Chapter 30 - Nancy

Lockwood Estates

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Tuesday 11 March 2008

"I think I'll call her," I tell him, now desperate, "Even if she doesn't remember most of what happened, maybe she has something helpful for where Edward or the sword could be."

He gives a curt nod as I pull out my phone and go to the dining room. I scroll through my contacts, hesitating on Savannah's. I take a deep breath, and spin slowly around to make sure there are no ghosts around. The sleet morphs into hail, and slams into the walls of the house in a cacophony of unsettling noise. Whether or not we have the cars, it sounds like we're stuck inside. I lean to the side so I can check on Sam, noting that Dean is now thankfully indoors.

I look back down at the phone, and press dial.

She picks up on the fourth ring, giving me just enough time to worry that the cell phone towers are down.

"Nancy, is that you? Are you alright?"

"Hi Savannah. Yes, it's me."

"...What can I do for you?"

A wave of heavy hail distracts me for a moment, and I decide that there is no good way to ask my question. "Savannah, what do you remember about being at Lockwood Estates?" I say hesitantly.

"What?"

"Tell me what you saw," I say, clamping my eyes shut and hating myself for even asking her, "What made you quit ghost-hunting?"

"Nancy…"

"Savannah," I say, voice cracking, "Edward is missing, the object tying Caroline to Earth is missing, and we're running out of time." I wish so badly to tell her that she doesn't need to say anything, that we can figure this out without her reliving her experiences, but we can't. Not in time.

"...First, tell me where you are."

"Lockwood Estates. We have reason to believe Edward's being kept here somewhere."

"Nancy..." she says again.

"Tell me what you saw. Please. I am begging you."

She takes a deep breath. "Nancy, it wasn't what I saw. It was what I experienced."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling a chill run down my spine. Another wave of heavy hail causes the walls to creak enough for me to take a step back, towards the interior of the house. I hope the cars are okay.

"...I had blocked out most of those memories. That's why I haven't been able to help you. But… this afternoon, I purposefully looked into my old files. It brought back that night. I could have kept the door closed, Nancy, but I knew that I shouldn't. For your sake, Nancy, I grabbed that door and yanked it open."

There is a long, shaky pause.

"I don't want to talk about it. But I will. For you, Edward, and those two new friends of yours."

I wait with bated breath, not wanting to discount the sacrifice she has made for my sake.

"Nancy, I was kidnapped by the ghosts."

I straighten. "What."

"I am still half-convinced that I was drugged, or hallucinating, or dreaming, or what-have-you. I made myself believe that."

I swallow. "What happened?"

She sighs. "Please don't tell anyone this. I don't like talking about it, and I've come so far to hide from that life." She sounds so weak, broken. My heart aches.

I shift my weight. "Okay…"

"I was at the house that night..."

Savannah

5 years previously...

The moon and stars light my surroundings quite well as I put the car in park, grabbing my gear from the passenger's seat. My job is simply to go and get as much information as I can for my second book. The story holds enough emotion and tragedy that it could very well put Ryokan Hiei's yūrei story to shame, and my publisher is itching for drama. I said what I always do: that they need to respect the dead, especially in this line of work.

Nevertheless, I am here.

Mr. Sherman Lockwood was a merchant in life, held in high regard in the town of Blackridge. He practically owned the entire place, but was oh so kind to those around him. He had servants, yes, but they were paid and treated well. Sherman was a revolutionary of his time, which made his demise that much more unfortunate.

On the evening of July 18th, 1846, he was found strung up in his bedroom. Downstairs, one of his maids, Caroline Walker, was found nearly-decapitated by Sherman's own sword. No one knows for sure what, exactly, occurred, but the rumors abound. Some say Caroline and Sherman were having an affair, and when Caroline threatened to go public, Sherman killed her. And then when he realized what he had done, he took his own life.

I do not believe that story.

What I believe is far more tragic.

I have heard obscure stories from the grapevine, stories told once and then forgotten. It is said that Sherman Lockwood had an affair with the priest's daughter, Abitha Woodbury. She became pregnant, out of wedlock no less, and was forced into hiding for nearly a year so she could bear the child.

Sherman had no idea.

Abitha's father, Zephaniah, was a religious fanatic, and was not pleased with this turn of events. He nearly killed the child once born, but Abitha convinced him to let her give up the child for adoption.

