Part 2 (Conclusion): Ghosts of Florentina

Saturday, Oct 10, 1925: Everyone was already on edge considering their recent discoveries and suspicions. Rats had chewed thru the hammer handles, chewed thru the generator wiring, chewed thru the stage ropes that caused that sandbag to come crashing down on the séance table. And considering rat tracks around the side-door transom window, rats possibly scurried outside and along the neighboring roofs to cause those roof tiles to come crashing down on poor O’Malley, the work foreman.

David Highfield (Bill) Ghost Hunter	Everett Larkin (Leslie) Kingsport Reporter	Celeste Anderson (Orin) Debutante/Singer

The flickering lights of the kerosene lanterns wasn’t helping to ease their jitteriness. Everett paused, “Before we go descending into the tunnel, maybe we should prop the basement door and side-door open to ensure easy exit. Wouldn’t want Barton returning and trapping us down here.” So, they braced the side-door slightly open with a wedge. And rigged a bucket full of nails over the basement door, “At least an alarm if someone enters.” David pointed to the film-room, “If necessary, Celeste could ride the dumbwaiter up and unlock the door. Don’t worry, it’s constructed with cable, not rope for the rats to chew through.”

Last words from Everett before they entered the tunnel, “Cheese. That’s my warning I’m about to light this flash-paper. So, cover your eyes.” David led the way with a wrench in his right hand. Celeste followed with her flashlight sweeping the steep stairs; her right hand fingering the pistol in her purse. Everett brought up the rear with a ready-strike match in one hand and the flash-paper in the other.

Old bricks were stacked to the side. Obviously, the stairs had once been blocked and boarded up. Everyone gagged at the musky smell mixed with rat urine. David paused to tie a handkerchief over his nose. Celeste reached into her purse and dabbed Vaseline into her nostrils. Everett tried to mouth-breathe as tears welled at the corner of his eyes. The stairs spiraled right before ending at a T-junction. Celeste leaned around David to scan with her light, “I can see a threshold lip to the left (north).” David turned right, “There’s a tiny breeze from this direction. I want to see if there is another exit before we explore north.”

“Ssslup, ssslup.” Sucking sound as David plodded thru the muck and mud. Celeste pouted, “These are my best garden boots with green flowers.” Everett teased, “Hopefully they’re tall enough that the mud doesn’t flow into them.” Everett made the mistake of breathing thru his nose, “Shit. Sewage too?!” Celeste held onto David’s shoulder as she shined the light, “Look at those rat tracks atop the muck. They’re even down here.”

David followed the breeze and thus bypassed a branch to the left. Celeste shined her light into the void, “Looks like it curves left and even slopes down.” David stumbled in the darkness without Celeste’s light, “First things first please. I need light.” The southern passage ended at another brick-wall. A small overhead opening (fallen bricks and stone) the source of the air. The wall before them, “Looks more recent that these passages. See that label, ‘Danver Hydraulic Brick Co.’” [Spot Hidden-hard] Everett connected the dots, “They service our Kingsport City sewage lines. See the trickle of black-water leaking from the bricks…sewage.”

[Listen-extreme] And that’s when Everett heard faint squeaks behind him. [Listen-critical 01] And Celeste heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet…she quickly pointed her flashlight in their direction. Revealing small twin red lights that quickly blinked out. “Nothing more to see here. I think we should explore that side tunnel.” [Sanity-failure] David nixed that idea with a stuttering response, “I, I don’t thing that’s a good idea. You said it slopes down. Just what those rats want. They bust open the sewage wall and flood us in that tunnel! No, no. I, I say we’ve seen enough. We’ve got Mrs. Turner’s information about Barton cooking the books and scamming her and the other theater investors. Besides, it’s getting close to 4pm when Barton said he might return.”

Everett took the lead, “Nonsense. We’re here. We can at least explore to the north.” They crossed the threshold into a room that had been cleared out. Even the mud and muck shoveled out. Stone floor with some trash remaining. A niche shelf in the north wall, a well in the southwest corner. Celeste bent down to collect scraps of old paper, “Old notes or maybe disintegrated book pages. Latin, German, and even old English. I can recognize the font and style but can’t make out any words.” Everett studied pieces of old glass, “Brown, green, amber. Reminds me of apothecary bottles.”

Which got David thinking, “I’ve been studying about the Salem Witch Trails. I read about Kingsport before arriving. You guys had your own coven of witches. Maybe those bottles contained their brews and this their haven.” Celeste scoffed, “I’ve read enough books and acted in plays: witches befriend cats, not rats.” David corrected her, “Records show witches and warlocks used all kinds of small mammals as their ‘familiars’.”

