Gavin and I walked into the parlor. This time, feeling a little braver and more prepared, I closed my eyes to get a feel for the environment-and shuddered as a searing pain shot through my head. What was I thinking? Empathic abilities and murders don't mix. I grabbed the left side of my head. It felt like my head was splitting open.

"This is horrendous. Maureen, I'm so glad I don't feel their pain like you do," Gavin said, as he picked up the 5x7 picture frame from the side table.

I walked up beside him, peering over his shoulder at the gruesome sight of Andrew Jackson Borden, Lizzie's father, his body slumped to the side of a Queen Annestyle couch. Blood and gore spilled out of his head, splattered on the wallpaper. "Gross."

"Oh my, would you look at this?" Gavin pointed from the picture to the green velvet couch we walked past as we entered the room. "Lee Ann, is this the original couch that Mr. Borden was murdered on?" he called, his voice loud enough to carry into the next room.

Lee Ann leaned into the parlor. "No. It's an amazing copy though, isn't it? Actually, I spotted the frame on eBay, bought it, then had a local guy do the reupholstering." Stepping into the parlor, she leaned over and lightly caressed the couch. "He did a great job, don't you think?"

The throbbing finally lessening, I replied, "I'd say." It was true; the replica was nearly identical. In fact, the more I looked around the room, then back at the photograph, the more I noticed how meticulously the home had been restored. The flowered wallpaper. The heavy, velvet drapes. "Wow, Lee Ann. Did you do all the restorations yourself?" I asked.

"Pretty much. I've tried to capture the authenticity of the place. You know, to give our guests a genuine, unique experience."

I thought about all of the people who were clamoring to spend the night in the Borden home and shuddered.

As we walked into another sitting room, I found that although I felt some energy, it wasn't nearly as strong as in the parlor. That had me thinking. "Gavin, what is your impression of the area where Mr. Borden was murdered? To me, it feels like his energy is nothing more than a memory. It's residual. More like a horrific imprint of his murder than an actual haunting."

Gavin nodded. "Yeah. I don't think Mr. Borden is still haunting this house."

Ditto, I thought, as I listened to the sound of gear clanging off the dining room table. While Ron Jr., along with Ron and Jim, our new EVP specialist, continued setting up base camp in the adjoining room, Gavin, Laura, our photographer, and I amused ourselves with the array of period clothing hanging in the front hallway. Finally, getting antsy, we headed for the stairs to venture onto the second floor.

"What are you doing?" The screech of Ron's voice stopped us short.

"What? We're getting bored. I mean, really, Ron, it's already after seven-thirty."

"Byron and Pippa from Haunted Devon aren't even here yet. And we're not starting without them-after all they are my guests."

"Fine." This was getting ridiculous. Gavin and I were eager to explore.

No sooner had we retraced our steps back down the stairs than a knock resounded at the front door. Relieved, I smiled at Byron, the UK investigator, and Pippa, his girlfriend, a news reporter for the BBC. It was great to meet them since I had only seen them on our Halloween videocast, a live Internet video broadcast shown on Halloween with three ghosthunting groups-the New England Ghost Project, Haunted Devon (UK), and Haunted Australia-conducting simultaneous investigations in three different countries.

After a quick swapping of pleasantries, we walked into the parlor and began our investigation. Ron spoke into the microphone. "We're in the parlor where, supposedly, Mr. Borden was murdered."

Ron Jr. bellowed, "What do you mean 'supposedly'? This was the murder room."

"And how do we know that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, genius, maybe the evidence photo sitting over there might be a hint."

The sound of laughter broke the growing tension in the room.

Then Ron continued. "Gavin, what are your impressions of this room?"

Gavin pointed toward the kitchen. "Whoever did this came in through that door, and to me, I've got to say, it feels like a male energy doing this killing. But upstairs, that might be different. This one was killed first, the other one, later."

"What about you Maureen?"

"Truthfully, I felt how he died, more than anything."

Without saying a word, Gavin walked up to the bookcase and picked up the photo of Lizzie Borden and studied it. "I think she was a lesbian."

Ron gazed at Lee Ann for her reaction.

With raised eyebrows she said, "Hmmm. That's interesting."

