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The match struck the matchbook, lighting a light not only at the end of the match, but in my life the day that Jean Romey walked into my office. Outside, there was a torrential downpour coming down that had not let up for days. I watched as her ruby red lips blew out the match, which she deposited into the trashcan by my desk. Thin wisps of smoke made their way from the tip of the cigarette towards the twirling ceiling fan. The shadowy veil obscured her eyes as she sat down in the clients chair opposite my desk and crossed her tone legs.

"What can I do for you Mrs.-" I began.

"Miss." She cooly interrupted.

I nodded at her, "Miss?"

She had a natural huskiness to her voice as she replied, "Miss Romey. Jean Romey."

We shook hands, "Sam Dawson."

"What can I do for you?" I repeated. I lit a cigarette of my own, sitting back in my chair.

She took a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke, "First, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. You came highly recommended to me from my cousin, Paul Antonio."

"Okay. I know Paul."

"He said that he has done some financial work for you in the past and that you had a pretty high success rate of getting cases solved. So here's mine."

I took out my note pad and a pencil, sharpening it above the trash can beside my desk. The shavings falling into the can like the leaves falling to the earth outside in the chilly autumn night.

Jean Romey looked me in the eyes, her piercing green irises capturing my attention undivided, "During the last century, my family came into prominence with the rise of the coal mining industry in Pennsylvania. My father was one of the founding members of the Pennsylvania Coal Miners Union, so to cut to the chase, my family made a lot of money and was very successful."

"Okay." I simply replied.

She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth, "This lead my father to buying a house in Philadelphia. A house that dated back to colonial times. Now, what I'm about to tell you Mr. Dawson, is unconfirmed rumors and why I'm hiring you. The story as it was told to my father from the agency who sold us the house is this."

She switched legs, I watched as her slender legs crossed one another. She stubbed out her cigarette and continued, "The house was built by a Major for the Colonies during the Revolutionary War. He had the house built for him and his family and construction was completed during the war. He had a personal adversary from the British army, who managed to slip through the cracks post war and did not return to Britain. His family moved in during the war and he joined them afterward."

I continued jotting notes.

"His enemy somehow managed to track him down and unbeknownst to this American hero, began to stalk him and his family, learning their patterns and habits. One day, this hero returned home and in the foyer to his house, saw his daughter hung from the rafters. Sadly, she had already passed. Before he could even cut her down, he was attacked. His throat brutally slashed, his enemy never even gave him a chance to fight back."

Jean Romey lit another cigarette, "That's where the madness began, Mr. Dawson, but I assure you that it did not end there. After about a week of no reply from the family, their neighbors got the local police involved. When the family did not respond to the police, the police entered the house. What they found, Mr. Dawson, was one of the most brutal murder scenes in American History. The entire family was slaughtered. Dismembered. I'll save you to discover the grisly details should you take the case. I haven't the heart to tell you."

She leaned forward, pulling her veil up onto her hat. I have to admit, in spite of myself and my interest in her case, I momentarily lost myself in her emerald eyes.

"I'm sure you're asking yourself, what does a murder that happened over one hundred and fifty years ago have to do with me and my family? Well, Mr. Dawson, that house that we bought and subsequently moved out of after less than a year of living there, was haunted."

A crack of lightning outside struck the very second that Jean Romey uttered the word. I leaned forward in my desk.

As it always was, my son Thomas's mysterious disappearance was with me in that moment, "Haunted? How so?"

Jean Romey crossed her legs again, shifting in the chair as she replied and furrowed her brows, "I'm not sure what you mean. By ghosts?"

I leaned forward, crossing my hands on the desk, "It's not that I don't believe you, Miss Romey, but I will tell you what I tell every potential client that comes through that door. I've been doing this for awhile now. If you are putting me on, which I hope not, I'll know pretty quickly and you will receive a bill in which I will expect due payment. Ninety-five percent of cases I take are nothing. A tree branch scraping outside a window where there had previously been a vampire bat. A criminally insane person where a demonic possession had been happening. While the pay is nice for those cases, I'm not doing this for those cases. I'm doing this for the five percent of cases, where there is genuinely something happening. So far, you've given me a story relatively void of details."

She surveyed me, taking me in momentarily, then blew a string of smoke in my direction before she continued, "I appreciate your candor, but I assure you I'm telling the truth. Let's cut to the chase then. It is my families belief, that the house that we bought after my father found success, is haunted by the Major who built the house back in the Revolutionary War."

"And do you know this Major's name?" I asked, drilling her for details.

"Major John Jacob Smith."

"Thank you, and how did Major Smith manifest himself?" I asked, scribbling notes.

"It began fairly innocuous. Knocks on walls, footsteps in hallways outside the bedroom my sister and I shared."

"Sorry for interrupting, how old were you and your sister?"

"At the time, I was sixteen and my sister was eleven."

"Thank you."

"One day a maid was cleaning the bannister in the foyer and said she felt like someone had tried to push her over the railing, but when she was able to turn around, there was no one there. No one else was at the house to corroborate her story, but that is when the spirit drew the attention of my parents. It began to escalate, any woman who happened to be in the house would have their hair tugged at any given moment. One time my father was standing by the front door of the house and felt like someone had shoved him from behind, he stumbled and fell outside and the front door quickly shut and locked. When he was able to get back in to the house, with quite a bit of rage he looked for the culprit, only to remember that any one who would have been in the house was at the State Fair that particular day."