Everett added, “Well, according to the blueprints I saw, tunnels were not part of the design. And considering we angled east from the entrance, I’d deduce we are no longer under the theater but rather the side street or tenement housing. Either Mr. Fyre kept these tunnels secret while building his theater or they and the entrance were here before the theater.” Celeste pulled out the name plate she found up in the basement trash pile, “This is stamped ‘H. Coyne’.” Which jogged David’s memory, “Hiram Coyne owned the land from 1693-1722 around the time of the Salem witch-trails.”

Celeste suggested research at the Historical Society while David remembered the newspaper article referencing Ezra Caldwell as the theater scholar. Everett pushed, “We’re already down here. Let’s explore the side passage.” David’s protests were ignored as they climbed to the stage to retrieve some rope before returning to the tunnels. With rope secured, the smaller and petite Celeste volunteered to search the side passage. Which slowly curved left in a slow descent. A narrow rivulet of water (from the sewage wall) led the way. Soon, she ventured beyond David’s jittery light.

Long minutes before she returned, “The passage narrows and is lower. I’d need to get on my hands and knees to go further. Besides, I think I saw a cave-in beyond a pool of brackish water. I think its time to do research.” David eagerly led them out of the tunnel. And paused in the basement to collect rags to wipe their boots before exiting the theater. Nothing they could do about the muddy prints they left on stage when they gathered rope.

Outside, David found a payphone and directory to look up Ezra Caldwell. “Hello, this is Mr. Highfield. May I please speak to Ezra…Mr. Caldwell, I met you at yesterday’s gala. I understand you are the local scholar regarding the Florentina Theater. Might I and my colleges have a word with you? The Historical Society in half an hour? Perfect; we were just heading that way.”

The plaque outside the Historical Society listed it as now a museum funded by the Cabot family. It used to be a Baptist Church. An elderly man in black hat, eye patch, and tweed jacket approached, “You must be Mr. Highfield. I remember your grand entrance last night. Friend of Victoria is a friend of the city. What can I help you with?” Celeste pulled out the brass-plate, “What can you tell us about Hiram Coyne?” Ezra brightened up, “Ah, now there’s a bit of queer history. Farmland before he bought it and built his house. During the time of those witch trials in Salem down the road. Similar theories about Hiram’s place. Especially considering the unusual wording of his son Talbot Coyne’s Last-Will and Testament. Maybe I can get you entrance to our Town Hall to see it. I’ll make a call.”

First Ezra led them to pertinent historical records before excusing himself. [Library-02] Everett dove into the books, “Church reference about a disputed cow between a T. Coyne and a Mr. Wyatt: Talbot fined 15 pence. Another entry lists Hiram lost at sea in 1722. Nothing about a church till after Hiram’s death.”

David took a different approach, looking up witch trials, “A local Sarah Blaine accused of witchcraft by noted witch-hunter Reverend Ward Phillips. Says here his papers were donated to the Miskatonic University Library. Here’s another 1695 entry about a ‘Hermit Coyne’ cited for throwing rocks at kids too near his property. Fined 10 pounds! Pretty extreme fine for throwing rocks.”

And that’s when Ezra returned, “You’re in luck. It’s a short walk to Town Hall.” $2 entrance fee from each ($5 for David) to enter on a Saturday. Talbot Coyne’s Last-Will and Testament dated 24 Dec, 1767:

“I Talbot Coyne, calling to mind my own mortality…First, I give my soul unto God. My body to be burned and the ashes tossed into the bay. No agent of my father shall be allowed to view my body nor enter my abode. Furthermore, I bequeath my land, home, and all its contents to the Kingsport Baptist Church. If said church does not use my home as a place of holy worship, then it shall be demolished from foundation to gables so that the evils once practiced here no longer linger on. So help me God.”

The trio left the Town Hall with a new curiosity about the theater. But first Everett found a phone, “Hello, Mrs. Turner. I know it’s getting late but we wanted to update you regarding the Theater. Yes, sadly we must tell you Mr. Barton is not on the up-and-up. I need to develop my pictures as proof, but we have hard evidence he has been fleecing you and the other investors. Please don’t tell anyone nor take action till we can get you that evidence. Hopefully Tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Father Conway

Bridget O'Malley

Meanwhile, Celeste returned to the tenement housing to look up O’Malley’s widow. Knowing Irish life revolved around their Catholic faith, she stopped at the closest church. Father Conway: rosy cheeks and nose betrayed his favorite drink. [Charm: 01 critical] So taken by Celeste’s beauty he insisted he walk the 3 blocks with her to introduce the widow Bridget. Celeste opened her heart and her pocketbook, “I understand your husband was the foreman for the theater renovation. One of the workers, Jacimo, told me about your husband’s death and lack of pay. Travesty.”

