Current Chapter:  The  Maine Paranormal Society's members begin their investigation of the notoriously haunted Bellingham Manor. 

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Bangor, Maine
February, 2010
7:00 A.M.

Headquartered in a revitalized warehouse district in the west end of town, Maine Paranormal Society rented space between a framing gallery and a dog grooming salon. All three businesses shared a storefront turquoise canopy, though the signage for MPS was low-key. It was very rare for them to have any walk-in business. In fact, the preferred initial contact was by telephone or inquiries through their website.

Mike Penrod, who'd been absent at the previous day's meeting, took one of two parking spots allotted for their business and entered through the back door. He wasn't surprised to see Emma emerging from the break room as he'd parked next to her Corolla.

“Good morning. I'd love a cup of that,” he said, pointing at her coffee cup. "Did you make extra?”

“We have a Keurig now, remember?"

“Right. I'd completely forgotten. I'm used to a pot sitting all day on a burner. I like the single serving style a lot better. Everyone gets to make their own choice. Ever find out who the mysterious donor was?”

Emma grinned and her eyes twinkled. “I have my suspicions, but I'm not saying."

They turned as the front door opened, and a gust of arctic air blew in through the opening. Luke stomped the snow off his boots, removed his coat and hat and placed them on the rack next to the entrance.

“Mia's right behind me. I saw her parking her CRV down the street. I had to circle a couple of times myself to find a spot close by. The people dropping off their dogs take all the spaces in front of the salon so their mutts won't have to get their paws dirty,” he groused. “I wish they'd just conduct their business without adding on fifteen minutes of visiting with the owner.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Mia stepped inside, pushing it shut with her heel. A rose-hued scarf circled her collar and shielded the lower half of her face from the cold.  Under her arm was a thermos, no doubt filled with her special-blend herbal tea.

Dispatching her outerwear, Mia faced the others with wary eyes. Mike noted her puffy eyelids and gloomy demeanor.

“Rough night?"

“Yes, very bad.” She set her thermos on the table and pulled out a chair to sit. “I only managed a few hours of sleep. My room was like an icebox, even with a heating pad and three blankets. Worse was the smell of a cigar. It actually made me nauseous.” 

She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “At one point, just as I was finally dropping off to sleep, in my mind's eye there was a hunched black figure shoveling dirt into a hole in the ground. The vision only lasted a few seconds, and the figure was hazy... like it was cloaking itself against my seeing it." 

"Man, I'm glad I don't have your psychic abilities, Mia," Luke interjected. "Think your experiences are connected to the case?"

"I've no doubt they are. I don't need to tell you, a dramatic temperature drop along with mysterious smells are signs of discarnate entities looking for a physical energy source. Let's hope the history we've dug up on the case will shed some light on what's going on."

Mike looked to where Emma was leaning against the wall. “After our discussion last night, what else have you discovered?"

“Plenty. There's no doubt in my mind that if any place is ripe for a haunting, it's Bellingham Manor.” She made a point of checking her watch. “In the interest of saving time, why don't I review the file during our drive to Nobleboro?”

“Good idea,” Mike agreed. “Let's pack up and get on the road.”

He took the lead when it came to packing up the van. Having purchased and donated most of the up-to-date equipment available for paranormal investigating -- EVP, Night Vision Goggles, Thermal Imaging Camera -- he preferred to stow the more delicate equipment himself. The other three packed what they'd individually need, including their laptops. In less than twenty minutes' time they were ready to go.

                    ***

The night brought four additional inches of snow to Bangor and the temperature hovered in the teens. Due to the early hour, some of the streets still needed plowing, but arrangements had been made to meet Jenkins Porter, the caretaker, by 10 A.M. Mike, the van's driver, was anxious to leave plenty of time to make the ninety mile trip safely.

He was relieved on reaching I-95 to find the salting trucks had been through and the expressway was clear. Since traffic was light, he set the van on cruise control and allowed his hands to relax on the steering wheel. 

"Emma, this would be a good time to share your report. In another half hour, I'll have to be watching for our first exit sign."

Mike relied on the twenty-year-old's keen instincts when it came to researching background on their cases. He'd found her information reliable and admired her ability to encourage the confidence of their clients. He knew well the tendency for victims of hauntings to feel both shame and fear of being judged delusional.

"Brunswick Financial, our client, reports that the carpenters involved in the remodeling of the mansion are mostly local fellows. So there is a possibility of  bias due to long-standing rumors about the place being haunted," Emma began.

"That's always something we have to seriously consider in these types of investigations," Mike conceded. "An abandoned estate with a scandalous past makes the perfect backdrop for ghost stories."  

