The Fenian Avenger - Chapter 7

  

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Chapter 7

Liam inserted a key in the front door of his second floor flat. The walls of the public hallway were painted dark beige and the twenty-five watt light bulbs in the light fixtures failed to illuminate the dim vestibule no matter the time of day. Liam narrowed his eyes to see the lock.

The humidity rose in the spring and caused the wood in the doorjamb to swell and stick. With a hard shove of his shoulder, Liam popped the door open, the groan of the wood reverberated through the hallway and flat. Liam flinched. He looked over his shoulder down the public hall before he entered his home to see if any of the heads of disturbed neighbors peeked out at him. Satisfied, he walked into his kitchen.

“Liam?” The sound of his wife Mary’s voice drifted into the kitchen. Her delicate voice sounded like a small wind chime as the tubes ring in the breeze. “Colman, your Da’s home. Please clean up your bucket and brush your teeth,” Mary said. Her voice came from their son Colman’s room.

Liam dropped his briefcase on the small round Formica kitchen table. He knocked over a glass of milk, the contents spilled over the table surface, and the glass broke into small facets. On a normal day, this topic triggered a healthy dose of his Irish temper. Today his anger did not rise to the occasion. The broken glass and spilled milk just another event added to the weight already laid his shoulders as he leaned over the table and bowed his head. The stress hummed in his ears, the sound overpowered him like a wave and pulled him under the water.

Mary walked around the corner from the living room to the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and smeared paint along the front. In her current project, she aspired to remove the hideous faded 1970’s flowered wallpaper from their bathroom and replace it with a nice shade of tope paint. She slowed as she looked at Liam’s face.

Mary Malone hugged her husband and held him close with her entire body. The warmth of her body reminded Liam he was not as alone as he felt. She kissed the side of his face and moved her head to look him in the eyes. Even with flecks of tope paint in her dark brown hair, he loved her wavy locks as they cascaded in feathers to her shoulders. The hair framed her heart-shaped face, with light freckles, not apparent at first glance. Liam found her front overbite sexy and wild. He looked into the allure of her pale blue eyes, capable of looking into his soul.

“McMillan?” She asked, but she knew the answer.

Mary and Liam Malone were best friends and confidants since they met in sixth class in primary school. As an eleven year old, Liam won over the favor of Mary’s family forever. Her older brother, confined to a wheelchair since birth, ran into trouble with street toughs. Young Liam came across him in an alley as three boys beat her brother. Liam fought all the boys, each four years his senior, and bested them. He threatened if they ever lay a hand on Mary’s brother again, his retribution would come swift.

Liam kept her apprised of each case he worked on, just in case something happened to him. Mary Malone calmed him and acted as the voice of reason in the relationship while Liam represented the emotional element and passion. For several weeks, Mary listened to her husband lay out the current case he investigated. While she commended him on his zeal, she reminded him he no longer worked on passion alone. He had others to think about, others who depended on him. Specifically, a young son who just finished throwing up in the freshly painted bathroom.

Liam nodded his head and did not look at his wife. “Yeah, McMillan.”

“How bad?”

“Not worst case scenario,” Liam said. “But not far from it.”

“What does that mean?” Mary asked. In the last few weeks, she feared for her husband’s career.

“Suspended without pay for a week,” Liam said as he looked down at his shoes.

Mary cradled her hand under his chin and lifted his head until he looked her in his eyes. Liam explained to her his assault on McMillan in the basement stairwell at headquarters. Mary listened with calm silence as her husband described the events that led up to the assault. He told her of his conversation with Jimmy Costello.

“Again, it appears Jimmy is consistent only in his inconsistency,” Mary said. “Your boss has no position other than to straddle the fence without actually taking a position.”

“And that’s why he still has a job,” Liam said.

“Perhaps,” Mary said.

Liam completed his vent and let out a long sigh. In their relationship, the long sigh signaled Mary’s time to process the information. Liam drained all the emotion out of a topic and Mary sifted through the remains, retrieved pertinent facts, and presented them back to him.

“So, what’s next?” Mary asked him.

“Next?” Liam asked, his voice rose in annoyance. He looked at Mary. He realized she would not bite at his emotional outburst and shrugged his shoulders. “Next week I go in front of the review board. Since this is my first time, it’ll be a formality and a light punishment. Jimmy’s been in front of them many times before in his rowdier days, before he learned to toe the line.”

“And what does he advise to tell them?”

Liam sighed again. He fidgeted with a loose string on his jeans. “He said to tell them I followed a lead a little too close, lost perspective, and shot too high. I should say I let my emotions run too high with an arrogant prisoner.”

“Admire the conviction and forgive the youth,” Mary said.

Liam’s nostrils flared and he turned his face away. Mary touched him on the cheek and nudged his face back until he looked her in the eyes again. “If you can’t say it to me without gettin’ mad, what chance do you have of lookin’ contrite in front of the board now, Liam Malone?”

Liam’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yes, that’s right. You heard me,” Mary said. “Go in front of the board and lie like your arse depends on it. That’s what I’m tellin’ you, Liam Malone.”

“Even if I don’t mean it?”

“Especially today. Gardaí needs honest detectives, whether they know it or not. And if it means telling a little lie to be able to continue being an honest detective, that is exactly what you do.”

Liam nodded his head.

“So, Liam Malone,” Mary said. “Once you’re back on duty, what is it you plan on doing?”

Liam cocked his head towards his wife. “What do you mean?”

“I mean: once your wrists have been slapped, how do you plan on going about your job?”

“How do I plan on it?” Liam raised his voice. “All I did was arrest a criminal who extorted Irish citizens, and because Gardaí leadership is comprised of worse elements than those prowling our streets, I have to take the punishment. How do you think I’m going to do my bloody job? If I’m the honest man you think I am, the only thing I can do is work to take them down.”

“And what would that accomplish?” Mary asked.

“Well—“

“All that will accomplish is you losing your job, or maybe even worse,” Mary said. “I don’t want to think about either.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“We have to be smart,” Mary said with a calm voice. “Is it possible to be a good honest Garda and work within the confines you’re given? Can you focus on helping people hurt by the actions of the Gardaí, as opposed to arresting the friends of the Gardaí? You won’t step on your bosses toes if you help the little people get back up. Can you still be the boy who stuck up for my brother all those years ago? You can change your focus. If they can’t be arrested, change tactics and help the people affected. There are other ways in which Gardaí can help people.”

“What are you talking about, Mary Malone?” Liam asked. “I can’t believe you would say this to me. Am I to look the other way when crimes are committed?”

Mary turned her body and made a point to look across the living room into Colman’s bedroom. The visible walls covered in posters depicting Bono and The Edge of U2, Croke Park during the Gaelic Games, and the Irish National Rugby team. Liam saw Colman Malone’s head as he lay in the bed.

“You have a sick son to look out for,” she said. “Without a job, we can’t afford the medical bills to take care of him.”

Liam closed his eyes. Every discussion between he and Mary seemed to come tethered to the topic of Colman and his condition, and the weight of the line dragged his soul downward more each. At eight years old, the doctors diagnosed Colman with Leukemia. The brutal treatment included chemotherapy and radiation once a week. In Ireland, the medical treatment cost the family a considerable amount of money. The treatments also left Colman thin, weakened, and bald. The procedures left a physical effect on Liam and Mary, as the sight of their son in misery left them depressed.

