Ancestral

Further Research

I had to admit, I had never given anyone a blow job in a cemetery before. I found it somewhat amusing, but he thought it was just plain creepy. We had not been seeking out the pauper's graveyard, but I thought it more than a little bit of a coincidence that I had been drawn there.

When we arrived home, Heather was waiting for us in the living room. As soon as she saw me, she jumped up and came running over. “You’ve got to see this,” she enthused. “I followed your suggestion and found all this stuff. It’s really cool!” I sat with her on the couch and went over the various photocopies and books she had assembled, while Ben headed upstairs, no doubt for a shower. She had city maps from the early and mid-nineteenth century showing the location of the three-story brick house I had suggested she research. “it was purpose built as an inn, but according to these editorials it quickly became known as a house of ill repute. There were various proprietors over the years, the last of whom was…” she shuffled through her papers looking for the name.

“Miss Beal,” I stated matter of factly.

“That’s right, Miss Beal, but how did you know?”

“That doesn’t matter. Right now, I want to hear what else you’ve found.”

She continued, “it was shut down in the mid to late 1890’s after some sort of scandal that involved the local League of Decency. They seemed to have had quite a bit of influence around here for a couple of decades at least. Anyways, Miss Beal and her ‘chamber maids’ left together in the middle of the night, abandoning the building. No one knows where they went or what happened to them. The place was called the Hathaway, and when it closed there were a lot of editorials on both sides. Some saw it as a,” she quoted from a photocopy of a news article, “’A cancerous blight on the moral landscape of our fair town’, while others complained of bigotry and prudishness. The latter seemed to have been mostly summer people.”

“This is great,” I encouraged her. “What else have you found?”

“Well, that’s about it for now, but I’ve only been looking for a day. I ran to City Hall between classes to get the maps and spent most of the rest of the day at the library and museum. They all miss you by the way and said to give you their love.”

“This is excellent. Do you think you have enough for your paper yet?”

She smiled, “Almost. It’s all so vague and wrapped in euphemism. That took a lot of getting used to, calling the prostitutes ‘chamber maids’, I almost missed it.”

I laughed. “I might be able to help you be more specific. Do you think you can find any records that might list the employees there?”

“Sure. There are original records of the Hathaway at the museum. I didn’t have a chance to look at them today, but…”

“Fantastic!” I couldn’t contain myself. “I have heard of two people who worked there that might be of special interest. Do you have a pen?” She pulled one from the pile of papers and looked at me with anticipation. “One is named Sylas. He might also be called Cid. He was a bell hop, another euphemism. He would probably have been there during the last few years of operations. See what you can find out about him, he seems to be an interesting character.” She dutifully wrote down what I was telling her.

“…Cid…do you have a last name?”

Did I? I couldn’t remember having heard it, but if I had it hadn’t stuck with me. “No, just Sylas or Cid. The other person was one of the chamber maids. Her name was Maggie. Might be short for Margaret or Magda, or something like that. I don’t have her last name either. She would have died just before the Hathaway was shut down. Oh! And you could also look for Marcus, again, no last name, but he worked here. I believe it was called the Foster Inn when Miss Mariah Foster was running it. He would have been in the area around the same time as the others. I know it’s not much to go on, but…”

“No, this is quite exciting, like a detective novel. I can’t wait to get to the museum tomorrow to look these guys up.” She gathered her papers and before she retreated to her room to organize her notes, she said, “Thanks, Joey, I’m glad you made the suggestion. I was dreading this paper, and now it’s turned out to be the most interesting one of the lot.”

The next day Ben had the afternoon off, and I wanted to take advantage of his free time to go deeper into the mystery. I was at City Hall as soon as they opened and began doing some research of my own. I looked through the lists of deeds and found the original documents for the Hathaway. It had changed hands at least three times before it was abandoned, and the last documented owner was indeed Miss Dorothy Beal. I could find no official records after it was abandoned so I went to the town clerk and asked. I had to describe the place and take her to see the last deed before she could even bring the place to mind.