And so, Caroline Walker was born, eventually destined to find a job at her own father's house.

Twenty years passed, and Abitha remained racked with guilt about both the affair and the secret child. Eventually, she wrote a letter intended for Sherman's wife, Edith, outlining the affair and the child's existence. She never sent it.

Instead, Zephaniah found the letter, and realized that his family's so-called "purity" was at stake. He went over on the night of July 18th, 1846, and confronted Sherman about the child. Sherman was insistent that his newfound daughter be recognized for who she was, instead of some mere servant under her father's own roof.

Caroline overheard. Zephaniah called her into the room, claiming that all was well. Then, he grabbed Sherman's sword off the mantle and swung it at Caroline's neck, killing her.

Zephaniah threatened Sherman to keep quiet, and left.

Sherman took his own life the same night.

A tragic story, to be sure, and only a known one because it was passed down through one of the other maid's descendants.

Tonight, I intend to make contact with one, or both their spirits if possible, and learn their story through their eyes.

Clicking on a flashlight, I shoulder my bag and push open the gate. It creaks heavily with rust and disuse. There is a deep chill in the air, which seems to be a common theme at all the hauntings I have been to. There is also a weight on my chest as soon as I enter the property. Something is most certainly here.

Turning on my handheld video recorder to infrared, I scan the exterior of the house. Everything seems normal from here. How long that will last, I don't know. Rumor says that those who stay past midnight will see Sherman and Caroline, and perhaps be able to communicate with them. No one has tried in quite some time, as the place also has a reputation for odd deaths, ones that mimic Caroline's fate.

However, I have not been able to find any actual records of decapitations on the property. At least, not since Caroline herself.

The paneled double doors are cracked and deteriorating after several years of no upkeep. Carefully, I reach out, grabbing one of the rusted handles and giving a good yank. The door squeals open. My stomach drops at the noise.

I poke my head inside. Nothing seems amiss. Simply an old, dilapidated home aged out of its prime.

"Hello?" I say, my voice having an odd echo.

No answer. I would be concerned if there was. Ghosts do not generally speak aloud. At least, not to me. It is more about impressions and feelings.

Stepping inside, I close the door behind me, waving my flashlight about to get a good sense of the space. It is certainly a home fit for a powerful man. Or, at least, it was. But no matter.

I check my watch. It's 11:12 p.m. Certainly enough time to set up the few cameras I have. Just in case I do indeed make contact.

A wave of grief crashes over me at the thought of Sherman and Caroline's fates. No one should have to go through what they went through. And to be living through those moments for eternity… I cannot even imagine.

I spend a while setting up my own little camp in the main living room, wiring all the cameras to my laptop. The minutes tick by, getting closer and closer to midnight. I wait, breathless, ready to listen to whatever the spirits may have to say.

The clock hits 11:45.

Everything goes black.

Blurred lights, noises, shapes. I am vaguely aware of it all. The main set of stairs, the hallway… perhaps? Frigid hands are dragging me, but I can't seem to work up any sort of energy to fight it. Everything seems cold, far too cold.

It is definitely the second floor hallway, I am sure of it.

My head lolls, and I lose a few moments in time, maybe more. There is a grinding noise, and I am suddenly aware of another set of stairs. Wooden, creaking, stairs.

Everything is coming more into focus now. There is another hallway, another set of rooms, but the ceiling is pitched. I stare up at it for a long time, trying to comprehend where exactly I am. Is this the third floor? The attic? I don't recall ever having heard of an attic. Although it should have been obvious, in retrospect.

I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them, I am in one of the drafty rooms, propped up against the wall. I slowly pull my head up, willing my brain to click back into gear.

There are two people looking down at me, but in the shadows, I can't quite make out their faces. If I were to guess, the shorter one on the left, with long hair, is a girl, and the taller one on the right, is a man.

"Help me… please…" the girl begs.

I blink slowly, once, twice, three times, to clear my vision. My eyes are finally starting to adjust to the low light.

"Please… she's coming…" the man says.

Their voices echo oddly, like whispers in a cave.

Pushing myself upright, and putting a hand to my head, I glance down at my watch. It is still a few minutes before midnight. I look up at them again, and do a double-take.

Neither of these figures looks quite… human.

