Noises and Rumors

The footsteps sounded like somebody was walking down the second-floor hallway to the stairs, then down to the first floor and away toward one of the parlors.

I held my breath, frozen in fear, my heart pounding like a drum. Until I recalled where I was: a wooden house in the middle of nowhere. It was the building settling, not a break-in. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

It took me a couple of days to get bored of wandering up and down the Manor, exploring every room, studying every painting and every portrait of the Blotters, roaming the garden and the woods down to the Quabbin. It felt like I never had enough of gazing around and breathing deep, to fill my lungs with that pristine air that smelled of trees.

The Manor had its particular smell, too. It smelled old, for sure, but it also smelled like home. At least, somebody’s home. I didn’t know why, but I felt welcomed and relaxed there.

Monday through Saturday, Susan and Mike came every morning about nine and moved like stealth shadows, cleaning and fixing little things. Seeing the way they moved around the house, and especially the way they glanced over their shoulders, I could tell Susan hadn’t been completely honest about loving the Manor. It was more like they respected it out of fear, no matter how weird that seemed.

Maybe it was the constant little noises that filled the place around the clock. Faint taps or knocks, soft creaks on the floorboards and the stairs. Had they been louder, it would’ve sounded like half a dozen people lived there.

On Monday, I took over the third-floor study and spent several hours there after Susan cleaned it, my laptop open to a blank page on the desk before me, my guitar on my lap and my eyes lost out the window, my mind a gross blank. I lost track of time, playing and singing in whispers, while my mind roamed free like I did out there since I’d gotten to the Manor.

The footsteps kept waking me up at midnight. On Tuesday night, I even jumped out of bed, ran to yank my door open and poked my head out to look down the hallway. To find nobody, of course.

“It’s late, Blotter Manor,” I said out loud. “Let’s go to sleep, please.”

I went back to bed, leaving my door wide open, and had just turned off my lamp when I heard something like the echo of a child’s giggle. I blamed it on some late bird outside and fell back asleep in a minute. No more noises woke me up again that night.

On the fifth day of my new life, still to miss the least bit about the old one, I got in the car and drove to town to get some groceries. Susan kept the fridge and the pantry well stocked, but she still didn’t know my personal tastes and there were some little things I missed.

Like it was bound to happen in such a small town, the old man behind the counter managed to politely ask who the hell I was and where the hell I was staying. I didn’t dig his smile when I mentioned Blotter Manor.

“Really? And how are the ghosts treating you?” he asked mockingly.

“Beg your pardon?” I hated that his words reminded me of the footsteps and the faint giggle.

The old man chuckled gently.

“Didn’t you know the Manor is haunted? They say it’s the most haunted house in the whole state.”

“Is it. I had no idea.”

“Maybe the ghosts like you. Miss Blotter tried to have a tenant before she retired, about five years ago. He only lasted two months before running for the hills to never come back.”

“Go figure. Yeah, the ghosts must like me, then.” I retrieved my credit card with a forced smile, grabbed my things and left.

His words kept going round and round my head as I got in the car, and before going back home, I decided to pay a visit to the historical society. The two old ladies looked both amused and glad to help me research the Manor’s history, and gave me enough reading material for a couple of months. Only I’m a pure-breed bookworm and had nothing better to do.

So I took all the books and scrapbooks with news clips to the east parlor, the closest to the kitchen and one of the first-floor restrooms. I dropped everything on the coffee table, sat on the couch under the window and started reading. And taking notes. And then reading some more.

Over the next days, I read until my eyes hurt, oblivious to Mike and Susan, and the continuous little noises all around me. I brought my guitar down from the third floor, to play and sing in whispers whenever I needed to give my eyes a break.

Soon I noticed that most of the noises ceased when I played and sang one of the ballads Mom had taught me. Weird. The moment I strummed the first chord, the noises seemed to sound closer, then ceased completely, and a surreal silence filled the big old house. Weirder still, for some reason I felt like the ghosts, if there were any, stopped whatever they were doing to listen to me. Weirdest of all, I felt fine about it. The idea of invisible beings around me didn’t upset me at all.

