A Light in Van Loon House
My hiatus from Whiskers on Kittens has been longer than I had anticipated. In fact, I did not actually anticipate taking any sort of hiatus whatsoever back in June, but here we are at the end of October. To wet my blogging feet again, my dear friend, Heather Talty has gracious agreed to contribute a short story.
Heather Talty is a voracious reader and gifted editor. I can say that because on more than one occasion, I have appealed to her knowledge of the classics- particularly anything regarding Anglo-Saxon folklore. She also happens to be my editor. Everything I have ever written has passed through her skilled hands at one point or another. I trust her implicitly. Today I am greatly pleased to share with you one of her original compositions. Frankly, I think she needs to write more and more as she had a unique perspective and voice within the industry.
A Light in Van Loon House reads very well for those of you who yearn for a Tarrytown/Sleepy Hollow/ Washington Irving derivative that trots along quite nicely beside such horror classics as Amityville. Tarrytown is a favorite destination for Heather and her husband and their growing canine family. Personally, this story brought back a lot of fun memories for me of that part of New York I often visited throughout my childhood. But, don’t be mistaken, this story does not just capture the atmosphere and feel of a region, it weaves together some exquisite folklore dating back to the colonial and puts one in mind of all those urbanesque legends that have passed down through the generations, morphing from horror to rhyme, case in point: Lizzie Borden got an axe and gave her mother forty whacks; when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one. See what I mean, a horrific occurrence passed into popular culture via a children’s rhyme. While you’re reading A Light in Van Loon House, you’ll find yourself recalling all sorts of these sorts of things, whether they be true horror events or those immortalized on scream. Which makes this short story deliciously appropriate for Halloween. Enjoy!
A Light in the Van Loon House
The phone is ringing off the hook at GhostGetters, Ltd for maybe the first time in its history, certainly the first time since I started answering the phone for them. I’ve said, “You have Natalie, please hold” so many times my own name is starting to taste wrong in my mouth. It’s the local paper, local people, local YouTubers, all wanting to know about the Van Loon house. So much for my nice quiet job, I think, but it’s okay because Carrie has wanted this for a long time, and I’m happy she’s getting it, happy I was able to help her get it, and happier still that I made it happen without actually having to, you know, go into a haunted house. Not that I’m scared of ghosts. Ghosts aren’t real.
Let me back up.
The Van Loon house is an institution around here. The house has been preserved exactly as it stood in 1709 - gambrel roof, sash windows with wooden shutters and as many of the original furnishings as could be saved. Everything remains - or at least appears - intact, like someone just left their spinning wheel for but a moment to attend to something outside. Anna and Marcus Johnson, the current owners, give daytime tours of the house and hold lectures, all dedicated to a Dutch colonial merchant family that would never have been famous, except for one event.
One night, Mynheer Van Loon invited some associates over to discuss a new, less than legitimate business idea. When he left the room, Dame Van Loon overheard the associates plotting to kill her husband and steal his share. So she did the only reasonable thing and killed them first. All of them.
Naturally, it's thought to be haunted.
GhostGetters, Ltd., a tiny ghost tour and ghost hunting company is based in the Hudson Valley, near the Tappan Zee and the Catskill mountains, just a little north of the home of the Headless Horseman, but the area's ghostly pedigree doesn’t extend to actual hauntings as often as Carrie, my boss, would like. Also, Carrie refuses to throw in the chanting and incense burning the customers ask for. The ghost tours are their own thing, she argues. In ghost hunting mode, we’re a real ghost locating and eradicating service, not a parlor trick for tourists. I know Liam, our docent, tour guide, and local history expert, will wave a candle and sprinkle salt when he’s on assignment alone, but otherwise, we try to respect Carrie's wishes.
For me, it’s just as well every time Carrie and Liam return from a ghost hunt with nothing to report. I’m not afraid of ghosts - ghosts aren’t real. I just don’t like the idea that something I can’t see could be creeping up behind me, the air could grow cold without reason, blood could drip from the walls and write creepy illegible messages. You know, stuff like that. I know it might seem odd for me to work for a company so focused on ghosts, but I can’t explain what made me apply, just like I can’t explain why I feel compelled to watch any horror movie out there even though I don’t strictly like them, or why Halloween is my favorite holiday.
