Name (if applicable): Richard Horne (unconfirmed)

Entity: Ghost

Type: focused repeater, free-roaming phantasm when physical or verbal contact is made.

PKR Frequency: 4.35

Known History: See full report below, as penned by Dr. John Watson

Notable abilities: The entity accompanied by binary horse entity. Also has control over canine and hart sub-entities.

Report filed by: Egon Spengler

Of all my adventures with Sherlock Holmes, this account is perhaps the strangest and most fantastic. It all began when my friend and I had dined at Romano's and decided to take a midnight stroll in Hyde Park, when the most sensational thing occurred. About one hundred yards in front of us, a gold and green-tinted ethereal light appeared in mid air. Holmes and I stopped in our tracks as he pointed and said "Look, Watson!" The small area of light hovered several feet above the ground and then began to grow, wider at first, then longer in the direction of the ground. As we tried to determine what we had encountered, a large black boot seemed to emerge from the bottom of the illumination itself, rapidly followed by the rest of the body of a man. I have never believed in phantasms, being of sound mind and scientific profession, but God and Holmes are my witnesses to the fact that a man appeared out of thin air that cold night. The man didn't see us and we remained silent in order to observe. Holmes held a finger to his lips and he stared, unblinking at the man as he became fully visible. All we could make out in that light was that he was tall and carried a rather cumbersome object on his back. He moved forward slowly and as soon as he saw us he stopped in his tracks. It was evident that he was as bewildered as we were.

"Good evening," said Holmes, as if the strange occurrence was something quite commonplace.

"Good evening," the man said haltingly. "Where am I?"

We could tell at once that he was an American, and certainly in need of our assistance. I let Holmes take the lead, as I was quite stunned myself. He told the man that we were in London and asked him if he had lodgings for the night. When he replied that he did not, Holmes said, "You are welcome to stay with my colleague Dr. Watson and myself for the night if you wish. I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The man shook my friend's outstretched hand, his eyes suddenly a little wider upon hearing our names, and introduced himself as "Dr. Egon Spengler."

He followed us to Park Lane and from there we took a cab to Baker Street. The cabbie asked if he could take the doctor's singularly cumbersome luggage and put it on top of the cab but the fellow insisted to put it on the seat next to him. Other than several words of gratitude, he remained silent. I could tell that Holmes was studying the man intensely, so I too remained silent. As we approached the steps of 221B, the doctor looked up at the door and shook his head slowly in a kind of disbelief and followed us indoors. By the light of our rooms we were able to see our guest with greater clarity. He was indeed tall, with thin-rimmed spectacles and a great mass of rich, wavy dark hair styled high above his head. His uniform seemed to be that of a laborer and was made of a canvas-like material, his name was embroidered over his breast pocket and several fantastical looking tools hung from a large belt. Odder still were the yellow tubes that sprang from various points on his garb.

"You have obviously made a long journey," Holmes called over his shoulder, "I'll show you to your room." Doctor Spengler thanked us both, shook my hand kindly, and followed the detective. That night I did not fall asleep as quickly as usual and awoke early. I found Holmes, dressed and deeply lost in thought, perched in his chair by the fire, smoke intermittently escaping his lips. I said good morning, he moved his head in my direction to acknowledge my presence, and I sat across from him.

"Have you told Mrs. Hudson know about our unusual guest?"

"Yes," Holmes said evasively.

"Holmes," I scolded, "You must have something to say about this man." Holmes smiled slyly and at last he took the pipe out of his mouth.

"What have you concluded?"

"About the man or the incident itself?"

"Both."

"Well," I said, "As to the man, he is indeed a doctor, but not of medicine - of science."

"Precisely. Continue."

"A man of invention, as the strange tools would suggest." Holmes nodded and I continued, "A man of introversion."

"Men of invention often are. And a man of thought," Holmes said significantly, "A third rational mind in this extraordinary affair will no doubt be of some importance to us."

"Do you think he knows what we have seen?"

"That is likely. We shall see. But in the meantime, let me tell you my conjectures." At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Our guest slowly pushed the door open as Holmes uttered "Come in!"

"Good morning," Dr. Spengler said, still clad in his workman's kit, "Sorry I didn't say much last night." I said it was understandable at such a late hour. Holmes directed him to sit on the wicker bench where most of our clients would be positioned and called out to Mrs. Hudson.

"Would you like some tea? Or perhaps, coffee?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks."

"I hope you don't mind the smoke," I said, gesturing to the clouded air above us.

"No, that's ok; I've gotten used to Dr. Stanz's - my colleague's - secondhand smoke." It was easy to tell that our guest was trying to broach the subject of the circumstances of our meeting but was afraid of alarming us. He rubbed his knees and cleared his throat several times. Mrs. Hudson brought in the tea tray, set it down, and brought Dr. Spengler his coffee. He gave her a shy smile and took his cup. Holmes gave Mrs. Hudson a perplexed glance as she passed him before taking up his usual seat.

"Well, now, Dr. Spengler," Holmes said theatrically, ready for his usual systematic, if showy, deduction after a long night of contemplation. "My colleague was just asking me my impressions of yourself and our somewhat sudden meeting in Hyde Park early this morning. Would you have any objection if I were to deduce some details about your person and the possible origin of your appearance?"

"Um, no, no, go ahead." Our guest was certainly aware he was going to be thoroughly cross examined and straightened himself in his chair.

