The Guarantee

"Now that was a superior game," Charles said as he stood up and stretched. "It's always satisfying to watch good sportsmanship behavior."

Looking up from his seat on the couch, Robert laughed. "I'm not sure if I would call it a superior game, but it was good."

"Hey, does anyone think that George is finally going to let up on his curse?" Andrew said, looking around the room at his friends. "God knows it's been long enough now."

Franklin shook his head, "Nope, I'd lay money on it that he's just playing with them. Getting their hopes up and then dashing them to pieces." The tall red headed man stood up too, yawning before saying, "I think I'm going to head to bed, guys. It's late and I'm getting tired. Is anyone planning …"

"Oh, hey!" Andrew said, interrupting his friend, "Prissy Boy is on! Turn it, Bob. It's just starting."

Robert leaned forward, swiping the remote off the coffee table in front of the couch and flipping the channels up until he found the show. "I wonder how many spirits will show up this week."

"I can't believe you two are going to watch that trash," Charles said, shaking his head as he watched the show's intro start.

On the screen, mist began to spread along the ground as the background music, reminiscent of an old music box, started. A man dressed in black slacks and a gray sweater appeared as the camera pulled back to reveal a cemetery. The man knelt down at a grave, patting the headstone gently before turning to the camera and saying, "Join me tonight as I travel to another portal; a place where those who have gone before await you and are eager to communicate. Thanks to my years of highly specialized training and inherited sensitivity passed down through my family for generations, I can open the hidden doors and reveal the words of love and caring that may be waiting for you."

"Such rubbish," Charles said as he sat back down on the couch next to Robert.

"I can't believe you all are going to stay up even later and watch this," Franklin said as he glanced between them all.

"Hey, Frank," Andrew said, glancing up and smiling. "Since you don't care about this and I don't want to miss any, will you go get the cookies and bring them in?"

The other man glared for a moment before sitting back down in his chair, "You can get them yourself at commercial. This freak is always good for a few laughs."

"I can't believe that people are buying this," Andrew complained twenty minutes later after the host had made contact with five extremely vague spirits who gave equally vague messages that seemed to apply to at least three-fourths of the audience.

Franklin shook his head, "I think it's sad how these people are suckered in. They want to have one last contact with their loved ones and will believe anything."

"Well," Robert said with a shrug, "at least this idiot isn't a thief. He's not charging them anything for these readings, you know?"

Glancing over at his friend, Charles smiled and nodded his understanding. "I think that's a good point, Bob. He's a fake for sure but maybe he's actually thinking he's helping people."

"Giving them closure, maybe" Franklin said softly.

"Whatever he is," Robert said, interrupting, "I bet he's still getting rich off these people."

"Of course he is, I bet," Andrew started and then stopped, pointing to the screen and the commercial. "Look! Prissy boy is coming to Atlanta next weekend. He's got a new book out that he's obviously pushing."

"We need to go see him," Franklin said with a smile.

Charles laughed and shook his head, "No, we don't."

Bouncing up out of his chair Andrew said with a laugh, "I think that's a great idea!"

"No," Charles repeated, "it's not."

"It's a bad idea, Andy," Robert said with a shake of his head. "Seriously bad idea."

"Why?" Franklin demanded standing up too and looking back and forth between the two negative roommates. "I think we should go see him, if for no other reason then to tell him we know he's a fraud and to teach him a lesson."

Robert stood up and held out his hand toward his friend, "I know Franklin. I understand that, you know I do."

The other man shook his head, "I know you do, Bob. That's why you've got to be in favor of calling this guy out. Maybe we can expose him for the fraud he is."

"Right! Andrew said excitedly. "Everyone knows that this place is supposed to be haunted. The rumors about it go back for centuries; we even have our own graveyard on the property. I bet that if a couple of us go to his reading and book signing, show him some pictures of this place, we could get him out here."