"Okey dokey. Moving on. Next room." Ron said.

As we entered the next room, Gavin stopped. "I hate this room with a pa.s.sion. I don't like it. Immediately when I walked in, I felt like a blanket dropped on me."

Since I had shared the same feeling, I added, "Yes, it's a heaviness all around you, like you're walking through a wall of energy."

Gavin took several steps to the far corner of the room and stood next to a Victorian table lamp. "I feel that this was a room where they came to socialize." Stopping short, he peered out the window and said, "I sense a female spirit, who comes to the house and peers in. She's an acquaintance of the Bordens. She comes to the house often, but can't or won't come in. That's all I'm getting in this room."

Looking at Gavin and I, Ron asked, "Where to next?"

"I don't know," I said. "Since we didn't make it past the first floor for the past three hours, and we have no idea what's upstairs, why don't you guide us." I said, not trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

Ron wrinkled his nose, then said. "Fine. Be that way."

Jim, our EVP specialist, suggested, "Why don't we go to the third floor? When I was setting up the IR camera I had a feeling that I was being watched."

"Sounds like a plan." Ron said.

I took the lead, with Maureen, Gavin, and the rest of the group close behind me as we made our way to the third floor.

We walked down the narrow corridor to the front of the house. Upon entering the room I caught an odd whiff. "Is it just me, or does anyone else smell this?"

The remainder of the team meandered past me, sniffing the air as they walked around the rich mahogany bed.

"Yeah. It smells very antiseptic, like blood, I don't know," Maureen said with a puzzled look as she sniffed the air again. "Like a hospital."

"Very, very steroid, isn't it?" Gavin added in his thick Welsh accent. I looked at Ron Jr., sure that Gavin meant "sterile."

"Yeah, but what's the smell?" I asked.

"It smells like a hospital," Maureen said.

"Ether?" I guessed.

"Yes, that's it," Maureen said, nodding in agreement.

With the smell still permeating my nostrils, I decided to explore it more. "Jim, hand me the UV light."

ULTRAVIOLET LIGHT (UV).

As in the television show CSI CSI, UV light can be used to identify traces of blood and other fluids. It is also utilized by some paranormal investigators to illuminate dust particles, to rule them out as a source of orbs.

Jim reached into the holster on his belt and handed me a small ultraviolet flashlight. I switched it on and scanned the carpet and the rest of the room for hints of blood or other bodily fluids. Without finding a trace, I stopped my scan and asked the two psychics if they were picking up on anything.

Maureen answered, "I feel someone was sick in this room."

"I feel a female energy," Gavin said. He put his fingers to his chin and said, "I'm getting a name, not a first name...its Sulliban, or something like that."

"Sullivan?" I said.

"Yes, that's it. She's not the one who was sick. She's a servant." He paused, his eyes moving as he searched his mind. "I am picking up on a lodger, a boarder. I know it's a bed and breakfast, but this was before."

"I wonder, can you get confused by different time periods?" I asked. "I know we have found some places that are haunted by spirits who have lived at different times."

"Yeah, absolutely," Gavin said. "The older the place, the more layers there are, and it can get confusing at times."

Maureen spoke up. "You know what's interesting? My ears are fluttering like there's talking, talking..." she said. "There's some kind of confusion going on." She paused for a moment. "Combined with the sick person I mentioned before, it doesn't feel good up here at all."

"When you first entered the room, you got a 'swoosh' of energy. Now that you have been in here for awhile, is it different?" I asked.

"Yes, my body is getting used to it. It's sort of leveling off," Maureen said.

"Like when you go into the water, your body gets used to the temperature," Gavin added.

"All right, let's try some EVP work now," I suggested.

Jim placed his recorder on the bed where I had sat down and waited for the room to become quiet before beginning to ask questions. He started, "Are there any spirits here that would like to speak with us now?" A few seconds pa.s.sed. Next he asked, "Can you please let us know you're here? Give us a sign." After a moment of silence, he continued, "This is my recorder; can you please tell us your name?"

"Hold everything. Did anybody see that?" I said, looking around the dimly lit room. There was no reply. "I just saw something run across the bed. Not a person, but maybe an animal," I said, searching the befuddled faces of the team. "Ron," I said to my son, "did you see anything through the camcorder?"

