Trail of Tears-Episode one part two

Trail of Tears-Episode one part two(Will Neill) ‘The Ring of Catalina Moreau’
Sibron’s Father eventually agreed to everything and I spent two days with the family in their small apartment. The effect of which was enlightening I must add because it would seem my presence acted like an amplifier, allowing whatever spiritual entity had taken residence to project itself into more than just poltergeist activity. On my first night there we were sitting around the table having dinner, with me explaining how I thought this should go when my water glass suddenly moved about five or six inches with a dull scrape away from my plate. The result of which stopped us all from eating instantly. Without speaking I replaced it back to its original position only for it to slide away again seconds later. This caused Mrs. Marseille to jump up knocking over her chair as she became noticeably frightened. I indicated silently to Sibron’s father the best way to get my camera from my bag, sort of like when you play charades and you do that film thing with your hands. He understood straightaway and passed it too me. For the next forty minutes I photographed and took footage of my glass moving more than a dozen times.
This was all well and good, but I knew anyone watching this would suggest it was done by either manipulation or some sort of a camera trick. No what I needed was for ‘Cressida’ to make an appearance and maybe we could have a tête-à-tête, pardon my French, about why she was haunting this house. Turns out she didn’t disappoint me. About three in the morning after everyone had gone to bed exhausted after our little showcase at dinner ‘Cressida’ made an appearance while I was in that place between awake and asleep. You know, that feeling of serenity we sense before we drift off to the land of conceptions be it peaceful or nightmarish. Mr. Marseille had been more than generous with the red wine after the water glass episode. Claiming he needed it to settle his nerves. But I suspect he wanted to be a little more hospitable than his wife would have liked. Everyone was sleeping and I was squeezed onto a couch at least a foot shorter than it could have been. Mrs. Marseille had given me a couple of pillows and a light blanket barely big enough to cover me completely, it wasn’t important I tried to tell her, but she made a whole big deal out of it. Mind you whatever she was going on about I hadn’t a clue, nonetheless a French rant still sounds quite sexy. The small family room had two brown leather couches with well worn armrests and permanent creased cushions. It wasn’t hard to figure out who sat where by the size of their groves. Mid-center an ornate white marble fireplace dominated the wall facing the door as you come in from the kitchen. It was cluttered with old framed photographs and a bunch of unopened manila envelopes behind a small gold carriage clock. The room smelt fusty and old. Outside rain spats pinged against the window in rhythmic regularity making it even more difficult for me to keep my eyes open.
But then I heard it, at first it was a low hum like a cats purr but human. If you could call a spirit human, a woman I was sure. It made me sit up.
The temperature of the room soon began to drop, something I had gotten used to before any manifestation would occur. This was my key to get the camera ready.
While I checked its workings in my peripheral vision a small swirl of mist began to form on the armchair beside the fire. I pushed the record button, pointed and held my breath. Circular orbs began to spin and dance throughout the room like planets round a moon .This would be my first time to actually witness materialization in full. I was tempted to get up and waken Sibron and her parents but I decided it would be better to show them the footage later incase I disturbed the atmosphere and any embodiment trying to form.
Then like a painter would build up his portrait on canvas with colors in oil and swirling charcoal outlines, Cressida began to take shape. Her hair at first, auburn and flowing as if caught up in a summer zephyr, then her long rounded stomacher and jacket like bodice, typical 1600’s dress style characteristic of Dutch fashion. This would explain why Sibron could not understand her language or place her accent. Finally her face faded in rounded and smooth white like an alabaster doll. She acknowledged me with a smile I felt had a hint of evil attached to it. And for the first time since the day in my grandmothers attic I realized not all those who have unfinished business are benevolent. Was she was there to do harm of that I was unsure and tonight might be the culmination of whatever she or it was planning. And maybe use me as the tool to accomplish the task. ‘’Waarom ben je hier?’’ why are you here? I asked her. Much like my Japanese is today so too was my Dutch then, thin and lacking of substance. ‘’Wie ben Je?’’ who are you?
‘Catalina Moreau’ she replied in a soft like echo that seemed to fill the room.
‘Waarom ben je hier?’ I repeated again.
