Halloween Special: The Bosney House

BOSNEY HOUSE

[Eerie music.]

Narrator—Alexander Danner

Welcome back, dear listeners. I say “welcome,” but it’s not as though you’ve given me much choice, have you?  I can’t exactly shoo you away. Ah well–I do understand the pleasure of intruding into the places we don’t belong. Places like… the Boston Athenaeum. Do you know it? A beautiful, one-of-a-kind library, an architectural landmark, a time capsule of Boston history.

Ah, but here’s the catch–it’s a library open only to paying subscribers!

Muaahahahahaha–it’s a concept so devilish, it’s worthy of Legion itself! Hmmm… perhaps we should consider franchising?

But I suppose first we should take a look inside, if you’d care to join me on an illicit tour of these exclusive stacks. I believe we have a guide making a research foray of her own, in a story we’ve titled:

“Bosney House.”

[Music fades.]

[Red Line train.]

Desiree—Amanda McCormack

When I started researching the Bosney House in Back Bay, it never occurred to me to get a membership at the Boston Athenaeum. After all, I’m a broke grad student and the idea of being surrounded by that Gilded Age beauty and the ancient books and, more importantly, money? That’s not exactly a realistic thought for someone who drives past Whole Foods to go to the suburbs and shop for groceries at the Walmart near their mom’s house.

But it was my birthday, and my mom surprised me with a membership. And after spending some time looking at their digital collections and what is just available for the taking on their shelves? I realized they may have more information about Back Bay, and the Bosney House in particular, than anywhere else in the world. So the day after my birthday, I packed my bag, waited for my train car apartment to roll up to Park Street, and went to explore.

[Quiet library environment.]

The building was gorgeous, with ornate architecture and golden banisters welcoming those with more money and academic standing than me. I spent nearly the whole day there, searching for every piece of documentation in their archives that might help me get a stronger feel for the architects of the city and the world they lived in, particularly the Bosney House. Something about it just didn’t fit right, like William Coates, the esteemed architect credited with the building, maybe didn’t create the whole thing. As someone who has studied the history of Boston, I knew it was wrong. I just didn’t know why yet. And I didn’t have an answer to my question before the library closed, but I stacked the books neatly on a back table in the silent study area of their fifth floor in order to return to it the next day. 

[Suspenseful music.]

Then I had to go home to the Red Line car apartment that I shared with four other people and do my best not to dream of falling through the holes in the floor of the ten stories of book storage, or the elevator cord snapping as it rose… and rose… and rose… then CRACK! And down it flew, papers flying from their books and fluttering around me in the air as the ground came ever closer. And—

[Music intensifies.]

I woke before I hit.

[Music fades.]

[Library environment.]

The next morning, I was back at the Athenaeum, staring at red front doors that were just a shade off of the red of my train car apartment. I finished my coffee in the bright sunshine, then shifted my bag on my shoulders and walked inside. 

My stack of books was up on the fifth floor, so I needed to go up there first. But before I did, I took a few minutes to myself to take in the ambience, which was so different from anywhere I’ve been before. I set down my bag on a bench, poked through some of the new additions to their collection, and took in some sunlight. But Back Bay history waits for no grad student, so eventually I had to go in the elevator.

Yesterday I had taken the stairs, winding up and down through the endless shelves. But today I was going straight upstairs and right back to work, so I may as well be efficient about my trip. So it was time to explore the rickety old elevator from my dream.

[Button press.]

Of course, the elevator didn’t seem to be arriving. 

[Impatient button pressing.]

I pressed the button, then I waited.

[Wheeled cart passes by.]

I waited as an old woman with a sour look on her face passed by, then as a librarian in a flowered cardigan pushed a cart full of books through the room. And for a moment I was pretty sure I was going to have a lot of time to consider the differences between the Bosney House and the rest of William Coates’ architecture as I trudged back up the stairs.

[Elevator arrives.]

But then the doors shuddered open and I stepped into the tiny elevator.

[Footsteps. Button press. Elevator doors close. Elevator rises. Elevator stops. Doors open.]

I pressed for the fifth floor, but the elevator stopped at the balcony between the first and second. I waited as the doors opened and an old man stepped in.

[Eerie Whoosh. Doors close. Elevator rattles as it rises.]

He was dressed all in black, almost like a minister, and I was instantly reminded of the story my mother told me when she gave me my membership packet, of Nathaniel Hawthorne and the minister’s ghost. You know Hawthorne. Scarlet Letter? Rapaccini’s Daughter? So, not in this building, but where the Athenaeum used to be in Hawthorne’s day. He claimed he saw the ghost of old Reverend Harris, reading his newspaper in the comfort of the library in the days after his death. It’s a fun story. I nodded hello and the man watched me sternly. So I just looked away as the doors slid shut, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

[Elevator dings as it passes floors.]

The man didn’t say a word as the elevator continued to chatter its way up, the lights glowing for the second floor, then the second floor balcony. I could feel his eyes on me, but when I looked, he was glaring at the doors with the same determination I’d felt to look away and not engage in conversation. Fair enough. I didn’t want to talk either, I just wanted to consider the brickwork of the Bosney House and wonder why Coates would possibly have chosen it given his taste for wooden beams and high, airy ceilings.

