The Hall of Records

4 — The Hall of Records

As the others continue their tasks, Jessica arrives at City Hall. She glances around, still unable to shake the feeling that someone is watching her. She climbs the steps, enters the building and heads straight for the archives. At the counter, a woman is looking down at a stack of papers.

“Hi, Dot.”

Dorothy looks up and smiles. She is a courteous woman who treats every visitor with respect, regardless of age, and she has grown fond of the nickname Jessica gave her.

“Well, hello, Jessica. How have you been?”

“I've been good, Dot. Just coming to the Hall of Records to do some research.”

Dorothy laughs. She always gets a kick out of Jessica calling the archives the Hall of Records.

“What weird thing from the past are you investigating now?”

“You know the abandoned house on the north side of town? The one that's been vacant for about twenty years?”

“Sure. The old Anderson home. It's been vacant since Margret passed away, and there have been strange stories about it for over fifteen years.”

Jessica leans forward. “Really? Like what?”

“People say they hear noises coming from it. Some even claim they've seen lights and figures moving around inside.”

“But do you know any facts about the place?”

“A little. When I was younger, there was talk about Margret Anderson sitting on her front porch or at her picture window, just staring down the road. Her husband went overseas with the Peace Corps, but he never came home. He was killed in an accident.”

That must be the ghost we saw, Jessica thinks. Wow, that was easy.

Then Dorothy's expression changes. “I remember my mother saying the Andersons thought their house was haunted.”

“You mean Margret Anderson thought it was haunted, don't you? Not both of them?”

“No. I remember my parents talking about what each of the Andersons told them separately. They heard footsteps at the top of the stairs and voices on the main and second floors.”

“Really? Did they ever mention seeing a ghost?”

Dorothy considers the question. “Not that I can recall. They only told my parents about the strange sounds.”

Jessica tries to hide her disappointment. “Are there any records of the old house?”

“Quite a lot, actually. A very attractive lady I'd never seen before came in yesterday and asked me to pull the records. She hasn't returned to look at them, so you're welcome to go through them.”

Dorothy points to a stack of books and old papers on a table, with a box beneath it. What a strange coincidence, Jessica thinks. Still, the material is already here.

“That's quite a bit of information. Thanks, Dot.”

Jessica sets her purse on the back of a chair, takes off her sweater and hangs it beside the purse.

“This could take a while,” she murmurs.

She sits down and begins sorting through the documents.

Jessica searches for anything that might explain what the group saw. She works through most of the house's old records without success. The house wasn't built on an ancient burial site, and no one was ever found in the well out back. An old book mentions that the house briefly served as a Union Army office during the Civil War, but it records no battles or disasters there.

She puts on white gloves to protect the fragile books from the oils in her skin. When she turns to the newspapers, she's grateful for them: old newsprint leaves ink on her fingers, and the stains are difficult to wash away.

One newspaper, about twenty years old, catches her eye. Along the side of its front page is a headline: “Local Man Dies Helping Strangers.”

The article describes Mr. Anderson's death overseas during a peacekeeping mission. When a bus plunges into a river, he jumps into the water and helps passengers reach the shore. He climbs through an open window to rescue an injured man, but the bus slips from the ledge where it rests and rolls into deeper water. The strong current traps him inside. He drowns along with the passengers who cannot escape.

Rescuers recover his body hours later, when the bus strikes a sandbar downstream, but their efforts to revive him fail. Nine children and five adults survive because of his bravery. The villagers bury him overseas as a local hero, displaying him in his full uniform at the funeral service.

That rules out Mr. Anderson. He received an open-casket funeral, and the disfigured figure the group saw could not have been displayed that way. Jessica turns to the older newspaper archives.

Page after page, she works further into the past. By the time she switches to microfilm, she has gone back more than sixty years. Her eyes ache, and the answer seems no closer. Frustrated, she leans back, rubs her eyes and stares at the ceiling.

When she looks at the collection of material on the old house again, the lower angle gives her a view beneath the table. A green notebook lies between a table leg and the wall, just behind the box she searched earlier. She crouches and retrieves it. Faint marks cover the front, but she cannot make out the writing until she tilts it towards the light. The marks are impressions pressed into the cover.

The front desk keeps tracing paper and pencils for visitors who need to copy documents. Jessica fetches a sheet and a pencil, places the paper over the cover and shades it gently. Slowly, two words appear: “My Journal.”