Back to the Van Loon house. When I first joined Carrie's company as a receptionist, note taker and odd-jobs doer, I assumed she'd been through the Van Loon house multiple times over. It was a stop on the ghost tour we ran four days a week in our sleepy upstate NY town (twice on Saturdays, tell your friends!), though we were only ever allowed to stand outside and tell the story of the Van Loons and their unfortunate, traitorous guests. It seemed an obvious place for a fledgling backroom ghost-hunting business to explore. For the publicity, if nothing else.
But, as Carrie explained to me, Anna and Marcus Johnson don’t want anyone outside of their employ in the house, and certainly not at night, which really cramps a ghost hunter’s style. The tours they give are strictly about history and the Van Loons as historical and economic figures. They for sure distance themselves from anything paranormal: no mention of ghosts or anything else fanciful associated with the house, no matter how interested people clearly are in it. It seems awfully strict to me, but Carrie figures they just want to control the narrative on their terms. Not that she’d turn down the chance to hunt there, or so she says, at least two or three times a week.
So for me, Natalie Thomas, aspiring employee extraordinaire despite my lack of belief in the very foundation of our business, the most obvious thing to do was to call my friend Madeline Wright, whose parents run the influential Friends of the Van Loon House society, and convince her to convince her parents to convince the Johnsons to let us do a ghost hunt and maybe invite the local news station.
And - tada - here we are.
I feel pretty great about my day coordinating everything, passing publicity requests to Carrie, and meeting with her and Liam to inventory our equipment, assess what needs replacing, and of course helping Liam choose the most fetching top hat from his collection before Carrie axes it. Liam likes to dress up for his tours, and though his outfits aren’t always historically accurate, they do add a bit of flair. Carrie sweeps in, testing the infrared thermometer, and for a moment I think we’re getting away with it, but she takes one look at Liam and says “Absolutely not” before walking out. I send Liam a shrug as she departs. Never fear, fancy dress lovers - I’m sure he’ll sneak the hat in anyway, maybe even the waistcoat and pocket watch he was admiring, too.
Liam is made for the screen - tall, dark skinned, with a dazzling smile that somehow looks even better in pictures. He looks good in all hats, which is saying something, in my opinion. Carrie, on the other hand, has short, straight brown hair and intense, serious eyes that match her intense, serious expression - she rarely smiles, but when she does it feels like she’s letting you in on a secret.
Everything is going splendidly until Madeline calls to confirm timing.
“Maybe you can come early and we can grab coffee,” she says. “It’s been so long since we caught up! Ooh, or we can get hot apple cider from the booth they set up by the covered bridge. Big fall vibes.”
“That sounds really cool, and I definitely want to catch up, but I wasn’t really planning to be at the ghost hunt.” I try to explain that Carrie is the expert and Liam will be the host and I’m just the coordinator - since we’re not doing an open tour, there will be far less wrangling to do on site.
“What I’m hearing is that you’re the most important person on the team,” Madeline says.
“That’s hardly…Carrie and Liam are very important!”
“Natalie, there would be no ghost hunt happening without you, and not just because you called me and asked. This could open huge doors, like the Youtube channel you told me Liam wants to start, or maybe even real tours in the house, and you’d be managing all of that. You have real skills, and you need to boast about it more. But listen, my parents can’t be there, and I asked for this, so I have to be there, and I don’t know Carrie and Liam, lovely as I’m sure they are, and I don’t like the Johnsons. So please? For me?”
I knew I’d say yes before her appeal, so I agree, reluctantly, five o’clock PM at the Van Loon house, Friday. It’s only after I hang up that I notice I’m breathing a little harder than usual. My heart is beating a little faster too. And my hands are cold or clammy, or both? It’s fine, I tell myself. Totally fine. I’m sure it’s just a little stage fright, so I’m just going to go and do my job. It can’t be anything else, because ghosts aren’t real. Repeat: Ghosts. Aren’t. Real.
