Natalie stared at the ornate dollhouse on the floor across from her bed. She remembered when her grandmother gave it to her forever ago. She didn’t ask for it, and the dolls were creepy looking. Even her My Little Ponies didn’t like to use that house – or at least she pretended they didn’t when she used to play with her My Little Ponies. A brief smile of memory fought its way to her face. Then She sighed. What eighth grader still had a doll house? “Not this one,” she said aloud.  She got up and headed to the garage where she raided the packing stuff for bubble wrap, a couple of folded cardboard boxes, and packing tape. Back in her room, she spent the better part of the morning wrapping the house with the dolls inside it, and constructing an elaborate carboard sarcophagus around the two-story house with the boxes, expending most of the roll of packing tape to keep it all firmly in place.

Her mom ducked her head in at one point when Natalie was securing a cardboard flap across the second-floor dormer windows. “What are you doing?”

Natalie sighed dramatically and said, “Eighth graders don’t have doll houses, mom.”

Her mom raised her eyebrows but left without saying a word.

Covering it had been a frustratingly long process, but getting it out of the room and down the stairs proved to be another thing entirely. Too heavy and awkwardly large, she pushed it across the carpet in her room until she reached the hardwood floor of the hallway where she slid it onto a runner and dragged that across the hardwood floor until the stairs. From there she descended the stairs backwards, ahead of the mummy-wrapped dollhouse as she guided it down the steps. She stole her brother’s skateboard for the journey from the bottom of the stairs to the garage, and in the garage, she guided it to a corner. She’d ask her dad for a better place for it when he got back from golf.

Back in her room she climbed back into bed to admire the empty corner of the room. The dollhouse had occupied that spot for so many years, the empty spot seemed glaring. But, she told herself, a good glaring. An eighth-grade glaring – and that was just fine.

* * *

Natalie woke with a start. She heard a noise, or thought she did, but when she listened she couldn’t hear anything. She reached over to turn on the light, but her arm was stuck. She tried her other arm, but it, too was held fast. She tried to move her legs, but she couldn’t budge them. The light she had intended to turn on switched on by itself. She looked over and saw the figure of the boy doll from the dollhouse on the night stand beneath the lamp switch. He stared back at her and she watched him walk from the nightstand, leap gracefully to the bed, and move to a thin cord that she now could see ran from the side of the bed and over her to the other side. He plucked the taught cord and it hummed like a guitar string. She felt pressure on her body and looked down to see the mother and daughter securing a cord around her leg.

She started to freak out and opened her mouth to scream, but as soon as she opened her mouth something was jammed into it – a sock? Eww. She frantically looked around and saw the father doll just to the right of her shoulder – he must have been the one to jam the sock in her mouth. He climbed up her shoulder like a mountaineer, and then walked over and stood on her clavicle with his arms folded across his chest. The other dolls – the mother, the sister and her brother, even the grandmother scrambled up onto her torso and stood behind him. The father doll shook its head and pointed to the empty corner where the dollhouse had been.

* * *

Natalie’s mom poked her head in her daughter’s room and saw her carefully removing the bubblewrap from around the dollhouse, surrounded by pieces of cardboard and tape. “I thought eighth graders don’t have dollhouses.”

“This one does,” Natalie said.

The first part of this story is here.

After the extraordinary display of paranormal excitement in the hills above Napa Valley Judy and Autumn reported a notable decrease in activity overall around the grounds. Maybe the energy played itself out, maybe it’s recharging, time will tell. It certainly wasn’t something any of us will ever forget. Unfortunately for me, I might have brought something unexpected back from Ravens Springs.

As you might expect, no one slept much once we retired to the solace of Judy and Autumn’s home. Just before dawn, with sleep still eluding me, I decided to go outside again – not far, mind you, but just to see how the energy of the place was facing the imminent dawn. Venus stirred as I made my way across the living room and stretched to join me.

