The Way of the Warrior-Wizard
Chapter 8: Aunt Luanne Visits the Attic

Duncan sat in the study, marking essays. Professor Leslie Harris had brought them by when she came to his house Friday evening to update him on how his students were faring.

“The students are anxious to have you back, Duncan,” she told him with a smile, “so I’ll see if I can get that curmudgeon, Donaldson, to let up a bit on his silly protest.”

Professor Donaldson had been so impressed by Duncan’s work ethic that he had arranged last week with Dean Andrews for “the young boy” to continue working as his aide for yet another week; but he had told Duncan it was because he “didn’t feel that you’re ready yet” to return to teaching classes.

“I think he may be coming around himself, Ms. Harris,” Duncan informed her, “he’s been almost polite to me these past few days.”

“He’s becoming fond of you, no doubt,” Harris chuckled, “like everyone else. He hates to admit it, though...even to me.”

Duncan smiled at Professor Harris. He might have had his difficulties with Donaldson, but he certainly had none with the man’s wife.

“Thank you for bringing these by, Professor,” he told her as she turned to leave, “It’s made my suspension far easier to endure. I can’t wait to get back to teaching next week.”

“I think it’s high time,” Harris agreed, “and you’re welcome, with regard to the essays and updates. Dean Andrews asked me to keep you informed on what has been happening in your classes, and I’m happy to do that for you. By the way, there’s a young man and an older lady waiting for you in the kitchen. I believe it’s Jack Kingston, Jerry’s grad student, and his Aunt Luanne. Is Jack after you again to show him these famous ghosts?”

Duncan sighed in exasperation.

“I’ve told Jack that I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to get into this ghostly investigation of his,” he complained, “Professor Donaldson will not be pleased.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word,” Harris replied, “Shall I send him in? Your father’s got him and his Aunt ensnared at the moment in one of his ghost stories. I think Jack’s Auntie Lu is a medium, so she’s going to keep your father entertained with a tale or two of her own once he finishes his yarn; but I can go and untangle Jack if you want.”

“Aye, Ms. Harris, send him in,” Duncan relented.

It was of no use trying to resist the indefatigable John Gerrard “Jack” Kingston, especially now that he had brought his Aunt along and his father had found a captive audience in the medium and her eager young nephew.

The grad-student-turned-paranormal-investigator was at the door of his study in no time.

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind, Duncan,” he announced with great alacrity.

“I haven’t, really,” Duncan answered wryly, “but it sounds as if my father has other plans. I imagine that you’ve spoken to him about your...hobby?”

“Yes, I told him all about it, and he was most interested,” Jack replied, “He told me and Auntie Lu about a dozen ghost stories while we were waiting. He invited my Aunt and I for supper.”

“Yes...splendid,” Duncan said without much enthusiasm, for he had little doubt that his father would monopolize the conversation with his "faerie and phantom tales".

“I know a ghost investigation wasn’t exactly your first choice,” Jack apologized, “and I’m sorry. But two of your brothers think it’s a great idea--Caleb and Glenlachlan...”

“...and no doubt Cara, my sister, will think so as well,” Duncan interjected, realizing that he’d been out-voted by his family once again, “I suppose that’s the end of Professor Donaldson’s newfound respect for me.”

“Donaldson doesn’t own the Universe, Duncan,” Jack objected, “He really doesn’t have a say in this. It has nothing to do with the University.”

“I know, but I’m supposed to discourage you from engaging in fantasies of the paranormal.”

“Old man Donaldson thinks I’m insane, in other words,” Jack responded, disgruntled, “I wish he wouldn’t meddle so much in things that don’t really concern him. He thinks he’s the Official Guardian of my sanity and your maturational development. He really needs to get a life.”

“He may not have a life, but he does have a wife,” Duncan commented.

“Yes, but he no doubt drives her insane,” Jack countered.

There was a clamour at the door, and before long, Caleb, Cara, and Glenlachlan had entered the study.

“This is fantastic!” Cara enthused, “We’ve got an ally in the Search for Charlie the Bogle!”

“Mum told us not to do any of that,” Duncan protested, “She doesn’t want us awakening Father again.”

