Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (10 page)

I disregarded his warning. This, after all, was a clear
and present danger, not ghostly footfalls on the path or in
the library. The police seemed bored and unwilling to in
vestigate. I called the FBI. They agreed to work on the case.
I told them about the dissatisfied client. The FBI only succeeded in letting the man know that the authorities were
after him.

I was livid! Now that my extortionist knew I had made
contact with law enforcement agencies, he would probably
carry out the rest of his threats. I tried the police again who
were unwilling to enter the case which the FBI had apparently fumbled.

Finally, I went to the top. The mayor of Philadelphia
listened attentively to my story. Protection was assigned to
my home and office on a twenty-four hour basis until the
perpetrator-the same irate refund demander-was caught.

Reflecting on these incidents, I could only nod and tell
Dorothy that indeed, she was right. Sometimes an unseen
presence could be easier to deal with - and far less threatening-than that which was perfectly visible!

Although we had finally come to terms with our ghostly
situation, we all knew that it would be illogical to expect
others to come to a similar acceptance. This was certainly
true when it came to household help.

I hadn't exaggerated when I told my dad that we had
trouble keeping servants. They lasted such a short time that
I can't even recall all names and faces -even though I have
a good memory. I became a regular visitor at the employment agency. In a very short time, I became an unwelcome
one. There was no money to be made from the Camerons.

"What kind of a place are you running out there?" the
agency manager finally asked irately. "It's hard to get people to even apply and, according to the grapevine, if they do
try it, they'll be sorry."

I replied with what dignity I could muster that we had
a nice home, got along very well with all our help, and were
never unreasonable in our demands upon them in the matter
of work. Naturally, I couldn't mention ghosts.

"That isn't exactly what I meant," the man replied.
"Anyway, we've gone through the list. We don't have a soul
for you right now."

Something told me that he wouldn't have a soul for us
in the near future, either, so I went to another agency.

Although we preferred a husband and wife combination
we settled on singles again. We hired Samantha as housekeeper and Ernie for the outside work. They had rooms in
the servant's quarters and because their doors did not open
into the upstairs hall, I felt there was no reason why they
should be disturbed by unusual noises.

Samantha fed Ernie in the kitchen while the family ate
in the dining room. They both seemed capable enough.
After two weeks went by without apparent trouble, we began
to hope that they would stay. It was futile. One day after a
serious huddle, they both quit at the same time.

I tried to pin them down. "Just why do you want to leave?"
I demanded.

"I got my reasons," Samantha said stubbornly and refused to discuss the matter any further.

"We just don't like certain things," Ernie answered
evasively and clammed up when I tried further interrogation. They had already packed their belongings before
announcing their joint decision to leave immediately. That
night Dorothy again cooked dinner by herself.

I do remember Ellen. I liked her immensely. She stayed
three weeks. She seemed placid and hardworking and was
cheerful most of the time. It was pleasant to come down to breakfast in the morning and be greeted by her wide grin.
However, this was before she decided to do some ironing
in the dining room.

Humming to herself, she heard someone come in the door
behind her and assumed that it was Dorothy who stood close
at her shoulder and was evidently scrutinizing her ironing
technique. She chatted happily to her mistress for a few
minutes and then it occured to her that Dorothy was unusually silent and hadn't answered her at all. She looked
around. There was no one in the room but herself.

"Mrs. Cameron? she called tentatively.

There was no answer. Ellen stood in petrified silence. She
had heard the door open and had heard footsteps. She had
felt a person stand very near and hadn't heard that person
leave. She dropped the iron and went screeching through
the house in search of Dorothy who had been upstairs for
the last half-hour giving Michael his bath.

"Mrs. Cameron!" Ellen gasped. "Who's downstairs in the
dining room?"

Dorothy recognized another crisis. She put Michael down
in his crib and handed him a bottle of orange juice.

"Come on, Ellen," she said resignedly. "I want to talk
to you."

