December 20, 1924, 4:18 p.m.

The whistle from the engine car sounded as Jarek felt the train begin to slow. The long journey from New York City to Saint Paul was finally coming to a close. What seemed like almost a month of travel was actually less than a week. It seemed to Jarek that the train arrived later than it did because it was so dark outside the windows. He could tell it was a bitter temperature outside the comfort of the passenger car. Peering through the small window, the dark-haired young man could see steam rising from the manhole covers in the streets beyond the train rails. Small flakes of snow were coming down slowly from the sky. The snow drifting down, combined with the frosty air, gave Jarek a calming yet chilling feeling. He had felt so much unease over the past month, so it was refreshing to just sit and observe out the window as the train continued its arrival in this growing city along the Mississippi River. Jarek pulled out his pocket watch. There was ample time to find some dinner at a local establishment and still arrive at the O’Connell residence before getting too late into the evening.

As Jarek sat in the train car, the unease began to creep back into his thoughts. He traveled here on his own accord. However, the travel was significantly prodded by the letters he received requesting help, and his own intuition was nudging him to act upon the request.

Jarek always knew he was different, and several of those close to him were aware he was unique. Even some strangers in New York were aware of his gifts because he had helped others when he could. Word must have spread about his abilities beyond New York. Sometimes people unknown to him would seek him out asking for his help, or he would be drawn to strangers who needed his gift. Those strangers were always from New York, so when he began to sense something was off, and then two separate letters arrived, he knew something bigger was happening.

The train came to a halt, and the passengers began to stand from their seats and grab their belongings. Jarek sat waiting for the other passengers to compile their belongings and exit the passenger car before getting up. Though he was anxious to get off the train and stretch his legs, he knew it wasn’t proper as a younger man to barge in front of those older than him and the women traveling alone. Jarek secured his belongings once the car was nearly empty and moved to the train platform.

The air felt brisk, with a slight breeze tunneling through the tall buildings in this growing downtown. There was a hint of moisture in the air adding to the chill and creating some fog that gave shivers to people exiting the train. Clearly, many of the passengers were not prepared for the weather. Though Jarek had never been anywhere but the East Coast, he knew to dress appropriately. However, it was still a sharper sting to his face than he was anticipating.

As he was walking into the train depot to ask for directions, he couldn’t help but feel the energies surrounding him. He was getting feelings of happiness and excitement. Jarek had been to towns in his past that only felt dark and hopeless, especially during the Great War. So he had a sense of relief that this city seemed to have many good-natured people and minimal impact by dark entities. He knew not to take this for granted, as he knew there was something dark awaiting him in this city.

Saint Paul Union Depot was an immaculate structure, clearly not that old. It had nearly a dozen different train platforms of people coming and going from the bustling city. Thankfully, Jarek overheard someone say there was an establishment right inside the depot to eat some food. Above the door, when walking into the depot, he noticed a large clock with the time. The depot was crowded with people, just as much as outside on the platform.

A grand Christmas tree at least twenty feet tall was at the center of the large open room. Garlands and elaborate ornaments adorned many of the doorways, windows, and ticket windows. A string ensemble playing familiar carols overshadowed the hustle and bustle of people. Jarek always appreciated this time of year. No matter what darkness came through the veil or entities tried to capitalize on the long dark nights, he knew there was always hope and comfort in the season.

Jarek walked up to the eatery and sat down at a small two-person table. He removed his coat and hat, and placed them on the back of his chair. He set his suitcase and satchel down on the floor before taking a seat. It was fairly busy, but a man younger than himself came over to greet him.

“Good evening, welcome to Saint Paul Union Depot, sir. We have beef roast or creamed chicken as our entrée options tonight, and it comes with a side of boiled potatoes. After all, most everything comes with a side of boiled potatoes here,” the young man said with a smirk.

“Excuse me?” Jarek asked him, genuinely confused by the comment.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It is a jest we have here. See, this is the Saint Paul Union Depot. Ever since the workmen started constructing this building, they nicknamed it SPUD,” he said, continuing with his smirk. “So we serve everything with boiled potatoes. It is not that funny to travelers passing through, but it amuses us here.”

“I understand it now. I am sorry. I have just had a very long travel from New York City to here. The witticism passed right over me. I will take the beef roast . . . with the side of boiled potatoes,” Jarek said as he smiled at the waiter.

“Sounds wonderful, sir. I am easily amused at times. I do apologize. Oh, and welcome to Saint Paul! Dreadful time of year to visit, if you aren’t used to the cold.”

“No need to apologize. As I said, I am just tired from the long train ride.”

“I will return as quickly as I can with your meal. Would you like a coffee or hot tea to help warm you up?”

“Yes, please, coffee would be perfect . . .” Jarek was responding to the young man when suddenly he felt a presence coming near him.

“I will be right back with that, sir,” the young man said as he backed away from the table, turned, and walked toward the kitchen.

Not a moment sooner than when the young man turned, the other chair at the table cantered ever so slightly. Jarek could see a very subtle depression form in the cushion on the seat. Jarek knew better than to talk openly to a spirit in a crowded place such as this for two reasons. First, the people passing by would assume him wrong in the head. Secondly, spirits could change disposition quickly and could, in fact, cause damage or a ruckus with people. This entity didn’t feel malevolent, so he let it be for now, but he was unsure of why he stayed completely hidden from Jarek’s sight.

Jarek continued to stare at the chair, attempting to read the situation better, as the young man from the eatery brought him his hot coffee.

“This should help take some of the chill out of the air for you,” he said as he placed the cup in front of Jarek. “I will be back with your dinner shortly.”

“Thank you. May I ask you for some directions to the neighborhood I am traveling to this evening? Or at least get me in the general direction?”

“Of course, what neighborhood are you looking for?