Maybe Susan was right and the house had a mind of her own, and it was already affecting me.

By Sunday noon, I was done reading about the Blotters. To my surprise, nothing tragic or gross had ever happened in the Manor’s 150 years.

Joseph Blotter had built it for his wife Ann Marie and their three children. They’d lived long, good lives and died of natural causes at their home. Edward, their firstborn, had moved back in some time before, to assist his parents through their last years, bringing along his own wife and children. The house never had tenants outside the family other than Miss Grace’s, and the Blotters lived there generation after generation, all the way down to Grace Blotter, Joseph and Ann Marie’s direct descendant, who had decided to leave it to me.

Most of the Blotters had grown up in the Manor, and had come back at different times of their lives, mostly to spend their retirement years and die there, sharing it for a while with the younger generations.

The Manor had always been full of life and love, and maybe that was why the Blotters still lingered around after passing. It was a place of good memories. Whatever life threw their way, all of them knew the Manor was a safe haven for them to take shelter, recover from any setback or sorrow, restore their souls and get ready for the next fight.

I looked up from my notes, at the parlor door and the hallway.

“You guys had a wonderful thing going here,” I said aloud.

Then, on a whim, I stood up, walked out of the room and faced the hall and the stairs.

“If it’s true you’re still here, I want to apologize for being so rude,” I said, loud and clear. “I’m Fran Garner, and Miss Grace, whom I never had the pleasure to meet, trusted me with your gorgeous home. I already love it, and living here is the best thing that ever happened to me. So, if you can hear me, please know that I’ll be happy to do anything you may need. I mean, other than leaving, ‘cause I have nowhere else to go.”

The complete silence that filled the whole house sent chills down my spine. I could feel the goosebumps all over my skin. Then I heard something like a distant whisper. It sounded like a woman speaking from the east parlor I’d just left, but miles away.

“Hello.”

A sudden fear overcame me, and I had to fight myself to keep from running out the front door to lock myself up in my car.

The next faint whisper almost caused me a heart attack. This time, it was a man from the north parlor.

“Hello.”

“Is it you I’m hearing?” I cried. “Or am I going crazy?”

Somebody shushed me from the top of the stairs, but I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. I covered my mouth with both hands, waves of heat and cold washing all over my body.

“So-sorry. Didn’t mean to be so loud,” I mumbled from behind my hands.

A child’s giggle echoed somewhere on the first floor.

I breathed as deep as I could before trying to speak again.

“Okay, whether it’s you guys or I just lost it, you’ll have to excuse me, but I need to go panic, if you don’t mind.”

A soft male scoff replied from the library.

I spun on my heels and fled up the stairs to lock myself up in my room. A few minutes later, outside my locked door, the little noises resumed as usual.

I dropped flat on the mattress and focused on breathing deep until my heart rate came down to under two hundred, my eyes still tightly shut, cold sweat all over my body. When it fell to only one hundred, my mind seemed able to resume its basic functions.

My experience with the paranormal could be compared with a squirrel’s as a brain surgeon. I’m as sensitive as a rock. There are or have been no sensitives or psychics in my family whatsoever. I don’t even like horror movies!

But that Sunday, all those little noises took a whole different meaning to me. Of course the house felt crowded: I’d just heard at least four different voices, for crying out loud! However, for some reason that totally escaped me, they didn’t feel threatening at all. Which was pretty much the opposite to anything I’d ever heard about ghosts.

Ghosts are mean, angry and scary. They enjoy scaring people. That’s their thing. But whatever was in the Manor didn’t seem to mean me any harm. Actually, they didn’t seem to even care about me. And if they belonged to the Blotter family, by now I knew they were happy ghosts, that had chosen to come back home to hang out together and relive happy times.

I couldn’t stay in my room forever, so about two, I eventually found the guts to open my door. The hallway was as empty as it was supposed to be. Good. I dared to walk up to the stairs. They looked empty as they should. Great. I felt brave enough to go down to the first floor. Nobody there, either. Thanks, ghosts! I breathed deep one last time and launched myself all the way down the hall to the kitchen.