"You say you are a scientist, Dr. You certainly are not a doctor of medicine like my friend here," he said with a momentary grin. Dr. Spengler nodded. "You are a doctor of science, an inventor of some kind." Again, the man nodded. "Although you have an interest in fungi, as the instep of your left boot will attest, your speciality is natural phenomenon such as will-o'-the-wisp, or ignis fatuus, and other naturally occurring vapors."

"Well, fungus, yes, but ignis fatuus isn't exactly correct. That will take some explaining, so you'd better say everything else first."

"Very well," Holmes said, drawing back a little, "I have also observed that you prefer to work alone, you are of distant German and possibly Hungarian origin, you have lived in New York for many years and you are very fond of cream-filled sponge cake."

"Yes, that's right. But I'm originally from Cleveland, Ohio," he said, amused, wiping off the cream stain above his right breast pocket.

"Now, as to your extraordinary appearance in the park."

"What did you see?" Spengler asked cautiously.

"We saw you emerge from thin air," I said, "Or rather, light."

"I was trapping a ghost." We stared at him, unable to comprehend that he was indeed serious. "That is my profession. Three other men and I travel around the New York boroughs and detain spirits that have not crossed the etheric plane."

"You seriously expect us to believe not only that spirits of the dead walk the earth," I said, "but also that you somehow catch these phantoms?"

"Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but maybe I could show you."

"Spirits, if they do exist, let us presume they do for the sake of argument, are nothing more than light or smoke, how can they be held as if they were flesh and blood?" Holmes said, "How does one catch smoke as one does a wild animal?"

"Well," he paused, "that's a little technical to explain."

"And it still does not explain how you suddenly appeared as if you were smoke yourself," I said, getting rather carried away. Our guest took a sip of his coffee.

"My theory is that I crossed over to the dimension in which the original spirit I was in the process of capturing hailed from. You see, the spirit was of a criminal who escaped from London and fled to New York in 1895. The police at that time caught up with him and shot and killed him after a long chase through Central Park. I was called to capture his ghost because he was causing so much of a disturbance. But when I opened the trap and he was sucked inside it, I was dragged into his former dimension because he was in the process of transporting at the same moment I activated the trap."

I have never seen Holmes looked quite so perplexed in all the years I have known him and if I had not been so confused myself I would have taken great pleasure in the sight.

"What I don't understand," Spengler said, "is how a simple plane transference of a single entity could transport me 100 years into the past. I wasn't even looking into the trap." He looked down thoughtfully.

"Dr. Spengler, you seem to be a respectable, intelligent man, but you must not expect us to believe that the spirit of a dead man and a mechanical contraption have transported you backwards through time."

"No," he said, "I don't expect you to believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. If I can get back, Ray is going to be very excited. It might prove his theory that all planes are continuous. This is big."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson announced that two individuals had arrived to see us. Before Mrs. Hudson had barely opened her mouth, Holmes jumped to his feet and told her to let them in.

"This will be my clients regarding the Boddington-Stanburry case. Would you mind," Holmes said to Dr. Spengler, "leaving us? And perhaps," he added to me, "Watson, you could find him some less conspicuous clothing." With that I escorted Dr. Spengler out of the room just before our clients ascended that staircase. Afterward, Sherlock told me of what transpired with Mr. Boddington-Stanburry and his young son, Geoffrey.

The case as we knew it was as follows. Mr. Boddington-Stanburry had been initially reluctant to contact Holmes because his situation seemed to be a simple case of poaching which he could deal with in short order. A week before he had written to Holmes, his footman discovered a hart that lay dying on the front steps of Stanburry House.* He had found the poacher, a local man, who repented and explained that he was about to carry off the beast when he was interrupted. The man would not say who had disturbed him and swore never to poach again. However, Boddington-Stanburry's situation became out of the ordinary indeed when the poaching continued in the most disturbing manner. Another mortally wounded hart appeared on his steps in the moonlight. Naturally, he thought it was the poacher, but when he was convinced of the man's abject innocence, he decided to conduct an experiment. He took the former poacher to the local gaol so he could prove the man's innocence if the poaching continued, which it did.

"That's four harts now," Boddington-Stanburry said in an increasing state of agitation, "And my son found the fourth one last night." The little boy, who was lead in by his father, Holmes told me, appeared to be rather frightened and was reluctant to speak. After much gentle coaxing by his father and Sherlock, who could be remarkably tender when he put his mind to it, young Geoffrey did speak.

"It was awful, sir," he said, "The poor animal was lying there. Blood had flowed all down the steps. I was just about to run for papa, when I saw a light by a distant tree. I thought it was someone holding a lantern, but it was a man on horseback and..." Here the child struggled to express what he had seen. "He was glowing, sir."

Though I was not in the room, I can well imagine what turn Holmes' face must have took. Presently, Dr. Spengler and I reentered the room, the latter wearing Holmes' garb and looking rather the part. Holmes sprang forward and said to his clients, "Will you allow me to follow you to Stanburry House this very afternoon? And my friends also?" After he was assured of our welcome he hurriedly ushered out the man and his son and closed the door as we sat down once again.

"Dr. Spengler," Holmes said, standing over our new friend, "I believe you will be able to prove your theories after all."

*Modeled after Fenton House, Hampstead, London