A New Ghost in Old Town
When Arnold Dent was six years old, he dreamed of being a fireman. He often imagined sliding down a firehouse pole, hopping into a shiny red engine and heroically racing off to fight a fire. At seven his dreams changed. After his father took him to a game at Fenway Park, he longed to join the Boston Red Sox. He daydreamed of hitting game-winning homeruns or pitching a perfect game. By age nine, however, he no longer wanted to be a slugger or a pitcher. His goal was then to become a rock star, playing to crowds of adoring fans at arenas around the world.
During the remainder of his childhood, Arnold's aspirations changed several more times, running the gamut from becoming a doctor to designing sports cars. Ironically, when he entered his senior year of high school and it was time for him to choose a college, Arnold no longer had any idea what he wanted to do with his life. Against his family's advice, he decided not to go to college. Instead, he joined the Navy.
"First, I'll see the world," he told his parents. "Then I'll be better able to make a decision concerning the rest of my life."
At the time he enlisted, though, the young man from Massachusetts had no idea that he would serve his entire stint in the Navy stateside. All of the world he would see, it turned out, was Norfolk, Virginia. After fulfilling his two-year active duty commitment, he returned to New England where he got a job working for a Boston post office.
Despite all his childhood dreams of wealth and adventure, Arnold led a quiet, uneventful life. He remained a bachelor, lived in an inexpensive one-bedroom apartment in a less fashionable suburb of Boston. As his fiftieth birthday approached, however, all that changed.
It was late in October, and Arnold was visiting an old Navy buddy in Arlington, Virginia. While he was there, he met a woman from nearby Alexandria. Although his years of bachelorhood had not been without female companionship, he had never met a woman he cared enough about to make a serious commitment—until he met Della Kaye.
For six months the two middle-aged people kept up a long-distance romance, with one or the other travelling the four hundred miles between Alexandria and Boston or occasionally meeting halfway between in New York. Finally, Arnold decided to retire from the post office and relocate to Virginia. Thanks to years of prudent living, he and his new wife had enough money to purchase a restaurant on King Street in the Old Town section of Alexandria.
Despite the number of eateries that already lined the popular thoroughfare, the Dents' new George Washington Inn—affectionately referred to as "the George"—did a brisk business. Della, who had a degree in hotel and restaurant management, assumed responsibility for running the establishment, and Arnold, after taking a course in bartending, helped behind the bar.
"When I was a kid, I used to daydream about what I'd do when I grew up, but I never once imagined owning a restaurant," he told his wife. "Being an underwater explorer at the Oceanographic Institute or a quarterback for the Patriots, sure—but a bartender, no."
Although the hours were long, it was a life that suited both Alfred and Della. Soon the colonial-themed inn was making enough money that the Dents could afford to purchase a townhouse on North Royal Street, not far from historic Gadsby's Tavern. Their long-term goal was to keep the George until old age began to knock on their door, at which time they would sell the restaurant and live out their golden years in their Old Town home.
Unfortunately, circumstances beyond their control endangered their carefully made plans.
* * *
"How'd we do?" Arnold asked when Della shut down her laptop computer.
"We managed to make a profit last month, albeit a small one."
"I was thinking," he said hesitantly. "We don't really need a three-bedroom home. Maybe we ought to downsize."
"We can't sell the house," Della argued, "even if we wanted to—which I don't. The bottom has fallen out of the real estate market, and right now we owe more than our house is worth. The best thing we can do is try to hold on until the economy recovers."
"Do you think the price of the townhouse will ever go up to what we paid for it?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But we didn't buy it for an investment. It's our home."
"I just don't want to see us lose everything. I'm too old to start over."
"Thankfully, the George is still in the black despite the recession."
Arnold, who was no stranger to frugality, tightened his belt. He and his wife clipped coupons and counted their pennies. In the midst of the economic crisis, Della proved to be as thrifty as her husband.
