64

Picture a house, on the small side, with a tidy yard. The house is red. The front door is dark wood and sports a fall wreath. There are large trees, still holding most of their leaves. A terracotta pot sits next to the door bursting with dark orange mums. Now go inside.

The foyer is tiny but equipped with a little hat rack and boot holder. There's a braided rag rug, mostly red tones. The hall goes straight into a bright kitchen at the back or up the staircase to the second floor. To the right is a small parlor. To the left is a library. This is no "Choose Your Own Adventure", so go upstairs.

The stairs are wood. Kick plates are off-white, treads and banister are dark cherry wood. There's a neat runner up the middle that continues in the upstairs hall, red tones and cream. It is only because of the cream that the bloodstain is noticeable.

63

An older couple was walking through Central Park on a bright, fall day. The sun was warm, the sky was blue and the trees were slowly releasing their brightly colored leaves around the man and the woman who were hand-in-hand. They strolled without seeming to see any of the beauty because they were too busy stealing glances at each other as they talked and laughed. They were so obviously in love you could practically see the cartoon heart sparkling candy red above their heads.

62

The clients watched the girl trail her fingers across the dead woman's china cabinet, then the buffet, then back again to the dining room table. The husband watched with detached interest, the wife with a tightness in her chest and hands clenched. It was the wife's mother who had died without warning, without illness, without closure.

The girl's hair hung in a neat, dark braid down her back and, compared to the clients, she was a girl, but she was really in her late 20s and not a girl at all. She always dressed appropriately for her work; she thought dressing like a slob would have been rude and unprofessional. Dressing like an old hippie would be disingenuous and it would make her seem like a charlatan.

Her fingers swept across the abstract blue painting that was meant to seem like a ship at sail, and she stopped short.

61

You ever look in your rear view mirror and see someone standing there with their mouth all in a little "o" and their eyes full of "what-the-frig" and a melting ice cream cone you just bought them dripping down their hand and onto their sneaker? No? Then you're not my dad.

Lucky me; I can move on to the next stranger of a certain age and wonder if that's him. Or maybe it's the guy who tried to hustle me into that alley that one time I was walking home too late. He had eyes that looked familiar. You know, never mind, because even if you'd answered "yes" the my first question, you're probably not him. He wasn't the kind of guy who'd bother looking back.

60

Wind that smelled of the sharp dagger of winter whipped the tattered banner and hail stung the stones of the castle. Sentries, men bundled against the cold and wishing they were inside by the fire, passed each other with a nod. The forests groaned far below and away for as far as the squinting, watering eye could see.

59

The following is a partial transcript of an audio tape found in a wooden box salvaged from the old State Psychiatry Hospital. Names and identifying remarks have been edited to protect confidentiality.

The beginning of the tape, Dr. M's description of G, was recorded before the patient was in the room.

Dr. M: Notes for patient G ---, Monday, May 3rd XXXX. Patient was admitted more than a week ago and has finally been cleared for sessions starting today.

My first impression of G. was that he was in his 50s, though we share the same birth year. His clothes are ill-fitting; obviously from a thrift store and not well-chosen. They may have been given to him by a shelter. His shoes are far too big. G. arrived without having had a shower in many days, and the nurses finally had to force him to clean up a few days ago, once he was back on his feet.

My initial feelings are that G. must have a history of untreated depression and perhaps a mild psychosis that is increasing in severity and preventing him from having a more meaningful life. I imagine he will be prescribed anti-depressants and sent back to whatever shelter he's using.

Dr. M sighs and his desk chair creaks as he leans back.

Perhaps services can find G. a nice factory job. He may even be able to have an apartment on his own someday.

Dr. M: The date of this session is Monday, May 3rd XXXX with new patient G ---. G, you understand this session is being recorded, as will all our sessions?

G: ---

Dr. M: For the recording, G. has nodded. G., if you would make all your answers verbal, it would help with our recording. Do you understand?

G: Yes.

Dr. M: G is a 35 year old unmarried white male who was admitted to the State Hospital on Friday, April 23rd, XXXX. This is our first session. The patient's chief complaint is that he feels depressed and separated from society. Is this still accurate G.?

