The Haunting of Pitmon House (9 page)

“Why is it so dangerous?” Eliza asked. “Compared to other
places?”

“That’s a good question,” Granger answered. “I’m not sure
anyone knows the reason. Nick might have uncovered some of that, but he was
focused on solving a specific problem for someone. I’ve never really
concentrated on the place to be honest with you. There’s plenty of haunted buildings
to work with that aren’t so hazardous. Pitmon House is one we just steer clear
of.”

“Well, I can’t steer clear,” Eliza said. “The thing that
attacked my brother has something to do with that house. We’ve got no other
leads to go on.”

She watched as Rachel and Granger exchanged glances.

“I thought you were out,” Granger said to Rachel.

“I was,” Rachel replied.

“This is a pretty nasty one to come back with,” Granger said.
“Not really easing back into things.”

“I didn’t realize it would involve Pitmon House,” Rachel
replied. “That’s when I got cold feet. Up until now I thought we were making
good progress. Eliza’s a little new at the game, and I was showing her the
ropes.”

“That true?” Granger asked, turning to Eliza.

Eliza felt a little defensive. “I suppose it’s true, but I
can take care of myself.”

“The Pitmon House is no place for a newbie,” Granger said.
“No offense.”

“None taken,” Eliza replied, sticking out her chin a little.

“I think what we were hoping,” Rachel said, “was that you
could tell us everything you know about the place, and we’d figure out what our
next step might be.”

“Your next step?” Granger asked, looking again at Rachel.
“You really intend to pursue this? I know seasoned gifteds who wouldn’t touch
Pitmon with a ten foot pole.”

“It didn’t look that scary,” Eliza said, trying to stick up
for herself.

“You went there?” Granger asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Yes, last night,” Eliza replied. “I looked around the
place.”

“You mean you looked at it through the gate,” Granger said.

“Yeah,” Eliza replied. “And a little in the River.”

“By yourself?” Granger asked.

Eliza turned to look at Rachel. “Yeah.”

Granger turned to Rachel. “And you let her?”

“No, I didn’t let her,” Rachel replied. “She went on her
own.”

“And I survived,” Eliza interjected. “I’m still here,
standing.”

Granger snorted. “You should not be proud of that. Being
proud of something stupid makes you a fool. Did you go inside?”

“No,” Eliza answered, feeling the wind go out of her sails a
little. It was one thing to stand up for yourself; it was another to have
someone call you a fool. She wondered if perhaps her trip to the house the
previous night had, indeed, been foolish. She remembered the movement she’d
seen behind the stained glass, and how it had startled her.
And I wasn’t
even inside yet,
she thought.
Maybe he’s right.

“She won’t do that again,” Rachel said. “I’ll keep an eye on
her. I feel responsible.”

“No,” Eliza said, regaining her confidence. “Rachel isn’t
responsible. This is all on me. If I did something stupid, then fine, I did. What
I would really appreciate is if you can help me out so my brother can be free
of this thing. It’s all fine and well to call me stupid, but I’m just trying to
save my brother’s life.”

She could feel Granger’s eyes scanning her face, reading her.
“Alright,” he said. “I can appreciate that.”

“Anything you can do?” Rachel asked. “We’re not asking you to
march in there.”

“There might be something,” Granger replied. “Nick was a note
taker; I know he kept a family book. There might be something in there to go
on.”

“A family book?” Eliza asked.

“Many gifteds keep a journal of the things they encounter,”
Rachel replied, “and it gets passed down from generation to generation. Not
that my loser father kept one.”

“Nick didn’t have any kids,” Granger said. “If his notes are
still around, most likely his wife Donette has them. She might have thrown them
out, though; she was pretty bitter after his death. I haven’t talked to her in
a decade at least.”

“Any chance she’d share them?” Rachel asked. “That is, if she
still has them?”

“A decade’s a long time,” Granger replied. “Time might have
softened her a little.” He turned his eyes from Rachel. “It’s not healthy to
hold onto the past for too long.”

“I know that comment was aimed at me,” Rachel said. “I’ll
talk to her, if you want.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Granger said. “I’ve gone too long without
checking in on her. I’ll try to reach her today. I’ll let you know what I find
out.”

As he finished, another man entered from the back of the
garage. He wasn’t as tall as Granger, but he had the same broad chest. His hair
was short and dark.

“Robert!” Rachel said, turning to greet him.

“Rachel,” Robert replied, and they hugged.

As they separated, Granger said, “Eliza, meet my son, Robert.
We work together on things.”