• • • • •
The day we set for filming is perfect, cool and crisp, with trees bursting with red, yellow, orange leaves framing the house. Dry leaves drift across the front walk of the Van Loon house as we park the van outside, and there is a hint of campfire smell in the air. Mike, the director/videographer sent by the network to film our ghost hunt, sets up his equipment right away capturing B-roll, he explains, idyllic shots of the house to contrast with what we’ll find later. I shiver despite myself, but soon enough, I’m greeted by Madeline, a human golden retriever. She’s blond and petite, and always smiling, always willing to greet someone new. It’s probably the reason we became friends in the first place - she was the only other person in my college orientation who looked like she wanted to be there.
“I cannot tell you how excited I am for this. I love Ghost Hunters!” Madeline says, practically bouncing up and down with a huge smile on her face. “Can I meet Carrie and Liam? Sorry my parents couldn’t be here, but they said I could handle everything. And the Johnsons aren’t here! Did you notice? You’d think they’d be nicer to me, considering they basically work for my parents, what with the society and everything, but whatever.”
Madeline also talks a lot, but that’s okay. I lead her over to where Liam and Carrie are setting up. Liam pauses unpacking his outfit (including, I note, the waistcoat) and flashes us a dazzling smile. Carrie is looking into a viewfinder so intently she hardly seems to notice us approaching. As we reach them, Madeline’s phone rings.
“Oh my god, I have to take this!” she squeals and runs off.
There is a flurry of activity around us. Mike and his crew continue to set up their equipment, cameras, boom mics, tripods and more cords than I’ve ever seen in my life. They’ve pinned mics on Carrie and Liam - I hold my breath when one of Mike’s guys comes toward me, but he just needs to get yet another cord from the van. No mics on me means I won’t be on camera! Thank goodness.
Carrie is explaining our equipment to one of the cameras, while the Van Loon house staff is finishing their last tour of the day as though nothing out of the ordinary is happening. I hear murmurs about ghosts but the group breezes past heading for the side yard before I can pick up on the conversation. I try to remember where I put our business cards - If I have to be here I might as well make myself useful. In the daylight, hectic activity all around me, I don’t feel nervous - I feel hyped. We’re making a TV show!
“This is probably the item you’ve heard the most about,” Carrie is saying, holding up an EMF detector to the camera. “The EMF detector measures electromagnetic activity around us. It will of course pick up regular electric activity, such as a lamp turning on, or a computer working. However, when we see fluctuations without the presence of obvious sources, it could signal the presence of something supernatural. We’ll also use EVP recorders to record audio and parse the recordings later, looking for disembodied voices or other unusual sounds, as well as an infrared thermometer that measures body heat. Of course, some of our most reliable equipment isn’t complicated at all. For a house like this, we’ll set up motion detectors to capture any movement in rooms we aren’t in, and of course, plenty of these,” she pauses to pull a flashlight out of her belt. “And of course, cameras equipped with night vision” she says with a nod to the camera
“Tell them about the spirit box, Carrie!” Liam shouts and Carrie gives him such a look I’m surprised he doesn’t shrivel away on the spot, destined to communicate further only through our low-tech ghost hunting equipment.
“The spirit box,” she says with a sigh, “is a device that searches radio frequencies very rapidly, and the idea is that spirits could manipulate these frequencies and we could thus pick up on their communication. The ghost hunting community is … divided on the subject of the true usefulness of spirit boxes, despite the snappy name. I’ve yet to see one work,” she says with a pointed look back at Liam, who just laughs.
“Is it always like this?” I whisper to Liam, still amazed at the level of activity. I don’t want to disturb Carrie as she wraps up her presentation.
“Absolutely not, this is wild. Usually we’re lucky to have one person tell us where to look and what they’ve seen. Terrible interviews.” Now though, Liam has the chance to host a hunt at the most famous house outside of Sleepy Hollow. He’ll be amazing. I tell him as much before going over to help Carrie set up everything she’s just described. She holds on to most of the equipment herself, the EMF detector, EVP recorder, and infrared thermometer holstered to her belt. We each get a flashlight, and we’ll set up our motion detectors where we can.
