The next morning, a package on my desk was topped by a card with Burke’s aggressive handwriting.
“Ms. Prescott. Here is your new cell phone. Please hang onto it. Notice that your number has been changed so no unauthorized people will receive your messages by mistake. B. C.”

      How did he know I’d misplaced my phone? That reminded me: my calls to Martin’s garage continued to be one-way conversations with an answering machine. I gave it one more try, then took my problem to Sheila. Sidestepping my mission, she commandeered my arm and ushered me into her office.

      “You must meet my friend, Sybil Clyde. We worked together on the Pohick Church altar guild for years. You can imagine how much she’s taught me.”

      So saying, she angled me around until I faced one of the most striking women I had ever seen. The epitome of elegance, she had silver hair, piercing blue eyes softened by a genuinely warm smile, and a formidable frame that lent an inescapable aura of royalty.

      Sheila squeezed my elbow, an expectant expression on her face.. “You do know who this is, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid I…,” I began.

      Sheila threw up her hands in mock astonishment. “Amanda, you’ve been living in a cocoon! Sybil is the famous researcher of ‘walk-ins.’ Surely you’ve read her best seller, The Revolving Grave, or seen her on television.”

      “I confess that I haven’t yet read your book, but I’ve seen some very favorable reviews. I gather that it’s about reincarnation.”

      Sybil smiled warmly. “That’s simplifying it. The parapsychology department at the state university is examining the theory that remarkable souls assume new bodies to help mankind. We have documented evidence of dramatic shifts in the personality of famous people as the result of spirits ousting the original soul and taking over.”

      “You’re talking about ghosts?”

      “Theoretically, ‘walk-ins’ are ghosts until they settle in new bodies,” Sybil explained. “As ghosts, they reappear in their usual habitats until they find someone who can benefit from their intrusion.”

      “How does a ‘walk-in’ enter someone’s body without giving away clues of its presence? That would be no different than a stranger passing himself off as someone he’s not.”

      “It appears that the ‘walk-in’ absorbs all of the host’s knowledge and habits,” Sybil said. “The main difference is that he can’t recall and reproduce the host’s emotions. Those he expresses are his very own acquired over the centuries it took to perfect his soul.”

      “Then a ‘walk-in’ is always a good person?”

      Sybil shook her head. “Not necessarily. A ‘walk-in’ can be either good or evil. Good souls have courage to refuse takeover by an evil spirit. The average person, who is neither terribly good nor terribly bad, makes the best host. When a good ‘walk-in’ takes over, the changes are so subtle that deviations in habit are rarely questioned. Evidence of an evil ‘walk-in’ is an enormous change in a person, such as when a highly reputable man performs a hideous deed, like murder, and fails to repent. The opposite cases are of sinful people who reverse character by undertaking a series of good deeds. In general, a ‘walk-in’ replaces a soul to achieve the desired ends without arousing suspicion or controversy.”

      “Intriguing,” I said, turning to Sheila. “And where do you come in?”

      “We met at Pohick Church when Sybil was investigating George Washington’s take-over by a ‘walk-in’,” she said. “As a young man, Washington was an officer for the King of England during the French and Indian War. He may never have become involved in a revolution were it not for a young clergyman at Pohick Church who urged the congregation to seek freedom from oppression. The clergyman died quite suddenly. Within a few months, Washington adopted all of the arguments the clergyman had espoused and began formulating plans for ending the British rule.” She paused, allowing me to prepare for the inevitable bombshell. “Washington had become someone else.”

      I frowned. “Just because Washington promoted a revolution doesn’t prove that he was taken over by an other spirit. We’re all capable of changing our minds.”

      Sybil smiled. “There’s ample proof in Washington’s case.”

      “Proof?”

      “Documented letters written by people close to him. Most are stored in the National Archives or the library at Mount Vernon.”

      “You’ve seen them?”

      “Goodness, yes. I spent years of research before writing my book. In one letter to a friend, Martha Washington mentioned a distinct change in her husband, saying, ‘If I didn’t know he was the same man I married, I would believe he has become in thought, word, and deed his good friend, our recently deceased curate.’”

      “There are others?”

      “Many written by friends and neighbors, others by his military associates. In those days, people had no concept of a ‘walk-in.’ They were merely pointing out the coincidence of a great personality change and his adoption of the clergyman’s unique set of values.”

      “It would be hard to prove a change said to happen two centuries ago.” 

      Sybil smiled again. “You’re right to be skeptical, but I can convince you. Visit me in Leesburg sometime and we’ll go through my notes.”

      “In the meantime, visit Pohick Church,” Sheila urged. Her voice sank to a whisper. “I’ve seen the clergyman myself, right by the altar. One minute he‘s there, and the next he’s gone. He looks real enough, but one clue gives me definite proof.”

      “And that is…?”

      “He makes no sound when he walks.”

      “On the surface, it seems too absurd to be plausible,” I said. “Still, I’d like to learn more.”
Sybil handed me her card. “Please drop in the next time you’re in Leesburg. I feel at home there with the Revolutionary spirits who haunt every building and by-way. My spine shivers when they brush past me at the old court house or in the shops along Market and King Streets. Heroes and heroines alike plotted ways to outwit the British redcoats who occupied local homes and drank nightly in the Laurel Brigade Inn.”

      I smiled back at Sybil. “You whet my appetite for mystery. I’ll be in touch soon.”

      As I left the office, I heard Sheila say, “I knew you two would hit it off.” 

© 2006Emily Pritchard Cary. All Rights Reserved. Contact Emily Cary at