Franklin nodded excitedly, "Yeah, that would work. Remember when he did that special about the haunted hotel in New Orleans? He said that he had heard about it when he was there for a book signing and he felt the presence of the house calling to him." Doing finger quotes in the air, he laughed. "I bet if we take some pictures, show him some write ups in the paper about this old place, he'd feel the presence of the house calling him too."

Charles shook his head, "I'm not sure gentleman. I’m not sure this is something or someone we want to be playing with. For all we know he is real and is that someone we want to be inviting into our home?" He glanced at Robert for support, "What do you think? You're usually on my side. Are you sure you want to go through that door?"

Throwing the TV guide at him, Andrew laughed, "He's no more real then I am, Charlie. Lighten up about it, it'll be fun." Than turning to Robert, he smiled, "Come on Bob, you know that Franklin and I are right. This guy is a fraud, they're all frauds. It'll be fun to humiliate him and maybe scare the shit out of him."

Robert nodded slowly, giving a shrug to Charles, "I have to admit that I think it'd be fun. You know how much I hate these kinds of people." He walked over to the bookshelves and began pulling out various scrapbooks. "I'm sure that we've got some sufficiently creepy pictures of the house and enough articles to get him curious."

"So your grand plan," Charles said, crossing his arms and looking between the other three, "is to just show up at his book signing, shove some pictures in his hand and ask him to come over for tea?"

Andrew rolled his eyes, "I don't think we actually have to feed him."

The other man glared at him for a second before turning his attention to Franklin and Robert. "Do you honestly think that'll work?"

Robert paused in his search and turned around, shaking his head slowly, "No, you're probably right. It's too quick, he'll have a schedule to keep and the chances of us getting more then ten seconds to talk to him at the signing are pretty nil."

"Exactly," he confirmed. "If you gentlemen …"

"We," Franklin corrected with a smile. "You live here too Charlie and if you're dead set against it, then we won't do it. This is your house too and you're more a part of this family than Robert and I are."

Charles smiled and bowed his head slightly, "I stand corrected. If we're going to do this, I think we should do it right."

"And what's the right way?" Andrew asked as he moved over near Robert to look through scrapbooks.

"The right way, first of all, is to not deal with this tonight. It's late enough already. We'll tackle this in the morning. We'll pull out some pictures, not too many – we just want to whet his appetite, not give him the whole cow, and some articles. Then we'll write a letter explaining that we live in this house and feel that it might be haunted and invite him and his crew to visit during his trip next week." Charles glanced around and smiled, "Then we overnight it to him and see what happens. I bet we get a call in a few days."

Grabbing one of the old scrapbooks from Andrew's hands, Robert nodded, "I think that sounds like an excellent plan, Charlie." He put the book down on the shelf with a nod, "We'll all be thinking clearer tomorrow and you're right about not wanting to give too much away. Just send him enough to get him interested."

"But," Andrew started, reaching for the book.

Taking his hand, Robert kissed it, "Come on, let's go to bed and I bet I can make you forget all about dusty books and old pictures."

The other man laughed, "I'm betting you can too."

Franklin laughed and shook his head, turning to Charles. "You're right. We've got time and we'll stand more of a chance with this bastard if we take it slow and steady and not rush into anything."

"I think so," he said sincerely. "We make our plan and then execute it." He glanced at Andrew and Robert walking up the stairs together and smiled. "I'm heading to bed too. You're welcome to join me if you want. It sounded as if you're a bit upset about this gentleman."

The other man shrugged, "I guess." He glanced at the floor before continuing, "It's the idea. It's the idea that he has no qualms about preying on people at their weakest. He promises them contact that he can't deliver and he takes advantage of them. Even if he doesn't take money from them, he leaves them open and vulnerable to those who will."

Charles nodded and stepped over, hugging his friend, "I know and I'm sorry." Holding him for a moment longer, he pulled away, "Come to bed with me. It can be a long night when you're alone with only your thoughts and memories. I don't believe that's something you need tonight."

He nodded, silently allowing the other man to lead him upstairs.

"What are you looking at?" Charles said as he walked into the house's kitchen early the next morning.