"Speaking of a scandalous past, what can you tell us about the double homicide that took place there in the 1920's," interjected Luke. “I've only read a little bit online but the gist I'm getting is that it was a love triangle gone bad."

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You sure have a talent for understatement, Luke. I'd say two dead bodies, a missing maid and a murderer who seems to have dropped off the face of the earth constitutes a love triangle gone seriously bad."

Mia, who'd been subdued since leaving Bangor, spoke up, "Did you say the husband disappeared?"

"Yes, they found a steamer trunk containing his clothes, a single ticket for a ship bound for England and $50k in cash - a very hefty sum of money by today's standards. Deepening the mystery is the fact there were no sightings of Charles in the weeks that followed or any indication he'd followed through with his plan to sail for England.”

She continued, "I got the best information from the archives of the Kennebec Journal out of Augusta, Maine. The story was shocking due to the violent nature of the deaths. The newspaper, no doubt sniffing a good story and a chance to boost subscriptions, took an interest. They sent Claude Fillmore, one of their seasoned reporters, to check out the story." 

Shifting the file's pages, she marked the spot with her finger and met Mike's eyes in the rear view mirror. “I've taken the liberty of paraphrasing Claude's story to give a general picture of what took place.”

“Good. We can always go back and dig deeper if we need to,” Mike responded.

Emma returned to the page. “I'm quoting the reporter now: 'The bodies of Catherine and Phillipe were found in a blood-soaked bed inside a small lakeside cottage on the Estate. The female victim's head had been nearly severed from her torso by the vicious slitting of her throat. Both victims suffered massive trauma about the head and multiple stab wounds. Though the police were reluctant to discuss the details, this reporter has it on good authority that Dacault was castrated, most likely while still alive."

Mia gasped, and Emma reached across to touch her hand. “You okay?

“Um... yes... please continue."

“The sheriff investigating the case told Fillmore that he felt the murders were committed by someone under 'demonic influences' due to their barbaric nature. A sad postscript to the story,” she added, “is the rumor that the autopsy revealed Catherine Bellingham was four months pregnant." 

The gravity of the situation weighed heavy on Mike. It's one thing to reason with an adult ghost, but something entirely different with an infant. How do you make them understand what you are trying to communicate? No doubt Mia is wondering the same thing. He glanced to where she sat in silence, staring at the back of his seat.

"Luke, I'm going to need your help to maneuver the next sixty miles. We have a series of exits and turns to make.” Mike said. “Why don't we all separately process what we've just heard and piece things together after our meeting with Jenkins Porter."

"I agree, plus I could use a short nap after last night," Mia replied. 

Mike observed Mia clasp the gold cross resting on her chest and lean back, with her eyes closed. I'm guessing what you're really planning is to make contact with Catherine Bellingham's spirit. In your weakened physical state, that could be dangerous.

Mike turned his attention to the road. He knew advising caution would go unheeded by his friend. With the mention of a murdered child, Mia wouldn't rest until mother and child crossed to the other side.

                    ***

By 9:30 A.M., the van was making its way up the rutted, unpaved road leading to the estate which included fifty acres of hardwoods and evergreens. 

"This place must be beautiful in the fall with all these hardwood trees," noted Luke.

"Beautiful and sad," Mia added. "I think that may be our caretaker up ahead. My god, look at that animal with him, it looks like a small horse." 

The man walking toward them was dressed for the inclement weather. At his side was an untethered, graceful hound. As his family owned and boarded large breed dogs, Mike recognized what it was right off. "That's a Scottish deerhound. Pretty rare dog."  

Rolling down the driver's window, he asked the man, "Are you Jenkins Porter?"

"I am," came the reply from deep inside the man's hood. 

When he offered no more information, Mike persisted, "We're the team of investigators Brunswick Financial hired to debunk, or prove, paranormal claims centered around the Manor house. It's our understanding that you've resided here for a number of years and might be able to fill in some of the details of what's been happening here." 

The man leaned in close enough for Mike to smell the liquor on his breath. "If it were up to me, you people wouldn't be allowed to step foot inside the place. But it ain't up to me." The dog growled in response to his master's tone of voice. "Follow me up the road and you'll see my cottage just beyond the gate."  

Mike's concentrated effort to navigate the difficult terrain was interrupted by Luke.

"I think we can consider this guy a hostile witness. We're probably wasting our time interviewing him. Why don't we go directly to the manor and start investigating now since we have the owner's permission?" 

"Mia, you've said it's important that we talk to the caretaker," Mike responded. "Do you still feel that way?" 

"More than ever. That man has much to answer for, and I sense he's being manipulated by some of the energies still present here."

As Mike pulled the van to a stop in front of a decrepit Victorian-style cottage, he announced, “That's our plan then. Everyone, stay on your toes."