Downstairs Dorothy retrieved the iron and noted that the
room was empty and the library door closed. Then she took
Ellen into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. Feeling that she had established a good rapport, she sat down
opposite Ellen at the breakfast table and began to explain
about old houses.

"Sometimes certain things happen in old houses that are
hard to understand, Ellen. The mansion is one of those
places. You are perfectly safe here and you must just ignore
certain things that happen-just as the rest of us do. No
one has ever been hurt. We all love you very much and want
you to be happy with us."

Her effort failed miserably.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cameron," Ellen said firmly as she pushed
her untouched coffee away. "I'm quittin' right now. I like
you and the mister fine and the work isn't that hard ... but
those certain things you talk about will just have to happen
here without me!"

And that was that!

We finally started in on agencies in Philadelphia and
after a while there was no one "suitable" on their lists, either.
Our reputation-or the mansion's reputation to be exactseemed to go before us but it did nothing to brighten our
path. The answers given by servants to repeated inquiries
were always the same and usually evasive. Yes, they liked
Mr. and Mrs. Cameron just fine. No, the children weren't
any trouble. But they just didn't think the house was "right."

About this time there was to be a Fourth of July parade
in Wynne. The boys were doing dishes so Dorothy could get
Janet and Michael down at a proper hour.

"You know," Bob observed. "We don't have to go to town
to see a parade. All we have to do is to stand here and watch
our own-the parade of servants coming and going."

Hal agreed. "It's like an army. They march in right smart
but they sure break ranks when they leave. You'd think this
house was a bridge."

I had come into the kitchen in time to hear this exchange.
"Maybe it is," I put in thoughtfully, "a bridge between two
worlds."

I really meant that. I was convinced that there was another level of consciousness or activity of some kind that
occupied the same space we did and even penetrated it.
Certainly there was an interplay of some sort; an unexplained juxtaposition between entities in physical bodies
and those in astral form. Why it was particularly noticeable
in our location, I simply did not know.

I was finally driven to try a different approach. There was a handsome, strong, young man at the warehouse who
had just left the Marines. He was newly married and I knew
the generous salary I was prepared to offer him would be
attractive and probably needed. I decided to level with him.

"Look, Saml" I said earnestly. "You're an ex-Marine and
you aren't afraid of anything on earth. You can't be scared
by old wives' tales. We have been living in our house for
several months now and we don't pay any attention to odd
noises and creakings and things like that."

Sam looked interested and I went on persuasively. "I've
got a four-year-old daughter. Nothing has ever frightened
her. Certainly if a child can live happily in that house, you
and Margo can. You're a grown man of proven intelligence.
You even got medals for bravery. How about you and
Margo taking on this job for me as a personal favor? I'll pay
you a lot more than you're getting here -and the work isn't
as hard."

I was putting on the pressure and I knew it might be a
little unfair. If Sam refused, I was in a position to make
things uncomfortable for him around the plant. I wouldn't
have done this under any circumstances, but Sam had no
way of knowing that. Also, in the event of a refusal, he
could well be laughed at for being afraid of ghosts when a
whole family could take them in stride and when several
women from the office had spent the night in the house without witnessing anything unusual. I admit it was unfair, but
my conscience was dulled by the necessity of the moment.

Sam agreed to consider it. The next day he informed me
that he and Margo had talked it over and that they were
willing to work for us.

They turned out to be the best of the help to date. For
some reason they were not bothered by anything-or anyone
-for quite a while. Dorothy informed Margo that she would
take care of the library, herself, and that we had closed off the third floor. We genuinely liked Sam and Margo and
they seemed to like us.

There was only one place that Sam refused to go into by
himself and that was the furnace room in the basement. I
never questioned him about his decision. I had reached the
stage where I was willing to let well enough alone. So Sam
avoided the basement whenever he could. I remember returning home one day to see Sam and Janet emerging from the
basement into the kitchen. Janet was holding firmly onto
Sam's hand.

"I went down in the basement with Sam" she confided
happily. "We looked at the furnace. I was taking care of
him."

