keep her here, but all the words dammed up at the base of his throat.
Suddenly, she turned back to him. “Were you sleepwalking?” “No, actually, I’m working.” Ross wound the thread of conversation tight around himself, an anchor.
“Here? Now ?”
“Yeah. I’m a paranormal investigator.” He could tell the term didn’t ring a bell for her. “Ghosts,” he explained. “I look for ghosts. In fact, I came out here because I thought your collar was . . . well, anyway. You’re not quite what I was expecting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She tipped her head to one side, studying him. “You really believe people can come back after they die? Like Harry Houdini?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She wore sorrow like a hangman’s hood; it shrouded her delicate features. “Who knows?” he teased. “We may even have company right now.”
But his words made Lia glance behind her wildly. “If he finds me . . .”
Who ? Ross wanted to say, as he realized that this woman’s skittishness was not about being discovered by him, but being discovered by someone else. Before he could ask, an earsplitting scream curled from the house. “Uncle Ross!” Ethan shrieked. “Uncle Ross, come back! ”
Ross looked up at the window, where there was no longer any residual light from either the flashlight or the video camera. The blood drained from his face as he imagined what Ethan might have seen. “I have to go,” he said to Lia, and without any further explanation, took off at a dead run.
From the New York Times :
THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE
NIGHT?
by Kerrigan Klieg
Comtosook, VT—The residents of Comtosook, a small town in the northwest corner of Vermont, are eager to tell tall tales. There are stories of maple sap running in the dry summer months, of flower petals falling from rain clouds and of ground freezing solid in the middle of August, of cars that suddenly can only move in reverse. Yet the strangest part of this gossip is that it happens to be true, and these odd occurrences are just the tip of the iceberg. Experts at the nearby University of Vermont in various fields have not been able to explain the numerous events, but residents have their own ideas about what’s causing the commotion: a spirit, a restless one who doesn’t want to be moved.
Weeks ago, Comtosook was a bucolic Vermont town. Then the Redhook Development Group struck a deal with an elderly landowner to acquire a small tract of property. Immediately, a local band of Abenaki Indians began to protest, insisting the land was a native burial ground. Archaeological testing done by the state has not revealed any human remains, although that is incidental, says Az Thompson, a local Abenaki leader: “I wouldn’t expect some flat-lander real-estate group to know where my ancestors are buried, but I sure didn’t expect them to tell me I’m lying about that, either. Who gave them the privilege to rewrite my history?” Adds Winks Smiling Fox, a fellow protester, “Enough has happened here lately to prove that as much as Redhook wants in , there’s something else that doesn’t want out .”
He refers to the growing list of oddities that have begun to wear down the general public, even those who live miles away from the disputed property. Abe Huppinworth, proprietor of a local general store, has become used to sweeping rose petals off the porch. “They fall all night long, like snow. Three, four inches deep when I come in to open up. And there isn’t a rosebush within three miles of here.” Ava Morgan took her two-year-old son to Fletcher Allen Hospital in Burlington when he awakened one morning speaking Portuguese, a language with which none of his family was familiar, much less fluent. “The doctors couldn’t tell me what happened, either. They tested him forward and backward, and then one morning it all just went away, and Cole was back to saying Mommy and milk .” Not all residents are as complacent, however. Over six
Suddenly, she turned back to him. “Were you sleepwalking?” “No, actually, I’m working.” Ross wound the thread of conversation tight around himself, an anchor.
“Here? Now ?”
“Yeah. I’m a paranormal investigator.” He could tell the term didn’t ring a bell for her. “Ghosts,” he explained. “I look for ghosts. In fact, I came out here because I thought your collar was . . . well, anyway. You’re not quite what I was expecting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She tipped her head to one side, studying him. “You really believe people can come back after they die? Like Harry Houdini?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She wore sorrow like a hangman’s hood; it shrouded her delicate features. “Who knows?” he teased. “We may even have company right now.”
But his words made Lia glance behind her wildly. “If he finds me . . .”
Who ? Ross wanted to say, as he realized that this woman’s skittishness was not about being discovered by him, but being discovered by someone else. Before he could ask, an earsplitting scream curled from the house. “Uncle Ross!” Ethan shrieked. “Uncle Ross, come back! ”
Ross looked up at the window, where there was no longer any residual light from either the flashlight or the video camera. The blood drained from his face as he imagined what Ethan might have seen. “I have to go,” he said to Lia, and without any further explanation, took off at a dead run.
From the New York Times :
THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE
NIGHT?
by Kerrigan Klieg
Comtosook, VT—The residents of Comtosook, a small town in the northwest corner of Vermont, are eager to tell tall tales. There are stories of maple sap running in the dry summer months, of flower petals falling from rain clouds and of ground freezing solid in the middle of August, of cars that suddenly can only move in reverse. Yet the strangest part of this gossip is that it happens to be true, and these odd occurrences are just the tip of the iceberg. Experts at the nearby University of Vermont in various fields have not been able to explain the numerous events, but residents have their own ideas about what’s causing the commotion: a spirit, a restless one who doesn’t want to be moved.
Weeks ago, Comtosook was a bucolic Vermont town. Then the Redhook Development Group struck a deal with an elderly landowner to acquire a small tract of property. Immediately, a local band of Abenaki Indians began to protest, insisting the land was a native burial ground. Archaeological testing done by the state has not revealed any human remains, although that is incidental, says Az Thompson, a local Abenaki leader: “I wouldn’t expect some flat-lander real-estate group to know where my ancestors are buried, but I sure didn’t expect them to tell me I’m lying about that, either. Who gave them the privilege to rewrite my history?” Adds Winks Smiling Fox, a fellow protester, “Enough has happened here lately to prove that as much as Redhook wants in , there’s something else that doesn’t want out .”
He refers to the growing list of oddities that have begun to wear down the general public, even those who live miles away from the disputed property. Abe Huppinworth, proprietor of a local general store, has become used to sweeping rose petals off the porch. “They fall all night long, like snow. Three, four inches deep when I come in to open up. And there isn’t a rosebush within three miles of here.” Ava Morgan took her two-year-old son to Fletcher Allen Hospital in Burlington when he awakened one morning speaking Portuguese, a language with which none of his family was familiar, much less fluent. “The doctors couldn’t tell me what happened, either. They tested him forward and backward, and then one morning it all just went away, and Cole was back to saying Mommy and milk .” Not all residents are as complacent, however. Over six
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