“Well, I never did think it was you, not you nor that screen neither. There’s devilment after dark in this here house. We jest got our first taste.”
It seemed to me then that the room was growing darker, not because its lights were going out, but because a dark miasma had invaded its air. I managed, “What do they want?” without sounding quite as frightened as I felt.
“Them ghosts?” Baston paused, stroking his chin. “I don’t rightly know. They never say, or anyways not ter me. Mebbe they don’t know neither.”
I looked my next question.
“Well, they’d say so wouldn’t they? Tell us we got ter git it for ’em. Or else say hand it over, if they thought we had it already.”
“But Ms. Heath must think I have it, or know where it is. If she doesn’t, why did she check me out?”
“Don’t have to be that, Ern. Could be other reasons. Them librarians got her to take you is what she said. Why’d she lie about that?”
I sighed. “I’m certain she did not. They thought I was a malcontent, I’m afraid. They wanted me out of their library.”
“There’s more, Ern. Who was it jest now that wanted ter know if you b’lieved in ghosts? You got any ideas?”
Having none, I shook my head.
“Then we got a couple possibles. First one’s was it a ghost talkin’?” Baston fell silent, considering the chance of a talkative ghost. Then, “You buy that?”
“Not until all other possibilities are exhausted.”
“Same here. Way I see it, it was most likely the house. It kin talk, an’ look around inside itself too.” Baston paused, looking thoughtful. “You buy into that one?”
I nodded. “That’s the most probable explanation I’m sure, although it seems an unlikely question for a house to ask unless it is actually haunted.” A new thought struck me. “Or it fears that it is, or may be.”
Baston’s eyes searched the room before he agreed.
“Who would be haunting it, Buck? Have you any idea?”
Silently, he watched me.
“How many men have you killed with those guns of yours?”
I had feared his anger, but the question seemed to have flattered him. “Fully humans, you mean? Why, nary a one. None yet.”
“Men of any kind, including clones, reclones, and whatever else.”
Baston shook his head. “That right there’s a question I’d be a fool to answer. How ’bout you, Ern? Men, women, ’bots, babies, an’ kids. How many you done fer?”
I said, “None, I hope.”
“Ghosts don’t track a man down anyhow is what I’ve heard. It’s the house gits haunted, not the man.”
I said, “Let’s hope you’re correct.”
“Well sir, I believe I am. If it gits bad, there’s ways ter lay ’em, too. Sometimes those works.”
“But you don’t know the rituals.” I found that I was smiling. “Neither do I.”
“We could put ’un together jest fer us, maybe.”
I considered it. “Perhaps.”
“Somebody done it once, didn’t they? It’s only weeds and winds come of theyselves.”
I nodded. “Now that you’ve brought the matter up, I remember something about laying ghosts. The text spoke of bell, book, and candle.”
“Think you could find us the right book? ’Cept for that, don’t none of it sound hard.”
“No, it doesn’t. We would pronounce a blessing over all three, after choosing an appropriate book.” I paused to consider; ritual would be necessary, though by no means difficult. “Then march three times around the house, while ringing the bell and reading suitable passages from the chosen book by the light of the candle.”
“You going to do that?”
I shook my head. “In the first place, we don’t have a candle, a handbell, or a suitable book. In the second—well, there are warnings against it. Casting out one set of spirits often results in their being replaced by another, generally worse. Wise men don’t expel spirits unless they judge them to be both ill-intentioned and dangerous. Are these our hostess’s problem?”
My question was answered not by Buck Baston but by a voice behind me. “Not at all. I am.”
I turned to look over the back of my chair, and saw what I momentarily took to be a dead man alive.
He smiled. “This house belongs to me. Although I did not invite you, you are entirely welcome here—at least until morning.”
With more presence of mind than I had just then, Baston drawled, “Miz Heath, she’ll have somethin’ to say. She thinks it’s hers.”
“She is mistaken, though I don’t argue the matter with her.”
I thought I had found my mental feet by then. I said, “I saw them carrying out your body … Doctor.” I was trying not to gulp. “Carrying your corpse.” I hesitated, and at last added, “You were dead.”
The smile widened. “I missed that spectacle. What was the cause of my death?”
“An arrow.” I pointed toward my neck.
“Ah! Savages! Mr. Baston here must be delighted.”
Behind me, Baston said, “I don’t go lookin’ fer trouble with ’em.”
“Wise man! Certainly wiser than the fool—”
The speaker was interrupted by the arrival of our food. He sniffed, then inspected it.
I said, “I can order something for you, if you like.”
“I would. Salmon, if the house still has it. Spinach and brown rice.”
I ordered, and he thanked me. “I want to get to the bottom of this haunted house nonsense, but my brother’s murder comes first. I’m sure you understand.”
That caught me off guard. I stared until Baston muttered that we did.
“Did my poor niece weep?”
“Yes.” I paused. “May I bring her in? She deserves to see that though your brother—is that correct? That although her father no longer walks among us, her uncle is still alive.”
“In a moment; and I am also alive, just as she is. Not still alive since I was not expected to die. Please order my supper.”
I explained that I had done that already, all the while listening to Baston’s hoarse chuckle. Being dead, this new Dr. Fevre was telling him, gives one an appetite.
It took me about five minutes to figure out how he had managed to remain alive though his brother was dead; anyone who happens to read this lengthy account has probably gotten it already. Just in case you haven’t, he had disappeared into this house, neither leaving it nor receiving visitors.
Baston stood and asked this new Fevre, “You want me to fetch Miz Heath?”
He shook his head. “She would surely feel that she was being treated like a servant in her own home. I’ll have an opportunity to introduce myself soon enough, I’m sure. When I do, I must be prepared to talk to her. What difficulties does she face?”
“Ghosts, apparently,” I said.
Fevre smiled. “Such as myself?” It was the smile of a parent told of some disagreement among his children.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t consider you a ghost, though perhaps she will.”