As I was exiting a cab on Kenmare Street in front of Manzo’s to meet the mysterious Silvana, I gathered my umbrella and immediately had a sensation that I was about to see an old friend, not a new acquaintance. Maybe it was wishful thinking or a carry over sense of familiarity from our phone conversation, but when I entered the café and saw Silvana sipping an espresso and dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, a black leather skirt and deep violet tights with “Sex In the City” designer pointed half-boots, I felt as though I reconnected with an old relative or an old flame. It didn’t hurt that Silvana was stunningly beautiful…tall, slender with dark eyes and dark hair. She was a bit “beatnik,” combined with some of The Avengers’ Emma Peele TV character thrown in. But my first impression of her as a sophisticated European was mixed with a feeling that Silvana harbored some dark secrets. I felt that she was troubled, not by everyday, mundane problems, but by something that could be described as inky, murky, and almost ancient. Silvana stood tall and straight when she saw me enter. She greeted me with a firm handshake and warm, but questioning eyes. She said it was a pleasure to meet me in her Czech accent and got right down to business, telling me of a woman who was cursed…not by a person, but by a store, a café right here in Manhattan. Mary Montrose had contacted Silvana some weeks ago after she learned of her psychic abilities. With no one to turn to, Mary sought Silvana’s help in ridding herself of the awful occurrences that haunted her daily life. They were strange indeed, the fits of hysteria, the cold winds in her room, the smell of vomit in her kitchen, the constant disappearance of her money. Mary’s life was becoming a living nightmare. And as Silvana recounted Mary’s story to me for the better part of two hours I finally realized what was behind Silvana’s questioning eyes, She could feel the other side and the entities that inhabited it, but she could do nothing about it. She was virtually paralyzed by her own perceptive powers. Silvana was a paranormal conduit that needed someone who could stay grounded on this plane. That’s where I came in.
The next morning in Vincent’s midtown offices over deli coffee and bagels, I explained to Silvana my idea to start X-Investigations and how her calling me and seeking help with Mary Montrose was serendipitous to say the least. She wasn’t very concerned with the business of solving occult cases…Silvana’s more burning issue was to fulfill her “calling,” but she agreed that having a framework for this kind of assistance was a good idea. When I asked her if she was interested in being my partner and that she would have to undergo some paranormal abilities testing, she simply smiled at me and told me the exact date that my mother passed away, that my father was still alive and what hospital I was born in in Brooklyn. I told her that that was pretty good party game psychicism, but any good detective could have simply looked up my records on the internet. But when she told me that my old cat Szandor liked to eat lasagna I was stunned. “Now how did you know that,” I asked. She smiled and said, “Vincent told me.”
I gave Silvana the benefit of the doubt and we became paranormal partners on the spot.
We began mapping out X-Investigations as a business with a plan to call Mary Montrose that afternoon and get this case underway. We didn’t know what our fees would be or what equipment and/or other professionals we would need to conduct our investigations, but we knew we had an enigma on our hands. Silvana did know however, that Mary appeared to be well off financially and she even mentioned to her that money was no object, Silvana pointed out that Mary wore an incredibly expensive initial “M” diamond brooch. “Robert, [Silvana refused to call me Bob] it moost cost two or three hundert towsand Amerikan dollars,” Silvana said. At the very least we could tell Vincent that we were not working for free.
I asked Silvana to tell me in detail about Mary’s bizarre dilemma and the more she relayed, the more I felt this would be more than just our first case – it would be an adventure into the unknown. I can’t explain why it felt like more than just a project or a job to me, I just knew we were embarking on a fantastic experience – one that would haunt us for our days to come.
Mary Montrose answered her telephone with a strained and obviously troubled tone in her voice. “Hello, Miss Montrose, this is Bob Johnson, I am an associate of Silvana’s…” at that point Mary interrupted me and said that she was terribly troubled. “Yes, yes, I know who you are. Can you help me? Do you know what I’ve been going through these past few weeks?” She was frantically rambling so I had to stop her by asking for her address and when we could visit her. I asked if we could perhaps meet at the Velvet Room café, the origin of her troubles. She snapped back that that was the last place she wanted to be right now. “The last time I was in the café I was taken away in an ambulance and spent two days in the psychiatric ward at St. Vincent’s hospital. Please, please come to my home.”
Silvana and I arrived at Mary’s apartment around 7 PM that evening. The weather had gotten progressively worse, now mixing sleet and snowflakes with the icy rain, so we were happy to enter the warm lobby of Mary’s luxury apartment building. The traditionally cozy Mediterranean décor coupled with a fire in the lobby fireplace, and the smiling concierge gave us a sense of hospitality and security upon entering. But that glow soon vanished when we heard Mary’s unsettling ghost story.
The well-dressed, middle-aged woman served us tea and specialty chocolate cookies that I recognized were from Grace’s food store on the East Side. All indications were that Mary was a product of fine upbringing and was no stranger to the better things in life. Despite the graciousness of the moment, Mary sighed deeply and began telling us how she was literally thrown into the Velvet Room café by virtue of an errant taxicab that jumped the curb, nearly killing her. “It was the strangest thing. I was shopping and a bit tired so I thought I would have some coffee at a small, lovely café I spotted many times but never had the time to visit. I really could not remember where it was located, but I recalled it was lavishly decorated in Victorian fashion, so I just started to wander along Madison Avenue. Suddenly I heard screeching and the next thing I knew I was sitting in the café with people rushing around asking me if I was all right and if I needed a doctor. Well, once I gathered my senses I was pleased to discover that I at least reached the destination I sought, so I accepted the shop owner’s gracious offer of tea and scones gratis for my trouble,” Mary recounted.
She then explained how she admired the Velvet Room cafe’s décor – the beautiful and lush drapery, the ornate wallpaper and gilded furniture. As she sipped her tea, Mary was pleased with the sense of warmth she got from the café and made it a point in her mind to visit as often as she could. She was also thankful for not being killed by the taxi. But then the unexplained began to happen. As Mary was nibbling on her blueberry scone she felt a tightening in her throat. She thought at first that maybe she was allergic to some ingredient in the pastry, but she had eaten blueberry scones many times before. They were her favorite. She was puzzled by what was causing this odd sensation. Then things got worse. The strangling feeling increased, and all at once the room seemed to be clOccult Investigatorng in on her. Was this odd feeling an after reaction to the near-accident, she thought? She couldn’t think straight. She told Silvana and I how it didn’t feel like an ordinary illness, she felt as though something crept into her throat and was choking her from the inside. The walls of the café moved toward Mary Montrose in an ominous, threatening manner so powerfully that it caused her to drop the scone and scream a shrieking screech that froze the patrons and workers in their very footsteps.
She could barely speak as she told us of her horrifying experience. But I insisted that she continue, telling us as much detail as possible so we could get a handle on with what we were dealing. I instructed Silvana to begin tape recording when we entered the apartment, so everything Mary said was documented. ”Of course Mary, this could have been an aftershock, so to speak, from your trauma that day, as you already mentioned,” I said. But Mary stressed that she had a subsequent medical check up the very next day, but more importantly, this was just the first in a series of harrowing experiences in the café and then in her home. “They are NOT all physical manifestations of that trauma. Things are happening