[Elevator stops. Doors open. Footsteps.]

The door opened again on the third floor. A librarian walked in and gave me a friendly smile. She stepped toward the man and I watched in horror as half of her body merged with half of his. 

[Suspenseful thumping music.]

She didn’t seem to notice, then turned to me. “Warm today,” she said pleasantly, adjusting her sweater.

“Y-yeah.”

Her arm went through his torso and I could see the indignation on the man’s face as he stared sternly at the elevator doors. “Oh, four please,” the librarian said.

[Button press. Doors close. Elevator rises.]

I nodded and pressed the button with a trembling hand. The doors slid shut and off we went.

She left in silence a moment later and then it was me and the man again. The man who was obviously a ghost. I glanced over at him and he continued to stare straight ahead, pointedly ignoring me. He was probably seventy or so, with silver hair cut short and clothes that I realized now were very old fashioned. I’d thought maybe he was just fancy, that these were the kinds of fancy clothes people wore on Beacon Hill. But no, these clothes belonged in a museum.

[Elevator stops. Doors open. Stumbling footsteps]

Finally, the doors opened on the fifth floor and I stumbled out as fast as I could. The doors started sliding shut behind me and I couldn't resist looking back to see if the ghost was reaching for me, to pull me into the literary netherworld with him. But there was nobody there, not a single person to be seen in the elevator.

[Music stops.]

[Library environment.]

I breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how or even if I would  tell my roommates about this tonight. Maybe by then I could convince myself that the whole thing had been a dream. For now, though, I needed to figure out what renowned nineteenth-century Boston architect William Coates’ deal was. So I was just going to sit down, take out my notebooks, and…

My bag. My bag was still downstairs. With my notebooks, wallet, water bottle, and every single pen I owned.

How bad did I need any of that? I could just memorize these facts, right? And nobody was going to steal my wallet here. I was probably the person with the least amount of money in this entire building. There was no need for me to go downstairs and get it. I could just…

Just…

Motherfucker, I was going back down that elevator, wasn’t I?

[Button press.]

I pressed the down button, all the while thinking I could just walk down the stairs. It was only ten floors, five if you don’t count the balconies. I was young and strong, I could climb down, then up, then stay up here and do my work. And never go in that haunted elevator again.

But no, it was here, my shoes hurt, and I needed to do this or I’d never go in it again. And that was just silly. Maybe he wasn’t a ghost, maybe it’d been an optical illusion and he’d been very patient with a scatter-brained librarian elbowing him in the stomach. Yeah, that’s what it was.

[Elevator arrives. Descends.]

The elevator was empty when the doors opened a second later, the cheerful ding [ding] sending an echoing ding [eerie warped ding] of fear into my stomach. I got inside and waited as the doors slid shut, then brought me back down, not opening once until we got to the first floor. 

My bag was still on the bench where I’d left it, my wallet and notebooks still tucked safely inside. I grabbed it and was about to go upstairs when I saw him again, sitting in a squashy chair by the window, reading a book. And looking at the way the sunlight streamed through him, there was no way to convince myself otherwise. This was a ghost.

This wasn’t the reverend. It wasn’t any kind of reverend, but I did remember the theory Hawthorne had. Reverend Harris, the ghost, hadn’t said anything to him because they hadn’t been properly introduced. So I needed to properly introduce myself to this man and then maybe he’d leave me alone.

“Hello,” I said, knowing my mom was going to have some opinions on this idea once I told her about it later. “I’m Desiree. What’s your name?”

The ghost looked up at me with a surprised smile. “Augustus Carmichael. Architect of the Bosney House. Please credit me properly, Miss Desiree. William Coates did nothing more than sign the paperwork once I died.”

He winked at me, then began to fade in the sunlight as I picked up my bag. By the time I had it on my shoulder, Mr. Carmichael was gone. And I had a new lead in my research.

[Background fades.]

[Eerie music.]

Narrator

Hmmm, I wonder… what precisely is the etiquette when encountering a fellow intruder into spaces not our own? I don’t imagine Emily Post has had much to say about that. But one thing is certain–when encountering the dead, it’s always best to be polite.

Production

Greater Boston is created by Alexander Danner and Jeff Van Dreason, with support from Amanda McCormack, T. H. Ponders, Bob Raymonda, Jordan Stillman, and Theo Wolf.

This episode was written by Amanda McCormack, with additional dialogue by Alexander Danner. Sound design by Alexander Danner and dialogue editing by Bob Raymonda.

Cast

This episode featured:

• Amanda McCormack as Desiree
• and Alexander Danner as the Narrator

Transcripts are available on our website at GreaterBostonShow.com.

To keep up with Greater Boston news, sign up for our mostly-monthly newsletter.

Greater Boston is a ThirdSight Media production.

COOKIE

Alexander Danner

[Harsh throat clearing.]

But one thing is certain… [throat catches.]

[Harsh throat clearing.]

AAH! Why did I eat spicy food first?!?!

[Harsh throat clearing.]

[Heavy sigh.]

[More throat clearing.]

CONTENT NOTES

• Dread
• Ghosts
• Classism
• Unpleasant throat noises (post-credits only)