"I don't have to get my nails done at a salon," she insisted. "An emery board and a bottle of nail polish will do the job. And as for going to the beauty parlor every week, I can get my hair cut short and just blow it dry."
Arnold hated to see his wife give up all the little luxuries she had grown accustomed to, but times were hard, and their money would go just so far.
Reducing expenditures was but one way the Dents hoped to improve their financial circumstances. Della also tried bringing in more business at the restaurant, which had been struggling due to the economic crisis. She increased her advertising budget and included a wider variety of dishes on the menu. Her efforts were not in vain; business at the George increased by ten percent.
* * *
One warm spring evening in late May Della shut her office door and told the inn's hostess that she was going to take a short break.
"I'm going to walk down to Starbucks and get something cold to drink."
As she walked back up King's Street, iced coffee in hand, she saw a group of tourists gathered in front of the Ramsay House Visitors Center. While waiting at the corner of King and Fairfax for the light to change, she saw a man dressed in colonial garb approach the group. The man, who carried an old-fashioned lantern, was a guide from one of Old Town's candlelight ghost tours, which were becoming quite popular with locals and tourists alike.
Too bad we can't claim the George is haunted, she thought, sipping her coffee. A ghost would bring in a lot of business.
Later that evening while she was browsing through eBay's listings for a good deal on a wireless printer, she looked out her window and saw another ghost tour on its way to the Old Presbyterian Meeting House Cemetery. The number of tourists trailing behind the costumed guide was greater than that of the previous group.
People just eat that spooky stuff up, she thought, especially in a town as old as this one.
Given the age of many of the homes in Old Town, it wasn't any wonder there would be talk of restless spirits wandering the hallways and lingering in the attics. Della supposed most of the buildings, both residential and commercial, had skeletons in their closets that even the creators of the ghost tours hadn't uncovered. It might even be possible ....
Della's heartbeat quickened with excitement. What if something had happened in the building that housed the restaurant?
Since she was already on eBay, she went to the search field and typed in GHOSTS ALEXANDRIA. The results included a number of books on alleged ghostly sightings in the city. As she scanned down the page, she noticed related items were listed to the right and left of the main listings. One ad in particular caught her attention: someone was selling an actual ghost on eBay. Della clicked on the link.
According to the description of the item, a woman and her family had moved into a restored old home in Baltimore. Her eleven-year-old son, upset by the move, began to have nightmares and claimed the house was haunted. In a novel way of solving the problem, the woman was putting the ghost up for sale. Along with the revenant, the winning bidder would get a pocket watch, believed to belong to the original owner of the house, and a letter of authenticity from the current owner.
Della, who knew more than a thing or two about public relations, immediately saw the publicity value of owning such an item. A ghost purchased on eBay, if properly presented to the public, was sure to draw more attention than any claim of being a haunted house. The former was unique while the latter would be just one of the dozen or more cases that were accepted as authentic according to local legends.
Since the bidding was under ten dollars with only one day left until the auction ended, Della entered a maximum bid of twenty-five dollars.
Now, I just have to wait to see if I win it.
* * *
"You bought what?" Arnold cried when his wife told him about winning the eBay auction.
"A ghost. Of course, it's not actually a ghost. You know I don't believe in such things. But a woman from Baltimore sold it on eBay to ease her son's fears."
"How generous of you to help her out!"
"I didn't do it for the woman or her son. I want to use the ghost to promote the restaurant. Look at how popular the ghost tours here have become. We can use the story of the sale of a ghost to draw people to the George. I'm going to contact the local press, and also see if the tour guides can put the word out."
"You mean they'll tell gullible tourists that we've got a new ghost in Old Town?"
"Something like that."
"But won't people want to see something tangible when they come to the inn?"
"Yes, and they won't be disappointed. The seller is going to send me a pocket watch and a letter of authenticity."
"What connection does the watch have with the ghost?"
"None that I know of, but it's very old, and it was in the house when the seller and her family moved in."
"If nothing else," the pragmatic bartender said, "we can always resell the watch on eBay and get our money back."