Despite his illness, Colman showed high aptitude in science and a true excitement for learning. His teachers suggested Colman advance into an accelerated science program. Advanced science programs cost more money, and on Liam’s Garda pay, became difficult to budget.

Everything about Colman busted their budget and cost them money.

Everything was Colman’s fault.

Liam felt guilty for his negative emotions towards his son. He could never admit his thoughts to Mary. He felt the strain in the Malone family was Colman’s fault. He felt strain in his marriage was Colman’s fault. He felt their living conditions, despite his recent promotion and raise, lay still below poverty levels because of Colman’s medical costs. Therefore, in Liam’s mind everything dropped to his son, Colman.

“Why don’t you go in and see him?” Mary laid her hand on Liam’s hand.

Liam blinked as his thoughts returned to his conversation with his wife. “Not now. I wouldn’t be very good for his mood right now,” Liam said. He sat down at the table.

Mary sat next to him. “Any time you spend with him makes him happy.”

Liam looked away from his wife’s eyes. He knew Mary understood how the subject of his ill son made him uncomfortable. His specialty lay in his ability to control situations, from interrogations to conversations. However, he felt helpless in the presence of his son, and addressed his lack of control by ignoring his son.

“I know you had to watch your father die of cancer,” Mary said. “And I know that memory has infected your relationship with Colman. But, he’s your son and you can’t block him out. He loves you and needs you.”

“I—“ Liam stammered. “I’m sorry, I just can’t watch him like this.”

A tense silence hung in the air between the two lovers for several moments.

Mary shifted her position in the chair. The expression on her face changed. “We got a call today from something called the Garda Medical Assistance Foundation.”

“What does that mean?” Liam asked absently.

“They wanted to offer medical assistance with Colman if we participate in a program they are starting,” Mary answered.

“Okay,” Liam said.

“They said they would pay for Colman to do some experimental treatment for his condition. They said their treatment might put his cancer into remission. The procedure is experimental, but there have been successes. But, since it is a controversial subject, they are secretive, and we have to sign non-disclosures.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it seems to be too good to be true,” Liam said. “What’s the catch?”

“Well, they’d like us to participate in their study on fertility, which I thought was perfect since we wanted to have more children and having trouble. And there’d be additional money for us there,” Mary said. She hesitated. “And since the Gardaí sponsors this agency, candidates need to be in good standing with them.”

Liam cocked his head in her direction. “Which I’m not.”

“But you could be,” Mary said. “If you do what they want, and say what they want, you would be. And if you did it for the sake of your son, it would be okay. Our bills are really piling up and this organization can help Colman and us, it would get us out of the hole.”

“I don’t trust it,” Liam said.

“Maybe not, but we should at least listen to them,” Mary said. “No harm in talking to them about it.”

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The Franklin Castle - Chapter 10

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Floor Plan






Chapter 10

Jennifer Penland, of NBC affiliate WKYC TV Channel 3 Cleveland, looked into her compact mirror and touched up her make-up and lipstick. She teased her dark hair and raised the curls higher from her head.

She angled the small mirror and looked around the room at the cast of odd characters the station assigned her to interview this evening. Two groups of people who detested each other made for fun drama if she played them off each other properly. If she managed to get the leaders of the two groups on camera together, maybe fireworks would erupt.

Jennifer planned her interview techniques in her mind as she studied the people. A make-up artist motioned for Dr. Fran to sit at her stool. He sat with his back to Sir Nolan, the corners of his mouth turned down in a prominent inverted U, and his arms across his chest in a defiant pose. Sir Nolan remained upbeat after his make-up was finished. He moved around the room, his cape swiped in the air with each sharp turn as he conversed with each crewmember. When Jennifer announced her plan to give Dr. Fran and Sir Nolan equal time on camera, Dr. Fran argued the point with red-faced fury and Sir Nolan accepted the news with upbeat positivity.

“Just act natural,” she said. “This will be a fun piece for the viewers. So, we want you to be lighthearted. People love scary stuff. Have fun. We’ll probably air this during Halloween. Ditch the t-shirts, wear something warm, and make it look like its fall. I’d like to get different perspectives here. I want to talk to the homeowner so viewers understand why he called two teams of experts.”

Dr. Fran rolled his eyes.

“I want to talk to both teams,” she said. “Not just the leaders, but also various members. I’m fascinated by the skills they all bring, and so will the audiences.”

Jennifer turned and looked at Ashley. “I would love to talk to you on the air, young lady. I’d love to know what you are doing here this weekend.”

Dr. Dunbar answered. “She’s not part of the team. She’s just along because I couldn’t leave her at home.”

Jennifer ignored him. “I would like to talk to you anyway. It might be a nice angle on the piece to get the insights of a teenager. You know, ask if you believe in ghosts. Have you ever seen one? Do you accept psychics as real? And other things like that. And it doesn’t hurt you’re very pretty.”

“She doesn’t have any qualifications to talk about this,” Dr. Dunbar said.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Jennifer asked him.

“No,” Dr. Dunbar said.

“Then she can’t be less qualified than you in the television viewers minds,” Jennifer snipped. She turned back to Ashley. “What do you say?”

“I’d love to,” Ashley said. Her father scowled and approached Jennifer, who turned and left the room.

***

The interviews took several hours. Dr. Fran taped his interview first. Jennifer used her interrogation skills with questions designed to stroke Dr. Fran’s ego. The strategy worked as he relaxed and started to enjoy himself. Next, she brought Sir Nolan together with Dr. Fran. Jennifer knew Sir Nolan posed an easy interview regardless of the time, and since Dr. Fran’s mood improved during her interview, Jennifer discerned it was the best time to conduct the joint interview.

The joint interview went as well as expected. Dr. Fran’s good mood allowed some good-natured ribbing between the two initially, and then fireworks erupted. The two men agreed on nothing other than the fact that Archer Ryan invited both teams to the house for the weekend to research without the others knowledge. Dr. Fran viewed the situation as an insult and an affront to his reputation. Sir Nolan viewed it as an opportunity to substantiate the worth of his team.

The discussion eroded into shouts on the topic of photographs of orbs. The cameras stopped several times to calm down the two men. The interview ended after a heated debate about the validity of EVP recordings when Dr. Fran peeled off his microphone and threw it to the ground.

Jennifer calmed Dr. Fran as they strolled down the hallway out of the dining room. She asked him about his team and the best order to interview them. They walked into the parlor where Terry sat with Ashley and Keith in front of the fire.

“Ah, Terry, there you are,” Dr. Fran said as he walked over and clapped his hands on Terry’s shoulder. Jennifer followed him to the fire. Dr. Fran turned to her. “Terry here works for an agency of the federal government, but he won’t reveal the name to anyone. His agency is a cross between the FBI and the CIA. Very top secret.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened at the mention of all the initials. She smelled a story beyond silly ghost hunters. She noticed the subtle reaction in Terry as his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“I have to interview you for this,” Jennifer said. She touched Terry on the arm and felt a thrill at the touch of his skin. She detected an air of electricity about him, the sense of invincibility. “Does the government’s involvement in this investigation add merit to the existence of ghosts? And does your presence here confirm the rumors about secret research by the CIA involving the paranormal?”

Terry slowly rotated his head to look up at Jennifer. He locked eyes with her. She tried to read his eyes. The green pools contained no menace, humor, nor contempt; they were simply devoid of emotion. A silent pall held the room before Terry’s voice sliced through.