Finally, the tour crowds clear out, leaving us with the camera crew and one house tour guide, still bedecked in her 18th century dress and bonnet. For a moment I’m afraid they’re leaving her here to take over the hunt and be on TV, but it’s clear she has no interest in anything we’re doing. It’s funny to watch her sit on a stool and scroll Instagram in her costume. Just like Madeline said, Anna and Marcus aren’t anywhere in sight - I guess they must have left their tour guide to keep an eye on us.
The hunt goes as expected at first. Liam gives a compelling history of the house as we go. I think the house tour guide should be taking notes for her own tours, but every time I look over at her, she’s texting. Madeline, who manages to rejoin us seamlessly, doesn’t seem bothered by it, so I try not to be either. As Liam speaks, we slowly walk through the halls and preserved rooms, listening to the steady hum of the EMF detector, reassuring us that nothing is unusual. This keeps up until we approach the parlor, (or the best room, I’m reminded when Liam introduces the room for the broadcast) where the murders famously took place. Like most rooms, it’s cordoned off from the hall with a velvet rope. When Carrie goes to unclip it from the wall stanchion, Tour Girl suddenly comes to life, eyes away from her phone, alert and looming over Carrie.I hadn’t realized she was so tall.
“You can’t go in there,” she says, still somehow seeming bored. “It’s behind the rope.”
“It’s where the murders happened,” Carrie says slowly. “We have to go in there.”
“Rules are rules,” she shrugs.
“This is an exception,” Carrie unclips the rope and we all file in, re-clipping the rope behind us. Tour Girl follows, back on her phone. It seems her devotion to rules and ropes only goes so far.
The parlor is small, but finely furnished, and in excellent condition. I know from attending more than one tour myself that this is partially due to the restoration efforts made by the Friends of the Van Loon House society over time, as well as the quality of the original construction. They truly do not make them like this anymore. No rug covers the wide-planked wood floor where an ebony sofa and a Burgermeister chair sit perpendicular to each other. They don’t look especially comfortable, but they do reflect the wealth of the Van Loons at the time, which I suppose was the point. A blue and white Delft-tiled fireplace is embedded into the exterior wall. For further effect, an open roll top wooden writing desk with a quill pen in an inkwell next to a sheaf of papers with flourishing script on the top page stands in the corner beneath a window. On the farthest wall, a small table sits between two wide windows, a portrait of the Van Loon family centered above it on the wall, husband and wife stern in profile. I wander over to the window and note the parking lot past the stone walk below, the sight of our van something of a comfort.
I don’t know how to describe it, but when we step into the room, I suddenly feel colder, the whole atmosphere less friendly. Ethereal twin girls in white dress beckon to me, a single red balloon, floats to the ceiling, an empty rocking chair rocks creakily back and forth. I shake myself, and my imagination releases me, but still, something feels off here.
“I need to go get the other detector!” I announce suddenly. It seems important now that we have two EMF detectors for this most frightfully significant room. Before Carrie or Liam can argue, I duck under the rope and into the relative safety of the rest of the house. I keep up my hurried pace until I’m back outside by the van. Once I’ve grabbed the backup EMF detector, though, I can’t seem to make myself move back. I stand frozen by the van, clutching the redundant detector in my hands. In the window of the parlor, I see shadows move.
“Get yourself together, Natalie,” I say out loud. Talking to myself out loud makes things feel more real, more concrete. Less scary. “Of course there are shadows, there is a light in that room. The others are moving around, so the shadows move. Don’t be so silly - ghosts aren’t real. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
After mildly hyperventilating, deep breathing, and doing an impromptu Child’s Pose in the grass to calm myself down, I force myself to move forward, one step at a time. Trying to keep intrusive memories of all the horror movies I’ve sat through gritting my teeth at bay, I bat away images of a dark-haired girl crab walking across the walls, ominous television static, a creepy porcelain doll slowly turning its head toward me. I make myself keep moving - I’m just delivering equipment, I tell myself, over and over. Everything is normal.