Andrew looked up from the computer screen and smiled, "I was just getting the mailing address for Prissy Boy and printing off some articles about this house on a couple of those ghost websites."

The other man rolled his eyes, "Those people are such freaks. I still think we should have someone contact a lawyer and demand that the house be taken off their lists."

"Morning Charlie," Robert said as he came in from the living room carrying an armful of scrapbooks. "I thought we might want to spread out in the dining room. There's more room to work and get organized." He glanced around, "Where's Frank?"

Charles glanced behind him and up the stairs and then dropped his voice to an almost whisper, motioning for Robert to lean in closure. "He was still asleep when I left him this morning. He was pretty upset last night and woke up several times with bad dreams."

Watching from the computer, Andrew frowned, "I hate that he's so upset by this."

"I know but I think he'll be OK. We're all hit with bad memories from time to time and, who knows, maybe it'll help him to get back at one of these pseudo-psychics," Charles said with a smile.

Robert nodded, "I think so. I know the idea makes me feel better." He laughed at the idea, "I can't wait to see Prissy Boy squirm."

"Hey, this is a good one," Franklin said with a smile two hours later as he held up an old photograph. "Isn't this the one that's been used on some of those weirdo websites?"

Andrew took the picture and laughed, "Yeah. They swear that there's someone standing in the attic window and that's what that shadow is up there. Like anyone would be up in that nasty attic, it's cold in the winter, sweltering in the summer and is always filled with dust." He passed the picture to Charles, "What do you think?"

The other man nodded, "I think it's a good one, put it in the maybe pile after you mark is so we know what scrapbook it came out of."

Rolling his eyes, Andrew dutifully lightly penciled in a number 3 on the back of the picture before putting it into the small stacks of Maybes.

"This is a good one of you, Franklin," Charles said holding up another photo. "Aren't those supposedly orbs or something floating around you?"

The man laughed, reaching for the photograph of himself, "Yeah, that is good and it shows the graveyard in back." He passed the photo to Robert adding, "You know, I always figured all those little glowing dot things were dust or bugs or something. I wonder what they really are?"

Andrew laughed, looking up from the book he was flipping through, "It's dust, bugs or quirky film."

"So," Charles said as he stacked the six chosen photos together along with several articles printed off the internet and from the local newspaper, "you're going to make copies of these pictures, right? Then overnight it to Prissy Boy."

Standing up straight, Andrew clicked his heels together and saluted. "Yes, sir!" he barked.

"That's a pretty weak salute," Franklin commented with a shake of his head as he stood up from the dining room table. Delivering his own sharp salute, he said, bowing, "Like that."

Andrew, joined by the others, applauded. "Very nice," he said with a smile. Glancing around, he said to the others, "I guess we can all tell who was in the army and who wasn't."

Robert laughed, patting Andrew on the back, "Go on, Andy. Go make the copies and let's get this package in the mail. I'm looking forward to seeing if Prissy Boy takes the bait and we get to have some fun."

"At his expense," Franklin added.

The phone rang in the large house four days later, causing them all to jump and stare at the instrument.

"Get it," Andrew whispered, "it's got to be them."

Walking over, Charles picked up the phone, "Hello."

"Hello, is this the owner of 22 Hillcrest? The White Oaks property?" a female voice said over the line.

He smiled at the group watching him and nodded. "Yes, I'm one of the owners," he said. "Charles Whittson."

"Wonderful, wonderful," she said. "My name is Mary Adams and I'm calling from Patrick Boyce's office and we received your package."

"Great," he said, smiling at his roommates. "So you received our package and hopefully, understand our concern about the house."

"I spoke with Mr. Boyce and several of our researchers and we agree, your home is very interesting. How long have you lived in the house?" she asked.

"I've lived here, on and off, most of my life," he said honestly, hearing her pen scratching on a pad of paper.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Mary repeated. "And the other co-owners of the house are also interested in Mr. Boyce's opinion and study of your home?"