* * *
"I've got to hand it to you, sweetheart," Arnold said, with a note of pride in his voice. "You know what you're doing. Since that article appeared in the paper, we've got people putting their names on a waiting list for a table every night."
"And just see what happens next weekend when the ghost tours begin making the George a regular stop along their route."
"When I was a kid, I never dreamed I would own a haunted house. A rustic log cabin or a palatial seaside mansion, sure, but not a haunted house. What I find truly amazing is the number of otherwise intelligent people who believe in ghosts."
"I doubt all the people on those tours take the accounts seriously. I think most of them just go along for the fun of it. After all, nearly everybody likes a good ghost story."
Once word of the bizarre eBay purchase made national news—by way of the supermarket tabloids—people from not only across Virginia but also from neighboring West Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, southern Pennsylvania and New Jersey traveled to Alexandria to eat at the George and have their photographs taken beside the shadow box containing the pocket watch and the documents from the eBay auction.
Hoping to capitalize on the popularity of the ghost before people lost interest, Della went to an online print shop and ordered postcards and tee shirts of the "haunted" George Washington Inn, which she then sold at a substantial markup. Both she and Arnold were astonished when the modest supply sold out in two days' time. Della immediately ordered more postcards and shirts and added coffee cups, shot glasses, key rings and magnets to her online shopping cart. All these items sold out within a week, prompting the owner to include a virtual gift shop on the George's website.
"Who would have thought your little publicity stunt would pay off so handsomely?" Arnold said when he saw that the restaurant's quarterly profits had more than doubled.
"And to think our ghost cost me only fourteen dollars and fifty cents—with free shipping, no less!" his wife laughed.
"I'm glad you didn't listen to me when I suggested we sell the townhouse."
"I did consider it," Della admitted. "But only as a last resort."
"And we would have lost our dream home for nothing. Hell, despite the economy, the George is making more money than ever."
Della hated to put a damper on her husband's enthusiasm, but she wanted to make sure he kept his head out of the clouds and his feet planted firmly on the ground.
"You do realize that our ghost will eventually cease to be a novelty, and people will lose interest in it."
"You mean like they've lost interest in the Lizzie Borden case and the Salem witch trials?" Arnold argued. "From what I hear, places associated with both still draw crowds of tourists."
"I just want you to be prepared if the bubble bursts."
Although she had said if, Della really meant when, since she had no faith that the George's ghost would continue bringing in record numbers of diners.
* * *
One evening, three months after putting the antique pocket watch on display in the George, Della put aside her paperwork, left her office and walked into the dining room where she routinely greeted the inn's patrons. As she made her way across the room, she saw one of the ghost tour guides enjoying dinner with his wife.
"The candles are a nice touch," the man said with a smile and a conspiratorial wink.
"Candles?" Della repeated, not sure what he was referring to.
"About ten minutes ago, all the candles on the tables went out. How did you do that, anyway? Trick candles?"
"I wasn't aware the candles went out," the owner replied, glancing down at the center of the table where the candle was burning brightly in its holder.
"Okay," the guide said with another wink and a smile. "I got it. It was the ghost."
Della lowered her voice and said, "It was more likely one of my staff having a little fun."
That night after the last of the diners left, the owner called a meeting of the wait staff, cooks and dishwashers. Although most of them were aware of the event, not one of them would admit to extinguishing the candles.
"It was probably nothing more than a draft," her husband suggested. "Or maybe one of our customers thought ...."
Arnold fell silent when he noticed that the shadowbox that contained the antique pocket watch and eBay documents suddenly did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree rotation and was now hanging upside down.
* * *
Once word of the strange occurrences at the George Washington Inn traveled beyond the boundaries of Old Town Alexandria, along with the profusion of curiosity seekers came more tabloid journalists, free-lance writers, ghost hunters and paranormal investigators as well as representatives from cable television networks including the Travel Channel, Syfy and TLC.