When I get back to the drawing room, I feel the drop in temperature again and congratulate myself for remembering to grab my hoodie from the van during my panic attack. The others are all seated on the antique furniture, even Tour Girl, who has obviously loosened up on the rules after failing to keep us on the other side of the rope. I lean against the far wall, and listen, letting the familiar sounds of their voices settle my heart beat back to a normal rhythm.
“It’s a simple trade,” Madeline is explaining. She sits in the great chair to the right of the sofa, while Carrie stands at her side, her hand politely gripping the side of the chair, a smile plastered on her face. It’s unnerving. “We purchase the tea at a bulk price and sell investors the value of a portion of that bulk, which we promise will go up. Once we have the funds, we flood the market with the remainder of the tea, driving down the prices, owing nothing, and making ourselves wealthy in the process.”
Liam leans back, his top hat cocked to the side, stroking his non-existent beard. “And where will all this tea come from?”
“That’s where you come in, of course. Your tea business will benefit from this enterprise.”
Tour Girl and Mike nod along as she speaks, and Tour Girl leans over and whispers something in his ear I can’t make out.
“Speaking of tea, would anyone like some?” Carrie asks. She waits for the affirmative and then leaves the room. I’m surprised Madeline accepts the offer - I’ve never seen her drink a caffeinated beverage without ample seasonally-flavored syrup and whipped cream.
Were they recreating the conversation that led to the Van Loon murders? The discussion certainly seems to point to that– the late night business meeting, the tea shorting scheme, the conspiracy to cut the Van Loons out of the business. Weird, though, that Carrie hadn’t mentioned this being part of the plan. I’m a little miffed to have been left out. Had I known, I would have suggested everyone dress up, and recast the roles. Why they had chosen these roles, I ‘m not sure, and why they’re wearing their regular clothes – besides Tour Girl, I suppose, still in her tour outfit, and Liam in his not quite period appropriate top hat. I also can’t help but feel a little left out, but I can acknowledge that there are only five roles. Mike’s was probably supposed to be mine, but I suppose that’s what I get for getting scared and running off.
I decide to make myself useful and take over Mike’s role, turning on the camera and angling it for the best shot. He has a picture of a woman and a toddler taped to the back of it - must be his wife and daughter. They’re sweet. It makes me like him more that he keeps them with him when he works. While I’m messing with the camera, Madeline excuses herself and Carrie walks back in with the tea.
“The tea is ours,” Tour Girl says, not taking note of Carrie’s return. “Once we have the foundation down, we can cut Van Loon out. We won’t need him and we certainly don’t need to lose his cut,”
Mike and Liam nod, and still, none of them look back at Carrie, who sets the tea tray down on the floor and picks up an axe - an axe? Where did a real axe come from? Shouldn’t the axe be outside, where the wood would be cut? Why would they leave an axe here?
Carrie walks towards the couch, the axe raised overhead, ready to chop. What is she doing? Only when she swings the axe and crashes it down into the pillow next to Liam do I realize she means business. Liam topples over without changing his facial expression. I run over without thinking and manage to grab the axe, but I can’t pry it from her hands. After a few minutes of deadlock, she pulls it away, sets it down, and greets the others as though they’d only just walked in. The conversation begins again.
It feels like no one can see me, so I grab the axe and hide it in another room, only to find Carrie menacing the group with a knife when I return. On and on it goes – I hide the weapon, she finds another, the scene resets, everyone in their place.
They must have been hypnotized. Brainwashed by someone while I was out? Could Anna and Marcus have been here while I was gone? Madeline had described them as mean and Carrie never did trust them. I knock over one of the antique chairs, hoping the loud noise will break the reverie, snap everyone back to themselves. The scene continues. I pick up the chair, offering it a soft apology, before I have to wrest away Carrie’s latest weapon, a ceramic pan. Over the velvet rope, out the best room door, down the hall, to the porch the pan goes.
“This shouldn’t even be in here!” I yell as I set it on the floor with everything else. The others don’t even register my voice.