"Yes, we're all great fans of Mr. Boyce's show and would be honored if he'd come and visit our home, maybe help us determine if our home is, indeed, haunted."

Andrew snorted and then jumped as Robert, glaring, whacked him gently across the back of his head.

"Would we be able to film in the house and also the graveyard on the property?" she asked.

Charles smiled, "Of course. You're welcome to film in the entire house and anywhere you want on the property."

"And how many graves would you say are in the graveyard and how old is it?"

"Umm," he paused, thinking, "I'd say close to thirty graves, the oldest from the early 19^th century. It's a multi-generational family cemetery." Glancing at his roommates, he caught Robert and Franklin's grin and grinned back. "Family and close family friends," he corrected.

"Wonderful, wonderful," she said happily. "Now, Mr. Boyce is going to be in Atlanta on Friday the 23^rd. He'd like to tour the property on the 24^th and film during the day and depending on what sort of feelings he gets, maybe come back and film during the night."

He smiled broadly, "That would be great. I look forward to meeting him and showing him around the property."

Mary laughed, "He's amazing and I'm sure he'll be able to open the doors to the other side and shed some light on your home and whatever spirits might be around. I'll confirm with his assistant his schedule and then be back in touch with you on Thursday to confirm his schedule and directions."

"That's perfect," he said with a broad grin. "I look forward to hearing from you and meeting Mr. Boyce." Hanging up the phone a minute later, he turned to his roommates and laughed. "Well, gentlemen, we have guests coming."

The large dark sedan pulled onto the long tree lined driveway and started slowly toward the house. Seeing them from their bedroom window, Andrew called out, "He's here! Prissy Boy is here! It's showtime!" He hurried down the stairs, followed by Robert as Franklin and Charles came out of the living room.

"OK," Charles said calmly, "we've got our plan and we're sticking to it, right?" He glanced around and smiled. "Let's make Prissy Boy wish that he had never gotten into this line of work."

"And never preyed on vulnerable mothers," Franklin added.

"Yeah," Robert added, smiling at his friend.

Charles nodded, "Alright then gentlemen, get into place and I'll show our guest around." Waiting until his roommates had disappeared into their places, he turned around and walked to the front door and onto the large front porch as the car pulled to a stop. "Welcome to White Oaks," he said as a young woman, followed by a familiar older man, slid out of the car and started toward him.

Dressed in black slacks and a black and white sweater, Patrick Boyce looked around the property nodding slowly. Then touching his temples with the tips of his fingers, said in a low voice, "Yes, yes, I can feel the presence of many who are no longer with us yet are unable to cross over to the Otherside. They are unable to find their eternal peace and are restless, trapped in this place."

Mary grinned eagerly at Charles as she walked toward him, hand outstretched. "You must be Charles; it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mary, we spoke on the phone."

Taking her hand, he gently shook it, bowing slightly as he did. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Glancing in the direction of Boyce, he glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow slightly. He whispered, "Should I leave him alone or should I introduce myself?"

She watched her boss randomly roam around the front of the home, glancing up at the dark windows now and then, for a minute before leaning in toward Charles. "When he senses spirits in the area, he goes into an almost trance. I think it's because the spirits know that finally someone has come who can communicate with them and they are all talking at once. I'm sure it's very overwhelming."

"I'm sure," he confirmed with a nod. "I'll just wait until I'm spoken to then. Don't want to interfere with his conversations."

Boyce stopped in front of a large old oak tree standing at the corner of the house and placed his hand on the trunk. "A terrible sadness comes from this tree. This is a spot of great loss, great pain and suffering." As he touched the tree, its branches began to sway and rustle as if in a small wind storm but the morning air was still and the nearby grasses were quiet. "What happened in this spot?" Boyce asked.

The other man opened his mouth and then stopped as Mary placed a hand on his arm.

"He's not asking you," she whispered. "He's asking the spirits to communicate with him. He's found that since the memory of their deaths are often the strongest, spirits find it easy to talk about it sometimes, especially when asked direct questions."

