Uncle Derek walked inside quickly, his eyes darting around my apartment as if he were searching for something. In fact, he began to walk from room to room. “Hey, who or what are you looking for?” I asked. He didn’t stop until he came to my painting of Cole McCaskey, Vita Abercrombie and Don Myrick.
“This is no ordinary painting, is it? Is it a living painting?”
I walked a few steps toward him, curious now. “Living painting?”
“Yes, is that a living painting? Does it come to life? Does it show you things?” He waved his hand at it like I was stupid. I noticed that his brow was sweaty as if he’d run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator.
I stuttered, “Yes. Yes, it does. How did you know?”
He paced back and forth and paused once to grab a throw blanket from the living room. With an awkward toss, he covered the painting. Immediately, the air felt better. Less charged, less urgent, less dangerous.
I could breathe better. I felt more at ease. But I wasn’t happy about this intrusion.
“I know you want to help them, Cassidy, just like your mother did. But you can’t. You just can’t. They will never stop coming. Once they start, they won’t stop.”
“How do you know this, Uncle Derek? How do you know about my mother? Did she tell you about this herself? She was a visionary painter? Why have you never told me?”
“Yes, I knew. I knew about her painting. I knew how much she loved it, at first. And I always knew there was a chance that you would inherit her…gift.” He spat the last word but didn’t stop there. “You are in danger.”
“From whom? Why am I in danger?”
“Each painting is like opening a door, Cassidy. It’s like opening a portal to another world, another dimension, whatever you want to call it. Not all doors should be opened.”
“How do you know all this?” I felt breathless, as if I were in a dream state, seeing something impossible, hearing something unbelievable. And I was.
“Keep the paintings covered when you aren’t working on them. And when you are through with them, it is best if you destroy them. Don’t show them to anyone; that makes them stronger. And for goodness’ sake, don’t try to contact them through the painting. Your mother made some horrible mistakes, Cassidy. I can’t be sure it wasn’t a ghost that led to her…”
“You aren’t going to tell me that a ghost killed her. It was giving birth to Kylie that killed her, not a ghost.”
“Right, but she’d painted it. She’d painted the whole scene before it happened. She knew what having Kylie would cost her, and she did it anyway. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She thought…she thought…well, that doesn’t matter now. Please don’t make the same mistakes she did. I can’t lose you too, Cassidy.”
“I can’t believe all this.” I flopped on the couch, clutching my stomach. “How did you know about me?”
“I don’t know. I guess after being around your mother so much, I just kind of got a sixth sense for these things.”
Then I heard tapping on my door. Light tapping, and then a whisper.
Cassidy…I need to talk to you.
Leticia! Every part of my body felt cold, suddenly, so cold that I could now see my own breath. This was wrong. This was very wrong.
I stared at Uncle Derek, hoping he could hear her too.
Open the door, Cassidy. I need to talk to you!
“I can’t talk to you right now, Leticia. I have company. Go away!” I said loudly through the door. She didn’t call to me again, but she was still there, hovering at the edge of her dimension, or wherever it was that ghosts hung out.
I wheeled around to face him. “Do you believe me now? Did you hear her? Do you know what she is?”
“Yes, I do know what she is, but I didn’t hear her. Only you did. I recognize the fear; I’ve seen it before—on your mother’s face. Please, Cassidy. Come home with me. Come with me, and I can keep you safe.” He had his hand outstretched, but I made no move to take it. He looked so much like my father, only slightly taller, thicker and with a constantly serious expression. My uncle wasn’t jovial, happy or affectionate like my father had been, but I did recognize his concern. I could live with that, but I couldn’t put him in danger. Even though he and I had never been close, and probably never would be, I couldn’t do that to him. It was true, I needed help. But I needed professional help, so to speak.
“I appreciate the offer, but I have somewhere to go.”
Cassidy!
I felt a panic attack rising up within me. I’d need a paper bag or an anxiety pill soon. I raced across the room and grabbed my cell phone. “Midas, come get me. It’s time for me to go.”
“I’m on the way,” he said without question. And as he hung up, I knew he would be. He would be on his way, and I would be free from whatever horrors awaited me. At least for a little while. I didn’t care if Uncle Derek hung around. I began stuffing my overnight bag with clothes, my toothbrush and my makeup bag. And of course, I packed the Noelle book. I had so much to learn, and quickly too.