She looked down and for the first moment, her confidence had left her and she looked vulnerable. I dropped my skepticism and softened my voice, "It's okay."

She looked up at me, a tear in her eye. It fell, rolling down her soft cheek, "What I'm about to tell you, Mr. Dawson, is known only by my family and is extremely personal. As I have said, I promise I am not putting you on. Do I have your full confidence?"

I nodded in reply and handed her my handkerchief, a figurative handing over of my confidence to her.

She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and continued, "Things finally came to a head one night. There had been roughly a week void of any activity. Every one in the house was sound asleep, and while my father did have many rivals in the coal industry, he was paranoid and kept all windows and doors locked, not wanting to lose his newfound success. So while I suppose someone could have got in and have done the initial attack that night, I highly doubt even the most skilled thief could have remained undetected during the second."

I watched Jean Romey's face for any tells that she was trying to deceive me and found none as she continued, "The first attack was on me, as I lay asleep. The covers in my bed were pulled down slowly, I assume to ensure that I did not wake. The apparition wasn't as careful as he slowly began to pull my pajama top up my body."

She her voice quivered as she said the last word, but she managed to keep her composure, steadying herself by taking a drag of her cigarette. Jean Romey looked back up toward me. Those emerald eyes transfixed me as she continued with her story, "I woke up, screaming and crawling backward on the bed. My back hit the headboard as I looked for the sign of the intruder. My screams alerted my parents, but all to late. I heard loud footsteps leave the foot of my bed, but could not see my assailant. The footsteps made their way to my sister Alicia's bed. I watched with frozen horror as the covers and bedsheets of her bed were ripped off. She woke with a start. Her leg was grabbed by the invisible attacker and was pulled over the edge of the side of the bed. A hard tug pulled her off the bed and she hit the floor hard."

Jean Romey wiped her eyes again, "It was about this moment when I realized what was happening and snapped out of the paralysis that I was in. As I was jumping out of bed, Alicia began to get tugged out of the room as if someone was quickly dragging her. I screamed for my father and mother, who came out of their bedroom about this time, father putting on his robe and tying it shut. Alicia, poor thing, was screaming and crying as well. The intruder must have changed his plans. And please, Mr. Dawson, understand my words here. It began to pull Alicia up along the wall of the hallway."

Shivers crawled up along my spine, hearing an echo of the distant past.

"My father managed to grab ahold of Alicia's ankle, from there it was a struggle, that eventually my father won. I do not know what plans the spirit had for my sister, but I am afraid we may have yet to find out."

  Jean took a drag of her cigarette, then continued, "After things calmed down and everyone was dressed, we left the house never to return. Father hired people to move our belongings, which were blessed by a Priest then returned to us. Father sold the house and that was the of the story. I had put that house out of my mind, had not thought of it one bit. Until last week."

She put her cigarette out and leaned back in her chair, "Last week Alicia revealed her interest in many things which I'm sure you would feel right at home with, if half of what your reputation implies is true. Finally, she left a letter for me telling me of her intentions to return to that damned house. I followed her, but as I searched the house, I found nothing and no one inside. Until I got into the hallway upstairs, where I found this."

Jean Romey reached into her purse and handed me a high heeled woman's black shoe. I took it, looking up at her eyebrows raised, "I assume this is your sisters?"

She nodded in affirmation, "I have neither seen, nor heard from my sister in the week since. The police have an ongoing investigation, but don't seem particularly bothered. They assume she has ran off on some affair. Or over to Europe to help with the war effort."

"Nobody else she knows has seen her either?"

"I've telephoned all of her known acquaintances, the last time any of them has seen her was a week ago."

"And does she have any kind of history of up and disappearing?"

"None whatsoever."

I sat back in my chair, entwining my fingers together, "It's certainly an intriguing case, Miss Romey. I apologize for my earlier bluntness. As I said, while I appreciate cases that I am paid for, I am genuinely interested in finding cases that are truthful and progress my knowledge of the abnormal."

She nodded at me, "You're forgiven. I can only imagine the stories you must hear. Are you taking the case?"

I nodded in affirmation, pulling out my standard case contract which I signed then slid across the desk. Jean Romey read over it and signed it.

"I'm going to do some leg work, see if I can find any more details out about the house and Major John Jacob Smith. Then I will get back in touch with you."

She gave me a weak smile, "Thank you."

I stood up, Jean Romey followed suit. "Once the initial investigation has completed and the details have been ironed out, I'll be in touch for the investigation of the house."

"Thank you, Mister Dawson." She gave me a wider smile.

She offered her hand, I shook it gently. Her soft hand felt small and delicate, "You're welcome Miss Romey. And again, I'll be in touch."

I watched as Jean Romey walked out of my office. I felt an inkling of something that I could not put my finger on at the time. Whether it was attraction, sorrow, or some doubt lingering in the shadow of my mind. An inkling nonetheless, that would prove to show itself in the days to come.