Charles looked at her and then smiled, nodding.

"What happened in this spot?" Boyce repeated, laying both hands gently on the tree's trunk as the branches swayed and rustled more. "Tell me what happened here. What happened to you?" he asked in a low voice as he bowed his head. The tree rustled and swayed for another long moment before he looked up and patted the tree gently. "Thank you," he said simply as he stepped back from the tree and finally seemed to notice his host and assistant.

"Charles Whittson," Charles said, holding out his hand toward the psychic. "It's a pleasure to meet you and I'm sure that you'll find White Oaks very interesting."

Eyeing the other man warily, Boyce took his hand and shook it. "I'm already finding your home interesting. It's a pleasure to meet you." He glanced at the now still tree before turning back to Mary. "Please make a note that we'll want to include the tree in our filming tonight. I sense much energy and several spirits attached to the tree."

"Really?" Charles asked, surprised. "What kind of energy? I have to admit, I've never seen it move like it did when you touched it. We've never had any problems with it before, except for losing the occasional limb now and then."

Boyce nodded, "I had the strong impression of several deaths happening underneath or within that tree. Violent deaths, maybe lynching? How old is this house again?"

The woman spoke up, glancing down at her notes to find the information. "This structure was built in 1853."

"But another house stood on this property that was built in 1804," Charles added. "The foundation and footings are original to the first house. It …"

"No" the other man said, holding up his hand to silence Charles. "Don't tell me any history. I don't want it to influence my impressions. The spirits talk more freely when they sense an open mind, not one that is already cluttered with impressions."

Charles nodded, "OK." Then, gesturing to the house, he added, "Do you want to go in?"

"Or we can go to the graveyard first," Mary said.

"Why don't we go into the house first?" the homeowner countered. "I would think the graveyard could be overwhelming and maybe meet some nicer spirits in the house first."

Boyce laughed, "Spirits are neither nice nor mean as a whole. They are as diverse as people are and often carry the same characteristics as they did when they walked this earth." He glanced again at the house, scanning the windows and nodded. "I think the house will be a good place to start."

Leading the way up the wide steps, Charles opened the door and stepped aside to let the two guests go first.

Mary shivered as a blast of cold air hit them as they crossed the threshold. "Is it always this cold in here?" she whispered.

"The house has thick walls that do help it stay cool in the summer but no, it wasn't this cold when I came out to greet you this morning."

Boyce nodded, looking around the entry way. "Spirits find air temperature easy to control so they often use it as a sign, greeting me, welcoming me to their home. I sense that this is a house that's filled mostly with love and happiness. There is some sadness but it's tempered by a sense of belonging and peace." He jumped and Mary gasped as the piano sitting in the front drawing room suddenly began to play a light hearted cheerful tune.

"It's never done that before," Charles exclaimed, trying to loosen Mary's grip on his arm.

Walking over to the piano that suddenly fell silent, Boyce smiled and said. "Thank you my friend; that was a beautiful tune. I'm glad to know that you are indeed happy in this house." Not taking his eyes off the piano, he said to the other two people. "It's simply a welcome to me, confirming that the happiness and love I feel is right and how this particular spirit feels."

They all jumped again as the piano let out another quick tune before falling silent again.

"Can you tell who the spirit is?" Charles asked quietly.

"I sense that it's a young woman, maybe around 15 or 16 …" he started and then jumped slightly as the piano banged loudly.

Charles laughed, "I'm not sure it agrees with you."

The other man frowned at the instrument. "Maybe the spirit I'm sensing isn't actually the one playing the piano but sitting there listening and her strong energy is overshadowing …" He was cut off as the piano banged loudly again. Glaring at it, he walked over and flipped down the wooden key cover, "It doesn't matter so much who is playing but what's important is that they are speaking to me. Now that they've opened the door, I may be able to help guide them through and onto their eternal peace."

"That would be so wonderful," Mary said softly. Then, turning to Charles, she asked, "Wouldn't it be nice to know that they are finally at peace?"