Robert stepped toward her, his arms outstretched for the hug,
but she saw him hesitate, and she wondered if he’d seen something on her, like
spit on her lip. As his arms went around her and she gave him a hug in return,
her arms couldn’t help but feel the muscles on his back through his thin shirt,
and his chest pressed lightly into hers. She felt something ignite in her; as
he pulled away, she was concerned it might show on her face.

“It’s nice…to meet you…” he said haltingly, as though looking
at her face caused his speech to screw up.

She felt a bit overwhelmed by her reaction to the hug, and
realized she was taking too long to reply. “Nice to meet you too,” she finally said.
“Your father has been helping us.”

“We’ll see how much help it winds up being,” Granger replied.
“There’s no guarantee Donette still has them.”

“Donette Fesco?” Robert said, turning to his father. Eliza
couldn’t help but admire his strong jawline as his profile appeared.

“I’ve told them I’d approach her about Nick’s journals,”
Granger replied.

“You sure?” Robert asked.

“Eliza’s brother is in the hospital,” Rachel said to Robert.
“All signs point to Pitmon House. We’re hoping to learn a bit more about the
place before we proceed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Robert said, turning back to Eliza.
She was taken with how genuine his reaction appeared to be. Not only was he
handsome, he seemed real and empathetic; something she hadn’t experienced in
her casual dating before returning home from college. She found it attractive.

“Thank you,” Eliza replied. “We need anything that can help
us figure things out.”

“I’ll fill you in on everything I know,” Granger said. “For
now, let me give you this.” He turned and walked to a series of bookcases that
lined one of the walls in the garage. He hunted through the titles, finally
selecting one, and handed it to Eliza.

“There’s a chapter in there on Pitmon House,” Granger said.
“Just history. It’ll give you the basics. Won’t explain much in terms of the
haunting, or why it’s a deathtrap, but it’s a place to start until I can make
contact with Donette.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said. “I’ll read it tonight.”

“I guess we should be going,” Rachel said. “It was nice to
see you both again.”

“Likewise,” Granger said, his arms extending for a goodbye
hug. Eliza found herself looking forward to the hug from Robert, which was even
better than the first. When it was over, Robert held her shoulders at arm’s
length. “We’ll help your brother, somehow.”

She smiled weakly at him, knowing he meant every word. “Thank
you again. I appreciate it.”

Arnie waved goodbye to them as they left the garage, and he
pulled the rolling door down behind them.

“Oh boy,” Rachel said as they got into the car.

“What?” Eliza asked.

“When I knew Granger before, his son was still in high
school. He sure has grown up.”

“I’ll say.”

“He likes you.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. And I think you like him back.”

“He was very nice,” Eliza replied defensively.

“Yeah, very nice,” Rachel repeated.

“I don’t think he’s interested,” Eliza said. “He gave me a
funny look when he first saw me.”

“He was intimidated by you.”

Eliza scoffed. “Intimidated! Give me a break.”

“No, I mean it. You’ve got a very strong presence and guys
react to that.”

Eliza didn’t reply; it was something she’d heard before, and
she didn’t really understand it. She was who she was; if men were intimated by
her, she couldn’t help that.

“He seemed to recover pretty quickly,” Rachel said. “But you
could see it, for a second there. Intimidated. He must like that.”

“Please,” she replied, starting up the car.

●

Her eyelids wanted to close, but she fought to keep them
open. Under the covers she was nice and warm, and her body was ready to sleep.
Her arms, extended above the covers, felt chilly. She was holding the book,
propped up on her chest. It was just getting good.

It chronicled the rise of several Wisconsin men in the early
twentieth century who had made massive fortunes over the course of their lives.
Each chapter recounted another bootstrap to riches story, providing a primer on
the American dream while detailing some of the more salacious and unsavory
things the men had done in order to achieve their success. She marveled at the
lack of scruples and the willingness to screw people over for a buck. It had
worked out for most of them; in the end, each left an enterprise so large, it
had to be managed by their children.

In the case of Keith Pitmon, creator of a giant aluminum
conglomerate, he’d invested a tremendous amount of his money into a cause that
he became obsessed with as his old age approached — the way in which seniors
were treated. It was 1934, and across the country people in their later years
were left penniless and homeless by a cruel economy and their own inability to
save. As she read the story of how Pitmon grieved at the treatment of society’s
less fortunate, she felt a kinship develop.
He must have had the same fear
as me,
she thought.
Fear of being destitute.