Arnold enjoyed not only the increased income but also his newfound celebrity status the existence of a ghost bought. After being interviewed on a number of TV programs, he had to hire another bartender, thus freeing up his time so that he could sign autographs and have his photograph taken with customers. Della, on the other hand, became increasingly apprehensive by the unexplained phenomenon. What began with the harmless prank involving the candles escalated to doors and windows opening and closing on their own, dishes being hurled across the room and flames igniting in the fireplace.
At first, the Dents believed someone—perhaps an employee—was orchestrating an elaborate hoax, but after a thorough investigation, there was no evidence of trickery discovered.
"It is my opinion that you are dealing with a poltergeist," one of the foremost paranormal investigators in the country announced after analyzing the data he collected at the inn. "They're notorious for causing disruption in a household."
"Have you ever known one to accompany an item, such as the watch I bought on eBay?"
"No. Poltergeists usually manifest in places where an adolescent or teenage girl is living. Perhaps one of your younger waitresses is unknowingly the cause of these disturbances."
"Short of firing any of my staff, how do we get rid of this poltergeist?" Della asked.
"Are you sure we want to get rid of it?" Arnold asked.
"Of course, we do. I'm not going to wait until it hurts a customer or burns the place down before I act."
"It's just that ... well, we might lose business if word gets out that the ghost—or whatever it is—is gone."
"And how many people do you think will want to eat here if diners start getting clobbered with dinnerware?"
The investigator loudly cleared his throat to prevent the couple's disagreement from escalating into an argument.
"How do we get rid of it?" Della repeated.
"There is no tried-and-true way, but there are a number of methods that have proven successful in some cases."
"Well, I'm willing to try anything!"
Salt. Sage. Mystical amulets. Cleansing spells. None of these methods had an effect on the George's poltergeist. It was when the paranormal investigator suggested the Dents call in an exorcist, that Della decided to return to the assumption that the inn was haunted by a ghost—specifically, the one she purchased on eBay.
The following Monday morning, after getting the name and address of the seller on the certificate of authenticity, Della got into her Volvo and make the fifty-mile drive from Alexandria to Baltimore. In a little over an hour, she arrived in Fells Point, the historic waterfront neighborhood located on the north shore of Baltimore Harbor. Like Old Town Alexandria, Fells Point was popular with tourists who came for the history, shops, restaurants and period architecture.
Della had no difficulty finding the seller's home, a restored brick townhouse built in the late eighteenth century. After parking her car on the side of the street, she walked up to the front door and knocked. When the homeowner answered, Della introduced herself, apologized for showing up unannounced and then explained the purpose of her visit.
"I don't know how I can be of any help to you," the woman said, obviously uncomfortable discussing the subject. "As I said when I placed the watch up for auction, my son began having nightmares when we moved into this house. Nothing I tried worked. So, desperate, I told him I'd sell the ghost on eBay."
"Do you think this house was actually haunted? Did you or your husband witness anything out of the ordinary?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"If I could talk to your son ...."
"I'm afraid, I can't allow that. He hasn't had a nightmare in months. If you bring up all that ghost nonsense, the bad dreams might return. Now," the woman said, looking at her watch, "you'll have to excuse me. I have an appointment."
Della thanked the woman for her time and once again apologized for her impromptu visit.
The little boy must have experienced something that caused all those nightmares. But I can't blame his mother for not wanting me to frighten him by dredging up memories best forgotten. If there was some other way I could find out.
Della noticed that there was a woman with a young son sitting in the yard of the house across the street. The child looked to be about ten or eleven years old. Could he be a friend of the seller's son?
Again, she made her apologies and explained her predicament.
"Yes, my son plays with little Brody all the time," the mother said. "I don't see any harm in your talking to him, as long as you do so in my presence."
"Naturally. And I'll try not to upset him."
"You needn't worry about that," the mother laughed. "My son's not afraid of anything."
The mother called the little boy over and he was eager to answer any questions Della had.
"Why did Brody think there was a ghost in his house? Did he see it?"
"No, but he saw what it did."
