Home for the Haunting(43)
It wasn’t shaped like any modern or antique key I’d ever seen. Instead, it was a bar that had a slim sheet of metal wrapped around it, rather like the bacon-wrapped asparagus my sister and I had enjoyed for lunch at the chic bistro on Chestnut Street that Cookie had insisted on. My stomach growled at the memory. I had to admit it was a darned good lunch, much better than that yogurt fiasco we’d had for dinner.
“Rosie is an expert in locks, hardware, doorknobs, that sort of thing,” said Olivier.
“I didn’t realize a person could specialize in that.”
“Oh, sure,” said Rosie. “I used to teach university classes on it, believe it or not. Just the standard architectural and technical history, though, not the more . . . interesting aspects of antique metal pieces.”
That reminded me. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure; fire away.”
“Would a door knocker be a particularly sensitive item—I mean, in the paranormal sense?”
“You will see,” interrupted Olivier with a smile, “that my friend Mel always comes here full of questions. She has a curious mind.”
I wondered whether he meant curious as in curious or as in strange.
Rosie laughed. “A door knocker could definitely be a paranormal conduit. I mean, all metal conducts energy really well, which is why antique jewelry and watches and the like often conserve a bit of the person who wore them.”
“I didn’t know that, but I guess it makes sense.”
“But a door knocker, in addition to being made of metal, is also symbolic of the point of entry. A door, of course, is the entry to a home, and the symbol of a door can be the symbol of a point of entry to something else.”
“So a banging door knocker might symbolize . . . ?”
“Somebody—or something—seeking permission to enter.”
“Enter what?”
“A physical place, of course, but also a spiritual place.”
“You mean . . . like a person?”
Rosie paused. “Potentially.”
But the residents of the Murder House, I realized, were trapped inside. Who would be seeking entrance?
“If I heard knocking when no one was at the door . . . could it be residual? Left over from a traumatic incident? Could the knocking be attached to that, somehow?”
“An echo across time,” said Olivier.
Rosie nodded thoughtfully. “It would make sense. As I’m sure you know, paranormal activity, by definition, isn’t hard science; it’s all open to interpretation. Is it possible the knocking could be trying to tell you something? A message of some kind?”
“It might well be. If only I had a clue. That’s why I’m taking Olivier’s class. So, how did you get interested in the history of locks?”
“I learned early about locksmithing. Sort of a family business, you might say.”
“Have you ever heard of Neighbors Together?” At the shake of her head, I explained the program.
“It sounds like a great organization. I should get involved next year.”
“Your locksmith skills would come in handy in some of these old houses.”
She blushed. “I’m not what you’d call a certified locksmith—”
“The Key Master’s work is much more interesting than that,” interjected Olivier.
“Thanks so much, Ghost Boy. I was telling it my way,” Rosie teased, and Olivier laughed. “What our French friend means to say is that I am not a conventional locksmith. I was trained in safecracking. It’s a very long story and one I am happy to share with discerning individuals, though at a time and place of my choosing. Which usually involves dirty martinis.”
I smiled. “I have found the inclusion of dirty martinis enhances many a discussion.”
“This sounds like a lovely evening! Am I invited?” asked Olivier.
“No,” Rosie and I said in unison, then shared a smile. I felt a friendship coming on.
“Maybe another time,” I added.
Olivier sighed theatrically. “I understand. The girls’ night out is a highly respected tradition in this country, no?”
“You betcha,” Rosie said, and she handed me her business card. “Call me, Mel, and we’ll have those martinis.”
“And now, dear ladies, I believe it is time for class to begin. If everyone will please have a seat?”
After her lecture on antique metals—which was much more fascinating than I’d anticipated—Rosie departed, and Olivier devoted the rest of the class to the protocol for ghost hunting. As far as I was concerned, the protocol was to avoid being scared to death, but Olivier and the other five people in the class were focused on recording and documenting incidents of haunting. They hoped to find evidence that could be used to prove to a skeptical world that spirits indeed existed.