Page 20 of Air Of Mystery
“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 isgreat.” 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 hadgathered 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 andactivelocation,” 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.”