Pitmon felt the country should invest in elderly homes,
providing shelter and a place to live out their final days, especially for those
who didn’t have children capable of taking care of them. He set about building
such a home as a demonstration; because he had been involved in politics, he
was hopeful he could persuade his acquaintances in Congress to sign on to his
plan once he completed an example of how it could work, demonstrating the
empathy and concern that he felt society owed to its older citizens.

The house he constructed was stately and magnificent. Every
politician he brought through the house commented on how beautiful it was, and
what a fine function it was performing, housing a clientele of older residents.
When it came time to vote and allocate funds, however, none of them would side
with Pitmon. Apparently the house’s elegance had made its political visitors
wary of its expense, and when FDR brought forward Social Security, Pitmon’s
proposal fell by the wayside in favor of a system that allowed seniors control
of their housing decisions, rather than having housing provided.

As Eliza turned the pages, she studied the pictures of the
house. The grounds were immaculate, just as she’d noticed when she was there. There
were pictures of several outer buildings that she hadn’t seen while staring
through the iron gates. Interior pictures showed tasteful chandeliers, ornate
molding, and fine tapestries. It looked like an elegant hotel, although smaller
and more intimate. There were rooms for more than a dozen people. She instantly
saw why it had never flown politically; it was far too ostentatious. Pitmon got
wrapped up in trying to make it luxurious; that killed it.

The final paragraphs detailed how Pitmon moved on,
designating the house as a retirement home for members of his extended family.
An endowment was established to keep the place running, and the entire
enterprise spun off from his holdings just before his financial collapse in the
fifties. Keith Pitmon wound up taking a room in the house himself, relying on
the generosity of his own foresight to see himself through the final years of
his life.

She finished the chapter and closed the book, setting it on
her nightstand. The clock read 11:36.

But how did it become empty?
she wondered.
What happened to
the endowment? What has to happen to a house for it to become haunted?

She felt her eyes closing and she knew she’d have to save
those questions for the next day.

They left immediately after the gift shop closed and their
shifts ended; Granger had news, and invited them both to his house for dinner.

On the drive, Eliza shared with Rachel the things she’d
learned from the book Granger had loaned them.

“How did he make his money again?” Rachel asked. “Aluminum?
How do you get rich off aluminum?”

“Aluminum and acquisitions,” Eliza offered. “He ran for Congress,
too.”

“So it was basically an old folks home,” Rachel said, “for
all his rich relatives.”

“In the end, yes. He at least had the vision to set it up in
a way to survive his bankruptcies.”

“One of those relatives must be Yessler,” Rachel offered.
“We’ll have to find out which one.”

Rachel directed her turn by turn, and Eliza was surprised to
find that Granger’s house was simply the other side of the industrial building
they’d visited the day before. As she parked the car and got out, Eliza was
wondering exactly what kind of home Granger lived in; from the exterior, it
looked like they might be approaching a paint or welding shop. There was no
sign on the building advertising services, only the numbers of the address,
almost obscured by a green shrub. A red metal door had a window that was
covered over by bars. Rachel reached for a doorbell button that was discreetly
hidden behind the shrub, and within moments Eliza heard several locks being
thrown. The door opened.

“Come in!” Robert said, smiling at both of them and swinging
the door wide. Eliza and Rachel stepped in; it was a small office with a desk
and a couple of chairs. “Come on through,” Robert offered, closing the door
behind them. “Rachel, you remember the way.”

“I think I do,” Rachel said, walking to a door on the far
side of the office that was tucked between two large filing cabinets. She
opened it, revealing a short hallway, and Eliza followed, with Robert behind.

The hallway lasted no more than ten feet and turned to the
right, opening into a large space. A sofa and chairs were positioned in one
corner of the room, grouped around a television, with an open kitchen in the
other corner. Granger had a chef’s apron on, and was standing behind an island
of pots, steam rising in front of him. He glanced around the steam.

“Come on in!” he said loudly. “I’d come over but I gotta keep
an eye on this!”

“We’ll come to you!” Rachel replied, and they walked across
the open room to Granger, where they sat on tall bar stools next to the island.

“Some wine?” Robert offered, picking up a bottle from the
counter behind Granger.

“Ooo, I’d love some!” Rachel replied.

“Eliza?” Robert asked. “It’s red, and it’s very good.”

“Sure,” Eliza answered. “A little, thanks.”