"What did it do?"
"All sorts of things—like turning Brody's bedroom light on and off and opening and closing his closet door. The more frightened Brody got, the more the ghost did things to scare him."
"Did the ghost ever hurt your friend?"
"No, but it used to pull the blankets off Brody when he was trying to sleep. And sometimes it would get him into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"A couple of times it took things from Brody's parents and hid them in his bedroom. And other times it took Brody's homework, and he got in trouble at school."
"That's not very nice," Della said.
"Did you ever see anything strange yourself?" the mother asked her son.
The boy nodded his head.
"Once we were playing with Brody's LEGOs and the ghost began throwing them across the room."
Della was reminded of the plates that were sent sailing through the air crashing onto the dining room wall.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about that?" his mother demanded to know.
"Because Brody said you wouldn't believe me, that it would only upset you. He tried to tell his parents, and they talked about taking him to a doctor. Grownups don't believe in ghosts."
"Well, I'm a grownup, and I believe in ghosts," Della told him. "I never used to, but I do now. You see, I'm the woman who bought the ghost when Brody's mother sold it on eBay."
* * *
The dinner crowd was just beginning to fill up the George when Della returned to Alexandria. Arnold, who was in the bar helping out the restaurant's full-time bartender, left his post and followed her into her office.
"Did you get to talk to the boy?" he asked.
"No, his mother was afraid I'd upset him, but I did speak to the child's friend, who lives across the street."
"And?"
"Apparently, he experienced the same types of bizarre disturbances we've been having: windows and doors being opened and closed, things being thrown. The neighbor's child himself saw building blocks being hurled across a room."
"And now?"
"According to the woman who sold me the watch, her son has gotten over his fears, which I can only assume is because the force—poltergeist, ghost or whatever it is—that created the disturbances is no longer in the house."
"Because now it's here in the restaurant," Arnold concluded. "When I was a kid, I never dreamed I'd own a ghost. A Super Bowl ring or a platinum album, yeah—but not a ghost."
"My gut tells me no one can simply sell a ghost, that the spirit must be attached to some person or thing."
"The watch."
"Yes," Della agreed. "If that is the case, then all we have to do is get rid of it."
"That's not a good idea," Arnold said with an air of mystery as he opened the display case and removed the timepiece.
"Why not? Are you afraid we'll lose business?"
"Partly, but my main concern is that the watch is priceless. You see, while you were in Baltimore, I took it to the antique dealer down the street. He says it is a hunter case pocket watch made in the early 1800s by J. Rotherham & Sons of London. That alone, makes it much more valuable than what you paid for it."
"You're suggesting I sell it on eBay to some unsuspecting person?" Della asked indignantly.
"Definitely not!" Arnold replied as he opened the case and handed the watch to his wife. "Take a look at the engraving inside."
"E.A. Poe," she read. "Not the Poe."
"There's a good possibility it is. The watch did come from Baltimore, a city where Poe once lived."
Della's face suddenly paled, and she flopped down on her desk chair.
"Does that mean that we're being haunted by the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe?"
It was a natural conclusion to be drawn, but not one that had occurred to Arnold.
"I ... I don't know. I suppose it's possible."
The Dents silently stared down at the antique watch, considering the implications of its ownership. If they could present a reasonable case that supported the assumption that Poe was haunting the George, it would cause an international sensation.
* * *
The following Monday, after first visiting the Poe Museum in Richmond, Della Kaye returned to Baltimore to visit the Edgar Allan Poe House there. Unfortunately, no one could give her any information on the pocket watch. However, the Baltimore tour guide suggested she visit the Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site in Philadelphia. That museum, since it was part of the National Park Service, would most likely have access to more resources on all things relating to the writer.
Although it was only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Alexandria to Philadelphia, the Dents decided to take a three-day weekend and visit the historic Pennsylvania city. The first stop of their trip was the Poe House.
"It looks authentic," the ranger guide declared after examining the pocket watch. "I can't tell you with certainty that this belonged to Poe, but I can do some research."