Bridget opened up, “Bill was only due a week’s pay. Others are due at least a month’s wages. I tried to approach Mr. Barton but he just threatened to call the police. At least I got some money when I sold that…thing to the curio shop. One night, just days before his death, Bill brought home a small box. Hideous mummy inside; looked like a monkey only 18 inches tall. At least Mr. Hazlitt at the shop was willing to buy it from me.” Celeste concluded her visit with promises to confront Barton herself and to inform the sponsors of his wrong doings, “We’ll get your money. For all the workers.”

Over dinner, the trio compared notes. “Hazlitt? I seem to remember an article in yesterday’s paper. Here it is…break-in and vandalism in his shop while he ate dinner in his apartment overhead. 709 Harbor Street. Someone wedged his apartment door closed, delaying his chance to catch them in the act. No list of what was stolen…yet. Do you suppose someone, or somethings, stole the mummy?!”

Everett was the slowest to jump up from the table, and thus, the last to leave…being stuck with the bill. David studied the broken transom window over the dark shop entrance. Boarded up. Only a few bits of glass outside on the street. Celeste tried the door… locked. “He lives upstairs. Try the side door with stairs.” Celeste rang the doorbell and was greeted by Neal Hazlitt. “I’m sorry to be calling so late but I just got into town. My brother is a collector of weird things and I understand you might have a mummy of a baby?” Neal corrected her, “Actually, it looks more like a monkey only 18 inches tall. You’re in luck. I’d taken it to a guy in Boston yesterday. I just got it back today.”

Luck indeed the mummy wasn’t in the shop at the time of the break-in. “It’s back in the shop if you care to see it. You’ll have to excuse the mess; vandals broke in yesterday. Stole coins, broaches, and small things easily pawned. I actually have the mummy locked up in the back room.” As they waited, David scanned the collection. A flying pig. That was a new one. Neal returned with a small box. David studied the intricate corners that seemed to be held together by tiny wooden dowels. Old style carpentry. Neal proudly opened the box, “I think your brother would want this.” Gasps.

Celeste jumped back into David who actually was leaning forward to get a better look. Monkey?! This thing had human hands and feet AND face! Yet the body of a rat. It was obvious the body hadn’t been disturbed. Neal could already see their interest and thus ignored David’s [Fast Talk] input, “$100 dollars? Why I’ve seen more in Salem selling for $15-20 dollars.” Celeste hesitated before offering $40. Neal countered, “No less than $60. Sold for $50. Yes, I’ll take a check.”

Celeste carefully placed the box in the trunk of the car, “Let’s get back to our hotel so I can secure it in their safe.” Saying goodnight, they each went their separate way. Everett hustled off to develop his pictures while David headed to the bar for medicinal erasers to the day’s visions. Celeste settled at her room’s desk to compose a note. What a queer thing to write, “If you’ve been watching us like you did in the theater basement, then you know I have the mummy. Leave your mark if you are willing to make arrangements for its return.”

  

Celeste flopped and kicked the sheets all night as nightmares invaded her dreams: street level visions. From a rat’s perspective. Dodging men walking the dirt road, scurrying along rafters, looking down from the theater gangway. Eating a beetle as she watched 3 mice on stage, dressed in small suits and ties, acting out a Shakespearean play. Then one paused to point its dagger skyward at her, “Return what is ours! And the books.” Celeste quickly sat up in her bed, sweating profusely. 

She rushed to the desk where she found a mouse-print on her note. Dipped in ink print that definitely looked human. Tiny.

11 Oct, Sunday morning: As they gathered around the breakfast table, Celeste couldn’t wait to share her dream, “I ate a beetle!” David lost his appetite. Everett took notes as he passed around his developed pictures, “This should be enough to hang Barton. But to calm our nerves, I agree we should return the mummy first.”

They drove to the theater and searched for a place to park. Barton’s car parked in front. A black van behind it “Orso Exterminators, Arkham, Mass.” Celeste panicked, “Oh No! We’re too late. Barton’s killing the rats.” David tried to calm her, “Nonsense, I saw the guy in the driver seat. I’ll just pay him more to leave.” David rapped on the window to get Orso’s attention. Seconds before David realized… the man was dead! Froth on his lips. [Spot-regular] His thermos in his lap, still dripping soup. Rat tracks clearly dotted the thermos bottle. [Sanity-failure] David jumped back as he gasped, “They killed him. Those little rats poisoned him with his own chemicals!”

