Spirits of the Pirate House (28 page)

* * * *

As they made their way slowly among the
downstairs rooms, the cousins couldn’t help jumping each time
thunder boomed. “Sure is different now that we’ve gone lights out,”
said T.J. “Mike wasn’t kidding.”

“We’ll get used to it, Cuz,” said LouAnne
bravely. “Those lightning flashes are freaking me out, though.”

They found themselves in the bedroom of
Lillith Tarver, which was only slightly less grand than that of her
husband. “You think it’s strange she had her own room?” mused
T.J.

“I don’t know,” she replied, panning the
infrared camcorder around. “Seems that back in the day if you were
very wealthy you got your own bedroom, married or not. Want to ask
Lillith some questions?”

“Let’s do it.”

They settled gently on the somewhat lumpy
mattress of the elaborately carved mahogany four poster bed. T.J.
clicked on RECORD and spoke into the EVP unit. “We’re trying to
contact Lillith Tarver. My name is T.J. and this is my cousin
LouAnne, and we’re visiting your island from America. Are you here,
Mrs. Tarver?” He paused for a response, then continued, “Is your
husband here with you? Are you aware that we have found him to be a
slave master? ... Do you have any regrets about your lives in this
house?”

T.J. rewound the tape and hit PLAY. But there
was only dead air in the response spaces. “Oh well,” he said,
“let’s keep going. Remember, when the TV show airs, people only see
a few highlights out of hours of footage.”

“You’re so encouraging, Cuz,” she replied
sarcastically.

* * * *

Upstairs, Bortnicker and Ronnie weren’t
faring any better. “I can’t get over all the woodwork in these
rooms,” marveled the boy. “It must take hours to polish it.”

“Not if you’ve got slaves,” Ronnie bitterly
retorted.

“Good point. Let’s try to bring him out. Sir
William,” he announced, raising his voice, “we’ve come a long way
to meet you and hope not to be disappointed. Are you annoyed that
we are in your home? ... Are you trapped here, or is it just that
you don’t want to leave? ... Are you ashamed that you subjugated
others to live so well?” He rewound the tape and they both put
their ear to the miniature speaker. Nothing.

“Oh well, on to the next room,” he
sighed.

At 11:00 p.m. Mike radioed the teams to meet
back at the command post for a break. “So you thought ghost chasing
was easy?” he said, noting their sense of frustration.

“There’s nothing, Mike,” complained T.J. “Not
a peep on the EVPs, or a knock, or anything. Once I thought I heard
a rap on the window, but it was only a palm frond blowing in the
storm breeze.”

“Which by the way keeps picking up,” added
LouAnne.

“You dudes don’t want to quit, do you?” Mike
challenged.

“No way,” said Bortnicker doggedly. “Let’s
just switch floors and see if our luck changes.” He turned to Tom
Sr. “Mr. J, have you seen anything at all on the monitors?”

“Sorry, Bortnicker,” said Tom Sr., “Mike and
I are practically going cross-eyed looking at these screens. We’ve
seen a few dust motes and stuff, but outside of the occasional
lightning through the windows, it’s been dead. No pun
intended.”

“I’ve been listening to your questions,” said
Weinstein, “and you’re doing good. But maybe it’s time to get a
little nastier.”

“Not a problem,” said T.J. “Let’s get after
it.”

* * * *

Outside in the car, Chappy was getting a
little edgy. Not only had the storm intensified to the point where
wind damage was probable, every minute more that those kids spent
in the house was pushing their luck. After hearing Winnie
Pemburton’s story and the news of Willie B.’s demise, he was
convinced that something was certainly wrong in that house.
However, being a rational man, he was reluctant to give in to his
gut impression. He checked his watch. “Just a couple more hours,”
he said to himself, “and it will all be over.”

Then the lights went out.

* * * *

“Uh oh,” said LouAnne, suddenly clutching her
cousin after a particularly nasty crack of lightning. “That sounded
way too close.”

Almost immediately T.J.’s walkie-talkie
crackled, making him almost jump out of his shoes.

“Come in, T.J. and LouAnne,” said Weinstein.
“Can you hear me? Over.”

“We-we’re here,” answered T.J. “Jeez, Mike,
you scared the crap out of me. What’s up?”

“We’ve lost power, dudes. The computers are
all down. You want to call it a night?”