Her heart races. This could be what she's been searching for. She opens the book and finds a note on the inside cover: “Property of Sherry-Anne Johnson.”

Jessica recognizes the surname. The Johnsons are one of the town's founding families. They settled in the area in the early 1800s, and by 1850 they had built a mill on the river that now runs through town. The journal is in surprisingly good condition, so she doubts it is quite that old.

The first line immediately draws her in: “I cannot tell a soul what I know, but cannot keep the knowledge inside me any longer.”

Jessica settles in, expecting to spend the next couple of hours reading. The journal continues:

A few months back, a traveller had stopped by to water his horse near the mill. It was shortly after war had broken out and everyone was suspicious of strangers. The traveller left his horse drinking by the river and walked up to the front door of the mill. It was always open in the summer due to the heat, so he walked in. My dad was out in the storage shed getting some wheat to make flour and my mother was out by her stove in the yard baking bread. I can only assume what happened next, perhaps the traveller was looking out the window at my mother, who was quite striking, but we do not know. Somehow, the traveller ended up caught in the spoke of the gear that turns the grinding stone. We heard a scream and my father ran to the mill. Inside he found the traveller caught between the gears of the mill. He tried in vain to pull the traveller free, but his body was jammed between the gears. He released the locking pin that stops the wheel from turning on the outside of the mill. He then forced the gear backwards, causing the traveller to be pushed free of the gears.

My father carried the traveller to the main house and placed him on a blanket my mother laid out on the sofa. The traveller was barely conscious when he whispered something to my father. He pointed to a pocket and my father reached in and pulled out a sealed document.

I do not know why, but my father opened the envelope. In it were two separate pieces of paper. He unfolded one, read it through and then put it back into the envelope. He started to unfold the second paper, but with the first glance of it, he appeared very concerned and quickly placed it in his pocket. He took the envelope with the first document and threw it on the fire and stared at it until it burned completely. He then moved the ashes so you couldn’t tell an envelope was in the fire.

Back at William's house, the younger members keep interrupting his review. Every few minutes, someone brings him another image or sound that might be paranormal: an apparent orb streaking across a screen, a creak from a settling floor, or something equally ordinary. William explains each one, then realizes he needs to give everyone the same guidance if he wants to finish reviewing his own video.

He props a whiteboard against the wall, picks up a marker and writes:

Audio

Creaking wood – normally a house settling or caused by an investigators movement. Exception: If all investigators are in same location or their whereabouts are accounted for and footsteps are heard in a different location, or on a different floor.

Doors closing – only considered paranormal if caught on a video and full opening is visible. Exception: If all group members are in the same location or their location on the property is known and a door shuts with no wind blowing through the area or other force causing it to close, like gravity due to a slope in the doors frame. You should always try to reproduce the action you deem paranormal while at the scene right after it happens.

Voices – not considered if other background noise is present (cars, trains, wind) as this could indicate an open window or other opening that allows sound into the room (sound carries extremely well over water and also over open areas like parks and fields or meadows). Exceptions: when a voice is heard by group members and caught on tape, and a thorough search was done for a source; a voice is heard right after a question (a response or answer); the voice is directed at a group member. All other sounds must first be reviewed with logic before they are considered as evidence.

Photo

Orbs – When an Orb is caught or a bunch of Orbs, look for positioning in a photo. A dust particle will look like an Orb due to the flash and camera speed (especially with a digital camera). Exceptions: an Orb that is only partially visible and not a complete circle are not normal and should be considered (especially if part is hiding behind an object); An Orb that is a lot brighter than others or a different color can also be considered as a potential catch at a location. Orbs that change size should also be looked at more closely.

Mist or Transparent Image – look for reflective surfaces that could be reflecting or projecting an image (mirror, glass, shiny appliance). Also look for similarities between image and photographer (ball cap, color of clothes, and appearance such as hair). All others could be investigated further.

Videos

Orbs – Orbs on video in low light conditions are usually dust or bugs. Use the same logic as for photos. Exceptions: Orbs in brightly lit videos; Orbs that move in unusual flight patterns or change colors; Orbs that are stationary, especially if they change size or color.

Mist or Transparent Image – Same logic as for photos. Look for outside sources first. What and how the image moves (a reflection will not remain the same size going across an open doorway, for example)

At the bottom of the whiteboard, William adds a final reminder in large letters: “VIEW ALL DATA AS A SKEPTIC. LOOK FOR LOGICAL EXPLANATIONS FIRST. PARANORMAL EXPLANATIONS ARE FOR WHAT'S LEFT OVER.”

