The Haunting - Chapter 7
Fall 1891
Castle had not expected her to reply that very night, though he would be lying if he said he was not disappointed that there was no immediate response. He spent a good three hours waiting, before exhaustion caught up with him. He slinked off to bed with visions of an ethereal beauty in his head. The following morning, the first thing he did after waking up was check on the note. Part of him was not entirely surprised when there was still no reply.
Despite the absurdity of it, Castle truly missed all those little messages from Katherine, even if all she was doing was pleading with him to stop his investigation into the Pulgatti case. He was worried that the way he had reacted last time she had replied to him had scared her off. Then again, he really did not know how it worked for her. She was not amongst the living, but still managed to exist, at least partially on this plane. Castle briefly pondered over the idea of hiring a medium to help him contact Katherine, however he quickly dismissed the idea. He did not want to involve anyone else in his relationship with the spirit of the beautiful woman who had died far too young.
Unable to just sit around and wait for her to reply, Castle kept himself busy, doing whatever he could to occupy his mind and not wonder over his motives in communicating with the shade. She remained silent for most of the summer. At one point, he started to worry that she was moving on, not that he would begrudge her if she did. He could only imagine what it must be like for her, trapped in a plane of existence where she could not easily communicate with those around her.
But just before the arrival of autumn, his ghostly companion made her presence known. The note, as well as his favorite fountain pen, had disappeared from where he had left them on the vanity in her room. Castle took that as proof that she was still with him. Furthermore, there were several instances where whichever room he was occupying at any given time would suddenly become chilly and cold for no logical reason.
It had to be her. He would not accept any other explanation for the pebbling of gooseflesh along his arms and legs, or the rising of hairs on the back of his neck.
In the meantime, he continued to work with Constable Kevin Ryan, taking meetings whenever he could. During his free time, the young Irishman had been slowly reviewing all the materials on the murder of the undercover Federal officer, Robert Armen. Ryan had learned that the only evidence that had linked Pulgatti to the crime was, quite literally, a smoking gun, found in the man's possession upon his arrest.
The rest of the evidence used against Pulgatti had been circumstantial. However, lack of solid evidence was not a deterrent to the courts of the day. Witness testimonials was more vital that hard evidence. And in Pulgatti's case, the only witness had been a shopkeeper who claimed to have seen him in the neighborhood, which, in Castle's opinion, was hardly enough proof to convict Pulgatti. Yet that was what had occurred. And now the man was dead, so they could obviously not question him about what really happened. Castle was still holding out hope that Katherine would deign to speak to him again.
Castle trudged up the front steps to the brownstone, tugging his overcoat more snuggly around his frame. The dark clouds above were an ominous warning that a storm was approaching. Unlocking the door, he slipped inside and bolted the lock shut, before taking his overcoat off and putting it away in the designated receptacle located to the right of the foyer. Rubbing his hands together, Castle made his way into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove.
He walked through the dining room, slowly unraveling the scarf from around his neck, oblivious to the display that had been prepared on the dining table. However, he was not deaf to the high pitch whistle that came from the kettle sitting on top the stove. Castle stared at it in shock, before quickly going into action, removing the whistling kettle and snuffing out the flames. He arched his eyebrow and looked around the kitchen, finding everything in its place.
When he returned to the dining room, he stopped in his tracks, now seeing what he had missed in his hurry. The table had been set with all the fixings for late afternoon tea. A silver platter held crackers and meats, some of which had clearly been prepared, not just placed. Alongside them was a small stack of cucumber sandwiches. He looked down at the head of the table, where he found his favorite teacup sitting on a nice floral dish, next to a saucer holding what looked like a small fruitcake.
His jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out of their sockets as he gazed down at the display. A wrought iron holder was already in place for the hot kettle, and Castle set it down, before quietly taking a seat in the chair at the head of the table. Releasing a breath, he let his eyes wander across the spread. He had leant his house key to Mrs. O'Malley, so she could see to some of the housekeeper whilst he was away. Knowing he would be out late, he wondered if she had taken the initiative to prepare this for him.
Shrugging it off his worry as an unhealthy dose of paranoia—no doubt a result from spending hours poured over police reports and witness statements—Castle relaxed and poured himself a cup of tea. He sampled some of the delicacies, and smiled softly to himself. They were all quite delicious. He would have to remember to thank Mrs. O'Malley. The woman probably had some help from her daughter Jennifer. Yes. He would have to remember to thank them both for providing him with some marvelous fixings to go with his tea.
He had just cut a slice from the fruitcake when he noticed a note on the side of the table. Thinking it was from Mrs. O'Malley, he picked it up to read it as he took another sip of his tea. He nearly spit out the hot liquid when he read the note, realizing with startling clarity that it was not from his kindly next-door neighbor.
It read, Yes. I am still here. Enjoy – KB.
Castle glanced back at the marvelous spread of foods, undoubtedly prepared with thought and care, just for him. This was unlike any haunting he had ever read or heard of. He carefully placed his teacup back on the dish, before reaching down and picking up the fountain pen that had sudden materialized on the side of the dining table. Stifling down the inherent panic—a natural reaction from a species that learned early on to be afraid of the dark—over being visited by an otherworldly specter from beyond the veil, Castle put pen to paper and wrote out a reply.
He wrote, Thank you for the tea and food. It is all delicious. My compliments to you, Katherine.
Castle put the fountain pen down next to the paper, and sighed, not expecting any immediate answer. So he was both surprised and delighted when the paper and pen suddenly began to move. He watched in fascination when they seemed to realign themselves on the table, as if to face someone sitting in the chair to his left. He swallowed, eyes scanning the empty space, searching for evidence of the spirit he knew must be there, but could find none. The pen lifted up in the air, floating there for but a moment, before the nib touched the parchment. He pursed his lips, suppressing a gleeful smile as he was finally witness to his ghostly companion answering him.
It was my pleasure, Richard. Enjoy your meal, she wrote.
He then felt the phantom touch of a hand over his, causing gooseflesh to materialize and spread as the sensation moved up his arm. The room grew chilly, and he could have sworn it felt like a hand was giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. There was the brief echo of what sounded like a sigh, and then silence.
Castle called her name softly, hoping for another reply, but he was not holding his breath. She had already bestowed him with a wonderfully extraordinary gift. He murmured a soft 'thank you' to the empty room, before enjoying the rest of his meal.