“I’m not here.”

Jennifer blinked twice. “Pardon me?”

“I said I’m not here,” Terry said in a level voice. “And the government has no interest in this investigation. Dr. Fran should not have spoken about my profession.” his gaze shifted to Dr. Fran, and Terry’s eyes narrowed and appeared angry.

“Then why are you here? Do you believe in this?” Jennifer asked.

Terry turned his head back to Jennifer. The right side of Terry’s mouth curled up in a hint of a smile. “I’m not here, and you can’t claim I am here. You can’t even hint. You can’t run the cameras while I’m in the room just in case someone might recognize the sound of my breathing.”

“Is your identity secret?” Jennifer asked. “We can distort your face and voice. No one would know it was you.”

“You could do that if I was here, but since I’m not, you can’t.”

“But—“ Jennifer stammered. “You are here.”

“Look, I’m going to try to expound on this to make this clearer,” Terry said. “I am on vacation. If you refer to my involvement or the government’s, you will put innocent people in danger. Active projects will be in jeopardy,”

Terry paused and said the final words slower. “Maybe even worse," Terry leaned his head forward.

Jennifer also inclined forward in anticipation at the pause. “What would happen?”

Terry sighed and dropped his head back against the chair.

“Okay, let’s try it this way. If you mention any of this, on screen or off, then men dressed in black suits will come to your home in the middle of the night and take you away, and do terrible things to you, and you may never be seen again,” Terry said. “Do you want that to happen?”

Jennifer squinted at Terry for a moment. Images and ideas swirled through her head; she deliberated if she believed the man or not. She looked into his green eyes and came to a decision. Her face smoothed, and she stood up. “Maybe you should make sure to stay in this room while we film.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” Terry said.

“Because clearly, you’re not here,” she finished.

“Obviously.”

Jennifer walked out of the parlor.

Dr. Fran looked at Terry, and turned and exited the room.

***

“Would all that really happen to her?” Ashley asked when they were alone.

“No,” Terry said. “We are discouraged from being the subjects of television shows. Mostly, I just didn’t want to be on her show.”

“Why not?” Ashley asked

“Because they’re going to make everyone involved in this look ridiculous,” Terry said. He paused and looked at Ashley. “Except you. I think you would be the only one to come out of this looking good.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, Archer will be portrayed as a spineless coward because he’s afraid of ghosts and won’t sleep in the house. Sir Nolan is, well, he is what he is, goofy. They’ll portray him as a loony who will believe anything put in front of him, including all sorts of conspiracy theories. Dr. Fran will be the stodgy academic who will not accept anything without hard scientific proof. You have the ability to offer a middle ground to both of their extremes.”


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The Fenian Avenger – Chapter 6

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Chapter 6

Following his meeting with Superintendent Costello, Inspector Liam Malone wandered the halls of the Phoenix Park Garda Headquarters. Unwilling to go to the basement holding cells to release his prisoner, he stood on the roof and looked out on the Dublin Zoon and stewed about his orders. His mind conflicted with his loyalty to Costello and the Irish people, and anger towards the corruption of the Gardaí management who wanted to him to look the other direction and allow criminals to thrive.

When Liam joined the force, he knew two choices lay out before him: go with the flow and go on the take or be an honest Garda at the bottom of the barrel. He envisioned the decision of which direction to go would be more dramatic. In reality, the situation was different. The good guys in white hats would not be there to encourage him to ignore the corrupt bureaucrats and arrest the bad guys in black.

The vein in his neck pulsed as the stress headache moved to his temples. He needed no mirror to know his face glowed a bright red. His feelings resembled a mass tangle of wires, uncertain which connection belonged to which wire. He could not trust his instincts, unsure of whom to trust. Liam knew Costello supported him and respected the detective work that went into his vocation, but now felt a sense of disappointment as his boss appeared too willing to throw in the towel to the corrupt bureaucrats. He knew Costello the shrewd politician would not stick his own neck out too far. Despite Costello’s reputation as a good resourceful Garda despite limitations of his superiors, Liam doubted his boss’ motivations.

Liam worked out in the weight room. He pushed his body, and knew his muscles would scream at him the next morning. Each exercise station decreased his anger. He showered in the damp dungeon that passed for a locker room, deserted this time of day, which allowed him to spend time under the hot water stream. The hard water hit his head and soothed his nerves. Rational thoughts probed the veil of anger that covered his brain. Liam would trust Costello; he did not have much choice unless he wanted to pursue another line of work.

Liam dressed and shuffled down the wide stairs to the basement holding cells, which also resembled a medieval dungeon. He calmed his nerves to start the release of his incarcerated prisoner. The name of the loan shark boss was John McMillan. For the last month, Liam tracked street level operations up to him. When Liam arrested McMillan earlier, he found the brazen thug as he shook down a single mother of five in the light of day on Parnell Street at the busiest time of day. Even after he identified himself as an officer, the smug McMillan ignored Liam and continued to beat on the woman. Liam found he enjoyed it when he applied a bit too much force. The arrest surprised McMillan, and he howled in the back of Liam’s car on the way to Phoenix Park. The thug threw around the name of Kieran O’Dowd and how this would be the end of Liam’s Garda career. If Liam were unaware previously of the connection to O’Dowd, he knew now.

Following Liam’s meeting with Costello, Liam understood McMillan’s reaction.

The main problem Liam had with McMillan was the bugger just made him nutty. The smug look on his face along with the pathetic pencil thin mustache above those narrow lips infuriated Liam. He could take this loser apart in an alley fight in no time. He looked like someone picked on in the schoolyard, not a criminal boss. McMillan was a tall drink of water and his clothes ill fitted him and hung on him as if they were on a wire hanger. Liam wondered how McMillan came to power. He was not tough enough to intimidate anyone, and fit no profile for a crime boss. However, once Liam put the pieces together with Kieran O’Dowd’s support, the picture cleared.

As Liam came around the corner to the booking desk, he saw McMillan at the counter.

McMillan turned his head towards Liam and started to laugh. “Come to let me out, have you now, fella? Well someone got ‘ere first.” McMillan said as he walked towards Liam. “I didn’t want to bolt without letting you know that all yisser ‘ard work was fer nothin’.”

McMillan brushed against Liam’s shoulder as he started up the stairs. A rush of adrenaline rushed up Liam’s body and his body boiled. Liam grabbed the back of McMillan’s collar and slammed his face into the stone block wall of the stairwell. “You think you won now, but I’ll be watching for you,” Liam shouted into McMillan’s ear, feeling his words stutter with the anger that coursed through his body. Each syllable punctuated with a new thrust of McMillian’s face into the wall with a dull thud.

Liam let go of the crime boss and stepped away. McMillan turned around, his body shaking and his hands touched his face and came away with blood. His nose and front teeth covered with blood, dripped down to McMillan’s shirt.

McMillan looked at his hands in shock, then up at Liam. His mouth moved, but no words came out of his mouth. His eyes would not meet the eyes of Detective Liam Malone. Uniformed Garda officers rushed to McMillan’s side and dabbed his bloody face with paper towels. Two detectives grabbed Liam by the arms and pulled him away.

With Liam restrained, McMillan’s confidence returned and he walked up to Liam.

“Bought yourself a bleedin’ suspension dere, fella,” McMillan said to him. “You better watch it or you’ll git worse.”