He asks everyone to make a note of anything they cannot confidently explain so the group can review it later. If they're less than eighty percent certain about something, they can ask another member for an opinion; otherwise, they should keep working independently. He also reminds them to record the time and location of anything unusual, so they can compare it with the other investigators' footage and recordings.

The group understands the crash course and returns to the evidence.

Meanwhile, at City Hall, Jessica is still reading Sherry-Anne's journal:

Not long after my father had burned the letter, some Union soldiers showed up and took the traveller, who was resting on the sofa still, out back by the well. Though he was half alive, they were yelling something about the location of some stolen money. They were being very rough with him and the traveller just fell over, dead. A couple officers walked up, and after checking if he was alive, turned and made their way back to the main house.

the officers came up and talked to my father. I heard one of them ask what happened to the man and also did he say anything at all to him. My father told them about the accident, and how it happened before we even knew he was in the mill. The officer’s told my father that the man was a Confederate spy from the south, who robbed a train carrying government gold coins. The officers then walked outside to talk to some soldiers who were going through the traveller’s saddle bags. They took the traveller’s horse and belongings to the other soldiers, threw his body on a wagon and hauled it away.

On a few occasions, Union soldiers would come by the mill and look around. They didn’t say much, and since it was during the war, they had every right to come on anyone’s property whenever they wanted. For about a week the Union army even set up their base in our house before moving further south. While they were here, they spent a lot of time walking around the property, like they were looking for something. During this time my family had to move into the guest house.

About six months after the war was over, my father went on a hunting trip. He came back a couple days later, but instead of an animal tied to his pack horse, there was a wooded box. I never asked him about it, since he always told us, “If I want you to know my business, I’ll tell you my business”. A couple nights later, I overheard him tell my mother that the paper he took off the traveller was a map to where he had hidden the gold coins. He said to my mother that the traveller asked him to take the map, recover the coins and take them to General Lee’s army. My father, not wanting to cross the Union lines, chose to keep it a secret.

My father hid the gold at the mill in some old, torn flour bags. No one would buy them for fear that rats were eating it. My father would then melt some coins into small bars, and then tell the merchants in town that this was how he was paid for flour by settlers heading west, or cattle drivers. He even took a few trips south to San Francisco, California and west to Hill City, South Dakota in the Black hills and cashed in some bars at a few banks. He figured he could just tell people he traded goods for gold nuggets from prospectors and then melted it down for ease of transport. With the gold fever spreading through the states, nobody ever really questioned how he obtained it.

Shortly after my father started spending the gold, strange sounds were heard at both the house and the mill, and we would see a shadowy figure moving around in the parlour as well. My father started drinking heavily, to deal with the strange sounds or maybe the guilt he felt, I am not exactly sure. I even saw my father arguing with himself, saying that he did “nothing wrong”. He was explaining to some invisible person how he couldn’t keep his word in fear of his family’s safety and how he was just using the gold to give his family a better life. It was as though he was arguing with a person, that I couldn’t see, someone who wasn’t there. He would say something, and then stop like he was listening to a response. Then he’d start yelling again. This went on a couple times a week, usually after he had too much to drink. Then one day my father had an accident at the mill, and a few months later he had passed due to an infection from his injuries. My mother stayed on for a few months, but she was a broken woman without the love of her life. She decided she couldn’t continue on at the mill without my father, and she moved back out east to her family’s home shortly after that. I had recently been married around this time and we were staying in the guest house. After mom moved back east, I moved from the guest house to the main house. It seemed that my mother had tooken the rest of the gold with her, as we never did find any left in the house, or at the mill.

John and I made a decent living at the mill, and since my parents furnished the main house with all the finest things, we got by quite well. Things quieted down over time, but we still hear screams from the mill once in a while, and walking on the main floor when no one is there. My husband John never believed in ghost so he always said the sounds were “just the wind” or “the house settling”. Since the spirit never harmed me, I grew accustomed to his being around and never thought much of it, though it still would give me a chill once in a while. I never told John the truth about my family’s wealth. John just assumed my father was a brilliant business man and I saw no point in changing his perception of my father.

Jessica pauses and closes the journal. Why would a ghost from the Civil War still haunt the house?

She goes to the washroom and splashes water on her face. Looking at her reflection, she tries to put the pieces together.