‘Om het leven te nemen’ (to take life)
‘’Wie is het leven die u moet nemen?’’ (who’s life must you take?’’) ‘Sibrons’
That one word raised gooseflesh on my arms and neck and never before had I felt so frightened in the presence of a spirit. We talked at length until dawn broke through the curtains and as best I could with my less than perfect Dutch. But when I found words I couldn’t understand it was easy to fill in those blanks as her story unfolded.
Catalina had been the daughter of Joris Moreau a prominent Dutch business man who along with his wife Jacqueline and son Pierre where sailing to New Netherland aboard the passenger ship De Eendracht from Amsterdam. She and her family set sail on the 25th of January 1624 bound for the America’s with a short stop at the port of La Rochelle. It was there the vessel would collect cargo and fresh water for the journey. Joris had arranged to meet his so called friend and partner Ghislain Cuvellier who had traveled two weeks before to Paris. Joris had invested his life savings from his flour mills with Ghislain who was supposed to turn it into gold. A currency more easily accepted everywhere. Unbeknown to Joris, Ghislain had squandered away everything on gambling and prostitutes over the few weeks he was waiting. There was no gold.
Thinking back on that night to anyone else it would have all seemed surreal, yet to me it was as natural as if I was sitting talking to a distant relative. Only Catalina was long since dead, more than three hundred years and not some long lost cousin dropping in for lemonade and cookies.
Joris had brought along his family by invitation of Ghislian to attend dinner at an inn not far from Sibron’s house. After they had dinned Catalina explained her Father was anxious to see the gold which Ghislian had secured. For more than an hour he distracted him, trying to get him to drink more wine. The inn was packed with rowdy sailors and drunk fishermen. She and her Mother became frightened and Pierre was becoming tired and fretful. Finally her Father demanded that Ghislian take him to the gold. He agreed and said it was in his rented apartments. Her Father reluctantly agreed to go with him because of the late hour but Ghislian assured him he would be safe and once there all could spend the night before leaving on the morning tide.
He laid them through the back streets of Paris to the building which was now home to Sibron and her family. Once there he suggested they should have one last drink to celebrate their new life. When her Father refused and again commanded Ghislian to show him the gold he pretended it was hidden in the floor under the boards. Slowly he began to remove some loose wood, after pushing away a small rug which lay in front of the fireplace. From inside the void he lifted out a grey canvas bag, Catalina said her Father moved forward to see what he was doing as he had his back to him. It was not gold in the bag but a flintlock pistol; she said the sound of the shot he fired at her Father was like a thunder clap, startling her and leaving a ringing in her ears . Her Father fell mortally wounded holding his chest and hitting his head on the grate of the fire. Blood seeped through his fingers, bright red in the glow of the flames and trickled down the side of his cheek. Both she and her Mother screamed while Pierre ran to his Father calling out his name. Ghislian struck him down with the butt end of the pistol smashing his skull. He then killed her Mother with a dagger from his belt, cutting her throat. Only she was left.
But it was not long before he turned his attention to her and while he forced himself upon her she swore some day she would avenge her family.
I explained to Catalina that Sibron and her family were not related to Ghislian who by now would have long since gone to hell and to haunt them or harm them was not what god would want. And like Toby I asked what was her unfinished business ‘Only to be given a Christian burial’ she cried in her native Dutch. ‘’Where are you?’’ I asked.
Her ghostly finger rose and pointed to the floor beside the fireplace. ‘’he keeps us there’’
When I promised to grant her wish, she faded like a morning mist, but what did she mean by ‘He’.
I got up from the couch and went to the Fireplace, below my feet some boards creaked and groaned. I could see a few were loose and when I pulled back the small rug covering the hearth I was able to remove them easily. After three hundred years I did not expect to find any bodies which may have been concealed under the floor, if in fact this is where Catalina and her family’s last resting place would be. When I looked there was nothing in the immediate void beneath, which was deep enough to conceal a person if laid on their back. My heart sank, maybe all which had happened tonight was just a vivid dream and I had awoke only wishing it to be true so I could free them from this realm and give them peace. I began to replace the boards thinking about how I should or could explain what had happened. But would anyone believe I had sat and conversed with a three hundred year old dead Dutch girl for the best part of a night until dawn broke, unlikely. Then I thought about the camera sitting on the floor beneath my make shift bed, had I switched it on and recorded the whole experience without thinking. I could not remember. And when I checked the flash card later there was nothing but static. But as I placed the last but one slat I thought from somewhere in the room I heard a young girl cry. Maybe it was just air in the old plumbing pipes buried in the walls or the miss heard cry of a lonely seagull outside the window I couldn’t be sure.