We agreed the entity that had passed through the office had continued through and the airy feeling the place had before had been restored. Just outside the door, too, the atmosphere was tranquil, the first song birds beginning their prelude to the dawn. Which was one of the reasons the “caw!” from an enormous raven perched on the roof rail of my Subaru startled us. As we laughed at ourselves it cawed again, folding open its massive wings. I’ve encountered my share of ravens, but this bird’s wingspan stretched six feet. We laughed nervously in the pre-dawn when the rapid fluttering of black wings around my head caught me utterly off guard. I beat my hands around my head to shoo whatever it was away – my first thought was a bat. Venus said she didn’t see anything fluttering around my head. A moment later it was gone as quickly as it came, but a splitting headache pierced my forehead. I chalked it up at the time to no sleep and lack of caffeine, and Venus and I left the giant bird to rectify the latter in the kitchen downstairs.

When the sun rose high enough to warm the place again Larry headed up to the cemetery and knoll to retrieve his recording devices. Soon we bid our hosts adieu and agreed amongst ourselves to meet the following evening after we’d had a chance to review our experiences and equipment. Following Jeff, Larry, and Venus down the drive to the main row I slammed on my brakes as the giant raven dove at my windshield pulling up just before impact. I caught my breath and continued, but could see the huge black bird in my rearview mirror seemingly following me. At the base of the hill, Jeff paused and pulled in after a wine bus. I paused a moment and looked back to see the raven perched – appropriately – on the wrought iron gate proclaiming “Ravens Springs”. A stretched Hummer limo sped by and I put my foot down and hurriedly put some distance between me and that bird.

Once home I was eager to take a shower and a nap, but neither came easy. I had barely had time to shampoo my hair when the bathroom door slammed violently. I threw open the shower curtain, but the bathroom was empty. Turning off the water and grabbing my towel I checked the house, picking up my chef’s knife from the kitchen before continuing my survey. The front door remained locked, as was the back door and the windows. My cat, Edgar, slept peacefully on my bed. Cautiously (and with the knife still in hand) I returned to the bathroom to find the shower running again, curtain pulled closed. Knife at the ready I pulled back to reveal the shower empty. Behind me the door slammed closed on its own again. Nerves frayed, I left the bathroom door closed and locked it, set my knife on the sink and mercifully enjoyed my shower.

Taking a note from the bathroom, I closed the bedroom door before drawing the blinds against the afternoon light, so I could get a little rest. I fell into a dream nearly as soon as my eyes closed – highly unusual for me for a nap. I was back at Ravens Springs but up on the knoll in front of the house that burned in the fire. I turned around and immediately saw the pools had a simple awning over them, not the complex of buildings. And further to the west I saw the boys’ cabins – shacks, really.  Turning back, the front door had opened of its own volition. I walked inside. From somewhere deeper in the house I heard a child crying.  I tried to follow the sound as I walked the hallways which were twisted and tilted by dream logic – at one point I walked on the wall which had canted over nearly horizontal. Turning down another corridor the floor (and it was the floor again) was an inch deep in red liquid. Squatting down for a better look I was relieved to see it was red wine, but slogging through it barefoot made for slow going. Another corner and this hallway stabilized, the crying seemed to come from the room at the end of the hallway, the cries growing more frantic. I ran down the hallway which kept growing longer because of course it would. I finally reached the room, turned the knob and threw open the door. Looming in front of me stood an imposing bear of a man, a full head taller than me. He scowled through a bushy black full beard and mustache. He arched an eyebrow in recognition and then reached out one huge hand towards my face placing his fingers on my forehead. No, he pressed his fingers into my head, the pain from my headache doubling into agony. The huge man started laughing at my pain as I tried to pull back but I couldn’t move and he laughed harder, his peals of laughter deafening. Then the laughing and throbbing pain split by a sharp tearing and I opened my eyes in my bed. Edgar sat on my chest, paw raised with claws extended for another swipe. Breathing heavily, I felt my face and came away with a drop of blood from Edgar’s first swipe. I tried to calm myself and reached up with my other hand to pet him and said, “Good kitty,” as he started to purr.