Liam lunged at McMillan, but with his arms restrained, he was not able to hit McMillan. Even so, McMillan flinched away from the detective.

McMillan turned and ran up the stairs from Liam, now in hand cuffs.

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The Franklin Castle - Chapter 9c

Table of Contents
Floor Plan





Chapter 9c

Other than the deposition, which did not surface for many years, the public did not hear tales of the house until the American Socialist Party sold the house in 1968. James Romano, his wife, and six children moved into the house. Mrs. Romano loved the gothic ambiance of the house a perfect draw for a restaurant. She admired the house her whole life and jumped at the chance to purchase the house when available.

The admiration for the mansion was short lived, and it did not cool due to the scope of the restoration effort.
Their first day in the house, Mrs. Romano gave her children milk and cookies and sent them up to their room on the third floor to play while she worked. Soon, the children came back downstairs and asked her for another glass of milk, as their new friend, the little girl in the long white dress, cried in the upstairs bedroom.

A curious Mrs. Romano followed her children upstairs but found no mysterious new friend. She found the children very sincere, not just on this occasion, but on many other instances when their friend came to play.

Many other events unnerved Mrs. Romano. She often woke in the middle of the night to pipe organ music in the house. I found no records that showed a pipe organ ever existed in the house, not to say one did not exist at some point.

When Mrs. Romano walked onto the second floor landing to the ballroom, she heard the soft sound of voices and the clink of glasses. When she walked through the doors to the ballroom balcony, the sound stopped.

Heavy footsteps stomped through the halls at night and stopped when they opened their bedroom door. She noticed the sound at its loudest on the second floor, where her two grown sons resided. At first, she thought her sons made the noise to trick her. However, even when out of the house the event continued.

A friend visited for dinner one night. After the meal, the women sat in the circular section of the parlor. Through the open doors to the foyer, they witnessed a wisp of smoke on the first landing of the stairs. A strange thing, it was summer and the fireplace closed and unused for the season. Neither the Romano’s nor their guests smoked. They ascended the stairs towards the cloud, just before Mrs. Romano reached it, the mist moved up the stairs to the second floor. With her confidence buoyed by her friend’s curiosity, they followed the apparition up the stairs and down the hall towards the rear of the house before the independent stroll through the house ended. The incident amazed Mrs. Romano. The incident also planted a firm notion in her mind; this was an intelligent entity and not random knocks. She wondered if she there was anything to be concerned about, perhaps this was simply a harmless spirit.

Mrs. Romano’s resolution appeared short-lived. The mist began to move again, passed through her friend’s body, and disappeared into the wall behind her. Her friend’s face turned a grey color and she fainted and fell to the ground.

The feeling as the entity passed through her body so frightened her friend, not only would she not visit the house again, she also never spoke to Mrs. Romano again either.

A practical family, the Romano’s could no longer ignore the signs. They believed their house possessed by an evil spirit. A Catholic priest visited to bless and exorcise the house. The priest spent a half hour on premises unaccompanied and emerged from the house after he completed only a partial exorcism. He claimed the spirits were too powerful and evil, and he was not strong enough to vanquish them. He advised the Romano family to leave the house and never return.

The two grown sons wasted no time and left right away. Mrs. Romano learned later the ghosts tormented her sons every night, and left them exhausted. Each night something pulled the covers from their beds while they slept and violently threw them to the ground.

The family attempted to rid the house of the terrors a last time. They contacted the Northeast Ohio Psychical Research Society. NOPRS agreed to research the house, just as we are doing tonight, except without the fancy equipment and the high attitude. Before the first night ended, half of the research team left the house. Before one of the psychics left, she told the Romano family she connected with the spirits who slammed the doors on the third floor. She identified the ghosts as the mother, Luisa, and the youngest daughter, little Emma.

The Romanos lived in fear of the house. Towards the end, Mrs. Romano refused to step foot on the second and third floors. She forbade the children to play up upstairs, and they were not to associate with their spectral friend anymore. The clan began to sleep downstairs in the ballroom.

The house mystified her in other ways. Mrs. Romano, a certified electrician, found the house needed constant re-wiring. She fixed one electrical problem, merely to find the same issues resurface a day later. Light bulbs burned out in a few days and fixtures caught fire.

The final Halloween in the house, Mrs. Romano received a call at midnight. The voice shook her to the bone. She described the voice as “other worldly” and froze her in a grip of fear. The chilling gravel voice asked her if he could sleep with her tonight. Keep in mind, the public still had no knowledge about the events that happened in the house. The call may have been a prank. Afterwards, she refused to answer the phone again.

A few nights later, Mrs. Romano awoke in the middle of the night on the floor in another part of the master bedroom. As she started to get up, she heard a mumble close to her ear. She recognized the voice as the same voice from the telephone call.

Prior to their move to the Franklin Castle, Mrs. Romano’s health never concerned her. However, during her stay, she her health declined with symptoms of lethargy, headaches, and ulcers.

After six years in the house, the family gave up.

The Romano family sold the house to Sam Muscatello. He intended to turn the house into the Universal Christian Church. It did not take long before he experienced things first hand; the earliest was the sight of a woman in a long black dress on the stairs. He claimed he heard constant chatter of strange voices in the house. Objects moved often. He set his keys down in one spot, only to find them in a different part of the house later.

Sam Muscatello researched the history of the house. He concluded Hannes and his dead family haunted the house, based on the alleged crimes perpetrated in the house. As he needed to raise money for his church, Muscatello began to publicize the history of the house and conducted tours. People suggest he enhanced the legends to increase profits.

To increase the foot traffic of his tours, Muscatello brought in a local radio and television stations to broadcast a live Halloween show in the house. The live portion of the show lasted ten minutes before all the transmission equipment mysteriously fell off the table and smashed to the ground in front of their eyes. The crew filmed the movement of a chandelier that twirled on its own, stopped, and turned the other direction.

During the evening, the radio personality walked up to the second and third floors alone. After several minutes, he returned, visibly shaken. He said he heard a woman’s voice, and she called his name. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found no one. He climbed to the third floor, where something happened to him. He refused to talk about specifics to what happened.

In 1978, Muscatello sold the house to the Cleveland Chief of Police, Richard Hongisto. I have little information about his stint in the house. He sold the house a year later to George Mirceta.

Mirceta lived alone. Because of the all the publicity Muscatello received, Mirceta subjected himself to many interviews about this home. He claimed nothing paranormal every occurred in his house. However, Mirceta offered tours of the mansion. At the end of each tour, he asked the patrons to write down anything that happened during the visit. Many people wrote they saw a woman in black in the turret room, others wrote of a woman in white. Some heard the sound of children, others felt breezes, and some were unable to move. Many accounts detailed the how the chandelier swayed and doors slammed.

The house has changed hands several times over the next twenty-five years, with no one living in the house for more than two years before they vacated or sold. The stories continued to exaggerate as the years pass.

Most recent, the house remained vacant for several years before Mr. Archer’s purchase. I spoke with a friend of mine on the Cleveland police force. He said Cleveland is like many other large cities and have problems with empty rundown buildings. These husks become crack houses or a haven for homeless to live.

My friend on the force posed a fact that interested me. In all the time, the house sat empty, the homeless never took up residence and the drug dealers never used the house for business. A few homeless people told him they tried to squat, but no one stayed.