Was I Catalina’s last chance to find peace, would she haunt this house forever if I did not find her? My head was swimming with emotions and tiredness but I may never get this chance again, so I decided on one more last look only this time I would try to remove just a few more boards. I managed six in all but still found nothing, no trace of an ancient murder or dust covered bones. Once again I felt emptied I could not help and flopped down to rest against a tallboy full of plates and china cups which rattled slightly with my weight. As I sat there touching the cupboards doors dust motes rose and danced in a lance of sunlight now piercing through a gap in the curtains, it beam seemed to land upon the center of the room far away from the others. Like a heavenly finger had sought it out.
Then it struck me, no murder would leave boards loose so his victims could be found easily. No he would nail them shut. I had been wrong.
A new found energy from excitement and anticipation of what I might find rippled through me. Eagerly I pulled back the well worn carpet, choking on the years of dust I had disturbed underneath. I looked and looked but nothing seemed any different than the rest of the floor, boards locked into boards. Nails holding down the ancient wood, I felt again my elation might be short lived, perhaps all that had happened was only in my imagination or my wanting there to be something.
No one would know if I just put back the carpet the way it was, I had time to clear up before anyone would wake. Then later I could make an excuse I needed to get back to the papers offices where a story was breaking and my editor needed me and any footage would be examined before released. These thoughts however were pulled from my mind like a blindfold when I thought I heard the same girl’s voice as earlier only this time it sounded like a desperate plea, distinct and clear ‘please don’t laat ons’ it whispered, please don’t leave us.
The suns rays coming in through the curtains felt warm on my back and when I stepped aside to look again were it had been focused it was if the floor itself gave out a gratified sigh. It was then a glint of something metal buried into one of the boards caught my eye. When I bent down and brushed away the dirt and dust that covered it I began to realize what I’d found was a small copper handle cut and folded down into the wood, almost invisible. I felt my heart begin to race again when my eyes transferred the discovery below my feet to my brain as a trapdoor. Hidden so much by grime no one would have ever known it was there.
‘’My god’’ I heard myself say.
I tugged at the handle lightly at first incase it would come away from its screws if the aging wood was weak. But it soon became obvious a heavier hand was required to ease this vintage hatch away from its three hundred year old resting place. It took me three good tugs before I disturbed the dirt which had settled into its sides and hinges. On my last good effort to pull it open it was if an unseen hand was reaching out from hell trying to stop me from revealing the heinous crime that had been committed all those years ago. But by now my determination was stronger than the devil from perdition below. And if it was Ghislian who was the evil presence I first felt when I came here then I must with my entire strength break the bond he has held over Catalina and her family forever, only then will they find peace.
‘’Let me in you bastard!’’ I heard myself scream and as the hatch gave way in an explosion of dust and dirt I swore a deep growl like I had disturbed an angry devil come from below. I fell back onto my backside watching in wonderment as the hatch lifted up like the mouth of an alligator ready to devour anyone who dared come close. The noise of the flap opening must have woken up Sibron and her parents because when I looked up they were standing in the doorway.
‘’Qu’est-ce que cést?’’ Mr. Marseille asked looking concerned.
‘’English please’’ I requested of him.
Sibron answered ‘’My Father wants to know what this is’’
‘’You don’t know about this cellar’’ I indicated as I edged forward on my knees ‘’you’ve never seen this before?’’
‘’Non’’ he nodded ‘’comment avez-vous trouvé?’’
‘’How did you find it?’’ Sibron translated.
For a moment I nearly forgot myself and was about to just jump in and say a three hundred year old dead girl, who was murdered in this very room along with her family, had spent the best part of last night telling me where to look. But then what if the cellar was empty and was maybe just an old wine storage cooler. Would they believe me, I doubted it so I lied and said I had did some research about the old houses in this area before I came along. I stretched the truth some more pretending when they were built a water channel ran under them towards the sea and maybe could be the source of the noises. And when the tide was out the house would subside and shift making the doors open and the lights swing as on the footage Sibron had uploaded. Just like the night before at dinner when my glass slid across the table seemingly moved by a ghostly hand was only the house settling back into position. All bullshit of course, but when Sibron had finished her translation I could see Mr. and Mrs. Marseille had bought it when they smiled and gave a nervous laugh. I wasn’t so sure of Sibron however by the look on her face she wasn’t as rapt as they had been. Her eyes had narrowed and she looked as if she couldn’t wait for her parents to leave the room.
