Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 36, No. 6, June 1991

“Did you hear about the strange lights at Lilac Cottage, professor?” Chief Merrill, the town’s only policeman, asked. Seeing Findlay’s bemused expression, he went on, “Yep. Friday evening, just after sundown. The lights started goin’ on ’n’ off, first in one room, then in another. Lots of people saw ’em. Funniest part is that John Hinkley, the retired navy feller, says some of it was in Morse code.”

Curious, Findlay suggested they retire next door to the Comer Cafe for a cup of coffee.

“Somebody’s idea of a joke, I guess,” Merrill continued, peering into the pastry case, “but not everyone’s laughin’. Some are sayin’ it’s Mary Waltham’s ghost come back to find her husband. You see, accordin’ to Hinkley, the code said, ‘Charles, where are you?’ ”

Findlay ordered a plain doughnut and coffee. “Chief, you’d better start at the beginning. I don’t even know where Lilac Cottage is.”

“It’s that big shingled place on High Street that’s almost swallowed up by lilac bushes. Been empty ever since Charles Waltham died eight years ago. His wife Mary disappeared one Friday night two years before that, and was never seen again. There was no sign of violence; no blood or nothin’. She was just gone. I wasn’t here then, but I looked up the police reports. It was real strange. I mean, at seventy-eight it’s not like she’d run off with someone. Anyway, after he died a niece in Florida, Edna Waltham, inherited the place and, bein’ sentimental, left it just as it was in case her aunt came back. Guess she finally gave up hope, though, ’cause about five years ago she had the power and phone shut off and quit takin’ care of the place.”

He paused for a bite of croissant. “I called her this mornin’, but no answer. I don’t guess there’s any harm in those lights, but I’d like to get hold of a key anyway.”

“Sounds like she turned the power back on,” Findlay observed. “Perhaps she plans to fix the place up and sell it.”

“The power company says not. That’s one of the interestin’ things. I went over there to have a look. The red tag’s still on the meter, and the dust and cobwebs look real undisturbed. What do you think of that?”

“I think the town is going to have a field day talking about this,” was Findlay’s only comment.

It did. Most residents found it pleasantly titillating, but some of the less sophisticated were openly nervous. On Tuesday, a deputation from this group called upon Chief Merrill to demand action. Although Merrill listened sympathetically, and assured them he was on top of things, he privately felt the matter could safely ride for another week. As far as he could see, there was no danger to persons or property; Lilac Cottage had remained dark since Friday and might very well stay that way. He did continue his efforts to contact the owner of Lilac Cottage, and finally learned that Edna Waltham was on a Caribbean cruise and wasn’t due home for ten days.

The following Friday evening Findlay went with the chief to see if the phenomenon would be repeated. A crowd of about two hundred people from Blue Hill and surrounding towns assembled in a vacant lot across from Lilac Cottage, alternately expectant and sheepish.

They didn’t have to wait long. The evening gloom had barely settled in when the dining room chandelier burst into a hundred lights. Expectant or not, everyone jumped, then broke into satisfied exclamations of fright. Just before the dining room went dark, a green lamp in an upstairs window began to flash on and off. Tonight several Morse code readers were present, and their voices could be heard in the darkness spelling out the words. The message was the same as before, “Charles, where are you?” For thirty minutes rooms lit up, and the green lamp repeated its code several times. Just as a few were becoming restive, screams erupted from the vicinity of the house. Real fear gripped some until two nearly hysterical youngsters, who had ventured to the windows for a better look, pounded into view. Gasping, they reported bodies floating in the living room. Several men started across to investigate but turned back when the house went suddenly dark. The crowd, subdued now, milled about for a while and finally dispersed.

Findlay and the chief were thoughtful as they walked down the hill. “I don’t believe in spirits,” Findlay declared, “especially ones that use Morse code, but that was pretty impressive for a house without electricity. Someone’s playing an elaborate joke; the question is, why?”

Merrill’s voice held a new note of determination. “That’s what I’d better find out. Last week folks were after me to explain it. Think what this week’s gonna be like.”

“There is an explanation,” Findlay said. He was, after all, an engineering professor. “I’ll put my mind to it. In the meantime, since you can’t get a key, you might consider getting a search warrant.”