T.J. looked at LouAnne, who shrugged with an
It’s up to you
look. “Nah, our handhelds are still working.
I’ll just flip on my flashlight. Over.”

Bortnicker gave Mike pretty much the same
response. “Okay, then,” said Weinstein, “Tom and I will be here if
you need us.”

“Hey,” said Ronnie. “Why don’t you give me a
try? Maybe it will change our luck.”

“Well,” reasoned Bortnicker, “it’s not in the
script, but I don’t see why not.” He handed her the EVP recorder in
exchange for the video cam. Suddenly he froze. “Do you smell
tobacco, like a pipe?” he said.

“Now that you mention it, I do catch a
whiff.”

“Maybe it’s him. Let ‘er rip.”

“William Tarver!” she called. “I will not
refer to you as ‘Sir’ because you don’t deserve my respect, or
anyone else’s for that matter. Are you here? Come forward, you
coward. Are you in our presence?”

She paused and then proceeded with her line
of questioning: “Did you die in this house? ... Are you aware of
the despicable nature of your deeds?”

“Play it back,” said Bortnicker.

“Okay, here goes,” she said after
rewinding.

“William Tarver! I will not refer to you as
‘Sir’, because you don’t deserve my respect, or anyone else’s for
that matter. Are you here? Come forward, you coward. Are you in our
presence?”

“Yes
.” The voice was somewhat faint,
but clear. The teens’ eyes widened in horror.

“Did you die in this house?
”

“No.”

“Are you aware of the despicable nature of
your deeds?”

A chilling laugh was the only reply.

“Wow!” cried Bortnicker, hugging Ronnie
excitedly. “We’ve broken through! He’s really here! Keep
going!”

“Okay,” she answered, then shivered.
“Bortnicker, are you cold?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah,” he replied.
“It’s like the temperature’s dropping by the second. I’ve seen this
all the time on ghost shows. When a spirit is trying to manifest
itself it could lead to an extreme temperature drop where it is.
Let me check the thermal imaging camera,” he said, pulling the
device from his pocket. “Holy Toledo! The temperature’s at
70...65...50...45...”

“Get T.J. and LouAnne up here,” she said
hurriedly. “I think something’s about to happen!”

“I’m on it!” He fumbled with the
walkie-talkie, then clicked on. “T.J., come in.”

“What’s up?”

“You got anything going downstairs?”

“Not really, and this lightning outside isn’t
helping any.”

“Well then, you’d better get up here, ‘cause
things are getting weird.”

“Really? How?”

“We got a response on the EVP recorder, it’s
getting colder in here, and—”

“Bortnicker? Bortnicker!” T.J. turned to
LouAnne, who looked on pie-eyed. “His walkie just cut out. Remember
last year in Gettysburg how Hilliard drained the batteries in the
tape recorder when he manifested? It could be happening upstairs,
right now!”

“Come on!” she cried, grabbing her cousin’s
hand. “Let’s get up there now!” They took off running through the
darkened hallway toward the grand staircase.

* * * *

“T.J.? Bortnicker? Can you guys hear me?”
Mike shook his walkie-talkie, listened, then gave it a whack.
Nothing. “We’re out, Tom,” he said with concern. “The storm
shouldn’t affect them, since they run on batteries. Something tells
me Tarver is trying to manifest himself...but to drain all our
radios is pretty extraordinary. Takes a lot of energy for something
that dramatic.”

“Think we should go find them?”

Mike thought a second. “Nah, let’s sit tight.
These kids can handle themselves.”

* * * *

T.J. and LouAnne burst through the doorway to
find Bortnicker and Ronnie literally shaking in their sneakers. No
sooner had T.J. uttered the words “Jeez, it’s freezing in here!”
than the door behind them slammed shut, prompting them all to
jump.

“Think the wind caused that?” said Bortnicker
shakily.

“Are you serious?” answered LouAnne. “Have
you checked out how heavy the doors in this place are?”

“Okay, okay, everyone calm down,” said T.J.,
bringing his voice down a few octaves. “Ronnie, tell me what’s
happened.”

“W-well, we’ve been trying to make contact
all night,” she said, holding herself against the chill, “but it
wasn’t till I started asking the questions that we got a hit on the
EVP.”

“Could you play it back for me?’

“Sorry, Big Mon, the batteries went dead,”
said Bortnicker. “But believe me, he responded.”

