the bedrock of all modern paranormal investigation. The more pertinent question is—do we have the courage to claim it?
—Dr. Alaistair Leish, The Lure of the Poltergeist
Her notebook was gone.
Laurel stood with hands on hips, surveying her Psych department office—now even more chaotic than usual, an explosion of papers and files and pulled-out drawers after her increasingly frustrated search. The gargoyle outside the window leered in at her as if it were in on the joke.
She’d returned to her office that morning after her troubling visit to the Paranormal Research Center, started to pack her roller case for another foray into the basement of Perkins, and realized the notebook was missing: the three-subject Blue Devils notebook from the student bookstore that she’d been taking notes in. It was the ninth notebook she’d filled with notes from the Rhine files. The others were at home, lined up on a shelf in one of her overflowing bookcases.
She’d looked through, under and around every single piece of paper and file on her desk, in the three desk drawers, through every bookshelf in the tiny office. Nothing.
Am I losing my mind?
She thought briefly of the feeling she’d had of being watched, last night.
Okay, now that’s crazy. Isn’t it? Who would want my random notes? Who could even read my handwriting?
But she had no time to ponder—it was Friday and she had a full day of classes, plus office hours. The carillon bells in the clock tower were chiming five before she was able to lock the door of her office and hurry down the stairs and across the quad through a blustery wind and rush of escaping students to Perkins Library. Down in the basement she checked her table, and the coat closet; she even went back to the shelf and looked through the last box she had been sorting through yesterday morning to see if she’d absentmindedly put it back into the box with the actual files.
It wasn’t anywhere.
Which means nothing, she thought. She’d once turned her entire condo upside down for a book that she found a week later in the freezer beside a quart of Honey Vanilla Häagen-Dazs.
But the more she looked, the more certain she was that she had left the notebook on her desk in her locked office.
She sat on the edge of the long table, and thought back to Kornbluth’s unsolicited visit to her office. He’d been sitting on top of her desk, obviously scanning the materials on the desktop.
Did I see the notebook after that? I don’t think I did.
But would he really be brazen enough to steal a colleague’s research material? Should she confront him?
There was a step behind her and she turned, startled.
Ward stood behind her, between the shelves. “It’s Friday night,” the librarian informed Laurel dryly. “I’m leaving for the evening. But you can lock up behind you, if you’re staying. Just pull the doors shut as you leave. Closing bell’s at quarter to ten.”
Laurel was surprised and grateful for the vote of confidence. “I appreciate it,” she said.
Ward looked behind her at the rows of boxes. “Well,” she said, and turned to go.
“I have a question,” Laurel said suddenly, and Ward turned back, waiting. “I wondered if you had ever seen anything, or heard anything, about a Folger House.”
Laurel didn’t know why she was asking the librarian, except that for Whatever reason she trusted her. At least, she trusted that the librarian had no vested interest in the research Laurel was doing, the way that others in the department would have.
“I haven’t been into these files,” Ward said.
“But … maybe someone else has asked? I just wondered if you had ever seen anything or heard anything about a Folger House … if it was familiar at all.” Laurel was painfully aware that she was grasping at straws.
Ward looked at her through the thick owl glasses. “Folger. No. Never heard of it.”
“Well … thanks,” Laurel said. “Enjoy your weekend,” she added with
—Dr. Alaistair Leish, The Lure of the Poltergeist
Her notebook was gone.
Laurel stood with hands on hips, surveying her Psych department office—now even more chaotic than usual, an explosion of papers and files and pulled-out drawers after her increasingly frustrated search. The gargoyle outside the window leered in at her as if it were in on the joke.
She’d returned to her office that morning after her troubling visit to the Paranormal Research Center, started to pack her roller case for another foray into the basement of Perkins, and realized the notebook was missing: the three-subject Blue Devils notebook from the student bookstore that she’d been taking notes in. It was the ninth notebook she’d filled with notes from the Rhine files. The others were at home, lined up on a shelf in one of her overflowing bookcases.
She’d looked through, under and around every single piece of paper and file on her desk, in the three desk drawers, through every bookshelf in the tiny office. Nothing.
Am I losing my mind?
She thought briefly of the feeling she’d had of being watched, last night.
Okay, now that’s crazy. Isn’t it? Who would want my random notes? Who could even read my handwriting?
But she had no time to ponder—it was Friday and she had a full day of classes, plus office hours. The carillon bells in the clock tower were chiming five before she was able to lock the door of her office and hurry down the stairs and across the quad through a blustery wind and rush of escaping students to Perkins Library. Down in the basement she checked her table, and the coat closet; she even went back to the shelf and looked through the last box she had been sorting through yesterday morning to see if she’d absentmindedly put it back into the box with the actual files.
It wasn’t anywhere.
Which means nothing, she thought. She’d once turned her entire condo upside down for a book that she found a week later in the freezer beside a quart of Honey Vanilla Häagen-Dazs.
But the more she looked, the more certain she was that she had left the notebook on her desk in her locked office.
She sat on the edge of the long table, and thought back to Kornbluth’s unsolicited visit to her office. He’d been sitting on top of her desk, obviously scanning the materials on the desktop.
Did I see the notebook after that? I don’t think I did.
But would he really be brazen enough to steal a colleague’s research material? Should she confront him?
There was a step behind her and she turned, startled.
Ward stood behind her, between the shelves. “It’s Friday night,” the librarian informed Laurel dryly. “I’m leaving for the evening. But you can lock up behind you, if you’re staying. Just pull the doors shut as you leave. Closing bell’s at quarter to ten.”
Laurel was surprised and grateful for the vote of confidence. “I appreciate it,” she said.
Ward looked behind her at the rows of boxes. “Well,” she said, and turned to go.
“I have a question,” Laurel said suddenly, and Ward turned back, waiting. “I wondered if you had ever seen anything, or heard anything, about a Folger House.”
Laurel didn’t know why she was asking the librarian, except that for Whatever reason she trusted her. At least, she trusted that the librarian had no vested interest in the research Laurel was doing, the way that others in the department would have.
“I haven’t been into these files,” Ward said.
“But … maybe someone else has asked? I just wondered if you had ever seen anything or heard anything about a Folger House … if it was familiar at all.” Laurel was painfully aware that she was grasping at straws.
Ward looked at her through the thick owl glasses. “Folger. No. Never heard of it.”
“Well … thanks,” Laurel said. “Enjoy your weekend,” she added with
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