Bumps in the Night …Part 1 …Unlocking Doors

At archaeological sites, there's always a doorway. A dividing point between here and there, us and them, mundane and magical. When doors open and things flow between the two worlds, stories happen
― Alix E. Harrow

Second Empire House

When I studied at Cambridge in Britain, I felt an ancient vibe from our university house. I would constantly get impressions of long-haired men with Germanic- sounding accents and women with bead necklaces cooking over open fires.

It wasn’t until the building was demolished a decade later that a former housemate wrote and informed me that our living and sleeping quarters had been built over an anglo Saxon gravesite.

Suddenly all the weird images, sounds and smells that had plagued me during my student years began to make sense.

For some time my roommates had been looking at me askance convinced my ‘vibes’ as I termed them were simply the result of an over-active imagination, but now I had proof they weren’t and thus began my fascination with early houses and their histories.

“That’s cool, Laird, but can you make money in this?”

Greg Dawson, one of my old college friends had been listening to my story over a few drafts at the Hart House Pub.

“I could make a comfortable living at it, comparable to my professor’s salary, but honestly, Greg, I love being a house whisperer too much to turn it into a business.”

“A house whisperer, eh? I like the sound of that,” he smiled.

“Do you like it enough to team up with me? I know your media company is doing well but you could always use some extra income and I’d pay you commensurate to the fees you charge your clients.”

His jaw dropped in surprise.

“ Laird Bloom—you amaze me. Here I thought you were missing male companionship and treating me to a pub night for friendship’s sake—not to float a business proposition.”

“Can’t it be both?” I laughed. “You have the savvy with the technical media side and we can enjoy the camaraderie of working together like we did at university.”

He paused for a moment weighing the possibility.

“Well, I did enjoy those undergraduate archeological digs we went on—mind you, I discovered I liked photographing and recording them more than getting my hands dirty. Yeah, we can give it a go—I think it’d be fun.”

So that’s how Greg and I ended up as a team pursuing my avocation as a historian of early houses, so to speak, because that’s not the only service I offer.

It seemed those years spent living above an ancient anglo Saxon cemetery awakened in me some latent abilities to discern the past through anomalous methods some might call spooky or weird.

I tell people I simply access the forces behind architecture utilizing a form of geomancy to uncover hidden aspects of their property. When they ask how I simply say, I’ve developed a kind of nose for subtle nuances of natural features, and to seal the deal, I offer a money back guarantee if they’re not 100 % satisfied.

To date, after assisting over a dozen clients, I have yet to make a refund.

That night when I dropped Greg off at his lakeside condo he hesitated before exiting the SUV and asked a pointed question.

“Now that you’ve gotten me into this undertaking, what type of cases can I expect to encounter?”

“Appropriate you should ask,” I said. “ I just got an enquiry today from a colleague who wants us to look into a Second Empire house a friend of hers owns on the outskirts of Toronto. I told her I’d be there on Saturday.”

“What’s a Second Empire house and what’s so special about it?”

“This style of architecture is not uncommon for the mid 19th century. It was popular during the reign of Napoléon III in France—he was nephew of Napoléon I. It’s very ornate and usually associated with garrets occupied by poets and romantics.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t seem too unusual or challenging. It should be easy to research and document the history and present the owner with a beautiful bound book for her mantel or coffee table.”

“That’s true,” I conceded, “except the owner’s convinced this house is haunted.”

From the look on Greg's face I could tell he had no idea what he had signed up for, but he'd soon find out.

To be continued…

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