The headache had gone, and the scratch barely drew blood, the sting fading almost immediately. Focus eluded me for the rest of the afternoon. Edgar wouldn’t leave my side, eschewing his food and treats, and repeatedly jumping on my lap until I gave in and let him stay. Jeff called a little later saying we needed to meet sooner than later. I asked if he wanted the whole gang there and he said he did.

We met up at Hopmonk off the square taking a quiet table in the back, the Saturday dinner crowd having not yet arrived. Venus saw me first and waved me over. Jeff was swiping through images some streaked with glowing orbs and slashes of light and the next in a sequence perfectly dimly lit images of the grounds. Before I had a chance to ask Larry what was going on the waiter arrived. He’d already taken their drink orders, but Larry told him I needed “Something very strong.” I gave him a puzzled look and he just nodded. I ordered a Vesper Martini and when the waiter left I asked what was so urgent.

He handed me a pair of headphones. I put them on, Larry tapped play, and the color drained from my face and I felt ice in my veins. There was the sound of wind at first, then a sound rising and rising and rising until it distorted – it was the man from my dream laughing. The recording cut off and I looked up to see Venus, Jeff, and Larry all staring at me concerned. “Where was this recorded?!” I asked, the words coming out a little more loudly than I had intended. Larry indicated that device had been on the knoll where the house once stood. I pressed my face into my hands and then said, “I heard that voice in my dream today.” I didn’t eat much, but drank a lot. Jeff and Venus took me home and offered to stay with me overnight. Normally I’d protest, but I couldn’t agree fast enough.

Back at my house, they helped my inebriated self into bed and closed the door. Before I drifted into the swimming darkness I could hear them talking in the kitchen their indistinct voices life warm breezes. I woke up with a start sometime later to Edgar on my chest facing the foot of the bed in a full spitting hiss, back arched, hair on end. I followed his gaze and saw a black smoky figure sitting on the edge of my bed. I tried to move found I was paralyzed. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Sensing I was awake, the figure moved a hazy arm towards my body. Edgar launched a quick swipe causing the figure to recoil. Edgar followed it up with a loud hissing yowl. His vocalizations were loud enough to get the attention of Jeff and Venus and I heard them calling for me from outside the bedroom. I tried to call back, but I still couldn’t move. Again, the man tried to reach in to touch me and again Edgar held him at bay with a sharp swipe and yowl. The door knob rattled but the door wouldn’t budge – I don’t have a lock on my bedroom door. The man reached in with both arms, Edgar swatting at one, but I watched helplessly as the other black smoky arm closed towards my face, the hazy fingers firming into tendrils drifting towards my forehead.

The door flew open with a crash as Jeff launched himself at it. Venus stepped into the room, gasped and then demanded, “GET OUT!” Her words weren’t just noise, but carried with them a wind-like psychic power that struck the smoky figure, dispelling the dark cloud, and breaking my paralysis. I could move again, but all I could do was sob.

We all three slept in my king-sized bed, Edgar on my chest, door propped open with a chair and every light in the house on full brightness. When the morning came, whatever had followed me down from Ravens Springs had gone and my house felt like my own again. I met with Judy and Autumn a few weeks later in St. Helena – I didn’t feel like venturing up there again so soon — and shared with them the evidence Larry had collected and the impressions that Jeff and Venus had written up. They told me about the decrease in activity, and that they’d invited a number of spiritual people up to bless the grounds – a Native American medicine man, a priest, a rabbi, a Taoist monk, an imam… they weren’t taking any chances. I was grateful to hear that a modicum of peace had come to Ravens Springs. All the same, I’m eagerly awaiting Harbin Hot springs to reopen.

The flight back from Seattle to San Francisco doesn’t take long, but sometimes it can be just long enough to be truly intriguing. Such was the flight I took a few months ago. Making small talk with my seat mate we turned to talking about our occupations, as it often does. And as it frequently happens when I mentioned I write about the paranormal his eyebrows raised considerably. I added my usual disclaimer that I just write about the paranormal, which tends to placate non-believers and keeps people from asking if I could contact their lost Aunt Ellen (“No,” I say, “I leave that to the psychics”). But this gentleman didn’t subscribe to either extreme, but he did tell me about a place that piqued my interest.