"Would you?" Della asked, smiling with gratitude.
"It would be my pleasure. I'm a big Poe fan myself, and I would consider this quite a find if it does turn out to belong to him."
After taking the tour of the house, the Dents spent the remainder of their weekend sightseeing at popular Philly attractions such as Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, the Philadelphia Museum of Art and Eastern State Penitentiary. After a late lunch on Sunday aboard the Moshulu, a restored square rigged sailing vessel turned restaurant at Penn's Landing, the couple got onto I-95 and headed south, back to Alexandria.
When two weeks passed without hearing from the park ranger at the Poe House, they contemplated what further action they should take.
"There's always the Poe Cottage in New York," Della suggested.
"I'd hate to drive all the way up to the Bronx to face yet another dead end."
"You just don't like the Bronx because you're a lifelong Red Sox fan."
"The Yankees never crossed my mind," her husband replied with a sheepish grin.
"I suppose I can give them a call instead."
Thankfully, they were spared having to contact the Poe Cottage at all. The following day, the park ranger from Philly phoned them with good news.
"I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you," he apologized, "but I wanted to make as thorough a search as possible."
"Any luck?" Della asked, expecting to be disappointed.
"Yes, indeed! I spoke to Professor Harmon Kennison, one of the world's leading authorities on Poe, and he told me that Poe owned a Rotherham pocket watch that had been given to him by his foster father, John Allan, with whom Poe had a falling out around 1827 over some gambling debts the writer had accumulated."
"And the watch?"
"The professor doesn't know what happened to it. As far as he can determine, it was not in Poe's possession when he died. If you ask me, given that Poe was always tottering on the brink of poverty, there's a good possibility he sold the watch at some point to cover his living expenses."
Della thanked the ranger for his help and promised she would share with him any new information she might acquire. After hanging up the phone, she gave her husband a condensed version of what she learned.
"So while there's a good possibility the watch did belong to Poe, we don't know if he sold it to someone else or if he kept it," she concluded.
"And we have no idea if our mischievous friend here is Poe's ghost or ...."
Arnold stopped speaking when all the doors in the restaurant suddenly blew open and then immediately slammed shut.
* * *
When the paranormal investigator the Dents first contacted learned of Poe's watch, he returned to Alexandria to offer his help.
"I know of a psychic," he began but stopped when he saw the look of skepticism on Della's face.
"I'm not up to having more people traipsing through the George wearing night vision goggles and head cameras."
"Oh, I can assure you, it won't be anything like that. Gillian Munroe's gift is genuine. Normally, we wouldn't be able to get her assistance, but if there's a possibility the ghost is that of Poe ...."
"I imagine it would be quite a feather in her cap," Della concluded. "Let me think about it, and then I'll get back to you."
When she discussed the matter with Arnold that evening at dinner, her husband suggested they agree to the séance.
"Even if it doesn't help us get rid of our unwanted guest, it'll mean more free publicity for the George."
With Arnold's blessing, Della telephoned the paranormal investigator, and he made arrangements for the psychic to meet with the Dents at their restaurant the following week.
When the night of the séance arrived, Della was surprised to find the psychic sitting at a table, enjoying a seafood dinner with her husband; meanwhile, her seven-year-old daughter picked at a plate of macaroni and cheese and colored a picture in the children's menu. Della waited until the family was finished eating before approaching the table.
"Before we begin," Mrs. Munroe said, "there are some stipulations I have to make. One, I must insist that there be no cameras or audio recording devices present during the session. Two, there is to be absolutely no media coverage. If I see any television or newspaper people around, the session will end. And, three, no one is to know who we are. I won't have my family's name become a laughingstock in the community."
Della was stunned by the secretiveness; all the other ghost-chasers she had encountered basked in their notoriety.
"I agree to your conditions. Let me assure you that this isn't some publicity stunt my husband and I cooked up; we're anxious to get rid of the entity that has taken up residence in our restaurant. When can you begin?"
