The Linden Row Inn, Richmond, Virginia

I took my mother away, here, for Mother's Day one year. Hollywood Cemetery is nearby. Edgar Allen Poe grew up, here. By his time, the place was already an inn, and his mother was a traveling actress, so he had stayed, here, as a child. He played here, what is known as the garden, with his friend Helen, who he later wrote To Helen for. I had the best meal of my life in the place, and the people were very gracious. We stayed in the garden, but I know it was the old kitchen of the place, separated from the main house by the courtyard. Most old places have separate kitchens in case of fire.

We had a charming red brick cottage. All night as I slept, I kept waking up, smelling delicious food. It smelled as if it could only be coming from the room. The kitchen in the main house would have been closed for hours, and the smell was very strong. When I awoke in the early hours of the morning there was a slender black woman standing over me, looking down on me, and smiling. She had a long, full red skirt on, and a white towel tied tight around her head. There was also a faint buzz of white light about her head. I was not in the least afraid of her. She seemed quite nice. We had taken some pictures in the cottage, and there are orbs present, but I am not a big buyer at saying orbs in pictures represent souls. I don't know. I think sometimes they might, but others are just tricks of flash.

I worked in a school that used to be an old tuberculosis sanitarium for years, that's where I'll be taking you next time.