“Okay, then. Ronnie, he seems to be reacting
to you. Why don’t you try again.”

“If you want.” She cleared her throat.
“William Tarver! We’ve all assembled here to meet you. The least
you could do is show yourself. Or are you—”

“No need to scream, lass,” came a burly voice
from another part of the room. “I can hear you just fine.”

The teens froze, then slowly turned to see a
figure silhouetted against the huge balcony window, sheets of rains
sliding down the outside glass. He was large, over six feet, boots
planted wide, shoulders thrown back and balled fists on hips. His
long hair, tied back, nearly reached his shoulders. Flashes of
lightning revealed a weathered, somewhat handsome face framed by a
prodigious dark beard. A cutlass hung from his wide belt, and the
butt of a flintlock pistol protruded from his brass buttoned
waistcoat.

“C-Captain Tarver?” said Ronnie, her voice
quivering. “Captain William Tarver?”

“In the flesh,” he replied, chuckling at his
own joke. “And what brings this group to my humble home?”

T.J. stepped forward. “Captain, we’ve come
here from America to speak to you—”

“All that way across the ocean. My, my. What
is it you seek?”

“Some information,” said Bortnicker.
“Specifically, about your life and death.”

“Really, now.” He looked directly at Ronnie,
who was doing her best to appear unruffled. “And you, young miss?
Are you the personal attendant to this other lass? You seem rather
mouthy for a slave. A more respectful tone is in order here, I
think. But I must say, I love the color of your eyes. A wonderful
shade, that. Too pretty to be a field slave.”

“Why, you—” She stepped forward, but LouAnne
put herself between the black girl and the ghost.

“Ronnie is most certainly
not
our
slave,” she said firmly. “What’s more, she is a full member of our
team, and we don’t appreciate the tone you’re taking with her.”

“Is that a fact?” said Tarver with mild
amusement. “Let me remind
you
, lass, that you’re in my home,
and you’ll watch your tongue when addressing me.” His voice turned
harsh. “Now, state your business plainly before I lose
patience.”

Sensing that the situation was escalating,
T.J. again took the lead. “Sir William,” he said calmly, “your
house is regarded as a historic landmark, a national treasure of
the Bermudian people—”

“As well it should be,” he growled.

“Then why are you chasing away those who
visit this place?”

The pirate glowered. “There are those who
belong here and those who do not,” he replied.

“Like me?” asked Ronnie indignantly. “And to
think, I considered you a hero. I remember being so sad when I
visited your tomb years ago, and proud at the same time when my
teacher told our class about your brave exploits. She never
mentioned how you worked people like me to death, all for your own
benefit!” Bortnicker tried to rest a calming hand on her shoulder,
but she shook it off.

“You know,” he said with a hint of
admiration, “I like you. Cheeky one, you are. And I must say, I’m
somewhat honored that you took the time to visit my grave. But
there’s a problem with that, I’m afraid.”

“Which is?” asked Bortnicker.

“Well, I’m not actually buried there.”

“Wait a minute,” said LouAnne. “According to
the official records, or what’s left of them, you died of natural
causes and were buried in the St. Anne’s Church cemetery. Your wife
was later buried with you.”

He sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but
while she is indeed there, I am not.”

“Did you go down with the
Steadfast
?”
asked T.J.

“How do you know about my ship?”

“We found it, Captain Tarver, off the South
Shore.”

“Indeed? And how long ago was this?”

“My father discovered it, actually,” said
Ronnie proudly. “About seven months ago.”

“Well, that would explain it then,” he
replied.

“Explain what?” asked Bortnicker.

“Why I’ve been...returned.”

T.J., remembering back to the previous year
when Major Crosby Hilliard had come back to the Gettysburg
Battlefield as a result of his remains being accidentally dug up,
figured Jasper Goodwin’s fateful dive in November had similarly
awakened the pirate’s spirit in some way. “Captain Tarver,” he
said, “if you’re not buried in the St. Anne’s Cemetery, then where
are your remains?”

Suddenly there was a hammering on the door of
the room. “Dudes! Are you in there?” yelled Weinstein. “Hey! Are
you guys all right? Let me in! This door’s locked or
something!”

The teens looked to the ghost, whose density
seemed to be thinning. “It appears I must be going,” said Tarver.
“But since you seem so interested in my whereabouts, I’ll make you
a proposition. Return to this place tomorrow night and all will be
made clear.”