"I assume you want to hold the session as soon as possible," the woman said. "So why not tonight?"
"Are you sure you want to try to make contact with the ghost when your child is present?"
Mr. and Mrs. Munroe laughed as though enjoying a private joke.
"I'm sorry for laughing, Mrs. Dent," the woman quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to be rude. I thought you knew. I'm not the psychic. My daughter, Gillian, is."
Once Della recovered from the shock of learning she must put her confidence in a small child, she invited the family into her office where they would have more privacy.
"My daughter is an automatic writer, so she will need a pen or pencil and plenty of paper," Mrs. Munroe announced.
"They're in the top drawer," Della replied.
Gillian sat at the mahogany desk, pen in hand, with her eyes closed, not once looking at the pad of yellow-lined paper in front of her. Della, her husband and the girl's parents waited for nearly twenty minutes, but the child remained still. Finally, her mother broke the silence.
"Is there a spirit here?" she asked her daughter.
The girl nodded her head.
"Doesn't it want to communicate with you?"
"It can't. It doesn't know how to."
The little girl's mother noted the look of confusion on Della's face and explained, "We've encountered this sort of thing before. Each time, the spirit was that of a person who was illiterate when he or she was alive."
"Illiterate? Then it can't be Poe who's haunting the George."
"There is another way Gillian can make contact with the spirit," Mrs. Munroe continued. "Can she use your laptop?"
"Wouldn't the spirit have to know how to read and write in order to use a computer?"
"You would think so, wouldn't you? But apparently spirits, which are basically forms of energy, can convey their thoughts through a psychic directly to the computer. I don't fully understand it myself, but I do know it happens."
"There's no need for you to explain. I'll take your word for it."
Moments after placing her tiny hands on the laptop's keyboard, Gillian received her first message from the spirit. Two words suddenly appeared on the screen.
I'M HERE.
"Go ahead and ask it whatever you'd like," Mrs. Munroe told Della.
"Are you the spirit who came here from Baltimore?"
YES.
"Are you Edgar Allan Poe?"
NO.
Disappointment appeared on the faces of all four adults.
"What are you doing here then?"
I GO WHERE THE WATCH GOES.
"Did that watch belong to Poe?"
YES.
Della exchanged a brief smile with her husband.
"How did you get it?"
I STOLE IT.
"From Poe?"
YES. BUT I DIDN'T KNOW WHO HE WAS. I WAS THIRSTY AND DIDN'T HAVE MONEY FOR A DRINK. THEN I SAW A MAN TAKE A WATCH OUT OF HIS POCKET. I FOLLOWED HIM DOWN A DESERTED STREET, KNOCKED HIM ON THE HEAD AND TOOK THE WATCH. HE GOT UP AND STAGGERED TOWARD THE MAIN STREET. AN ACQUAINTANCE FOUND HIM, SUMMONED A CARRIAGE AND TOOK HIM TO THE HOSPITAL.
"When did all this happen?"
OCTOBER 1849.
After visiting the three Poe museums, Della was aware of the significance of the date.
"That's when Poe died," she said. "His friends and uncle found him wandering around in what they believed was a drunken stupor. He was admitted to Washington College Hospital, where after a few days of drifting in and out of unconsciousness, he then died."
I NEVER MEANT TO HURT HIM. ALL I WANTED WAS TO NICK THE WATCH AND SELL IT FOR SOME DRINKING MONEY.
"All these years people have believed alcohol killed Poe, but it was a blow to the head. He was ... he was ...."
MURDERED. ALTHOUGH I DIDN'T MEAN TO, I MURDERED EDGAR ALLAN POE.
"What happened after you took the watch?"
I SOLD IT. IT THEN WENT FROM ONE OWNER TO ANOTHER FOR MORE THAN A HUNDRED YEARS. THE WATCH WAS EVENTUALLY PUT IN THE DRAWER OF AN OLD DESK AND FORGOTTEN ABOUT. THEN THE HOUSE AND DESK WERE SOLD TO A FAMILY FROM FELLS POINT.
