First, a mysterious sighting

Dear Sir Williard,

This will have to be a quick note my lord, as I Andrews has arranged for an appointment at New Thames best haberdashery, I am to be fitted for both a dinner jacket and a proper suit. But while the phenomenon is still fresh in my mind I want to report that I have observed what might well have easily been mistaken as a haunting by a less educated person. It was late last night, by my mantle clock somewhere between two and three o'clock in the morning, when I found myself woken by a throbbing in my loins; sadly, this is not an atypical occurrence but last night as I climbed out of my bed I observed something that made me quickly forget my aroused state.

You surely remember my Lord, my master bedroom has a panoramic view of the lawns leading down to the waterfront and the wide Arjun river sparkling in the moonlight. What caught my eye last night was a light glimmering through the narrow windows of my boathouse. At first Sir Williard, I supposed that I had carelessly left one of the oil lamps burning after docking the Anna Leigh and wiping down her decks. Before I could berate myself for this lack of attention on my part, I saw the flicker of motion through one of the central slits. Someone was in my boathouse!

I resolved at that moment to procure some small arms the very next day to defend my property and household, but in spite of my lack of a firearm, I quickly pulled on my trousers under my long nightshirt and headed out. I carried only a stout improvised cudgel from the woodpile and the portable aether-lamp that I had discovered on that first day of exploration. Let me assure you, my Lord, that this was not an act of madness on my part. You will recall that when I first took up residence I found evidence that the abandoned property had been frequented by local teens or other miscreants, and there was that mystery of the bedding in the loft of the building. I was not planning on facing armed resistance, I expected to chase off either a pilfering Hindustani servant or perhaps a couple of local youths who were looking for some fun at my expense.

To my surprise I found the lock provided by Andrews still firmly securing the doorway to the building; had I left the bar off the watergate? I worked as quickly as I could to unlock the door, but it is difficult to work a key into the heavy padlock while holding the lamp in the crook of my arm. When I reached the building, I could still see the flickering light inside the thick walls, but by the time the door swung open there was nothing but blackness. The beam from the handy aether-lamp swung slowly around the empty boat room and workshop, I still at this point in time, expected to find the culprit hiding somewhere in the building, but I was even more confused by the sight of the securely barred water-gates.

"Hello?" I called up into the loft, "Come on down, and it will be better for you." I wasn't eager to climb up the ladder to the loft in the middle of the night, but neither did I want whoever it was that had somehow broken into my boathouse to escape without a severe scolding. After several seconds I determined that I had no real option and I carefully climbed the ladder, my bludgeon in one hand and the aether-lamp in the other. The loft was as empty as the downstairs. I did not imagine the light that I saw, for the glass globe of the lamp hanging over the work bench was warm to the touch. I spent several minutes searching among the old supplies in the loft and I assure you that there was no one anywhere in the small building.

It was only at that point, Sir Willard that I even remembered Miss Alice's inquiry about the hauntings at my humble cottage; after all a tormented spirit could get in and out of a locked building without the hassle of a key. I dismissed this notion with an irritated shake of my head however, my Lord, I ask you this: what would the spirit of Miss Katheryn Alterson need with the light from an oil-lamp?

A more careful evaluation of the area around the watergate revealed a further significant discovery. Near the stern of the Anna-Leigh I found a wet area where it looked like my intruder had sat on the thick slabs that comprised the floor of the berthing station and on the rough wooden planking of the boathouse were prints where the culprit padded around in his bare feet. As far as I could tell, Sir Williard, none of the tools from the work area were missing but it is admittedly unnerving just the same. It was hard to tell for sure because the evidence was rapid drying as I examined them, but it looked to me like the feet belonged to one of the many local Hindustani boys (or perhaps more than one) quite a bit shorter than I.

I checked once again, Sir Williard, but the solid bar that secures the watergate was exactly where it should be, and with the doorway locked as it was it is uncertain how anyone could gain entry to this seemingly impenetrable block house.

And so, Sir Williard, I am once again sitting at my desk as I write this final paragraph watching through the window for any sign of movement down by the river. I believe that I will need to put an end to this nonsense before my superstitious native servants catch wind of the supposed haunting and disappear as quickly as the phantasm using my boat house seems to be able to.