Their skins are grayish, and their clothes dirty and tattered. Their eyes are empty and haunted. The girl's neck looks to be severed.

Panic floods into my bloodstream, and I shove myself to my feet, back firmly against the wall.

"Who are you," I demand, even though I already know.

They don't react at all to my sudden burst of movement, they simply turn their gazes so they can continue to look me in the eye.

"Help… please," Caroline says again, clasping her hands together, "Please… I don't want this…"

"Help my daughter…" Sherman says, "Please…"

My breathing becomes shallow, and I feel I may pass out again.

Caroline straightens, staring blankly into the wall. Her form flickers.

"...It's too late…" Sherman mutters, watching his daughter. He looks back to me. "Go. GET OUT." He points forcefully to the entrance of the room we are in, and the door bangs open. "GO!"

Without needing told again, I take my chance and run.

Caroline screams in inhuman rage, spurring me to move faster than I have moved in my entire life. I practically fall down the attic stairs, skidding on rugs and yanking myself forward with walls and door jambs. Down the hallway, down the front stairs. I slam into the front doors, but they won't budge. I am suddenly aware that I am hysterically sobbing, letting out noises I didn't even know were possible.

Sherman suddenly appears, opening the door for me.

"GO!" he shouts.

Without another thought, I sprint outside, not even taking a second to breathe. I just need to get to my car, get to my car and drive to the other side of the planet. To run. To get away.

I hear Caroline screaming and raging. Can she leave the house? Go on the property? I don't know, and I don't want to find out.

Screw ghost hunting. Screw this. Screw every ghost ever. Screw my publishers. Screw my book deal. Screw the book itself. Never again.

I finally reach the gates and trip over the edge of the property, tumbling into the street. I feel gravel bite into my palms, but I don't care. I shove myself upright and yank my keys out of my pocket. I left all of my equipment inside but I don't care. I don't care.

The car takes several seconds to start, in which time adrenaline causes me to nearly jump out of my skin. Without even taking the time to buckle, I slam on the gas, driving as fast as I can, ignoring the speed limit entirely.

"Never again," I whisper to myself as I squeal into town, barely able to see the road through my tears of panic. I am going to pack up all my things and leave tonight. I'll burn the second book and all my notes if I have to.

"Never again," I tell myself, wiping my eyes with my sleeve as I throw all my bags in the trunk of my car, garnering the attention of a few late-night wanderers. I can sleep once I am a long way out of town, but I doubt I will ever sleep again.

"Never again," I promise myself, gripping the wheel with all my might, soaring down the highway. My expression is hardened. I want to forget it all, pretend it never happened.

Never again.

Nancy

Present day...

"...And I did forget," she finishes. "I compartmentalized it all. Locked it away."

I feel like I am reeling from a caffeine high, jittery and filled with anxiety. Caroline is being controlled. That was her voice last night, asking me to help her before she was forced to do something she didn't want to do.

It almost is like my mind is completely disconnected from my body. If Savannah had told me this story, even yesterday, I wouldn't have believed her. I would have thought she was crazy, or had actually dreamed the whole thing.

How many witness accounts have I falsely discounted over the years? All because I refused to believe in something?

"Do you know where the entrance to the attic is, by any chance?" I ask, forcing my mind back to the task at hand.

"I don't, I'm sorry Dear. I was in quite the daze. But it was not a hatch in the ceiling, I can tell you that much. There were actual stairs. And it wasn't an actual door either, I want to say it was a wall panel? On the second floor somewhere. It might have been in one of the bedrooms, but I don't remember."

"Thank you for sharing this with me, Savannah," I tell her.

"You're welcome," she says, "You know, I don't know what it is, but I almost feel a bit better about the whole thing, being able to share it without someone telling me I'm crazy."

"I know the feeling," I tell her, remembering our conversation from this morning.

"Please let me know when you find Edward, and when you are out of that house. You hear me?"

"I do," I tell her.

We hang up.

I stare at my phone for a long time, before closing it and stuffing it back in my pocket. The hail and sleet still pounds against the walls, but I have gone beyond worrying about it. It almost is as if I have gone beyond feeling anything.

Clearing my throat, I go back out to the living room, where Sam and Dean wait expectantly.

"Guys," I tell them, "There's an attic here. That's where Edward will be."