"Wonderful," he agreed dryly. Walking out of the living room, he glanced back at the piano and grinned.

Boyce had continued into the dining room and stood in the door way, again touching his temples with the tips of his fingers and his head bowed. "I sense several spirits here and much conflict. This room is almost alive with energy. Some of it's good but some of it is of pain and distress. I hear raised voices shouting at each other and … oh my god." Looking up, he watched as the doors to the built in china hutch opened by themselves and a stack of plates floated toward the table and then began to lay themselves out as if someone was setting the table for lunch.

Biting his lip, Charles stifled a laugh as he watched the blood drain from the psychic's face. "Wow," he whispered. "They are really active today. All we usually hear are a few bumps and groans and moans, especially at night."

Next to him Mary watched the scene with her mouth open and gripping the door frame for support.

He turned to Boyce, "Are they speaking to you?"

"Umm…" the other man stammered, eyes fixed on the now moving crystal goblets that had floated two by two toward the table and were now being put in their proper places. "Yes, yes of course they are. They are saying welcome and are trying to make us feel … ummm… at home and that we're invited guests."

"So you know who it is?" he pressed, trying hard not to grin.

"Oh, ummm, yes, of course. I can hear them as clearly as I can hear you." He swallowed hard and stared wide eyed around the room as a large silver box floated peacefully from the lower part of the hutch before coming to rest on the table. He swallowed again and whispered, "It's another woman but an older one this time. She says she was the housekeeper here many many years ago and a young boy is helping. He's …" The rest of his words were cut off as a small butter knife was lifted out of the case and wagged in a shaking finger motion.

Mary gasped and sagged against the doorframe, her clipboard clattering to the hardwood floor of the entry way.

"Hmm, I'm not sure the knife agrees with you any more then the piano did," Charles commented.

Ignoring him, Boyce stared, again fixated on the now fully set table. He sniffed the air, "Does it suddenly smell like bread to you?"

Charles sniffed the air, "No, I don't smell anything."

"I do," Mary said quietly. "It smells like hot fresh bread." She gave a choked scream as the butter knife moved from its position in mid-air and gently tapped one of the crystal goblets making a pleasant ringing noise. The sound of running feet could be heard coming from the kitchen as the door swung open. A second later, the chairs at the table all slid, pulled by unseen dinner guests ready to eat.

Boyce stumbled backwards, bumping into Charles and brushing past Mary into the entry hall. His wide eyes stared into the now silent dining room and his mouth gaped open.

The other man leaned closer, "You know, I think you'd really want to get that on tape tonight too. It was a bit more interesting than the tree or even the piano." He smiled at the man, "Do you want to go upstairs now?"

"Mr. Boyce," Mary said, "I really think that we have a good idea of the house and that's all you need to send the film crew here tonight. There's no need to go upstairs. Please." She glanced up the stairs as a small thumping noise could be heard from down the steps. Backing away slowly, her eyes riveted on the steps, she gasped as an old croquet ball bounced down.

Boyce shook his head, "No, no, you're right Mary. There's no need to go upstairs." Looking at the now still ball, he swallowed hard again and glanced at Charles.

The other man shrugged, reaching down to pick up the ball. "I don't know, we've never had this much activity before. Like I said, it's usually nice and quiet here. A few bumps and moans at night, sometimes a cry but it's pretty quiet." He smiled and held out the ball, "Do you want to look at it? Maybe you can tell who was playing with it last?"

Tentatively reaching out, the psychic touched the ball and closed his eyes. "A small boy," he said softly.

"Another one or the same one from the dining room?" Charles asked helpfully.

"A different child. This is one of the owner's sons, not a servant like the boy in the dining room. He's happy and likes to play," Boyce said, his voice growing stronger as nothing happened. Opening his eyes and glancing around the room, he relaxed slightly as the air remained still and the house quiet. "Yes, yes," he said, "that's who this ball belongs to."

