must have been where Ullman and his six friends slept; Nigel would bet the third floor turned out to be for the servants.
Ullman’s room was immediately obvious as belonging to the master of the house. It was larger than the rest and contained a fireplace with a heavy mantelpiece, a chair, a lounge, and an enormous bed. Upholstery and bed clothes were both a deep red, though anywhere the sun had touched was badly faded. Above the fireplace hung a dusty portrait that must be of Ullman himself: a sober man in a gray suit, his black hair slicked down in accordance with the style of the times.
A bay window looked out over the ocean; they were directly above the dining room with its stunning view. Oscar moved toward it to open the windows—then froze.
“What is it?” Nigel asked immediately. This must be where Ullman had shot himself in a fit of despair.
So Oscar’s answer surprised him. “I’m sensing a lot of anger.”
“Anger? Not sadness?”
“I know the difference,” Oscar snapped, then caught himself. “Sorry—I let it bleed over into me. That was sloppy.” He took a deep breath, eyes going unfocused. “I’m pretty sure it’s the same spirit we encountered down in the parlor.”
“The one who wants us to leave.” The anger made sense, then. It was a response to their intrusion, not a long-ago echo from the day of Ullman’s death.
“Yeah,” Oscar affirmed. “He is not happy. We definitely need a static cam in here. Maybe a cat ball, too.”
Cat balls were new additions to the OtP toolkit. They were clear plastic balls sold as cat toys, with lights inside that would flash when the ball moved. Which meant if anything unseen touched them, they’d light up like a Christmas tree.
“Let’s try an EVP for now,” he suggested.
Oscar took out his digital recorder and asked a few questions, waiting for several seconds between each one so that any answers could register. Tina would go over the audio files later and see if there was anything on them that they couldn’t hear.
Once done, they checked the final two rooms on the second level. The one nearest the stairs opened onto the tower as expected. Like the space on the ground floor, it didn’t look to have been used as anything but a storage space, with a dismantled bed propped against the wall and a wardrobe and small chaise longue shoved haphazardly inside.
The final room was directly above the library and looked as though it had been a drawing room, filled with chairs, bookshelves, and two card tables, one folded open to reveal a green leather playing surface. The walls had dark paneling, and a taxidermied marlin gaped at them from above the fireplace. Nigel could easily imagine the seven men socializing here in the evening, sipping sherry and smoking cigars while they played cards or read.
By this point, they were all exhausted. It had been a long day, starting with a five-hour drive from Durham to the coast. Chris and Nigel went down to fetch two static cams, the PolterPal, and a cat ball.
The PolterPal was a doll with White skin, golden curls, and blue eyes, wearing a dress that wouldn’t be out of place on a Victorian-era toy. Unlike a regular doll, its legs and torso were stiff, so it could remain seated upright in the middle of a room. While Chris set up the static cam in the corner of the bedroom where they’d encountered the child ghost, Nigel flipped the doll upside-down so her dress fell over her head, and switched her on.
“Come play with me!” she shrieked in a voice that was almost, but not quite, that of a little girl.
“Jesus, that scared me,” Chris muttered.