“I’ve never even seen the place,’ she said. “I don’t know anyone who has. When I was little my parents never even mentioned it, like it didn’t exist. But of course, it does, we’ve both seen the deed.” At this point she found what she was looking for on the computer and concentrated on reading. “it seems it was abandoned in the 1890’s. No one laid claim to it for ten years, at which time letters were published in many local newspapers to find Miss Beal or any of her relatives. With no one being found, the property was taken over by eminent domain and condemned. It has sat untouched for almost a hundred years.” She looked up and said, “So to answer your original question, the town owns it.”

I smiled at her and asked, “Who would I speak to about looking at the building?”

About an hour later, after speaking with at least three other officials, playing the historical museum card, and signing two waivers, I was granted permission to explore the building at will with the proviso that I check in with the police before entering and upon leaving. I was happy.

When Ben came home for lunch and asked what I wanted to do that afternoon, He was not happy. He appealed to Andi and Mr. P. and anyone else who would listen, but I was adamant, threatening to go alone if I had to. In the end I allowed them to talk me into bringing Helmut along for added protection.

This time I was prepared. We had flashlights, saws and axes, rope, and various other tools that might prove useful in gaining access to a derelict building. We hacked our way through the overgrowth until we stood in front of the stone stairs. I could still see its original glory in my mind’s eye and what stood before me was barely a shadow of that. Most of the windows were broken and it definitely didn’t look safe. We climbed the stairs and approached the front doors. One was still shut, but the other was ajar, hanging at an angle on a single hinge. We carefully entered and explored the main floor.

The reception desk was largely intact, and some of the many pigeonholes in the wall behind it still held mail. To one side a series of small meeting rooms and offices lined the hall, and in one of these I found the desk that I had seen Miss Beal using to run the business. To the other side of the reception desk a large open room still managed to retain some of it’s glitter despite the molding wallpaper and damaged woodwork. Two large crystal chandeliers still hung from the ceiling, but a third had fallen sometime in the past and lay shattered at one end of the room. I scooped up a couple of the crystals and began searching for the stairs.

I wasn’t interested in the upper level. I expected it would be largely destroyed since the roof was no longer covering everything. I was more interested in the lowest level. Sylas had shown me his room here, but I wondered if I would be able to recognize it after a hundred years of decay. The lower level was a bit of a maze, divided into many small rooms off of a confusing tangle of corridors. Each room had a number over the door and a small shelf beside it. A few of these still had a small candle sitting on the shelf, and looking in the rooms, some of them had taken the candle into the room. Perhaps this was how they signaled what rooms were free for use with a client who wasn’t staying at the hotel. I wasn’t sure, but it made sense to me. I tried to peek into each room and found they all looked pretty much the same.

As I worked my way toward the back of the building the rooms began to get smaller and get tucked into odd spaces. One of these rooms in the very back of the building looked vaguely familiar. I entered and looked around. the other rooms had often retained traces of their female inhabitants, a piece of clothing or cheap jewelry, a bottle of perfume or make up, but this room was different. Most of the inhabitant’s personal effects were still present. The other rooms looked like they had been packed up quickly with only a few forgotten things left behind. This room looked like the person who lived here had stepped out for a moment and never returned, leaving everything behind. When we looked closer, we found men’s clothes hanging in the closet.

This must have been Sylas’s room. While there were other male employees, Silas was the only male employee who was resident in the building. The only furniture in the room was a single bed, a bedside table, and a side chair. A small mirror hung at an odd angle over the desk, which was covered in magazines and newspapers, as well as grooming items, like a comb and brush and razor. Everything was covered in a deep layer of dust and fallen plaster. I was immediately drawn to the table beside the bed. It was fairly sparse, containing a small pile of papers, an old drinking glass, and some other small personal items. I noticed a small rigid piece of paper leaning against the wall. It was covered in so much dust that I couldn’t quite make out what it was. I picked it up and rubbed it gently against my shirt. It was a photograph. I looked up at Ben in shock.

“What?” he asked, looking at the photo. “It’s just a picture of some guy in old fashioned clothes.”

I shook my head at him. “It’s Marcus, I recognize him.” Ben’s eyes widened and he stepped closer to get a better view.

As we both were inspecting the picture, Helmut quietly nudged me and said, “Good, if you know who he is, maybe you’ll recognize her too.”

We looked up and saw him staring at the wispy form of a young woman standing in the doorway watching us. She wore a simple white dress which seemed to be billowing in the breeze, only there was no breeze. And most disturbing, we could see right through her.