Charles smiled, putting the ball on the entry way table, "Looks like that one was right." Opening the front door, he held it for his guests. "Since you're here and seem to have gotten the ball at least right, we should walk down to the graveyard. Since you said he was an owner's son, I'm sure he'll be buried there. The same maybe with the girl at the piano, I'm sure we can find her too."

Forcing a smile, Boyce nodded. "That's an excellent idea, lead the way. Mary," he said, turning toward his very pale assistant. "If we are able to find their graves, maybe you and Mr. Whittson can go back to the house and see if you can find pictures that we can use."

The young woman glared at his back as they walked toward the side of the house and a wrought iron fence in the distance, "I'm not sure if my schedule permits me to do that. Maybe Mr. Whittson can find the pictures and I'll be happy to drive back out here and pick them up."

Charles glanced back at her, "Sure, I'd be happy to. Once we know the names, I'm sure I can find pictures or drawings of anyone you wish."

"No," Boyce said, his confidence back in full force, "that's silly for you to drive back and forth like that, Mary. Why don't you just call Edwards to come pick me up and then you can continue doing research here until we return with the film crew tonight."

Mary stopped and stared at him. "I'll call him now and see if he’s available. You both go ahead and I'll join you … if I have a chance."

A minute later, Charles swung open the gate leading to the family cemetery. "It works from left to right, those over there," he said pointing to the far left, "are the oldest and the original owners of the property. The original owner, Charles, came from England. He was a third son and there was nothing for him in England except for a life as a priest and that wasn't him. So he came here, built the original house and got married and did very well for himself. He died of smallpox when he was 26 but had already gotten married and had two sons."

Boyce nodded, glancing around, "You seem very up on your family history and it looks like you keep the cemetery in good shape."

"My roommates and I do," he said. "What age do you think the piano girl and ball boy were from?"

The psychic thought for a moment, "The girl I believe was from the turn of the century and the boy was younger, maybe mid 1800's."

Charles nodded, "Well, let's start with the boy and work our way to the right." He pointed toward a simple white stone cross toward the back. "That stone cross is from the early 1860s, the War, why don't we start there?"

Striding forward, Boyce glanced at the graves as he passed until he stopped in front of the stone cross. "Jonathan Whittson Parkins," he read out loud and glanced at Charles.

"I told you, family graveyard."

"It really should read Franklin Edward Tafone," a voice said as a figure slowly appeared sitting on a nearby gravestone.

Boyce stumbled back, staring at the new figure.

"Jon and I got mixed up somewhere," Franklin continued with a laugh and shrug and he slid off and stood up. "You know, the hazy fog of battle and all that. I'm not sure if he was shipped to my home in Alabama or what but this is where they shipped me, under his name. No one was opening the coffin of course and it's a nice place and Charles is nice so I just stayed." He walked up to the stunned psychic and took his arm. "We have some other friends that you might like to meet in person. Now, please don't judge them by their actions in the house, they're good boys."

The other man glanced, stunned, at Charles and swallowed, growing paler as the host smiled back at him. "Why are you doing this?" his croaked out.

"Oh, well," Franklin said easily. "We watch your show and you seem so eager to talk to us, we figured that we'd make it easy for you."

Boyce gasped and stumbled as another figure appeared sitting on another gravestone.

Robert slid off and held out his hand to shake, which the other man took numbly. He nodded toward the stone he was sitting on. "Hi, that's me. Robert Alan Hale. 1898 to 1917. You'll notice that I'm not a Whittson or Parkins because I'm not a family member. I was here for the holidays with a school friend," he nodded toward another grave, "caught pneumonia and died. It was winter, the roads were bad and my parents were traveling, trapped in Europe because of the war. By the time they came back, they visited a couple of times but it was easier to leave me here instead of shipping me home to Philadelphia."

Charles came over and slapped Robert on the back with a laugh, "But when he met Franklin and me, he decided to hang around with us and has become as much a part of the family as Frank is."

Franklin laughed, "I've even forgiven him for being a damn Yankee."