He asked if I’d heard of Harbin Hot Springs out by Middletown near Napa Valley. I indicated I had, of course, and then asked if I’d heard of Ravens Springs. My puzzlement clearly showed and he went on to say it’s separated from Harbin by a ridge and a lot of history, but the folks who had purchased Raven Springs only a few years ago were trying to pitch it as a hot springs destination on par but less crowded than Harbin. Oh, and it’s very, very haunted. When I asked for specifics, he shook his head and scribbled a name and number onto a business card. “Call Judy and check it out. You won’t be disappointed.”

So I did just that. Before Judy Dearing and her wife Autumn purchased the property, it had fallen into a state of utter disrepair. Over the phone she painted a picture of the dilapidated grounds as a collection of half burned-out buildings and barns with only the bones of their house and the pools mostly intact when they took ownership. When I drove up there on a stunning day in October the work these two women had put into the property became immediately evident. All traces of the derelict buildings were razed and in their place stood a rustic collection of low-slung buildings that housed meeting facilities, changing rooms, and maintenance equipment surrounding four natural hot springs of varying temperatures.

The grounds felt serene as I wandered in the midday warmth. As the sunlight filtered through majestic coast live oaks, I found it difficult to imagine this place ever feeling foreboding. I found Judy at their residence/office just aside from the pools complex. Where the buildings of the pools complex managed to straddle the line between rustic and organic, Judy and Autumn’s house embodied the word “quirky”. Not much of the original structure remained visible, and Autumn explained they had used salvageable elements from the other buildings to build out what had originally been a fairly small two story house. Built onto a sloping hill, the couple used the floor level with the pool complex as their business offices and their rooms, kitchen, dining room, and family room lay down a flight of salvaged oak stairs. Descending from the airy office floor to their living room felt much like walking down the stairs leading into a hot spring – the energy of their home felt welcoming and cozy; I didn’t realize how neutral the first floor felt until I immersed myself in their living space as I walked down the ancient wooden steps that were as firm as iron.

Given how comfortable their house is, it’s understandable my reticence to move from the deep leather couch. But when Judy offered to show me the old cemetery… come on. That’s what I live for. We walked through the pool complex, Judy greeting the bathing and reclining guests in varying states of nudity by name. Then we emerged from the back and made our way up a set of steps cut into the rising hillside until we reached a plateau set above and back from the pool complex. A derelict low stone wall bordered a collection of grave stones set into the somewhat overgrown ground. The chill, heavy energy within the stone wall of the cemetery couldn’t have contrasted more with the laid back, peaceful energy of the pool complex, and at once blotted out the welcoming memory of Judy and Autumn’s house. The sun had started setting behind the steep hill behind the cemetery to the north and the encroaching fall chill didn’t help. Judy led me through the blackened stone grave markers, explaining that a wildfire swept through this area some fifty years ago. We walked to a rounded knoll just east and above the stone cemetery border. Only the sunken foundation-lines remained of the three-story farmhouse that originally stood on the spot. Looking south from that vantage, the land dropped away precipitously, the Napa Valley spread out in the gathering evening. I asked why Judy and Autumn had decided to live down below, pointing to their house peeking out from the edge of the pool complex. Judy hugged herself in the gathering chill and said, “It just doesn’t feel right up here.” I knew exactly what she meant, and was grateful as we made our way back down and around the cemetery and back down the earthen steps and back into the pool complex.

Our timing was perfect, as we got back to the parking lot just as my friends Jeff, Larry, and Venus pulled in. Jeff and Venus are both experienced psychics and Larry specializes in recording haunted locations through photography and recording Electronic Voice Phenomenon (EVP). We all gathered on the back deck of Judy and Autumn’s home for a delicious vegan dinner Autumn had prepared as we watched the night spread out over the valley in the distance. Justin, the manager of the pools complex, came out onto the deck to let Judy know he’d locked up and was leaving for the night. He asked if we wanted the lights left on to enjoy the pools after dinner. Judy thanked him and explained that, no, we weren’t here for the pools. He eyed us nervously and said he’d close the gate at the bottom of the road leading to the parking lot on his way down.