As Robert poured the glasses, Eliza turned on her bar stool
to look around the place. The ceilings were high, as you’d expect in an
industrial space. There were no windows, but it didn’t seem claustrophobic
thanks to its size. She noticed a hallway leading out of the room from one of
the other corners; she assumed it must lead to the bathroom and bedrooms. There
was no artwork on the walls, which left a lot of white space that made the room
seem even bigger. Eliza noticed very high-end appliances in the kitchen.

“This’ll be ready in two shakes,” Granger said. “Just enough
time to get a glass of wine down ’ya.”

“What’re we having?” Rachel asked, rising up from the bar
stool to look into the pots.

“Just pasta,” Granger said. “But the tomatoes are from Italy,
and the cheese…goddamn, I’m so excited for you to try this
parmigiano
…took me six months to
get the monks to ship it.”

“Ooo!” Rachel replied. “My mouth is watering already!”

“I read the chapter on Pitmon,” Eliza said, as she took the
wine glass from Robert.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Robert replied.

“Not much help with our current situation,” Granger replied,
pouring a pot of boiling pasta through a colander. “But that might be remedied
soon enough. I’ve invited…”

He was interrupted by the sound of a loud buzzer.

“I’ll get it,” Robert said, turning from Eliza and walking
back to the hallway, disappearing into it within seconds.

“That’ll be Donette,” Granger replied. “She’s joining us for
dinner.”

“Joining us?” Eliza asked, surprised. “Are you going to ask
her for Nick’s journals over dinner?”

“No, I’ve already asked,” Granger replied. “I told her your
whole story. She said she wanted to meet you first.”

Eliza suddenly felt too casually dressed, and she wished
Granger had shared this bit of information with them before she left Spring
Green.

Rachel seemed to read Eliza’s reaction, and she reached over
to her. “You’ll do fine,” she said, reassuringly. “I’ll help.”

Robert returned with a tall, large-chested woman. She walked
along beside him with confidence, an oversized purse hanging from her arm,
which she dropped on a chair as she approached the kitchen island. She was
dressed in a tight-fitting black shirt that hugged every curve, and leather
pants.

As Robert made the introductions, Eliza noticed a shiny
object in Donette’s left hand. She raised it, and Eliza could see it was a
small metal pipe.

“Do you mind, Granger?” Donette said, holding up the pipe.
“It’s a cherry blend, nothing obnoxious.”

“No, I don’t mind, unless anyone else does?” He looked around
the island. No one spoke up.

“Fine then,” Donette said, producing a lighter from her
pocket and puffing the pipe to life.

“Wine?” Robert offered.

“If memory serves,” Donette replied, “you always had the best
wine. But it’s been a long time, Robert. You were just a tyke when I saw you
last.” She held out her hand at waist level. “Too young to pour wine back
then.”

“He excels at it now,” Granger said, jumping in, “and I
assure you the wine has only improved over the years. Give it a go.”

Donette nodded, and Robert poured her some. She sniffed at it
carefully, then swirled it around, sniffing again as the red coated the sides
of the glass. Finally she let a little of it slip into her lips, and she pulled
the glass away, setting it down on the counter.

“Exquisite,” she said calmly. “Heavenly.”

Eliza wondered how long before they’d talk about Nick’s
journals. The conversation drifted from wine to cheese, and on to the baked
ziti recipe that Granger had been struggling with for years. Soon Donette and
Granger were going at it full speed, back and forth like old friends.

Dinner was ready quickly, and they all sat at a large table
nearby. Large bowls of salad, pasta, and bread were passed. Eliza took a lot of
the salad and tried to resist the pasta, but Granger was having none of it. He
came around with a grater and personally administered the cheese he’d been
raving about to each person’s plate.

She had to admit; it was good.
Very
good.

The wine began to mix with the casual conversation, and Eliza
felt herself relaxing, even laughing occasionally at the stories Granger and
Donette were telling. It didn’t take long to warm up to the woman, who was
seated directly across from her.

“Coffee?” Granger asked, as people finished. “Espresso?”

“No, too full,” Rachel replied. “I’ll have to work a double
shift tomorrow to burn off the calories, Granger.”

“These aren’t cheap carbs!” Granger said. “Retain them as
long as you can!”

That made Donette laugh and soon the entire table was
laughing again. Eliza could feel the awkwardness of meeting new people
dissipate rapidly.
Granger knew this dinner would do that,
she thought.

Finally, Donette turned to her. “So, Eliza, tell me about
yourself.”

“Uh, well, I work at House on the Rock with Rachel,” she
started.

“Oh, that place,” Donette said. “Nick used to hold such
strong opinions about it!”