“Yes, she told us never to awaken Father when he’s in a deep sleep,” Cara reiterated, “She did not tell us that we could not continue investigating the mystery of Charlie the Bogle.”

“Well, even if Charlie is real, which I doubt,” Duncan replied, “We would still need to be up and about at night to investigate him, which would infuriate Mum...as well as deprive us of much-needed sleep. I’m afraid that I can’t participate in this investigation, as much as I would like to.”

“Actually,” Jack interjected, “That’s a myth, about only being able to replace ghosts at night. You can investigate at any time of the day and the ghost will still be there. There’s no reason to deprive yourselves or your family members of sleep! As it happens, my Auntie Lu was able to accompany me here today. She was interested in meeting your father because he’s a warlock, and because he’s got a number of good ghost stories up his sleeve. He’s definitely on board with this thing, and he’s willing to let Auntie Lu up into the attic to see if she can sense any paranormal activity.”

“Jack’s Auntie Lu is a medium!” Cara exclaims, “She’s just what we need.”

“And how does Mum feel about letting a medium up into the attic?” Duncan asked.

“She’s fine with it,” Glenlachlan explained, “if it will help to put this bogle business to rest.”

“The thing is,” Jack told them, “Auntie Lu needs to know if you want her to tell the ghost to go towards the Light of Heaven. If that happens, then Charlie will be free—but you won’t have a House Bogle to brag about anymore.”

“Very well,” Duncan agreed, “If your Aunt can rid us of this nonsense by sending the bogle to Heaven, then I vote in the affirmative.”

“As much as I’d like Charlie to stay, I have to vote for his freedom,” Cara responded.

Caleb and Glenlachlan both nodded their heads in assent.

Duncan sighed. He supposed it would be preferable to get this so-called “investigation” over with now.

He reluctantly left the grading of his students’ papers to follow Jack and his siblings back into the kitchen, where Hamish MacGregor and Luanne Kingston were sharing stories together and laughing up a storm.

“Ah, my bairns,” Hamish greeted his children, “Mrs. Kingston has told us that she is willing to take a wee peep into the attic to see where this Charlie-Bogle might be hiding. I have granted you all permission to accompany us there, if you’ve a mind to do so.”

“Have we ever, Father!” Cara enthused, “Will we go now, then?”

“Before we go up to the attic,” Jack interrupted, “I would like to introduce my Aunt Luanne to Professor Duncan MacGregor...she was interested in meeting you too, Duncan, as well as your father and the bogle. Auntie Lu has a keen interest in history.”

“Aha!” Luanne Kingston exclaimed eagerly, reaching out to shake Duncan’s hand, “So you’re the boy Jack’s been telling me about. I’ve seen some of your video-taped lectures, and I like them...I like the fact that you question traditional, Euro-centric views of history and make an attempt to see things from the points of view of other communities as well, such as those of the indigenous peoples. I also appreciate your latest series of articles on the contributions of African-Canadians to our nation's history. Good job, kid! I’d like to see you do more of that, of course, but I know you’re busy with your teaching responsibilities at the moment...maybe you don’t get too much time for writing.”

“Writing is a part of my job as well, Mrs. Kingston,” Duncan replied, encouraged by her appreciation of his efforts, “and you’re right...I need to do even more research on the topic of the African-Canadians’ contributions to North American life. There needs to be more attention given to it in the Universities.”

Luanne Kingston, like her nephew Jack, had light brown skin; and so Duncan assumed that she was biracial.

“Yes, Honey,” Luanne answered his thoughts, without Duncan having said a word, “I’ve got both black ’n white in me...and I have an incredible library on African Canadian history. I can lend you plenty of books on the Underground Railroad of the 1850’s and 60’s time period, when as many as one hundred thousand African-American slaves escaped to northern destinations, with at least thirty thousand of our people going to Canadian provinces like Nova Scotia...I’m one of their descendants, in fact. I was born in Halifax.”

“I would be fascinated to take a look at your library, Mrs. Kingston,” Duncan answered, relieved to have left the topic of ghosts for a moment, “if you will permit me.”