When they did with Mrs. Marseille’s voice complaining about how she would be all day cleaning up the mess I’d made ringing in my ears, Sibron was over at me instantly. Noticeably eager to explore the hidden cellar, while possibly wondering what the hell I was smiling about, but like I said, even a cantankerous French woman can make a rant sound sexy.
Before she had the chance to start ripping my threadbare story apart about the underground water table I threw up my hands and came clean. I said it would be safer if I went down alone incase the ground was quicksand. But as I guessed she was hearing none of it. So I agreed she could accompany me on one condition she would hold the flashlight I had brought with me in my bag and I would use the camera to capture on film whatever was down there. This settled Sibron went to her room and came back shortly after wearing a black skintight jumpsuit and ivy green wellington boots. Her ponytailed hair was tucked under a blue baseball hat and she had put on a pair of bright yellow marigold washing up gloves. She switched on the torch and pointed into the blackness below. ‘’Shall we’’ she said sexily as if asking me into her room. ‘’You first’’
***
I hadn’t expected the air to be so cold after two steps down, but it took my breath away for a second or two. Under my feet the old wood of the stairway felt spongy and soft enough to break. And as I waited for it to happen, I imagined myself crashing through the last few rungs and ploughing into the soft earth below frightened I wouldn’t stop and I’d be sucked into a quagmire of sand. Choking and flailing wildly as it flooded my mouth and nose unable to scream out until I was no more so I called up for Sibron to wait. I couldn’t take the chance the steps would hold us both.
At the bottom the darkness enveloped me like a heavy blanket, and all I wanted to do was climb back out. Because I knew instantly I was not alone.
In my stockings I’m close to six feet tall and my gangly looks earned me the nick name ‘Maypole Max’ at school. But there was at least another two above my head, making the cellar deeper than I had first imagined. Sibron had done as I asked remaining at the top and to be honest I had second thoughts about letting her come down at all. But without the flashlight it would be impossible to see anything. And there was no way she would just throw it to me. I had only known this girl really a few hours but she was formidable and strong of character, in fact she reminded me of my Mother. So I was sure she would hold me to our arrangement.
The ground wasn’t sand as I had expected, more like a soft moss type heather the kind that might grow wildly in a Scottish mountain meadow. It had the feel of a well sprung mattress making it hard to balance. How thick it was I couldn’t tell and from what light there was coming from the room above I could see it had attached itself to the cellars walls, much like ivy. The air was sickly sweet not from the growth but reeked of a familiar odor, one I was afraid of detecting-death.
Procrastination unfortunately is something I’ve always suffered from all my life, some call it dithering others just say I was prevaricating but for me I must weigh up the odds before I jump right in so to speak. Being young and impetuous does have its traits I supposed but wanting to face the unknown always made me feel uneasy. Sibron I knew was all of those things and more, yet not reckless or hotheaded but bore a lot of common sense on such young shoulders. So while I had meandered in my fickle decisions I wasn’t surprised to notice she had already descended and was standing beside me. I had this picture in my head we must have looked like two of the characters from the movie ‘Ghost Busters’ standing there ready to face the villain Gozer before we let loose our Portable Particle Accelerators. Only in this case we didn’t have proton back packs, instead all we had was a digital camera and a ten buck Walmart torch. Sibron aimed it at the blackness.
‘’What ever you do don’t cross the streams’’ I said winking at her, but by the look on her face I knew she didn’t get it. Then the lance of light caught something as it moved sending a chill down my spine. Two eyes looked back at us from the dark.
In my head I was asking the question did Sibron see what I had happened, but it was obvious by her lack of reaction she did not. The movement alone should have sent her scurrying up the steps in a fit of screaming fear never mind the demonic eyes that had flashed into the torches beam. Only when I spoke did she begin to look frightened, but I could think of no other way to confront what was down here with us.