Entering that room was like crossing a time portal. On one side of the doorway was the old house, all heavy wood and dark fabrics and old paintings. On the other side, the last in kitchen design, all white and light gray, pure modern comfort and technology. It was a good place to gather my thoughts.

First of all, I needed a bite. So I cooked my late lunch and sat down to g****e about ghosts.

I was surprised to find so much information. As usual on the internet, it was just too much, and in my absolute ignorance, I had no way of telling what information was good and what was trash. I gave up, wondering how I could find the answers I needed.

Trisha.

Her name popped up in my mind like a neon sign. I checked the time. Yeah, she should be already awake from her usual Saturday night parties. I was about to call her when I wondered how much I should tell her. As little as possible, I decided, and dialed her.

Trisha’s always been a little weird on the spooky side, and lucky me, I only needed to tell her I was curious about communication with ghosts for her to recommend several YouTube channels about ghost hunting.

“I don’t wanna hunt anything, Trish.”

“Sure, but they communicate with ghosts. Wasn’t that what you were asking about? Watch a few videos to get an idea about their tools and methods.”

“These Youtubers are all amateurs, right?”

“Most of them. If you wanna see the so-called pros, you have to stream them.”

“Oh, okay, I see. I’ll start with free videos.”

“Ha, thought so. What is it? Funny noises in your new home?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure it’s the wood settling, though.”

“Keep me up! If your house’s haunted, I’d love to investigate it!”

I had no idea what she meant by investigating my haunted house, but promised I’d let her know.

By dinner time, after hours of watching those ghost hunters doing their thing, I was positive I would never let anyone come disturb the Blotters like those guys did to any spirit they came across in their videos.

That night, my last conscious thought was to mock myself. So much for getting away from noisy roommates.

Starting the next day, I got used to saying good morning the moment I walked down the stairs, and goodnight before going into my bedroom to sleep. A few times, I thought I’d heard my words repeated like a response, but I deliberately overlooked it.

I still didn’t have any idea to even start the outline of a story to write, so I spent a few more days digging into paranormal stuff. That was how I found out about the different apps and devices available to try verbal communication with all kinds of entities.

However, all those ghost hunters didn’t seem to have a clear objective when they used them. Yeah, get evidence of paranormal activity, but once they got it, they freaked out and screamed like little girls or just didn’t know what to do next.

Wanna see what I mean? Here’s an example:

Situation: Ghost hunters in dark old abandoned place, using an app to try to talk with spirits, and they get a response.

App: Help.

Ghost hunters: Hi. Can you set the alarm off?

App: I’m stuck here.

Ghost hunters: Can you make a noise?

I mean, really? To do that, you better stay home, gaming on Twitch.

Meanwhile, in real life, I’d learned that the east parlor had been the women’s place to get together, while the larger north parlor had been for the gentlemen, to retreat for a drink and a cigar, and talk about important stuff that didn’t concern women. The west parlor was where visitors waited to be taken to one of the other two.

It was over that week that I started hearing the lightest footsteps behind me when I went for a walk in the woods. The faint noise of snapping twigs or creaking leaves followed me all the way to the Quabbin, ceased for as long as I lingered there, and came back with me to the Manor.

I was sure it was the ghosts of at least two children, and that threw me off. There had been some infant deaths in the Blotter family, like in any other family, especially before vaccines became widely available. But I had found nothing about children dying in the Manor old enough to walk and run around.

As days went by, I grew more and more convinced that whatever shared the house with me was intelligent, and definitely good. At least to me. Maybe they weren’t nice to people they didn’t like, and that was why Susan and Mike were scared of them. Or maybe the housekeepers were naturally afraid of what they couldn’t see or touch, and their instinct took it as a threat, like most people do.

Lucky me, I’d always been a little weird. That was why, even though they still scared the crap out of me, I was also curious and wanted to understand what was going on.

That’s how I got on this rollercoaster.

I still didn’t know it back then, but those first days at the Manor had been but the slow, easy climb to the first heart-stopping drop. And I was but a gasp away from finding out.