“It is the home of Martin O’Connell, on Saint Claire Street—” He barely finished the sentence before the young man interrupted.

“The O’Connell mansion? You mean Mr. O’Connell, who owns the printing press? Gee, he is lousy with money. One of the richest men in the city, I reckon. It’s a pity what happened there this year . . .” he said, trailing off. “I’m sorry, sir. Sometimes I keep talking when I mean to keep those thoughts to myself.”

“No need, mac, I only know the general situation surrounding what happened. I was asked to visit to help the family through this time. Though to be honest, the only thing I know is the mother has died, and the family is having a hard time handling it.”

“Are you some type of minister? I didn’t think that the O’Connell family was very religious, but I suppose in a situation like this, someone might find God.”

“No, no, I am not a minister. I’ve just been asked to help guide them and find closure in the situation, I believe. Do you know of the details? Of course, anything you’d be willing to share that isn’t gossip.”

“I know they are still hunting the bastard that murdered Mrs. O’Connell. They found her in the library on the second floor, I heard . . . Her body was pretty mutilated, I heard, too. Mr. O’Connell hasn’t been seen much since, except at the printing factory. Just Mr. O’Connell, his daughter, and their governess remain in the house. I know a few employees still work there, but many quit after the incident. My cousin was their carriage boy, but he left a few weeks back, saying the whole situation was too gruesome and the governess was very difficult to work with.”

He seemed to take a pause, as to not seem to be gossiping.

“I know I shouldn’t say so much. After all, I can only go by what people are saying.”

“That is all right. I am glad you shared with me. It helps bring to light some of the concerns. It is never all right for anyone to have to go through a situation like the one you just described.”

“However, sir, to get to the home is fairly simple. Leave out the main exit of the Union Depot, walk to Fourth Street, and go left. You will see the Cathedral of Saint Paul; just keep walking toward that. Before getting to the church, you will come across Saint Claire Street. Go left and walk a few blocks down. On the right you will see the mansion. Can’t be more than a twenty- to thirty-minute walk. The mansion has one grand tower on the right side at least four stories tall, and there is a stunning statue in the yard of some mythical creature . . . part man, part goat . . .”

“Pan,” Jarek interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“It is probably a statue of the Greek god Pan.” I have seen them before in yards in New York City.”

“Nice to know! Anyway, you should find it. Just follow those directions. I’ll go get your food. It should be ready by now.”

The young man turned back to the kitchen, leaving Jarek alone with the spirit.

The chair next to Jarek cantered again ever so slightly. Someone going about their business would never have noticed. Jarek continued to sip his coffee and didn’t make verbal contact with the spirit, but he knew what it needed.

The young man returned promptly and set down the plate of food on the table for Jarek.

“Thank you,” Jarek said, nodding his head in appreciation. He had forgotten how famished he was until he could smell the beef roast in front of him.

“You’re welcome, sir. Enjoy.”

Jarek began to eat his dinner. He was eating rather quickly because he was very hungry but also because he did not want to arrive at the O’Connell house too late into the evening.

While he continued to eat, the spirit joining him at his table began to communicate with him. Not an audible communication in any manner, but it proceeded to talk with Jarek in his mind. It was as Jarek suspected—it was simply a spirit in need. It needed its story brought to light. The spirit was drawn to Jarek and knew that he would be able to help him.

Before he knew it, Jarek was finished with his plate of food—every bit eaten. The young man from the eatery came over to his table.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with before you venture out into the cold to the O’Connell mansion?”

“No, you have been a magnificent help. Thank you so much for the directions.”

“You are most certainly welcome. I do hope you are able to help that family. They certainly need it. Whatever it is you really do . . . Well, I hope you can help them.” The young man paused. “You can leave payment on the table. Ninety-five cents will cover the costs.”

“Thank you,” Jarek said to him as the young man walked away.

Quickly, Jarek opened his satchel and pulled out money to leave on the table. Then he tore a page out of his journal and began to scratch a note on it. Once he had finished, he gathered up his items. He put his hat and coat back on, nodded to the empty chair, and started heading toward the north exit of Union Station.

When he was only about twenty feet from the doorway, he turned and looked back toward the table he was sitting at. Next to the table was a man standing, staring at Jarek. He was wearing workman’s overalls, looked to be mid-forties, and looked to be fairly mangled in injuries. He had a look of sadness and loneliness, yet there was a glimmer of appreciation as he stared at Jarek.

Soon the young man from the eatery approached the table and began to read the note Jarek left. Jarek turned and exited the Saint Paul Union Depot and headed toward Fourth Street.

Dear Sir,

Thank you so much for the dinner of beef roast. The boiled potatoes were exceptionally delicious. I need to ask a favor of you. Please do not share with others that I am visiting the O’Connell household. During this sensitive time for them, I do not wish to have other stressors on the family.

Also, I have a message for the overseer of SPUD. I have a story and request of him. While this structure was having some repairs several weeks back, a man was working on the cables within the lift shaft. At some point, he had to crawl to the base of the shaft and work on some of the mechanical systems. While he was working, the lift was lowered down on top of him by mistake. This resulted in injuring him badly, and he was unable to make much noise due to his chest being crushed. Once the lift was brought up off him, he was able to crawl to an opening off to the side but died shortly after.

He was a transient worker from Chicago. He is very sorry for some of the decisions he made in life, for drinking too much, and is sorry to the people he has hurt. He made a terrible mistake just to be able to buy more alcohol. He is regretful of so many things, but it is too late now, and he is ready to move on from this world.

He wishes for his body to be recovered from the opening near the lift and given a proper burial. His name was Michael Stafford, and he wishes for someone to contact his mother in Chicago—Ethel Stafford. She lives near Grant Park. He would like her to know that he has passed on so she can stop worrying. Her son is at rest now.

—J. V.