The other ghost laughed, "I've told you Frank, I'm a first generation. My father came over in 1880, I promise, no one that's related to me fought you. No chance of my grandfather having killed you."

Boyce sagged against a tall monolith and stared at the three men. "I'm insane," he muttered to himself.

"What's wrong Patrick?" Franklin said staring at the man. "You're the one who says you talk to ghosts all the time. This should be old hat for you."

"Hey," Andrew said suddenly appearing. "Don't I get a turn? I thought we had this all worked out? You know, nice slow tension building walk ending at my grave?"

Robert smiled at his lover, "Sorry, got a little off track." He nodded in Boyce's direction, "Say Hi."

Andrew grinned at the man and held out his hand, "Hi, Andrew Perkins, 1899 to 1917. Robert and I were friends and he was here visiting me when he died."

Charles snapped his fingers, looking between Boyce and Andrew, "Hey, it just dawned on me that Patrick actually got one thing right."

The psychic looked up, too stunned to speak.

Laughing, Andrew nodded and grinned at the man, "He's right. You did. Remember when you walked up to the big oak tree at the front of the house?"

Boyce nodded numbly.

"You were right, it was the cause of at least one death. Mine." He grinned and laughed, "I was cutting down a limb for my mother the summer after Robert died. I had climbed up but then accidentally dropped my saw to the ground so I went down to get it and the limb I had been cutting snapped and hit me on the head." He snapped his fingers and shrugged, "And that's all she wrote."

Swallowing hard, Boyce struggled to his feet and looked around. "So why did you bring me here? Just to say Hi?"

Franklin moved in and glared angrily at him. "No, not just to say Hi."

Charles stepped forward and placed a hand on his friend's arm and looked at Boyce. "What you're doing is wrong. You don't talk to spirits, you're not giving people messages from loved ones and we all know it."

The psychic swallowed again. "I'm not hurting anyone," he said defensively.

"You don't know that," Robert shot back, moving forward to stand next to Franklin. "You might not be taking their money but you're selling them books, they're watching your shows …"

"You're making them vulnerable to people who might actually want to take their money," Franklin said, interrupting. "Do you know how much money my mother lost because of people like you? People who swore they could contact me and pass along messages? And they could do all of it for only a little bit more money. I wasn't strong enough then to do anything to prevent it or stop them but I've been dead for 150 years and I'm much stronger now."

"People like you caused my father to overdose because he couldn't hear my voice as plainly as they all claimed to and he thought that drugs and alcohol would help. He lost his job, he squandered all his money leaving my mother penniless when he died and all because of people like you," Robert said. "When you die, you're not powerful enough to appear or make yourself heard so you're trapped just watching people like you prey on the weak."

Andrew came up around the other side of Boyce and said in a low voice, "You say you're not hurting anyone but you are and you don't care. You don't mind lying to grieving parents and children and spouses, do you?"

"I just tell them what they want to hear," Boyce protested, his back pressed against the hard stone of the monolith. "I don't tell them what to believe or guarantee that anything is for real."

"Well," Charles said calmly, "we're telling you what to believe and what's real now. We're real and believe me when I say that we'll be keeping an eye on you from now on. All those stories about ghosts being tied to one place? It's a lie. We can travel wherever we want, whenever we want and if we don't hear about your retirement within a week, we'll come visit you and you don't want that." He glanced around, "Traveling makes us all cranky. Believe it and you do have our guarantee."

"Do we make ourselves clear?" Robert asked softly.

Boyce nodded weakly.

"Great!" Andrew said cheerfully, reaching over and patting him on his shoulder, causing the psychic to wince and cringe at the touch, letting out a low moan. "It was great talking to you and I'm glad you understand our position." He turned to his friends, "I'm hungry. Anyone else?"

Robert laughed and nodded, "Let's go get something to eat. The table's all set."

Charles laughed and turned and followed his friends back toward the house.

Leaning in close to the shaking man, Franklin said softly, "Boo!"

Boyce moaned as he crumpled into a ball on the ground, his bladder finally giving into his fear.

The End