“All the haunted stuff?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Donette replied, “he hated the kitsch. I know that’s
why people like it, but he hated that type of thing. Taliesin was more his
style.”

Eliza wasn’t about to let that stop her. “My father died a
few years ago, so I’m raising my brother, Shane. He’s almost fifteen. He’s the
one in the hospital.”

“Was your father gifted?” Donette asked.

“I’m not sure,” Eliza replied. “It wasn’t something we ever
talked about.”

“I can understand that,” Donette said, reaching for her wine
glass. “I’m not gifted, myself. Here I am, sitting at a table, surrounded by
people who can jump into the River and see the most amazing things, but I can’t
do any of it. Of course, I heard about it my entire married life, before the
gift stole my husband away from me. Perhaps your father wanted to spare you pain,
and that’s why he didn’t talk about it with you.”

“I don’t know,” Eliza replied. “Impossible to know, now.”

“Not impossible,” Donette replied. “I thought you all could
contact the dead?” She looked around the table. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“You know that’s not exactly how it works,” Granger said
gently.

“I was led to believe that’s exactly how it works,” Donette
replied, her voice rising. “It’s up to the ghost, isn’t it?” she continued,
turning her attention back to Eliza. “If it wants to communicate or not, correct?
Sometimes ghosts conveniently don’t want to talk, isn’t that right?”

“I can’t tell you why Nick has never tried to communicate
with you, Donette,” Granger said.

“Has your father ever tried to talk to you, since he moved
on?” Donette asked Eliza. “A word? Maybe a breeze or a knocking? Anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Eliza replied. “Since he wasn’t very
communicative when he was alive, it doesn’t surprise me he hasn’t got anything
to say now.”

“But have
you
tried?” Donette pressed. “Reached out,
held a séance or whatever it is you call it, to see if he would appear to you
and tell you things?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Donette asked. “I’ve tried to contact Nick for
more than a decade now. I’ve exhausted every one of these gifteds, hoping to
get just the slightest hello from that man, and not one of them can rouse him.
You’d think someone who was so forthright and liberal with the use of his gift
would factor in a way to talk to his abandoned wife, wouldn’t you?”

Eliza wasn’t sure where Donette was headed with things. “I
don’t know.”

“You should try your dad,” Donette said. “Maybe it’s the
opposite. Maybe, if they were active in life, they clam up when they die. And
maybe your dad, who didn’t have much to say when he was alive, regrets it now
and would like to tell you some things. That might make sense, huh? The idea
that the active ones in life will talk to you in death sure does seem to be
bullshit, isn’t that right, Granger?”

Granger shook his head slightly. “Donette, I…”

Eliza cut him off. “I don’t appreciate you speaking about my father
so cavalierly,” she said to Donette. “Maybe he has something to say, maybe he
doesn’t. My reasons for contacting him or not are my own. My brother is tied
down to a hospital bed ten miles from here, under constant sedation. That’s
what I’m worried about, not my father, not whatever problem you’ve got with
your husband.”

Donette placed her wine glass next to her plate and took a
long breath. “You’re right,” she said calmly. “I apologize. You don’t deserve
my badgering.”

“Can you help us?” Eliza asked. “He’s getting worse by the
day. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong; they’re basically useless. Rachel’s
Tapura identified the object that has infected him, and it has something to do
with Pitmon House. From what Granger tells me, your husband was the one with
the most knowledge of the place. We need your help.”

Donette raised her eyes to Eliza. “It killed him. You do
realize that, don’t you? I would love to help you, but who helped my husband?
Who saved him from that place? Perhaps the way I can help you the most is to
refuse.”

“It’ll mean my brother’s death,” Eliza replied.

“And it’ll mean the death of any of you,” Donette said,
pointing her finger around the room, “who pursue this!”

“Donette,” Granger said, “you don’t know that for sure. If we
can pick up where Nick left off, maybe we can figure out what he wasn’t able
to; maybe we can resolve what’s going on at Pitmon House, and finish what he
was trying to accomplish.”

“I held onto his books,” Donette said, “hoping that somehow it
would make him want to contact me, like they were some kind of connection. I
got so angry when he didn’t reach out, I wanted to burn them — and let me tell
you, I came damn close several times. After all that has gone on since then, I
think the one thing that sticks with me is how dedicated and focused he was on
trying to crack that place. I abhor that kind of single-minded destructiveness
now. Look what it got him. You’ll get the same if you follow in his footsteps. If
I give you his books, it will just make me an accomplice in your deaths.”