Not even the homeless could live with the spirits in the Franklin Castle.




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The Fenian Avenger - Chapter 5b

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Chapter 5b

The Gardaí Serious Crime Squad occupied a corner of the open detective pit. The section consisted of a number of desks and one small office. From inside his office, Superintendent Jimmy Costello leaned back in his chair and surveyed his kingdom. The office chair protested the movement with a series of screeches and pops. The cramped office, just big enough for the scratched metal desk and visitor chair, appeared cluttered. To get to his chair, Jimmy turned sideways and squeezed past the desk. Scattered papers and file folders covered most of the desktop. Buried under desk clutter lay an assortment of items, such as a model of the Eiffel Tower, a lava lamp, a dead plant, and framed pictures of his wife and children. The warped wood-paneled wall resembled Costello’s desk with a mish-mash of items hung or taped, such as a framed photograph of Costello and Gardaí Commission Brian McGuiness, several photographs of famous rugby teams and players, and numerous newspaper articles related to famous cases handled by the Serious Crime Squad.

The warped plastic windows that faced the squad room made distorted everything like a fun house mirror. The department replaced the smashed original glass on the windows several years back after a nasty brawl broke out in the squad room. The stink of the fight arose because it involved not criminals or suspects, but started between three detectives who argued over the World Cup. Today the window reminded Costello of how things went wrong from innocent circumstances. Scratches and dents covered the plastic windows, which now displayed a hazy grey color. Rumors placed Jimmy Costello as the fourth member of the famous brawl. Being the political mastermind, Jimmy managed to purge his name of all involvement. Instead of a reprimand for the brawl, Jimmy Costello ascended to the top of the Serious Crime Squad and straightened up his act. He managed the unit with efficiency and steered the fine line to handle cases in the face of corruption in the greater Gardaí that grew every day.

Costello leaned back in his chair. He squinted as he read the sheet of paper in his hand, his glasses no longer strong enough for his aged eyes. He propped his feet on the desk and exposed a timeworn pair of shoes with holes on the soles. In recent months, he noticed his hair started to show streaks of silver fibers in his once auburn mop. A new goatee adorned his face, much greyer than his hair. Unused to the beard, he often stroked the hair on his chin, too aware of how wicked itchy the beard was. Jimmy Costello’s appearance sent a message he was lax in his job and life overall. The mistake many people made is when they missed the sharp glint in his eye under interrogation. Adversaries who made this error found themselves in trouble. Those who knew Jimmy Costello knew of his razor sharp mind. He commanded the respect of the squad and his peers for as a nimble politician who did not compromise his soul in the process.

Liam Malone slipped into Costello’s office and mumbled the obligatory “sorry” for no reason as he sat in the visitor chair. The newest detective in the Serious Crime Squad, Liam Malone caught Jimmy’s attention while at the Academy. Liam continued to impress after graduation with stellar performance in his first year as a Garda uniformed patrol officer. He added to his CV when he worked undercover in drug and crime cases, and excelled as his work dismantled of one of the most violent gangs in Dublin. He adapted to his new life as a married man, he wished to spend time with his young wife and son. Liam sat for the Inspector’s exam, which qualified him for the Interview Boards.

He skipped the rank of Sergeant, a supervisory level in the uniformed Gardaí. Liam spent his compulsory one-year stint on the OCU (Organized Crime Unit), and applied for a position in the Flying Squad, which dealt with armed robbery, and spent two years the unit. A patient man, Jimmy monitored the career progression of the young star on the rise. He took Liam to the club often. When Liam racked up enough service time under his belt, Jimmy invited him to join the Serious Crime Squad.

Once under Jimmy’s wing, Liam did not disappoint with his work in the SCS. Liam approached every case with enthusiasm. Jimmy loved his attitude and honesty.

However, honesty led to a problem in the Gardaí climate.

Back in the Stone Age, young Garda Jimmy Costello noticed a disturbing trend in its infancy. Any organization dealt with a certain amount of corruption along the fringes, a given when wealthy criminals, low-paid law enforcement, and ambitious bureaucrats come together in the same brew. This trend, however, became more prevalent with each passing year of the country’s depression. Today, an officer not on the take was uncommon. Crime, business, and politics infiltrated the Gardaí. In Jimmy’s opinion, the Gardaí was no longer on the up and up and corruption no longer the exception but the norm. Many corporations expanded into organized crime, as sin took the lead as the only profitable business left in Ireland. These corporations found if they influenced decisions at Phoenix Park, their ride smoothed. The days when the Gardaí valued an honest detective were over. Reprimands slapped the wrist for those exceptional detectives who arrested the wrong criminals. An honest detective was a liability.

Jimmy’s distasteful duty on this day consisted of reining in his finest young detective. This job tested Jimmy’s skills with people. He did not want to break Liam’s spirit. Deep down, Jimmy respected an honest Garda, although the politics made it no longer prudent to advertise the fact.

Jimmy returned his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. He re-read the header, an interoffice memo from Brian McGuiness, the Garda Dublin Metropolitan Assistant Commissioner and the Big Cheese in Dublin. The memo addressed one of Liam’s cases that investigated an efficient and organized loan shark operation. Liam deftly worked his way up the hierarchy of the organization and, not only identified the boss, but also the corporate connections. The mistake Liam made no secret as to the identity of the corporate executive involved.

There lay the first plank in Liam Malone’s coffin.

The young detective sat across the desk from Jimmy. He looked so eager and naïve. In his eyes, he showed no realization of the circumstances he found himself. Liam became a dangerous man to the Gardaí establishment. The boyish hair, the gleam of his blue eyes, and the near skip in his step betrayed a juvenile nature in Liam Malone. Jimmy Costello knew Liam would not take the request to step down from this case well.

“Let’s talk about your loan-shark,” Jimmy offered, unable to look his detective in the eye.

“Yeah, sir, funny you should bring that up, I wanted to talk to about this,” Liam said and opened his file folder on the desk. “I’m not certain just how to proceed. Sorry I haven’t come to you sooner. I thought I had the case in hand, but now I’m a little over my head. I’ve found the boss, but he has ties to KOD.”

Jimmy sighed. He dreaded this task. So much energy and talent, and no idea what he walked into.

As the largest corporation in Ireland, KOD, Inc. Founder Kieran O’Dowd acted as both Chairman of the Board and CEO. O’Dowd, as ruthless as he was charismatic, ruled business in Ireland with a quirky media personality and sense of humor. KOD had a hand in so many industries and ventures in Ireland and Europe that a conversation about what the conglomerate did not touch proved easier.

In addition, it was an unwritten rule not to touch anything associated with KOD or Kieran O’Dowd. Liam did not know this yet.

“Liam, I’m sorry to tell you this, now,” Jimmy said. He sat up and smoothed his hands on the rough surface of his desk. “Kieran O’Dowd is a generous benefactor of the Gardaí, and a critical individual to Ireland. KOD carries the Irish economy on its own. We exercise caution in how we use his name and his company’s name in conjunction with any alleged crime.”

“Sorry, sir, I understand he is well-respected,” Liam said. “And that is why I’ve come to you first about this.”

“Fabulous work, Liam. You are heads and shoulders above any of other inspector in the department. This lesson should come in time, but we don’t have that luxury. As detectives in the Gardaí, we need wisdom on how far to push a case. You were right to alert me, but it should have been much sooner, lad, and been quieter about the task. You need to understand the people to not mess with. Now, I’m sorry to be telling you this, but it’s for your own good.”

