Ancestral

Conversations

Helmut’s arrival had sort of driven the events of last night out of my head, but this brought it all back to me. When I reached the second floor I went straight to Ben’s room and knocked quietly.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

He opened the door and ushered me in. he was indeed reading but had already stripped to his shorts for the evening. “What’s up?” he sat on the bed and put his hands behind his head as he leaned against the headboard. I sat in his desk chair, taking in the view, and forgetting why I was there.

After a moment he repeated his question with a smile. He knew I found him attractive and he enjoyed teasing me when he saw I was getting distracted.

“What?” I stuttered.

“Did you want something?” his grin grew broader as he dropped one hand into his lap and rubbed his inner thigh, allowing a little of his bright orange bush to peek out of his shorts.

“Son of a…!” I realized what he was doing. “Bastard!”

He roared with laughter. “Should I get dressed so you can think with your big head?”

I laughed too. “No, no, it’s fine.” I drew a deep breath and tore my eyes away from his beefy body, focusing on his face. “I was just wondering. Have you ever heard anything funny in the kitchen or basement?”

“Funny like what?”

“Like voices, or moaning, or stuff like that.”

“Not that I can remember.” He tilted his head to one side and looked at me more closely. “Why? Have you heard something?”

I only hesitated for a moment before telling him about my experience of the previous night. Then, almost as an afterthought, I told him what I had heard from Helmut.

He thought for a moment then asked. “Have you been waking up at four every night?”

“Just about,” I said. “Sometimes I can get back to sleep, and sometimes I can’t.”

“How long has this been going on?” he asked

“Well, certainly since I moved up here. And it’s been getting more noticeable over the last week or so.”

“Did it not happen before you moved up here?” He seemed to be trying to outline the parameters of this experience as if it had something to do with the sounds I heard last night.

“Occasionally, but not regularly, why does that matter?”

“My grandma, who’s a good Catholic lady, always told me that four o’clock is when God sends out his angels. I never really took her seriously until I heard two other traditions connected to four A.M. First, that it is the time when spirits are at their most powerful, most able to call out to the living, in the middle of the night, but especially just before dawn. Second. I have also heard a tradition that holds that people who are particularly sensitive, such as mediums, clairvoyants, or empaths, tend to wake up at this time because they can hear the spirits in their subconscious mind and it means someone is reaching out to them.”

“So, you think…”

“I think you may be sensitive on some level.” He let this sink in. “During the five years I’ve lived here I’ve been in that kitchen in the middle of the night many times. There have even been a couple of times, when I was pulling an all-nighter, when I would brew up a pot of coffee and work down there rather than up here. I’ve never heard anything.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

I thought for a moment, recalling what I heard. “But it was so clear. Do you know any stories about people having sex in the basement?”

“Of course I do. I have the internet. I know where all the porn sites are.” He laughed as he saw my hopeful disbelief turn to disappointment. “Can’t say I know any stories about this place, though. Ask Mr. P. in the morning.

Despite his jokes, I knew he was actually taking me seriously. I returned to my room and did a little searching on the internet, but this was a different kind of research than I was used to, so I decided to put it on hold for now and think about it in the morning.

I slept soundly until my alarm woke me at six the next morning. I really did have an early meeting and the distractions of getting ready pushed everything else out of my mind. Once at work, the needs of the day took center stage, and I forgot all about my conversation with Ben the previous night. It wasn’t until Andi approached me after dinner that it all came back to me.

“Won’t you join me on the porch to watch the sun set?” She had asked. She mostly kept to herself, so when she requested someone’s company it was always something special. Andi was an older woman, someplace in her sixties. She had children and grandchildren and could have lived with any of them if she wanted. But she valued her independence and didn’t want to be a burden on anyone until it became unavoidable. She had been a boarder here longer than anyone else, just over ten years. She moved in shortly after her husband had died, so she didn’t have to be alone all the time. She enjoyed her role as the silent matriarch of our little family and made a point of getting to know each of us well but allowing us as much independence as she herself craved.

She prepared some Iced tea and we enjoyed the ocean view from the front porch. The house had originally been the home of a successful sea captain in the nineteenth century. We actually had a display at the museum that chronicled the rise and fall of the many captains’ houses originally built along this end of the town. Most had fallen into disrepair and only a few had managed to survive into the present. This one had been altered to house six small student apartments, but the previous owner had let it fall into such bad shape that it was condemned and abandoned for almost a decade before Mr. Phipps saw its potential and rescued it.

We sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sounds of the sea before us. Then out of nowhere she said, “I understand you met the boys in the basement the other night.”

I nearly spilled my tea, whipping around to see the quiet grin she wore, still staring out at the ocean. She clearly enjoyed her little moment of drama. “How…?”

“Ben told me. He thought I might know some of the history of the house. And he was right.”

I was stunned. After another moment, I asked, “What can you tell me?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. The boys only appear to men, so I’ve never seen or heard them.”

“But Ben’s a man, why hasn’t he heard anything?”

“Yes, he is,” she smiled and patted my knee, “and a very handsome man at that. But I have no idea why he can’t hear them. It seems Helmut can, though. Have you talked to him?”

“No. I don’t really know him yet, and he’s kind of...”

“An asshole, yes, I know.” She grinned again as she saw the shock in my face. “You don’t think your generation invented swearing now, do you?” I laughed at myself and relaxed. “But since he seems to have some experience with them it wouldn’t hurt to try. All he can do is…”

“Be an asshole, yes, I suppose.” We both giggled and returned our gaze to the sea.

“What I can tell you is that this town has not always been the respectable escape for the wealthy it is today. In its heyday there was crime and violence, hatred and greed, brothels, gambling houses, and drug dens. Only a few were secure. Most were very poor, forced to make unsavory and unsafe decisions just to survive. And many didn’t survive at all. Beneath the well-manicured lawns and peaceful coastlines that surround us there is a history too unsettling to make it into those pretty little displays in your museum. No offence.”

“None taken.” I knew she was right. I had had to familiarize myself with the general history of the area in preparation for taking this job, and I knew all too well the cutthroat nature of nineteenth century capitalism. But her description was so much more vivid than the dry intellectual scholarship I was used to. “You described that very well,” I said. “it’s like you experienced it yourself.”

She hesitated then gave me a sideways glance. “I have.”

I had no idea how to respond to that. I decided to wait and let her explain herself at her own pace.

“Let’s just say that the boys in the basement are not the only lost souls that linger here.”

Stunned, I held my tongue and allowed her to continue.

“And you are not the only one who is sensitive to them.”

“You mean…?”

“Ask me about that some other time. For right now why not content yourself with finding out about the boys. Helmut may be an asshole, but…just try.”

She started to get up to get more tea. “Please, let me.” I took her glass and went to get us both refills.

When I returned she floated another idea. “What about Heather?”

“What about her?” I asked.

“Her minor is in history.”

“Yes…and?”

She looked at me in disbelief. “Are you sure you have an advanced degree? Put two and two together.”

I thought for a moment before it dawned on me. “Are you suggesting that she could help me do some research on the history of this house?”

“Finally! It’s all right there in front of you. She could get class credit for doing that kind of work, or at least use it as the basis for a paper or two. Is there an assistantship or something you could put together with the university? And for God’s sake, you work in a history museum. I’m sure there are resources there that might be useful.”

It was like someone had opened a door that I didn’t even know existed. I couldn’t speak for a full minute. Why hadn’t I seen this before? It was so obvious. Finally, I managed a simple, “Oh.”

Andi chuckled and turned her attention to the colorful sky that was unfolding before us. “You’re welcome.”