Everett parked on a side street then led them to the alley door, “Remember we had wedged it open yesterday?” Celeste carried the box under one arm while hiding her pistol beneath the box with her right hand. “Quiet. I see lights up in Barton’s office.” They crossed to the stage and down into the basement. “Careful, remember their tripwire on the stairs.” They stood before the tunnel entrance. It wasn’t long before small red beady eyes peered from the dark entrance. Celeste carefully placed the box on the ground as Everett pointed up, “Barton probably has the books up in his office.” Without another word or act, they quickly turned on their heels and ran. Except David.

Hamlet

King Lear

David’s sanity had been tested enough. But he stood with curiosity at the prospect of seeing an actual witch’s familiar. He didn’t have long to wait. A small shape emerged. Rat tail and body but human face, “I am Hamlet.” David smiled, “So you take the names of the characters who have crossed the stage over the years. I am honored to meet you.” Hamlet bowed as another rat emerged, “This is my father, King Lear.” In a raspy voice, Lear continued, “We have seen the plays of the great bard. Thank you for returning Mother Mayble. She was Master Coyne’s familiar. She spawned the offspring you see before you. We await his return. Our solemn duty to serve him and all wizards like you. You are the first to speak to us in over two-hundred years.”

David choked at the title wizard, “You honor me with a title I do not deserve. Yet I gladly seek. Tell me, can you teach me? Either way, I’ll help you retrieve the books you spoke of to Celeste.” King Lear directed, “Midnight at the cemetery upon the hill. At the foot of the tall man sitting upon the horse (Union soldier statue). I will teach you a spell to call us.” And that is when 5 regular rats emerged, lifted the box, and descended the stairs. “Till midnight then.”

David rushed topside and found his companions, “Sorry, I just HAD to see the rats for myself. I think I peed myself. Let’s get out of here.”

They drove straight to Victoria’s estate. Where they were ushered in for a champagne brunch with orange juice, scrambled eggs, and pastries of all kind. Everett told her about Barton’s two-sets of books and showed the pictures. One of Barton’s Victrola gramophone complete with the record ‘Aria’. Celeste told how he hadn’t paid the workers which is why they didn’t return. David insisted, “Celeste wasn’t able to lock his desk. We need to get the police there now, before he becomes suspicious and burns the books.”

Victoria was disappointed but not surprised, “Police Chief Crane will be more than happy to arrest Barton. Seems the chief is a descendant of Mrs. Lucile Frye and doesn’t take kindly to Barton besmirching her name.” Williams, her butler, dialed the phone. “Chief Crane, how’d you like to cleanse your great-great-grandmother’s name? Oh really?! You found a body in front of the theater? Just where you need to be. Arrest Barton.”

David tried to console Victoria, “Mrs. Turner, I think restoring the theater is still a worthy cause. You just need a better man in charge. If anything, I think the notoriety Barton has added to the theater will only draw more interest. Gawkers to a car crash.”

EPILOGUE

The police used the body of Orso as their excuse to enter the theater. Where they found and arrested Barton upstairs in his office. Clueless about what had transpired. He thought he’d left the desk open himself. He was released on bail.

David returned to the theater himself to gawk. And to collect pockets full of rats. To then visit Mr. Barton that night at his room at the SeaShore Inn. The rats scurried into dark corners as David faked an effort to interview the man. The morning newspaper reported Barton died overnight of a heart attack. There was no mention of rat tracks.

At midnight, David met King Lear at the base of the Union statue. Where he learned his first spell. One of many over the years he remained in Kingsport as a member of the Florentina Theater Board. Many years to study the books the rats retrieved from Barton’s room. Years of declining sanity. Till one year… David disappeared and was never heard from again.

Celeste stayed in town to observe the theater reconstruction. And be spokesperson for the immigrant workers finally paid back wages. Victoria appointed her council and even paid for her trips to Venice, Italy to study the original structure. Celeste was center-stage at the grand opening with the showing of ‘No-No-Nanette’ (a musical comedy).

Everett published his exclusive account of the entire theater story. Minus any mention of rats. His damning pictures and expose earned him a Pulitzer Prize (Awarded for: Excellence in newspaper journalism). Victoria kept him close at hand to report on her social enemies.