“Are you’re saying I should back off because of Kieran O’Dowd?” Liam asked. “If he’s involved in a crime, doesn’t he need to investigate and punish him? Or even if he’s wrongly connected, we need to investigate so we can clear him. Or least we need to advise him to choose his allies better or stop people who leached off of him.”

“Lad, I understand the desire to save people and bring the wicked to justice,” Jimmy said. “As inspectors, we use discretion and wisdom. You can no longer work like a beat Garda. Remember what Assistant Commissioner McGuiness said just a few weeks ago at our luncheon? If we enforced every health code, there wouldn’t be a restaurant in all Dublin still open. Well, the same goes here. Kieran is a public figure, and he takes a lot of criticism and is under a great deal of pressure as a visionary person. However, what he does is critical to the country and we have to be careful of what we do with information. We live in times when our country needs the top employer to put as many Irish to work as possible and continue to fulfill the vision to make Ireland a better country. What is more beneficial to Ireland? Is it Kieran in jail or in court over what someone in his organization may have done without his knowledge, or would we rather have KOD move full-force to advance Ireland? It is not about liking or disliking Kieran, which is not our job. Sometimes we have to help and protect loathsome people if they help the greater good. We must trust the bigger picture beyond what we can see from our positions.”

“This is nothing personal against Kieran or KOD,” Liam protested.

“Good, you’ve learned another lesson about detective work: Be impartial,” Jimmy said. “Let’s run this up and see what action they want us to take.”

“Sir, I’m going to proceed with this in the way you think best, please understand,” Liam stated. “I just would like to know, for the sake of my wisdom and how I should handle myself in the future. Is the Gardaí under the control of Kieran O’Dowd and KOD? I see their executives in here all the time, I hear references to agreements made with them, and Kieran often speaks at and attends our meetings. But, I also see crime bosses roam the street unrestricted and that drives me crazy. Now I have found a link between the two, which disturbs me.”

Jimmy Costello raised his voice and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Son, I am not on the payroll of KOD and I don’t take orders from them, nor am I in the pocket of organized crime,” Jimmy stood up and his metal chair hit the wall. “I can’t attest for all the Gardaí. I am simply giving advice to help your Gardaí career.”

“Yes, sir, I apologize if I said anything to offend you,” Liam said.

Jimmy snorted a quick breath and stretched his neck. When he spoke again, his voice softened. “I would be disappointed if you did not ask these questions and many men here in this department would not have asked such questions,” Jimmy said. He inhaled a breath and sat down. “Tell me, now. Does what I have just said sour you on the Gardaí?”

“Sir, I would be lying if I told you the idea of looking the other way while someone commits a crime isn’t distasteful,” Liam said. “But, I trust enough to believe you are looking out for my best interest.”

A pang of guilt hit Jimmy as he lied to his detective. “My bosses will react less benignly than I, so I would suggest you forget any information that connects Kieran,” Jimmy said. “I will tell them you came to me with this information and asked for advice, which you have, and that will make them happy.”

“And the gang boss I have in custody downstairs?”

Jimmy looked down at his desk. He spoke with pain in his voice. “Release him.”

Liam sunk in his chair. He appeared to deflate at the statement.

“Sorry, son, I know how you feel,” Jimmy said. “Each day gets harder to stomach, but this is of vital importance to your career. Don’t get too upset about the thug downstairs. Someone else will let him out if you don’t.”

“He’s just so arrogant,” Liam said. He stood up, opened the door, and shook his head. “Apparently, he has reason. He has more pull here than either you or I.”

Liam looked like a puppy with his tail between his legs as he left the office. Jimmy knew Liam was immature to assume no corruption in the Gardaí existed. Jimmy imagined how the lad must feel when his boss requested he turn his back on the people he wanted to help.

The boy would take the edict in one of two ways. He would accept the decision or fight the decision.

Deep down, Jimmy knew Liam Malone would not ignore his conscious for long.

Jimmy Costello knew he had to plan on how to protect his prodigy.


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The Franklin Castle - Chapter 9b

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Chapter 9b

I could spend hours discussing the many rumors. Most ridiculous, some true. I heard a rumor how Hannes tortured and hanged a servant in a secret room. Authorities never found a body. A convenient story and without proof and over a hundred years old, that is hard to resist.
Coincidentally, documented accounts of missing children in the late 1800’s began to pop up in this section of Cleveland. I found no evidence to connect Hannes to any of these disappearances. Nevertheless, the point pauses for notice. These stories, passed down over the years, fuel the urban legends.

In 1895, Luise died. The official cause of death listed as liver failure. I have no reason to dispute this fact. After all, the premature death of so many of her children cannot be a positive impact on one’s health. They held Luise’s funeral in this parlor, right where we now sit. The coffin sat in front of the fireplace.

Creepy, right?

People continued to point a suspicious finger at Hannes. Too many deaths in the house and far too little accountability make the conjecture less ridiculous. Even if the incidents did not involve foul play, the people in this neighborhood did not welcome this sort of bad juju. Remember these were the blue bloods of Northeast Ohio.

Many stories suggested Hannes killed his wife, children, and even some of the servants in the house. I heard a story how a housekeeper attempted to steal jewelry, and Hannes strangled the servant and hid her body in a secret room somewhere in the house.

But, no one knows. Indentured help in those days disappeared often and went unnoticed.

A solitary man, Hannes ran Euclid Avenue Savings and Trust from his home. Even in the early days of the bank, he spent little time at the office. He managed the bank from a distance. After he moved into the Franklin Castle, his visits to the office became so rare, soon all his management of the business happened in writing and by courier.

Not long after Luise’s death, Hannes sold the house and moved into an even larger home on Lake Road. He lived in the house for 33 years, and some say he came back here to live after he passed on. After he left the home, he married a servant from the Franklin Castle. This raised several eyebrows in the community. The standard practice for a man in mourning was to wait a certain amount of time before courtship. Moreover, he fraternized with a common servant. How shameful.

Hannes had no family, his siblings, wife, and children all died. When he left the castle, there were not any close friends with whom to keep in touch. His managers at the bank never saw him as his involvement in the bank dropped dramatically when he moved into the house on Franklin Boulevard. Even his neighbors on Franklin Boulevard saw him so seldom, they would not recognize him if they passed him on the street.

Hannes died in 1908. The stories of Hannes’ atrocities did not end with his death. In fact, the stories increased in scope. The Cleveland Plain Dealer reported Hannes killed his own niece in a secret room under the house. This room served as a torture chamber. Supposedly, Hannes killed his insane niece in the room to avoid shame to the family.
Now, legend suggests Hannes returned to the Franklin Castle after he died.

Not many people know this, but when Hannes was a young man, he suffered an accident and doctors removed one leg at the knee. Hannes wore a false leg made of metal. The leg made a horrible hollow sound when he walked, and forced him to walk with a distinctive limp. There are documented accounts through the years of people who heard the sound of a hollow limp move up and down the main hallway, and then something pounded on the door. The story evolved to suggest he walked up and down the hall every night and looked for more children to kill. Many parents used the story of old Hannes to coax their children into bed.

Hannes sold the house to a family named Mullhauser. I found very little information regarding the Mullhauser’s stay in the Franklin Castle. We know in 1913, the Mullhauser’s sold the house to the American Socialist Party. According to all records, no one lived-in the house over the next fifty-five years they owned the house. The Socialists only used the house for parties, rallies, and meetings.