"No, I didn't see a thing," he replied.

We asked a few more questions and then ended our EVP session. As we walked out of the room, Maureen said to me, "I don't know if Jim got anything on the recorder, but when he was asking the questions, I could hear a high-pitched whine like they were trying to respond."

Byron joined in our conversation. "I thought I heard a cat," he said.

"That's interesting," I replied. "There's supposed to be a ghost cat here."

We entered the last room on the right, adjacent to the top of the stairs, a small bedroom where the ceiling matched the slope of the roof. I knew I would have a problem standing, so I sat on the end of the twin bed. Byron, also tall, joined me. Maureen, bent over by the low ceiling, said, "The energy is different here. I feel like my heart just skipped a beat. There's anxiety here, but not like the other room."

Gavin spoke up. "I'm getting the name Mary or Martha." Gavin was snapping his fingers, as if trying to get a mental grasp on it. "She seems a bit put off. People are talking about her, and she wants to get something off her chest."

"Why don't you try to contact her?" I said.

"Okay," Gavin replied. "I can't say if her name is Mary or Martha, but the name Sullivan comes into play. I feel lots of static in here. My skin's all tingly. Ms. Sullivan, can you please make a noise to let us know you're here? Bang something. Give us a sign." Fingers spread wide, Gavin clawed at the air. "She's feeling really anxious."

"Skittish," I added.

"Yes, she's skittish, like she's not sure," Gavin said.

"As if she doesn't know who she can trust?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, that's exactly it. She doesn't know if she can trust us."

Pippa said, "Ms. Sullivan, we mean you no harm. Can you please affect someone in the room? Touch someone please."

I sat waiting for a reply, when once again my "psychic nose" kicked in. "Does anybody smell anything?" I asked.

Ron Jr. answered, confirming the blank stares of the group. "There's no smell in here."

"There is," I said as I sniffed the air. "I smell rose, kind of powdery, like a rose powder."

Gavin took a deep breath. "I have a hard time smelling anything with this b.l.o.o.d.y cold," he cried.

Pippa, sitting on the floor in the back of the room, said, "Let me try, maybe she doesn't like men."

"Feel free," I said.

She began, "Ms. Sullivan, we have the utmost respect for you, and we mean you no harm. We want to help you. Can you please make a noise or give us a sign that you are here?" She continued her query. Silence was her only answer.

Maureen soon drew closer and said, "I think she's trying, but having a tough time. She doesn't have enough energy." Then she paused. "I smell it too. It smells like baby powder only different... I know! It's the powder they used in the old days. A rose dusting powder," she said as she made a swirling motion with her hand in the air.

"It's funny," I said. "I smelled it before, then it went away, and all I could smell was Gavin's leather."

"Leather?" Gavin replied. "I have no leather on. Ron, you cheeky boy. I would never wear leather."

"That's weird," I said. "I really caught the strong odor of leather."

"Maybe someone else dropped in," Maureen said with a smile.

"Hey, Ron," Martin asked, "do the names make any sense?"

"Not to me," I replied.

"There are some photos behind me on the floor," Maureen said.

Jim left his perch in the back of the room and crawled over to look at the photo sitting on the floor in front of an old steamer trunk. Illuminating them with his small flashlight, he read a name, "Bridget Sullivan."

"Really?" Gavin said.

"Good job, Gavin. At least you got the last name," I said.

"Ron, the energy is waning here," Maureen interrupted. "I think we should go downstairs."

I descended the stairs to the second floor, following behind Ron and Gavin. With no more than the beam of the flashlights and camcorders guiding our way, we pa.s.sed through a series of rooms, feeling little to no energy. We continued down the hallway until we reached what Lee Ann referred to as the John V. Morse room, a comfortable-sized bedroom facing the street.

"Okay, I want you and Gavin to walk around this room and tell me what you feel." Ron motioned with his flashlight. The narrow beam of light sliced a path over the room, brightening the white cotton bedspread that was swallowed by darkness.

Gavin and Maureen give their psychic impressions of the events that transpired in the John V. Morse bedroom.