‘’Who are you?’’ I asked like I had done earlier with Catalina, only this time I knew whoever was here was not like her. My feelings and senses were all telling me the same thing, whatever this was it had a hold over her and was willing to protect its link. I repeated my question only this time with more vigor. This made Sibron look at me silently but I could see fear in her eyes.
‘’Who are you talking to?’’ she asked me in a low voice.
‘’Keep the light steady Sibron’’ I whispered ‘’Try not to be frightened, only I can see who is here with us’’
After saying that out loud I wondered was I trying to calm Sibron down or just convincing myself everything would be ok. Most of my encounters up to then as I said were from those poor souls with unfinished business, easily convinced to go into the light. This entity however proved to be more formidable and less accommodating and I wasn’t sure how I could handle it.
A flutter like a bird’s wings startled me, could I have been wrong? Was it just some trapped starling that had made a nest in the mossy floor or walls? Or a bat protecting its young from intruders, where we the trespassers I began to wonder. And maybe some things are better left alone. I stood feeling like a modern day Van Hesling on a mission to destroy Dracula. My mind ran movie reels of every old horror film I’d watched as Van Hesling and his partner seek out Nosferatu, that scene when they arrive at the castle. There’s thunder and lighting crashing always in the fading light of dusk. Then just as the pair are about to drive the wooden stake through the vampires heart as he lays in his coffin he rises up bearing his fangs hissing like a snake. Its then I remember where I’d heard that sound before, it is the flap of a moving cloak. The kind a gentleman might wear of days long ago, a Dutch nobleman maybe? My image was of Bella Lugosi the most famous vampire of all. And would Ghislian show his face to me for it was him I was sure, and would he resemble the celebrated film star in any form. Sibron was physically shaking at this point and she kept looking to see what I would do next. But to be honest I didn’t really have a clue, so without thinking I cried out into the darkness in the most commanding voice I could muster.
‘’Wat wil Je Ghislian?’’
‘’What did you say?’’ Sibron asked me ‘’is it Ghislian?’’
I nodded a quiet yes and explained in a low voice I had asked him what he wanted. The silence which followed was as much foreboding as the thought of Ghislian appearing. I contemplated speaking again only instead of asking what he wanted this time I would demand he should leave. And to be honest I was getting weary of this hide in the shadows shit with him hoping I would climb back out and leave. It did cross my mind but I’d made a promise, and if nothing else I needed to stick to it, both for Catalina and for the Marsellies sake. I took a deep breath and spoke with an air of feeble confidence.
‘’Je moet Verlaten Ghislian’’ I demanded ‘’Gan en laat dit huis!’’ I persisted then waited. It didn’t take long.
A growl like an angry dog rasped from the darkest part of the cellar, it would seem my request for him to vacate the house perhaps did have the desired effect. The downside being he sounded mad. Two eyes like the tips of red hot pokers formed, and then a face appeared, its skin pure white semi transparent at first then filling out into a hideous Halloween mask. The lips red and thin twisted into a snarl and behind them teeth sharp and pointed looked smeared with flecks of blood. Ghislian, if this was he was no ordinary ghost or sprit, the day he murdered Catalina and her family here in this house he invoked a dormant demon. A devil brought back to life when their blood seeped through the floorboards. It possessed him until even his own death was no release, beside me Sibron choked on a scream. Had she seen this apparition, this vile creature? My guess was yes.
I told her not to be afraid; trying hard to reassure her in all my experiences with those who have entered the realm of death not one had ever harmed me. What I hadn’t been truthful about was you could count all of them on one hand.
When I repeated my demand the Ghislian creature drew back as if my words were inflicting pain. I began to think if such a simple invitation to leave brought it so much discomfort then this thing was far from immortal. Maybe it was only the energy of fear which allowed it to be there, and if that were true, to defeat it I needed not only to dispel my terror but Sibrons and Catalina as well who I was convinced was with us. Most horror movie buffs would know there comes a scene in the movie when Van Hesling or the hero produces a crucifix, thrusts it at the vampire or monster while screaming something in Latin over the noise of a thunderous lighting crack. It felt like we had reached that act and I remembered the day before when I met Sibron and her parents at the café, around her neck she wore a silver cross, a small one on a fine chain.