The minimal amount of information regarding this period is unfortunate. Officially, the American Socialist Party affiliated with their Bolshevik cousins in Russia. During this period in our history, Socialism was relatively unknown here. The group purchased the house four years before the Bolshevik Revolution, which saw the advent of the Soviet Union and communism in Russia. However, in this state of anonymity and ignorance by the American public, the organization began to flourish. Prior to World War I, the ASP elected two party members to Congress. The year before the ASP purchased the house, their presidential candidate even received over a million votes. However, the group’s ideology proved a mixed set. They differed from their cousins in Russia, and caused the party’s political agenda to split in a myriad of directions. In 1919, a rift formed in the organization and many of the Bolshevik supporters left to form their own group.

As the ASP weakened in the years before World War II, their ideology continued to shift and they adopted an identity of a similar new organization in another country. This new cousin organization: the Nazi Party in Germany.

Conjecture has it the American Socialist Party became domestic Nazi spies before and throughout the Second World War. As with anything connected with the Nazi’s, we love nasty rumors of bad things, the eternal bad guys, blamed for nearly every twentieth century malady.

I uncovered some chatter in old FBI documents about an execution of twenty people in the basement of the Franklin Castle. A lot of talk, however, no bodies or secret rooms corroborated this story.

Officially, the house remained empty all through that span of years. With a little research on my part, I found some evidence that suggested someone otherwise.

In the 1930’s, the Florence Nightingale Agency, a company that provided home care nurses, assigned a nurse to visit the castle three times a day to care for an aging attorney. The nurse made statements in a separate court deposition twenty years later regarding her employment at the house. After four months, she refused to set foot in the house again. In her words, the old man was evil as well as the people associated with the house. She heard the sounds of a child crying in the house. The deposition said nothing about ghosts, instead she feared terrible things current occurred to children in the house, and that is why she left.
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The Fenian Avenger - Chapter 5a

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Chapter 5a

April - 18 years ago

Liam Malone took a swift step to the side as a uniformed officer struggled with a man in handcuffs. The prisoner knocked the hat off the officer’s head and it rolled across the hallway. The officer scooted across the hall, with the detainee pulled beside him, and picked up the standard dark blue Garda hat. The itchy cap, made of wool, displayed a brass badge with a light blue circle surrounded by gold and dark blue, outlined with alternate circles and fleur-de-lies. The remainder of the Garda uniform consisted of the familiar powder blue dress shirt, emblazoned with dark blue shoulder emblems, finished with a dark blue tie, a nameplate over the right pocket, and pleated blue trousers.

Liam flattened against the wall. Unable to avoid the handcuffed man’s momentum, Liam crumpled to the ground as the criminal bumped him in the groin. Liam let out a muffled grunt at the impact and pushed the prisoner aside.

“Sorry, sir, Detective,” the uniformed Garda said as he replaced his hat on his head.

“No worries,” Liam said and forced a smile. “You have yourself a wild one there, don’t ya?”
The officer shrugged. “Sorry, I’ll give him a whack in the jewels in a bit as payback. Sorry.”

Liam smiled as he brushed back a stringy shock of light brown hair across his head with his hand. He felt the word “sorry” was the most overused word in the Irish vocabulary and became almost reflexive in casual conversation, as the phrase started a good number of conversations where an apology was not necessary. As the term was such a norm in conversation, when conditions required a true apology, you practically needed to offer indentured servitude to make the applicable repentance.

On a normal day, foot traffic in these halls resembled a poorly engineered congested Paris intersection. With everyone in a hurry, usually only the rude and pushy survived, of course the rude and pushy softened their actions with numerous instances of spontaneous “Sorry’s” to make amends. Any attempt at conversation degraded in rapid time into shouts in order to rise above the din.

These halls were not for the meek. These were the halls of the headquarters of the Garda Síochána na hÉireann, in Gaelic meaning Guardians of the Peace of Ireland. The Garda, or Gardaí for plural, were the Irish law enforcement organization, similar to local police in the United States or Great Britain, or the Mounted Police in Canada The public usually just called the organization as a whole the Gardaí (pronounced Gar-a-die) and individual officers as a Garda (pronounced Gar-a-dee, Gar-a-day, or Gar-a-da depending on what dialect they spoke).

While not as large as their cousins in New York City or London, the Garda Force Region of the Dublin Metropolitan headquarters was the largest Gardaí region in all of Ireland. The force covered nearly as many crimes and cases as all the other Irish regions in total. A trend not likely to decrease in the coming years with indications the depression Ireland experienced showed no sign of alleviating.

Garda headquarters lay nestled in an out of the way northeastern corner of Phoenix Park. A large metropolitan park, Phoenix Park sprawled across the western side of Dublin, and was Europe’s largest urban park. The city populated the commons with Fallow Deer, who grazed within the walled confines. The government scattered monuments to its most prominent historic citizens along the grounds. The residences of the President of Ireland and the United States Ambassador to Ireland lay within the confines of the grounds. Strewn across the park were football fields, rugby patches, picnic areas, concert areas, and untouched wooded areas.

As funds dried up in city coffers, the ability to upkeep such a large park became difficult. A result of the cutbacks saw the wooded areas grow in size, become overgrown, and become no longer traversable. A new sub-culture called “Parkers” emerged. Outlaws and homeless thieves who lived in the urban woods and preyed upon visitors, Parkers touted themselves as modern day Robin Hood and the Merry Men living in Dublin’s version of Sherwood Forest. Gardaí pointed out the concept of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor as questionable in this case, since they gave no stolen money to the poor, unless you considered the Parkers were actually the “poor” in the scenario.

The Garda Force headquarters took a back seat to its neighbor, the Dublin Zoo, at the intersection of North and Zoo Roads, much to the appreciation of Gardaí. Over the years, the confines of the zoo provided Garda officers a way to conduct anonymous meetings with informants and other individuals away from the formality of headquarters. Garda personnel enter the zoo free as a benefit, which also includes access after public hours. Dublin Zoo administrators instigated this benefit to encourage Gardaí to become visible in the zoo. They trusted the added presence operated as an addendum to the existing security force. Phoenix Park was no different from the rest of Dublin and mired in crime and gang activity.

The Gardaí formed in 1922 when the Republic of Ireland gained independence from Britain. With law enforcement in Ireland fractured into many units at the time, Gardaí became a centralized presence and replaced the Royal Irish Constabulary, a division of the British police, and the Irish Republican Police, which operated regionally from 1919 through 1922. Originally called the Civic Guard, the Garda Síochána Act of 1923 renamed the organization as the Garda Síochána na hÉireann, and eventually merged with the Dublin Metropolitan Police, to form a single law enforcement body for Ireland.

Gardaí consisted of six Regions across Ireland: Eastern, Northern, Western, Southern, Southeastern, and the Dublin Metropolitan. An Assistant Commissioner ran each Region, and reported to a panel of three Deputy Commissioners, who worked for an overall Commissioner. Within the Dublin Metropolitan, the city divided into six districts: North, South, East, West, North Central, and South Central.

