John's intermittent outbursts continue into 1994. I discuss the disturbances with a feature writer who works at a local newspaper, Billy Fox, and who is interested in ghost stories and unexplained phenomena of all types. I suggest perhaps the ghost is that of the original owner who died in my bedroom. I admit I don't know what his first name was, though his last name is on the title guarantee given to the second owner who gave it to me along with a new one made out to Sondra and me.
I tell Billy that I plan to contact the Land Records Dept. in Titusville, Florida to see if they can trace the last name, which could also provide me with a first name. Billy said if the first name happened not to be John, not to be discouraged since entities sometimes attach themselves to furniture.
I phone the land records people and give my request to a helpful, friendly lady. She spends several minutes looking in the most likely places for the name. She cannot even find the last name of the person listed on the title, apparently the owner's married name. The records lady tell me she will do an exhausting search and then call me back with the results. She finally did call me several days later. Her search, she says, was fruitless. Now I must seek answers in less likely places.
I look in the phone book of all places, and lo and behold I discover a name matching the one I seek on the title guarantee. I phone. She tells me the lady I look for is out of town on a long vacation. She is her daughter and is due back in three weeks. I ask if she would please have her daughter call me when she returns, as I am doing research on the house's history. It was only a small white lie. She said she would.
In the meantime, I grow desperate due to some of John's bedroom shenanigans. I now think that a good night's sleep is something only other people enjoy. I ask a friend at work if she knows a psychic who possibly could smoke out a ghost. She gives me a name and phone number. I call the lady and make an appointment for the next evening. She shows up as promised, laden with a small bag containing, I presume, her paraphenalia. She sets a few of these items up on the floor by the front door. These include a burning candle, photo and a small glass of water. Then she walks slowly through the house, passing her hand just above and all around various objects, mostly furniture. When she performs the ritual over the desk my wife bought so long ago at a yard sale, she pauses. There is a strong emanation from this desk, she says. Now she lights a clump of sage. When it is smoking good, she goes into every room, leaving a trail of pungent smoke behind her.
The three of us sit down at the kitchen table, holding hands. On her instructions we recite the Lord's Prayer several times. Then the psychic calls out several times to John to make himself known. He does not respond. After several tries, she asks me to try. I, too, call out to John, asking what it is he wants. Sondra tries, too. Once or twice I think I hear a sound, similar to some of the sounds I hear in my bedroom. But, all in all, there is no response worthy of mention. The psychic tells us to let her know if there are any further disturbances in the house. She picks up her psychic tools, put them back in the bag and leaves. I didn't think it would do much good, so I never called her again.
As if on cue, the phone rings. It is the lady who once owned the house. She tells me her deceased husband's first name is Andrew. I am disappointed at this revelation. There apparently is a strange ghost in the house; one that had no real reason for being there.
Suddenly it dawns on me that the disturbances only began after the innocuous-looking desk was introduced into our home. With certain trepidation, I go into my bedroom, unload the computer, books, lamp and floppy storage box off the top of the desk. Next, I dump the drawers on my bed. Carefully, I manhandle the desk out of the bedroom and into the den at the front of the house. The den is a 20 foot by 12 foot addition I had added on in the 1970's. The hair on my arms stands up. I can feel a disapproving presence. I actually wanted to move it out into the garage, but decide maybe it best if I move it in steps.
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