I asked if she was still wearing it, staying motionless, keeping my eyes fixed. She was and unfolded it nervously from inside her suit. A glint of light caught it producing a sound from Ghislain like a hurt dog would yelp in pain. I told her to raise it high in front of her face and repeat the words I was about to say and trust me. She nodded she understood.
When I was growing up and not long after I had told my grandma about how that day in the attic I came upon the spirit of grandpa she taught me a prayer. She said to me-‘There may be a time when you will come upon a person or a troubled soul who will be possessed with the devil, they will fight you to remain in the realm of the living. They will use fear and deception to distract and frighten you. But always remember you have god on your side’
It was a prayer I never forgot, and one I thought I would never need. Not until now. ‘’ In the name of Jesus Christ, I bind all spirits of the air’’, I began ‘’ fire, water, ground, underground, and netherworld. I bind all forces of evil and claim the blood of Jesus on the atmosphere, the water, the ground, and their fruits around us. In the name of god, I seal this room and all members of Sibron Marseilles family, relatives, friends, and all sources of supply. In the blood of Jesus Christ and in the name of god I forbid every spirit from any source from harming me.’’
The response from the entity was short and chilling ‘Get out!’ it rasped.
‘Has this ever happened before?’ Sibron whispered, her voice noticeably trembling with fear.
The honest answer was no but I figured this probably wasn’t the right time to be candid. ‘Rise your crucifix higher’ I told her ‘and repeat what I said with force in your voice, believe you are in control Sibron. Do not let it deceive you. It will try and trick you. It will speak as a child, or weep like your Mother begging you not to hurt it. But listen to me, this isn’t human, it is evil, a malevolence possibly older than Jesus himself and we must banish it to hell’
I watched as Sibron majestically thrust her arm forward brandishing her cross like it was a holy sword and began to deliver the prayer in her native tongue. As she spoke a howling wind began to stir from within the cellar while the spirit or devil or what ever it was got more and more agitated. Moving its idiom from a pleading infant to a wailing old woman, it cursed us vilely first in French, then Dutch. ‘Stay strong don’t falter Sibron’ I shouted above the noise ‘remember what I said, do not let it fool you’ Then I too joined in and began to chant the prayer. We recited it together leaning into the wind with both our hairs flailing wildly behind us as dust and debris from the cellar floor and walls caught up in the airstream cut into our faces leaving pock marks of blood. Time began to appear endless, in what now seemed a vortex of swirling wind and light. Was the entity too powerful; was this battle one I couldn’t win this time? I felt my strength fading, my will weakening. My mind began to drift back to the day when I first met granddad in the attic and how he told me why he was able to remain in the house. Even though the urge to move into the light grew stronger each day, ‘Each person has a soul; their essence if you like is what makes them who they are.’ He said ‘It is the most powerful thing in the universe; it can never be destroyed, love and integrity makes it immortal. But evil tries to feed off that love it will use every vile trick it knows to try and remain in the realm of the living because love is at its strongest there. But every spirit must have a totem, an object that it can use to anchor its self in the living world. With me it is a lock of your grandmother’s hair which I hid in a small box and buried behind a brick in the chimney stack just there’ I looked to where he pointed and sure enough one stood out from all the rest.
‘I placed it there before they brought me to the hospital, because I knew I might never return. I had cancer you see Max, but my love for your grandma was stronger than it, so even though I knew I was going to die I still wanted to take care of her. Do you understand?’ Even though I was a child I did. But what was Ghislain’s totem?
Then it suddenly hit me, all though our ghostly exchange I noticed how Catalina would constantly fidget with the gold ring on her finger. Frequently twisting the band she wore on her right index. A subconscious nervous mannerism she probably did when speaking to a gentleman, or stranger. Or was she trying to tell me something, a subliminal message. Could the ring of Catalina Moreau be Ghislains totem?
‘We need to dig Sibron’ I shouted.
‘What?’ she screamed above the din her eyes wide with astonishment?
‘Somewhere below our feet are the bodies of Catalina Moreau and her family, and we need to find them fast’

(To be continued….In Episode 2 Trail of Tears Max and Sibron carry on their fight with Grislain. Will they be able to destroy him and free Catalina and her family from his evil grip?
Max finally meets the man, who has employed him in Tokyo, but his trip is not at all what he expected and when a strange request is made he is unsure if it’s something he can accomplish alone.

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