“Okay. It makes sense that there are no records of the dead traveller if he was considered a war criminal. But why would he still haunt the house if the family spent all the gold?”

She dries her face and heads back to the archives.

Back at William's, the evidence review is going smoothly, although the group has found little of note. A couple of faint, whispering voices seem to answer questions on the digital recorders, but there is no clear visual evidence. William wishes he had given everyone the crash course from the beginning.

As he scans his video, one frame suddenly flares with light, almost like a camera flash. He rewinds and watches it again in slow motion. There seems to be an outline within the brightness, but he cannot make out what it is. He notes the time on the recording and continues. Later, he can copy the footage to a computer and extract individual frames for a closer look.

After a while, he turns to the others. “Let's take a break. It's nice outside, and we can come back to the analysis with fresh eyes and ears.”

Everyone agrees. They switch off their equipment and head upstairs to the backyard.

William follows a couple of minutes later, carrying a cooler of iced drinks and several bags of chips. The others help themselves, stretching and rubbing their tired eyes.

“I wonder if Jessica's having any luck finding information about the old mill,” Sarah says. “Maybe it was built on an ancient burial ground or something.”

William checks his phone. “No text yet, so I assume she hasn't found anything significant. And the ancient burial ground thing is mostly from movies. If there'd been a known burial site on the property when the mill was built, I'm sure the local people would have told the builders. They could have moved the mill a little farther downstream.”

The younger members stretch out on the grass, staring at the clouds and trying to make out shapes in them.

William glances at Matthew, who seems to be staring into space. Then he follows his friend's gaze and realizes Matthew is watching Alexis. Smiling to himself, William watches Matthew's eyes follow her as she crosses the bridge over the pond to look at the fish.

Alexis turns towards them and asks where the fish food is. Matthew looks startled, as though she's caught him staring, then glances at William. William merely smiles and points to the patio bar.

A little red-faced, Matthew retrieves the food and carries it over. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Alexis says shyly, holding out her hand.

As Matthew pours some food into her palm, a few pieces fall into the pond. Fish swarm the surface. Alexis looks down and begins dropping in more food. Matthew steps back from the bridge, his mouth half-open as though he wants to say something. Instead, he closes it and returns to the patio.

Matthew pulls out a chair, still glancing towards the pond. William nudges his arm.

“Don't worry. You'll get another chance.”

Matthew pushes his arm away. “Whatever, dude. What are you talking about?”

William smiles and takes a sip of his drink. He knows Matthew has a crush on Alexis. Given Matthew's disbelief in the paranormal, William suspects it's part of the reason he keeps coming along on the group's investigations.

When Jessica returns to the archives, the journal is gone. She searches the table, checks beneath it and looks through the surrounding area. She even goes back to the washroom in case she carried it there without thinking.

Growing anxious, she approaches the counter. “Dot, did you take the journal?”

“No, I didn't. I didn't even know there was a journal in that collection. I was in the back putting away other documents. I didn't notice you'd left the room.”

Jessica thanks her and makes one final, quick search. Then she collects her purse and sweater and leaves the building. As soon as she's outside, she digs through her purse for her phone. She needs to tell William what she's found—and what has happened to the journal.

At William's house, Jessica's ringtone breaks the quiet. About time, William thinks. He answers, but before he can say hello, Jessica launches into an excited explanation.

“You'll never believe what I found! The apparition we saw isn't Mr. Anderson. It's Mr. Johnson. He's been haunting the house since he took the map from the traveller, found the gold and spent it.”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You're not making any sense. Take a deep breath and start over.”

“Look, I found a journal about a traveller who arrived unexpectedly and was injured in an accident at the old mill by the river. It turns out he'd robbed a train carrying government gold intended to support the Union Army. He planned to give the gold to the Confederate Army, but he hid it before the Union soldiers caught up with him.”

Jessica explains the rest of the journal's account and its connection to the original owners of the house.

William can hardly believe what he's hearing. He asks whether the journal contains anything else, and Jessica tells him how it vanished while she was in the washroom splashing water on her face.

“That sucks,” William says, anger creeping into his voice.

“You're telling me. I was hoping to learn more about the old mill and the Johnsons. When I get back to the house, we'll try to connect what I read with what we saw.”

“Okay, but don't take too long. Pops ordered some pizzas, and they should be here soon.”

“Sounds great, because I'm starved.”