Free The Blackham Mansion Haunting (The Downwinders Book 4) by Michael Richan Page B

it.”
    “But his journal was lost in Left Hand mine for the past
hundred years,” Deem said. “He’s had no one to communicate with. Can I come in?
And bring the journal?”
    “Yes, yes,” Carma said, opening the door. “But until we know
more, I’d like you to keep it in a special box I have, will you?”
    “Sure,” Deem replied, walking into the house. Carma left Deem
in the hallway, disappearing deeper into the house, and soon returned with a
large wooden box covered in carvings. She opened the top, and Deem could see a
rich silk lining inside. Deem placed the journal in the box and Carma closed
it. “I’ll keep this in the drawing room. Feel free to take it wherever you want
in the house, but not outside. Try to keep the book inside the box when you
read it.”
    “Alright,” Deem agreed.
    “So you talked with Lorenzo, did you?” Carma asked.
    “Yes. I asked him about the house. I told him something was
wrong with David, and I wanted to know if he knew anything about that. He
started to answer me when it faded out.”
    “If it’s what I think it is,” Carma said, “the connection
between Lorenzo’s mirror and the drawing in the book was reinforced when you
found the mirror fragment. After all these years it’s likely that it only has
enough energy to last for a few moments every day. The moon may recharge it. Try
again tomorrow night, and use economy with your words. It’ll probably only last
a few moments.”
    “If I’m going to go see him in that house,” Deem mused aloud,
thinking, “we’ll need to arrange a meeting place. He’ll have to meet me at the
first duplicate, something like that. The copies go on and on; I could be
wandering for hours otherwise.”
    “Winn and David will be back tomorrow,” Carma said. “Let’s
see what they find out before you go back there. And for heaven’s sake, please
don’t go alone again. Really.” Carma gave her a disapproving look, but Deem
could tell she was nevertheless excited by the news.
     
    ▪ ▪ ▪
     
    Winston Talbot disappeared into another room, and David
turned to Winn, holding the bandage against his arm where Winston had just
drawn blood. “I’ve never seen so many records.”
    “Me neither,” Winn replied, gazing up to the shelves that
lined the cavernous room they were in. Thousands and thousands of vinyl LPs
lined the shelves, covering each wall and running in freestanding racks that
sliced the room into smaller aisles. “He said wholesale, so he must supply them
to record stores.”
    Winston reappeared. He was wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt
that was too small for his large belly. “It’ll take a few moments for the blood
to process,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened to you, while we
wait?”
    David began the story. Winn browsed the shelves, occasionally
seeing an artist he knew. David finished by relaying the events of the night
before.
    “We’ll wait on the blood,” Winston said, “but from what
you’re describing to me, it sounds like some kind of paralytic. They’re often
accompanied by memory loss. Further paralysis can occur when the memories
return, and they’re often accompanied by hallucinations, making it hard to know
if they’re really memories or not.”
    “What could cause that?” David asked.
    “Many different things,” Winston replied. “I could speculate,
but it would probably just freak you out. I’ll wait for the blood on this one.”
    Winston turned to look at Winn, who had removed an album from
the shelves. He was inspecting a large black and white newspaper that he’d
pulled from the sleeve.
    “Ah, I see you found Thick as a Brick ,” Winston said.
“1972 US release, on Reprise, not Chrysalis.”
    “The CD didn’t have all this in it,” Winn said, marveling at
the dozens of fake news stories on the full-size newsprint. “I’m feeling a
little ripped off. Are all LPs like this?”
    “Not all, but many,” Winston said. “CD cases couldn’t
accommodate