All the while, images flood my mind. A shadow of a spider silhouetted against the sky, rows of hatchets dripping with blood, a skeletal face manifesting through a closed door. I am nearly knocked back by the cloud of darkness that feels like it might envelop me. The only thing that keeps me alert is the need to keep taking Carrie’s weapons, but I have to admit, I’m wearing down. Something is happening here, something real. The Van Loon house is haunted, and the ghosts have possessed my friends.
When Carrie returns with a spindle from a spinning wheel, I grab her hand and look into her eyes, now all pupil, a deep dark well of black. If I can believe the spirit of Dame Van Loon is here, I figure, I can talk to her, too. I can reason with her. Right? I mean, she was human once.
“Dame Van Loon, please don’t do this,” I say, surprised to hear my voice coming out unwavering, confident. “ Let them steal the business. Take your money and run. Or cut them out now. No one has to die.”
Carrie struggles away from me, and for a moment I think I’ve succeeded, until she lunges toward Liam and pierces his hat with the spindle.
“Carrie!” I shout. “You ruined Liam’s hat!” It’s not what I expect to say, not part of a strategy at all, but I’m so shocked it just comes out.
She’s moving back into her opening position, but Liam has reached up and is gingerly feeling the hole in his hat. I rush over to him. I realize that I don’t need to reason with the ghosts - I need to talk to my friends.
“Liam! You are not an 18th century businessman. You’re an amazing tour guide with fantastic style and the best coworker I’ve ever had,” I keep talking, reminding him of our past tours and all the costumes we pulled together and the funny moments until finally he blinks, his eyes coming back into focus.
“Natalie?” he asks. “What’s happening?”
“No time!” I say, pointing to Carrie, “ Stop her!”
While Liam takes over stealing and hiding Carrie’s weapons, I make my way around the room.
“Madeline, you are the best and most kind friend I have. You help without even being asked and you’re always so excited it makes me excited.” She blinks her eyes and looks around the room like she can’t remember how she got here. Then hugs me, gratefully.
“Mike, I don’t know you very well, but I know you’re great at your job and I saw the picture on your camera of your wife and daughter – I know they love you very much.” I grab the picture from behind the camera and hold it up to his face until I see him blink in recognition.
“Tour Girl, I wish I knew your name or anything about you, but I know you’re here for a reason.” For good measure I grab her phone from her pocket, and swipe it open, showing her the first thing on the screen, a picture of a dog wearing a ghost costume. She laughs, and then seems to realize I’m holding her phone.
“Hey, that’s mine,” she says, taking it back and hugging it to her chest like a long lost but dear toy.
With everyone awake, if flustered, I’m able to approach Carrie.
“Carrie, I don’t believe in ghosts. Didn’t believe in ghosts, I guess. But you do and you’re so dedicated to this I never ever doubted you could make this work. I never doubted you could do anything, including fight this off. And stop smiling like that!”
Miraculously, her face settles back, her eyes clear and widen, and she drops her latest weapon, a decorative Van Loon house flag. She looks back at me with her own eyes, and then…”We got all that on camera, right?”
• • • • •
Turns out, nope. We got no footage whatsoever. And not because I worked the camera wrong, to my surprise. We have Liam’s tour and Mike’s scenic B-roll, but once we reach the parlor - sorry, best room -, and Carrie unclips the rope, it’s all dark, soundless static. Liam has the sense not to suggest to Carrie that we might have had more luck with the Spirit Box.
We know what we saw though, and none of us are keeping it a secret - not Mike, not Madeline, not Tour Girl, who brings up her experience on every purely “historical” tour she leads through the house. And of course, those of us at GhostGetters, Ltd give interviews, write blog posts, even make Youtube videos, finally with Carrie’s permission.
Carrie herself spends as much time as she can in the Van Loon house, especially now that the Johnsons have vanished. She’ll find out what’s going on here, and then Liam will tell the world.
If you want to be part of that, part of history, then consider joining us. I’m Natalie Thomas, I do believe in ghosts, and I’m waiting to take your call.