"The little boy from Baltimore?"
HE FOUND THE WATCH WHEN HE WAS LOOKING FOR A PAIR OF SCISSORS IN THE DESK DRAWER. THEN YOU BOUGHT THE WATCH, AND HERE I AM.
"Here you are," Della repeated. "But how do I get rid of you?"
RETURN THE WATCH.
"Return it to whom? Poe's been dead for more than a hundred and sixty years."
Della stared at the screen of the laptop, waiting expectantly for an answer; but it never came. A few minutes later, Gillian's fingers left the computer keyboard.
* * *
Despite having made contact with the spirit of the man who not only stole Poe's watch but caused the writer's death, the disturbances at the George didn't stop. Windows and doors still opened and closed without warning, and items were still thrown across the room by unseen hands.
"All this time and effort, and we're no closer to getting rid of the ghost," Della complained, picking up the pieces of a shattered dinner plate.
"If we could just return that damned watch to its rightful owner, all our problems might be solved. What about Poe's descendants?" Arnold asked.
"I already thought of that. He never had any children. Poe had a brother and a sister, but they never had children either. His only living relatives are distant cousins."
"What about giving the watch to one of the Poe museums?"
"Which one: Baltimore, Philadelphia, Richmond or New York?"
Frustrated, Arnold threw his hands up in mock surrender.
"Maybe you ought to give the watch a premature burial," he laughed. "Or wall it up someplace like poor Fortunato in 'The Cask of Amontillado.'"
"Very funny. I only wish I could bury the damned thing!"
When all the flame-shaped light bulbs in the chandeliers in the main dining room suddenly burst and showered down tiny shards of glass on the tables, Della made up her to mind to rid herself of the watch once and for all.
The following morning, she rose early, got into her Volvo and made the drive north to Baltimore. This time she did not visit the Poe House and Museum. Instead, she programmed her navigator for a parking garage on West Fayette Street. After arriving at her destination, she walked two blocks to Westminster Hall and Burying Ground on the southeast corner of West Fayette and North Greene Street. With a marble monument standing eighty inches tall, Poe's grave was not difficult to find.
For a moment, Della stood staring at the bas-relief bust of Edgar Allan Poe. Atop and around the grave were pennies, flowers, pens and books, all left by those who admired the writer's poems and short stories. Not only was Poe one of America's greatest and most beloved writers, but his genius was appreciated around the world as well. Dying at age forty, Poe had a career that lasted just twenty-two years, but in that time he had written stories that have withstood the test of time.
All that talent forever silenced because of a watch! Della thought with disgust.
She reached into her purse and took out the haunted timepiece.
"I'm returning it," she said as she placed the pocket watch at the foot of the grave.
Suddenly, she heard the fluttering of wings. A large black bird—either a crow or a raven—swooped down and landed atop Poe's monument. It cried, "Caw, caw," and then took to the sky. When Della looked down at the grave again, she saw that Poe's watch had vanished.
* * *
"All taken care of?" Arnold asked when his wife returned to Alexandria later that afternoon.
"Yes. Now we'll just have to wait and see if it worked."
The couple waited a week, a month, a year, but there were no more disturbances at the George. Eventually, they gave up their vigil. Poe's watch had apparently been returned to him, and the man who had stolen it—and in doing so had inadvertently caused the writer's death—was finally at peace.
This story was inspired by an actual account of a woman selling a ghost on eBay. I chose to set the story in Alexandria because in May 2014 I stayed in the Old Town section of the city when I visited Washington, D.C. Lastly, I've visited three of the four Poe houses mentioned in the story. I didn't realize there was a Poe house in New York; I'll have to put that on my bucket list. I also didn't go inside the Poe house in Baltimore. It was closed the day I was there, so I only got to photograph the exterior.
Salem was a big Poe fan until he actually read The Black Cat. Imagine the barbarism! Hanging a cat from a tree!