I stared quizzically at Sam, but he wasn't even embarrassed.
After that, when he had to go to the furnace room, Janet
was his companion. Perhaps he felt that her guardian angel
would be on the job and her protection would extend to
him, also. At any rate "looking after Sam" became little
towheaded Janet's self-imposed job. I told myself if this kept
Sam happy and on the job, as well as easier in his mind, I
couldn't object. A couple of months went by without incident and we were beginning to relax. Dorothy looked more
rested and happier.

Margo was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever
seen. She was also honest and sweet. However, her beauty
was not enough to insulate her against Sam's temper when
he was aroused. The day finally came when Sam neglected
a certain repair to the furnace (probably because it required
his presence down there in the basement for quite some time
and Janet was busy elsewhere). The resultant damage cost
me quite a bit of money, but Sam claimed complete innocence. He said he had carried out my instructions to the
letter but something else went wrong. It was an uneasy
Margo who informed me of Sam's negligence.

"I shouldn't tell on Sam," she confessed unhappily. "But
he said he'd messed up the repairs you ordered 'cause he
didn't want to spend any more time down there. He was
afraid. So it wasn't your fault, Mr. Cameron-what went
wrong, I mean."

That wasn't Sam's story. I mentioned it to him later on.

That night I heard a slamming noise from the servants'
quarters and went up to investigate. Sam was yelling unintelligibly when I opened the door. He had his hands around
Margo's throat and was banging her head against the wall.

"I'll kill you, woman! I'll kill you good. You told on me
to Mr. Cameron! You're goin' to die, and it won't be a
natural death! I'll pound your head to jelly! You won't tell
on me no more!"

"Sam!" I shouted "What's going on?"

He quickly released his hold on Margo's throat and made
a visible effort at self-control. "Just an argument, Mr.
Cameron," he managed to mumble. "Just a family argument. 'T'aint nothin' serious!"

"Well, we will have no more of this kind of argument.
You ought to be ashamed! Margo is no match for an exMarine-and a commando, at that!"

I went back downstairs and there was silence from Sam's
quarters for the balance of the night. The next morning
Margo moved stiffly and had difficulty in turning her head.

"What's the trouble, Margo?" I asked. "Neck bothering
you?"

She looked me straight in the eye. "It's of no account,
Mr. Cameron. I must have slept in a draft."

I reminded myself that it had been a family argument
after all and if this was Margo's attitude, then I had no right
to interfere. But, because of this, when just a few nights
later, I heard the noise of what seemed like a door slamming
again and again, I ran upstairs wondering what Margo had
done this time to arouse her husband's anger.

I opened the door and Sam nearly jumped me. He was
sitting on the edge of the bed in a crouching position, arms
extended in commando fashion, as he waited for me to
enter. When he saw who it was, he relaxed, but he still
wasn't happy.

"Boss," he said grimly. "That's the fifth time the door
has opened by itself tonight and the first time anyone has
been therel"

I grasped the situation at once. It was pure supposition
on my part but I couldn't help wondering if our unseen lady
had objected to Sam's assault on his wife and was taking
this method of chastising him.

"Well, don't worry," I said. "You know how things go on
around here once in a while." I looked for Margo then and
saw that she was in bed with the covers over her head.

"Yes, I know," Sam replied woodenly. "I've found out.
And it ain't just an old wives' tale, either, Mr. Cameron.
We just can't take it anymore. I'm sorry, but that's the way
it is!"

Sam couldn't be talked out of his decision to leave and
Margo, in spite of his temper, adored him. So we lost the
only couple who had ever worked out since we moved into
the house. They not only left the mansion, but they left the
area and returned to Margo's home in Louisiana.

Our first year in the house had ended. Again I was faced
with the necessity of getting help for Dorothy. She simply
couldn't manage the big place by herself with all the cleaning, washing, ironing, bed-making, cooking, and baby care
involved. She was doing physical labor from early morning
until late at night and I knew she couldn't keep up the pace indefinitely. I also knew that she would keep on trying. She
insisted on an orderly home.