Shortly after he left we adjourned to the upper office, the great oak conference table serving as our base camp. Jeff strapped on three DSLR cameras and resembled a well-prepared wedding photographer. He grabbed his bag of portable recording equipment and a flashlight and headed out with Jeff, who took a camera of his own around his neck like an eager tourist. Aside from the wildfire and tour of the physical structure of the property, I deliberately didn’t want Autumn or Judy to give me any details about the history of the place. Arriving after me, Jeff, Larry, and Venus knew even less than I did.

Venus’ smile faded quickly after Jeff and Larry left. I asked if she was alright and she said with a laugh that she wanted to go back down to Judy and Autumn’s living area. She closed her eyes and said she felt as if the property had just awakened. She likened it the opposite of the dawn: “when the sun peaks above the horizon and offers warmth and light and people and animals feel it’s safe to come out of their homes. This,” she shuddered, “is the opposite. The property is awake and on the prowl, but we shouldn’t be.”  As she talked I could see streaks of light dancing around the other-wise black windows.

Meanwhile, Jeff had led Larry out past the pools complex, making a beeline for the earthen stairs and up to the cemetery wall. Jeff started coughing when he crossed the open rusted gate set into the wall. He explained it was like getting hit by an overpowering psychic stench and he couldn’t catch his literal breath. He took a step outside the cemetery boundary and steadied himself as Larry’s flashlight moved among the black tombstones as he sought a place to set up a recorder. Jeff recovered enough to shoot some low-speed, high-aperture shots of Larry in the cemetery.  Larry, too, started snapping pictures with his cameras as soon as he stood up from placing a device at the base of a stone marker. Jeff, unsure about crossing back into the cemetery, waited for Larry to come back out. To the east of the cemetery a second story window on the knoll above cemetery winked on. While Larry was immediately eager to check it out, Jeff expressed a grave foreboding. Larry convinced him, saying he’d take the lead.

Back in the office, Venus had entered a trance state, eyes closed, her hands flat on the oak table top, her head lolled forward with her chin on her chest. “The fire,” she started, “was a cleanse.” I traded a look across the table with Judy.

“Venus? Can you expand on that?”

She remained still for a moment, then started to sob quietly. “So much pain…” she squeaked between sobs.

“Pain?”

“The Turners are… terrible,” she shuddered.

“Turner is the name of the family that settled this property originally,” Judy said quietly across the table to me. “They started this place as a rehabilitation facility for young offenders…”

“Slave labor!” Venus exclaimed. “Worked those boys… to death. What? I hear you,” she said to an unseen entity. The video camera Larry had started rolling before he left would later show an unexplained glowing orb floating behind, above, and over Venus as she spoke. Visually we saw nothing as she said, “Where are you buried?” a moment passed. “How many?” Her body wracked with a sob. “How many are still here? That many?” She reached out her hand suddenly, “Wait! You don’t have to go! Hide? From who?” Venus opened her eyes and looked directly at me, “He’s coming.”

Larry outpaced Jeff, who had by this time started to feel completely out of breath and had to hold onto the stone wall to steady himself. Jeff watched as Larry climbed the slope to the knoll. The upstairs light they had both seen faded out to nothing as Larry approached. Jeff raised his camera and took pictures as Larry kneeled on the knoll to place a recording device. One image Jeff took still chills my blood. In the grainy picture, the figure of Larry kneels over a bright box. Looming over him in the picture is an enormous black shadow with what look like filmy claw-like appendages reaching down to Larry. Immediately after he snapped the picture Larry stood and started down from the knoll at a dead sprint. Larry is a big guy not prone to either running or fear, but Jeff said when Larry reached him his face was bone white. “I was adjusting the stereo mics and it felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me,” Larry recalled. “I hit record and bolted.”

