Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen
The room was full of all kinds of devices that made my skin crawl. This was a house of torture and I could only assume there were a lot of souls that were put through hell. All of the devices were blood stained and rusted. The room was rather large as well.
Eventually Roy joined me in the torture chamber.
“Uh,” Roy started, “wow. This is disturbing.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“This place is worse than I thought. There’s no telling how many ghost are in this house.”
“Why have we only seen just the one so far?”
“I don’t know, but we really need to know what happened in this place.”
“Oh really? Why?”
“Because if we don’t know what these people need then we can’t get rid of them.”
“You jackass. I know that. I was being sarcastic.”
“I know that. You were being the jackass.”
I let out a long sigh. “As much as I would love to beat the poop out of you we really need to get going.” I didn’t say poop. I’m sure you can think of what I said instead. Just use your imagination.
We searched the room trying to find any clues that may be in there when I came upon a journal. It had William Haverfield etched on the front of it. I opened it up and started searching through the pages. For the first 20 pages there was nothing but scientific mumbo jumbo but then things started to get a little bit interesting.
September 5, 1892
I had my first subject today. A 12-year-old boy I found living on the streets in the city. Subject is Caucasian and is four feet tall with black hair. I found him rustling through the trash in search of food.
Okay. I’m going to be honest, the writing after that got really technical and 80 percent of it went right over my head. So I’ll skip ahead a little bit.
The test went well. My wife was completely oblivious to the screaming. Subject responded as expected. I am well on my way to achieving absolution. Hopefully tomorrow will go just as well.
“What are you reading?” Roy asked me.
“Oh,” he caught me by surprise. “It’s a journal. I think it belonged to the guy that built the house.”
“This guy was extremely sick.”
There was a sudden noise back in the hallway.
“God, I hate ghosts,” I complained.
“Let’s just go see what it is,” Roy demanded, remaining as calm as ever. I hated him for that because I knew that he was just as freaked out as I was. He was just hiding it better. But I didn’t see the point in hiding the fact that ghosts suck. I shoved the journal into my jacket pocket.
We ventured out into the hallway, heading toward certain doom. I knew exactly what was waiting out there for us. It was an angry ghost. I had known before we had come here that that was exactly what we were going to be dealing with, I just held onto a sliver of hope that I was wrong. False hopes are a big part of what I do. You can call me a cynic but when you have lived the life that I have then it’s pretty hard not to be.
The only light in the basement came from the flashlight that Roy held in his hand. Of course, I can see in the dark but his flashlight was screwing that up. So, I tried not to rely on that power and focused just on the illumination from Roy.
“How big is this basement?” Roy asked, rhetorically. I felt like answering anyway.
“I’m sure it’s about the same size as every other floor,” I replied.
He turned around like he was going to hit me but didn’t. That was a good choice because I would have laid him out flat. That is when the worse thing that could possibly happen in that situation happened…