Ghosts of Averoigne

Logan sighed. It wasn’t a good sigh. Kara was about to agree with him when—

“Now turn the photo over.”

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it until now. It was almost inexcusable.

Distractions… distractions…

Kara flipped the photo in her hands. On the back, scrawled in the immaculate penmanship that people of that time period used to take pride in, were the words Rudolph Northrop. And just beneath that, Twenty-Second of December, Nineteen-Hundred and Eighteen.

“See the date?” Jeremy said unnecessarily.

Kara nodded. “The winter solstice.”

“Exactly.”

Jeremy folded his hands on the table in a gesture of vindication. He stared smugly at Logan, who made a wry face.

“None of this means this man’s name was Rudolph Northrop,” said Logan finally. “That could be the photographer’s name. Or the guy who developed the photograph. Or a previous owner who hung the photo. Hell, it could be anyone.”

Calmly, Jeremy reached back into his red folder. He slid out another photo of the same man, attached to a small docket in what Kara recognized was his own handwriting.

“Here,” he said. This time he shoved the summary package in Logan’s direction. The photo was taken at a different time, a different place, but it was obviously the same man. “Meet Rudolph Northrop. Grew up in late 1800’s New England, an only child, son to Mary and Richard. He was a printer by trade. Turned to the ‘occult’ sometime in his twenties, although if you asked him what he offered he’d say they were suppression rituals and spiritual cleansings.”

Kara stared down at the second, black-and-white photo. Northrop looked younger. His beard was shorter.

“As far as I can tell he traveled the East coast performing ceremonies designed to halt spiritual activity and create peace of mind. He made his living that way.”

Logan’s expression was doubtful. “I wouldn’t have thought people paid for that.”

“Back then? People were a lot less skeptical. They believed more. Every knock or creak you heard in your house was a ghost in the attic. Every rattle of the window, a wind-demon.”

“Think Northrop was actually gifted?” Kara asked.

Jeremy turned back to face her. She found herself distracted by the curve of his jaw, by the dark stubble over his cleft chin. It was all so familiar. So fresh in her memory, even now.

“Hard to say,” Jeremy went on. He stared at the photo. “He could’ve been the real deal. He could’ve been a complete charlatan.” He shrugged. “Impossible to tell.”

“But that’s definitely him,” said Kara, pointing downward. “And that means…”

“That by the time he came here, the Averoigne was already haunted,” Logan finished. He seemed pleased with himself. Overly pleased.

“Experiencing paranormal activity,” Jeremy corrected. “But yes. That.”

There was a long pause as they stared at the photos some more. Breakfast arrived. Kara had already finished her coffee, and called for a second cup.

“So he came here during the winter solstice,” Logan theorized, “because he knew it was the height of the hotel’s activity. It was the best time to do something like this, to perform his ceremony.”

Jeremy nodded. “Either that or he was summoned by the owner. Hired to do it specifically when the Averoigne was most active.”

It was cute, watching the two of them actually get along, even if only for ten seconds. Kara almost chuckled. Instead, she speared another piece of sausage.

“Of course, a third possibility also exists.”

They both cocked their heads. Turned to look at her.

“Instead of coming here specifically at that time of year,” Kara said, “what if it were the other way around?”

Her two paramours looked back at her curiously.