“Any time!” Luanne urged him, “I’ll give you my telephone number, and you ring me up one of these days. You can come for tea, you and Jack...I don’t live far from the University campus. You can spend as much time as you like doing research in the library, and of course I’ll let you borrow some books...as long as you give them back to me. I hate it when I lend out books to people and then I have to chase them down just to get ’em returned.”

“Of course, Madam,” Hamish interjected, “Duncan will not be so inconsiderate as to fail to return your books...will you, Laddie?”

“No indeed, Mrs. Kingston,” Duncan promised her, “I always read and return borrowed books promptly...you can even ask the local librarian.”

“No need, I believe you,” Luanne replied jauntily with a wave of her hand, “Now then, Hamish—why don’t you lead the way to the attic, since you’re the Great Warrior. I won’t call you a warlock because apparently that word has fallen from favour, a few of my Spirit-Friends have just informed me. I’d call you a Wizard--that is to say a Wise-Man--but I don’t think it’s appropriate because I get the feeling that you haven’t shown much wisdom in your life.”

“Aye, you’re right, Mrs. Kingston,” Hamish said with a good-natured chuckle, “to my shame. After the two wars, I was myself enslaved by the Demon Liquor. It took my first wife many years to convince me to part ways with The Drink.”

Hamish took his time ascending the stairs, for his right leg was stiff with age and he used a cane most of the time.

“It’s amazing that you’re over one hundred years old, Mr. MacGregor!” Jack exclaimed, “You don’t look it. I had a great-aunt who was one hundred and one. She had some great tales to tell of the past...I imagine you do, too, especially about the two World Wars!”

“Aye, Laddie,” Hamish responded with somewhat less enthusiasm, “but there are some tales that I would greatly prefer to leave in the past.”

Hamish did not like to talk much about his experiences during the wars, but he had told Duncan and his siblings enough horror stories that they all knew why it was such a sensitive subject. It was one of the reasons why Duncan studied battles of the past but did not have much of a stomach for glorifying them. He did not like to approach the past in the style of a “Roman glory history”, but rather preferred to engage in a more critical, investigative analysis as the Ancient Greek historians, Herodotus and Thucydides, had done more than two thousand years ago. Herodotus had been known as “The Father of History” because he had been one of the first known historians to collect and arrange his information in a methodical historiographic narrative, while the later Athenian historian Thucydides perfected the method with even more rigorous historiographic standards. Duncan had always attempted to follow these examples as opposed to presenting conflicts and conquests as heroic epics which favoured the conquerors’ viewpoints.

“No, young ones,” Hamish murmured in Gaelic as he led the group up the stairs towards the attic, “never go to war if you can possibly help it.”

Duncan translated for Jack and Luanne as they ascended the next staircase, but Luanne seemed to need no translation.

“My mother’s family spoke the Gaelic,” she explained in the ancient language, “so I know it well.”

“And I’m engaged in learning it,” Jack interjected, “It is still spoken by a few people back in Nova Scotia.”

“Father’s all for people learning Gaelic,” Glenlachlan noted, “he can give you lessons if you want, Jack.”

“Aye,” Hamish agreed, “Your Aunt has been kind enough to pay us a visit here, and I’ll gladly teach you the old language, Jack.”

Jack nodded his head eagerly at Hamish’s offer.

“I wonder if Charlie the Bogle will speak to your Aunt in Gaelic, Jack!” Cara whispered breathlessly as they reached the top of the stairs, stepping cautiously into the dust-filled, shadowy attic.

Aunt Luanne walked to the centre of the attic and stopped suddenly. She was now peering around her, spreading her arms in the air as if to reach out to any lingering spirits that might be there. The others fell silent, not wanting to disturb her. Cara, Glenlachlan, and Caleb stared at her in utter fascination. Jack made some “Ghost-Investigator’s” notes, and Hamish waited patiently to hear what the medium might have discovered.

She walked around the space, humming. Duncan tapped his leg uncomfortably. He would prefer that this be over sooner rather than later.

Finally, Luanne stopped in front of Hamish.

“It’s you, Hamish MacGregor,” Luanne stated in no uncertain terms, “You are Charlie the Bogle.”