In the office, we asked Venus who was coming? She explained she had been in contact with many boys ranging from about five to seventeen years old. They all wanted to talk about the hell the Turners put them through, explaining they were stacked in drafty bunkhouses, two and three to a bed and forced to work from sun up to sun down clearing the land for the Turner’s orchards, gardens, and mine. They were, as Judy had suggested, juvenile offenders and the county had sent them up to the Turner’s as punishment, but only later the county inquired about the exceptionally high death rate. Tears running down her face, Venus recounted how the boys were beaten, whipped, and sexually assaulted for the slightest infraction – real or imagined. As to who the “He” was that snapped Venus out of her trance? Apparently, the ghost of Joseph Turner was coming, and he was pissed.

When the three thunderous impacts rattled the office, it didn’t take Venus to tell us Joseph had made his appearance. Autumn raced up the stairs from the living area, dish towel in her hand, looking for the source of the noise. “Sit down and don’t move!” Venus hissed in a whisper. Autumn looked at me and then at Judy. We both nodded vigorously, and Autumn hurriedly took a seat next to Judy who pulled her close. “Don’t. Move.” Venus said quietly, enunciating each word. The lights overhead dimmed, though they didn’t look to lose their intensity as much as the light was being blotted out. Through the far window I could see small glowing orbs and pricks of light dancing like fireflies. As the light further dimmed, I felt a physical pressure pushing down on me, cold and oppressive. Venus stared up at the darkness passing slowly, menacingly through the room. Judy held Autumn. I sat as still as I possibly could, not so much as moving my head but instead just swiveling my eyes to take in the room. In the video the thuds are clearly heard, as is Autumn pounding up the stairs and the ambient light dimming, but the video inexplicably blacked out at that point and remained so for the next five minutes when, equally inexplicably, started recording the room again, Venus panting to catch her held-breath, me rubbing my face in my hands, Judy and Autumn in a life-affirming embrace.

Jeff and Larry had descended to the pool complex, and made their way along the western perimeter when Jeff froze and grabbed Larry’s shoulder and pulled him against the trunk of a high broadleaf maple. He held his finger to his lips and pointed to the mirrorless camera slung on Larry’s right side. Larry nodded in understanding – lacking a mirror and with an electronic shutter, that camera could shoot completely silently. Lifting the camera, Larry looked at Jeff for guidance. Jeff pointed ahead towards the front of the pool complex and then moved his fingers to indicate something walking. Larry saw nothing, but started snapping pictures of the darkness ahead of him.

In the pictures, the dark outline of the buildings frame the left side of the shot. Emerging from around the building a glowing outline surrounding a completely black void moves from left to right in the sequential shots, moving across the frame until it disappears again off the right edge of the picture.

After a few moments, Jeff anxiously tapped Larry’s shoulder and the two fled east, entering the pool complex from the back, moving along the steaming pools and finally exited the front and ran for the office.

While we were all relieved that Larry and Jeff were okay, their abrupt entrance caused us all to jump in startled surprise. They crowded in around the table and we all began filling each other in. After a few minutes of harried conversation, Autumn stood up from the table and held stock still. “Who smells smoke?”

As soon as she spoke the word everyone noticed and nodded. Then we heard the crackling and roaring. The windows of the office glowed with the oncoming wildfire. We all bolted for the door and froze just outside. Racing down the hill behind the pool complex and above the cemetery, a raging fire advanced unnaturally smoothly, like a wave along a shoreline. But instead of the fiery reds and oranges this fire shone blue and silver and emitted no heat. We all six stood spellbound as the silvery-blue fire seemingly-flowed down the hillside, its light illuminating a black house on the knoll we all knew no longer stood on that hill. The fire crested over it, consuming it and the cemetery, and the silhouetted outbuildings to the west that had also long-ago ceased to be there. The fire split as it coursed around the pool complex and it dimmed and finally died completely as it reached just in front of us. The spectral flames faded out and we all stared out on the dark grounds of the pool complex and beyond. No cricket chirped. No owl hooted. We stood rooted for long minutes before we slowly, and carefully retreated inside, bypassing the table, and started down the stairs to the sanctuary of Judy and Autumn’s home.