G: Yes.

Dr. M: According to my records, you have never been admitted to the hospital before. Is that accurate?

G: Yes.

Dr. M: You also state that you have never been on psychiatric medicine, and, as far as you know, there is no history of mental illness in your family. Is this accurate, G.?

G: Yes.

There is a pause as Dr. M writes some notes.

Dr. M: Tell me, G., why do you believe you are depressed?

G: (long pause, a sigh, another pause) My dreams... they've gone.

58

It was my first trip to Europe, and it didn't begin quite how I had been picturing it since I was nine years old. I was currently eighteen, for one, and still traveling with my family. I really thought I'd be going with friends or maybe, if I had the nerve, on my own. I didn't think I'd be on a plane with my parents, my grandparents and my two little brothers. I tried to escape by wearing my shades and keeping plugged into my MP3 player, but, you see, it's my family. They cannot be unnoticed. They cannot seem to keep their cool. When my grandparents got busted joining the Mile High Club somewhere over the Atlantic, I knew I was doomed.

57

When a paperclip, even a paperclip that is holding papers, goes missing, it is not much noted, except with perhaps annoyance. When a sock disappears, the pairless mate is tucked into the sock drawer with a groan, hoping the other will show up inside a sweater. Years, even decades later, the pairless sock may be thrown away or recycled into a duster.

Other items' disappearances are more difficult to dismiss, but not impossible. The bar of bath soap, the new package of Oreos, one dinner plate: all chalked up to a scattered brain.

However: when the missing item is the living room carpet, all the jeans in the house, the television screen (not the entire TV, just the screen), the disappearances become inexplicable.

56

When I was ten my grandfather went insane and killed my mother. My father was some sort of transient who had raped my mother near the tracks. He was most likely insane, too.

At this point in my story, only three sentences long, you may be thinking, "Oh, her poor mother." Don't think that, because she was also insane. While most people truly aren't "asking for it", she was. Literally. She walked the tracks hoping to find a transient who would rape her. She knew my grandfather was unstable and continued to goad him. She even handed him the knife.

Now I'm on my third paragraph and maybe you're thinking, "Oh, that poor girl." This time you're right. Poor me. I'm only sixteen, and I am waiting for the insanity bomb to drop. Any second now. Genetics cannot be avoided. As sure as my eyes are hazel and my hair is blond and my knees are knobby, I will go insane.

55

"Marci," the voice whispered. "Marci?"

"Leave me alone."

"I just wanted to say I was sorry."

***

"Marci?" The voice was patient, but insistent. "Marci?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you."

"I know, but I'm still sorry."

***

"Do you forgive me?"

"You don't want to be forgiven. You just want to make me forgive you. You are still trying to control me. You don't, so forget it."

"That's not what I want. I just want you to know I'm sorry."

"And that you won't try to scare me again?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

Marci straightened up. "No. Say it. Say that you won't try to scare me again."

"Now who's being controlling?"

"Don't turn this around on me. You're the one grovelling." Marci felt triumphant. "If you're really sorry, then you'd say you won't try to scare me again."

***

"Well?" Marci waited again, her confident smirk fading. Suddenly she was afraid again.

54

Never attempt to handle a ghost investigation by yourself. You can set up cameras, sure, but don't use a digital recorder or EMF detector.* We have seen time and again how the untrained use of these devices only strengthens the spiritual presence in the location. If you're already troubled by ghostly visitation, the last thing you want to do is make the rift to the spiritual world larger by blundering around with sensitive equipment.**

B.U.R.P.S. investigators are highly trained and spiritually sensitive individuals with years of combined experience. The following book is a compilation of some of our most memorable investigations and descriptions of our techniques: do NOT attempt these at home.

*"EMF" stands for "Electro Magnetic Frequency" and is commonly cited in ghost investigations as an indication of the presence of spirits.

**We have training sessions available to those who wish to become certified in ghost hunting techniques. Equipment is also available for a small rent-to-own fee. Call your local B.U.R.P.S. office for details and pricing.