Always an issue with every large police force, corruption especially dogged Gardaí. During the days of the recent depression, Gardaí garnered a reputation of corruption at every level. From images and video on the RTÈ of uniformed Gardaí shaking down citizens for money, to stories of the majority of the force paid by outside interests, most citizens view Gardaí as the last people to call if you were in trouble. With the amount of corruption rampant, the fact Gardaí telephone number contained the numbers 666 amused Liam Malone.

 

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The Franklin Castle - Chapter 9a

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Floor Plan

Chapter 9a

Terry spoke in a steady voice.

They called this the Franklin Castle. By far the largest home on Franklin Boulevard when finished in 1864, the residence looked like a gothic castle. Residents of Cleveland referred to this neighborhood as Millionaire’s Row. Hannes Tiedemann and his wife Luise designed their dream home based on a twisted vision.

Hannes and Luise emigrated from Germany. A hard working but feared tyrant, Hannes worked his way up and became a millionaire. Back then, a million dollars was Bill Gates-type of money, so this achievement carried with it power. As his wealth increased, he lost whatever values and humility he once possessed. He did anything he wanted because of the resources at his disposal. Hannes built his fortune as the owner of a grocery store and liquor store, the business venture turned into a chain. After he acquired his initial wealth, he changed his business model and founded The Euclid Avenue Savings and Trust Company. From there, his wealth increased at an exponential manner. This mansion served as the exclamation point of Hannes’ success in life. He was, in his own mind, master of the universe and could do no wrong.

Hannes built the Franklin Castle during the great industrial boom in Cleveland, and the distinction as one of the first homes on Franklin Boulevard. The choice of architecture firm to design and build the home seemed odd. This architect had little experience in building homes and they specialized in bridges and industrial structures. Luise handed the architects the specifications and they designed the monstrosity. The result was a truly unique home, perhaps the most notable home in the neighborhood. In the latter part of the nineteenth century, the standard design was a large boxy home. The Franklin Castle has a unique front façade. This house features turrets and carved stonework. And no gothic mansion is complete without stone gargoyles.

The Franklin Castle consists of forty-eight rooms, more or less. The number depends on what you consider a room. The house includes a large two-story ballroom addition on the west side of the house added in the 1880’s, stained glass windows, and fresco paintings on the walls and ceilings. The grounds include a large carriage house on the back of the property, which can hold four cars, as well as a fully furnished apartment on the second floor, which added another six rooms to the estate. Archer Ryan lives in the carriage house, and not in the main house.

The original owners, the Tiedemann family, consisted of Hannes and Luisa, his mother Wiebeka, and least six children, though the number is possibly larger. A full service staff lived in the house, their residents in the basement.

To this point in the story, these are the only public facts known about Hannes Tiedemann. At this point, the urban legends kick in. I can’t say how much of any of these are true. Most legends are based on some granular of truth, but who can say what. What I heard paints Hannes as a hated tyrant with his family and employees, a strict and cruel man with a fierce temper.

And according to legend, a murderer.

However, this is just speculation, at this point.

In 1881, misfortune struck the family. Hannes’ mother Wiebeka and his fifteen-year-old daughter Emma died within weeks of each other. The coroner’s report lists Wiebeka’s death as heart failure and Emma’s as diabetes. Speculation has the cause of death much more sinister.

I’ve read the official reports on the two deaths and details are sketchy, even by the standards of the late 1800’s. However, hindsight is perfect, and who am I to dispute a report over one hundred years old?

Questions arose about the fate of three other children, all of whom died in 1883. No death certificates or hospital records exist regarding the three. In statements Hannes made, he claimed the children died of ailments. Of course, interviews with neighbors suggest something more.

All quite strange.

But, not enough evidence for the police to step in.

After these deaths, a distraught Luise began to exhibit strange behavior in the house. The rumors suggest Luise went a little mad. I found records she spent time institutionalized at Fallsview psychiatric hospital. She worked on the house during the final years of her life, she changed many features. She hired a firm to add many special features. At this time, they installed secret passages, trapdoors, hidden rooms, and tunnels.

Such a nice little gothic mansion.

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The Fenian Avenger - Chapter 4

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Chapter 4









October 25



Letter to the Shareholders of KOD, Inc.

From the Desk of Kieran O’Dowd

Chairman of the Board and CEO of KOD, Inc.



My Dear Shareholders,

I find myself in a dilemma. I worked hard to build and nurture KOD, Inc. from a foundling idea to the power we wield today. While KOD has flourished over the last seventeen years and taken our shareholders to great levels of wealth, I am saddened our Mother Ireland has not experienced the same level of success. Indeed, Ireland has suffered during the same parallel stretch. The depression in Ireland has lasted far longer than anyone ever expected. The skeletal hand of winter will not release grip on our once proud country and the snow clouds prevent the sun from shining on our emerald shores once again.

I am officially announcing our primary goal and priority at KOD will be the advancement and recovery of our once proud Ireland.

I pronounce that this depression will end within my tenure as CEO of KOD, and this company will lead in the effort to make this so. The people of Ireland will rise from the low state they find themselves in, and will no longer have to be the cute country with happy dancing people in green costumes who beg for the foreign dollars in our economic tin cups.

Ongoing projects at KOD have the potential to help the people of Ireland both now and in the future. These projects will make us stronger and bring us closer to being the great people we should be. Look to some of the top countries in the world, such as Britain, Australia, Canada, and the United States, let alone advancing countries in South America and Eastern Europe, and we will find people of Irish heritage who drive these advancements.

I do not believe this a coincidence, not for a moment.

Time is now to bring the power of our heritage home to Ireland.

I once read a book entitled How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. This book discussed the concept in the written history, the world as ignored the contributions of the Irish people. Consider what Irish people and people of Irish heritage have offered the world. Look in the areas of artistic, spiritual, economic, scientific, historical, political, and spiritual influence and the Irish will are present. The world would not be as enlightened if not for the Irish people who have left these emerald shores to guide the accomplishments of other fledgling countries. We need to make the call of Ireland reach the ears of those people to come back and help their Mother.

Moreover, the Irish people who have remained true to Ireland and not left these green shores must begin the healing. Your country needs help in many ways: monetarily, spiritually, and emotionally. We need leadership. And we need soldiers.

With my leadership and monetary gifts, I choose to give back to our Mother.

To realize this dream, it may require the sacrifice of KOD profits. How could we not want to sacrifice to live in a country where our children can grow up with a better life?

Finally, I am reluctant to bring this topic up, but many are concerned about controversial rumors regarding KOD. A certain vigilante activist, who calls himself the Fenian Avenger, is the source of recent false accusations and bad publicity towards our company. Everything this alleged “hero” claims is a lie. We can only refer to this Fenian Avenger as a criminal, and not only by me, but by our respected Gardaí. This criminal cowardly broke into KOD headquarters in an attempt to steal information to implicate KOD as the scapegoat for all of Ireland’s problems. Do not allow this false Irish hero fool you. Leave the crime fighting to the real heroes of the Garda Síochána na hÉireann. This criminal assaults Gardaí officers, injuring them and worse. Would a real hero stoop to this level against Irish citizens whose sole purpose is to protect and serve the citizens of Dublin and Ireland? No, a hero would not act in this manner. No real hero would conceal his identify with a mask and run from authorities with questions about his activities. Only a person with something to hide handles himself in this way.

We at KOD will no longer stand for the actions of this criminal. KOD is donating money to the Gardaí for the sole purpose to destroy this false hero.

Eireann Go Brach,

Kieran O’Dowd


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