Their presence was just an accepted part of his routine by now. Perhaps just emotional impressions from previous inhabitants, or perhaps their lingering spirits. The house was old enough. Whatever the case, here they were: a man and a woman. Their faces were indistinct. Their demeanors were anguished, confused, unaware. When they came, it was in the moment between waking and sleeping, and only if his spiritual vision was active from an evening meditation.
His response was consistent. “Spirits,” he would address them, “Guard my home against harm or leave. ”
Connor believed in spirits earning their keep.
He only became concerned when his daughter of ten began to complain of emotional disturbances at bedtime. He felt helpless and perplexed as she described feelings of despair and deep sadness which seemed unrelated to her. On a late May evening, after the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, she told him, with trepidation in her voice, that there were rooms in the house in which the feelings were stronger. The only room that she felt entirely free of these feelings was the dining room.
He pulled the structural records for the house and noted that the dining room was added twenty-three years ago. This eliminated the last three owners, leaving only the original owners. Their names were right there in front him in black and white.