Dark Calling …Part 2 ... The Watcher

Like a faint haze spirits float around us. We keep company with ghosts. Their graves are marked in our minds, and they will never be disinterred from the cemeteries of our remembrance. Our heartbeats are numbered, our steps counted. Even as we survive and reproduce, we know ourselves to be dying in a dark corner of infinity. Wherever we go, we know not what expects our arrival but only that it is there.
― Thomas Ligotti

Brooding farmhouse

I certainly have a dark calling. Of all the careers I could have chosen, I picked this one, exploring dark corners of infinity.

I'm not sure I'll ever become accustomed to this sudden frisson, especially when I sense a presence near me that sends shivers down my spine.

Being with Sonya in her heritage farmhouse was both poignant and eerie, the damp mist swirling about us making strange shapes, perhaps blurry images from another century.

Sara recognized there was something otherworldly the way the early morning haze bent and unbent reality, to the point where there was not enough materiality, not enough actuality to discern anything with certainty.

It's the reason spirits walk in darkness―they need ambiguity to cloak things in mystery and weaken our hard-hearted skepticism.

Sara was restless. "We should go out and check the ridge and woods where the Grey Man appears."

"Good idea," I said, and turning to Sonya asked, "will you be all right waiting here?"

She nodded and smiled bravely. "I'll put more coffee on and add a few logs to the fire to take away the chill."

The chill she felt wasn't the damp and cold―the house itself was dry and warm, but it helped her to have a job to take her mind off the ghost.

We put on our winter coats and ventured into the damp mist, Sara leading the way, eager to reconnoiter the property and take in the lay of the land.

It must have been beautiful in fall with sugar maples in full colour but now everything was muted and grey much like the mysterious figure Sonya described.

We were looking for natural explanations that might explain the ghostly presence but found nothing .

The land reminded me of Keats' poem, La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

We stood shivering on the cold hillside, and I whispered to Sara, the sedge is withered from the lake and no birds sing. She gave me a melancholy smile that reminded me of the lady in the meads, her hair long, step light and eyes wild.

There was an air of despair and futility in our surroundings, a despondency almost tangible.

We walked back in silence to the house, each shut in with our own bleak hopelessness.

Just before we entered the house, Sara squeezed my arm tightly and sighed, "there's a grief here I can't comprehend, Malachi—it's not threatening, but debilitating. Do you feel it?"

"I do. Whoever that watcher in the field is, he's exiled from the house."

"It was oppressive," she shivered, "I don't want to feel that again."

"Neither do I―it's Dante's vision of hell where you abandon all hope when you enter its depths."

Sonya was sitting close to the fire trying to get warm. Sara took an afghan from the couch and draped it over her shoulders.

"We're just going to check the back bedroom and then we'll have coffee."

Sonya smiled up at us, "Don't worry about me―finish your investigation. I'm fine."

We walked back to the bedroom and went inside.

There was a definite change of atmosphere from the rest of the house. In this room, we felt vulnerable as if eyes were constantly watching every move we made.

Sara went over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. "Look at this, Malachi," she called out to me.

I went over and stared out the window. There was a perfect line of sight from here to the ridge where Sonya saw the Grey Man.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Probably the same thing as what you're thinking. Someone is constantly watching this room."

She rubbed her arms to try to warm herself. "It also feels cold and damp in this room."

It did. There was a marked difference between this one room and the rest of the house. But we had gone about as far as we could by merely observing. We needed more information about the original occupants and perhaps Sonya could help us.

Sonya tried her best to help.

"All I know about the original occupants, is the summary the realtor gave me. Seems the house was a designated heritage site. I also have some papers I found in an old trunk in the cellar and that's pretty well it."

"What do the papers say about the original owners?" Sara asked.

Sonya coloured."I haven't looked at them, I'm afraid."

"We'll read them tonight," Sara assured her,"but for now, I'm dying for another coffee."

We had made some progress and hopefully the papers would shed more light on the house’s history and enable us to come to some conclusions about what was causing the haunting.

To be continued...

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

Photo