“Is this Midas going to know what he’s up against? Are you getting some poor, innocent sucker involved in a dangerous situation? Think about it, Cassidy. Just think about it, please.”
“Midas might be a lot of things, but he’s never been a ‘poor, innocent sucker’ in his life. Thanks for the concern, but I am going to be okay. And thanks for the tips you offered. Listen, Uncle Derek, I have to go. I hope you understand.”
“I’ll leave if you want me to, but I would rather wait until he arrives, just to be safe. My presence might keep them at bay for a while, but not for long.”
“Suit yourself,” I said as I watered my one lonely houseplant. It had lived this long; it would be a shame to kill it now. Then I heard knocking, but this time it wasn’t at my front door. Someone was inside my bathroom! I didn’t bother calling out because I didn’t want to know who was in there. Thank God I’d already grabbed my toothbrush and makeup bag. And then the banging started at the front door too. Soon there was banging coming from all over, above us in the ceiling, at the front door, on all the closed doors in the apartment. With each knock, my soul shuddered and I believed that any minute something would step out and grab me.
Then it all stopped and I heard one more knock. This one was light, like the knock of the living, not the dead. “Cassidy, it’s Midas. Let me in. It’s freezing out here.”
I ran past my uncle and opened the front door. I wanted to fall in my boyfriend’s arms but immediately began grabbing my bags, my purse and the other things I might need. “The ghosts came here, Midas. Leticia is a ghost! They want me! I have to get out. Just ask my Uncle Derek. He’ll tell you what…. Uncle Derek?”
My uncle was gone. Somehow, he was gone. I couldn’t explain it and didn’t understand it. He was there a moment ago—I ran right past him—but now he was gone.
Then I felt the cold again and heard him whisper in my head, Go, Cassidy. Before they come back. I can’t keep them away forever.
And that’s when I knew that Uncle Derek was dead. For a terrifying moment, I felt so alone. But then I remembered that I wasn’t alone. I had Sierra and the rest of GCP…even Pete seemed to like me now. And I had Midas. I was so thankful for Midas. With him by my side, I knew I could face whatever lay ahead.
The Ghost Lights of Forrest Field
Book Six
Gulf Coast Paranormal Series
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2017 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved
Dedication
This one is for the kids that ride their bikes with no hands.
Prologue
1789
It wasn’t the sound of the door opening that woke Marguerite Babineaux this time. She lay quite still in the squeaky bed, the quilt pulled up around her neck protecting her from the chilly air. Then she heard the sound again, the one that woke her. It was a unique sound, not her bedmate’s soft snoring. A moaning—no, not moa
ning. This was singing. Marguerite heard a woman’s voice, soft and high. It came from outside her window, but how was that possible?
Her curiosity grew as her ears strained to capture the fading voice. There it was again, but it sounded even farther away now. Unable to resist looking for the source of the sound, she slid out from under the blanket, tugged on her heavy wool socks and padded to the window. From her vantage point, Marguerite could see quite a long way. The Bosarge house was two stories high, the highest in all the fort. And from here in the attic, the young woman had a wide view of the surrounding area.
What Marguerite saw surprised her. There were lights in the meadow just beyond the fort, soft, blue lights like fallen stars that decided to come down and rest on the earth below. They were small illuminations but not so small as to be written off as some sort of firefly or other insect. They appeared to be the size of a man’s hand, but then they began pulsating, getting smaller and then larger at random. No, not random—in unison. She counted six of them now, and all the blue lights were moving away from the fort, across the meadow and into the woods beyond.
Marguerite could not fight the compulsion she now felt, the absolute conviction that she must go see these lights closer. She paused as she wrapped a borrowed shawl around her thin shoulders and looked down into the heartbreakingly perfect face of her benefactor’s daughter, Elizabeth Bosarge. Even sleeping, Elizabeth was far more beautiful than Marguerite. Marguerite felt a familiar twinge of jealousy flare up within her. Maybe she couldn’t manage to recite prose perfectly, and she had no head for figures or deep thought. Yes, it was true that she had to surrender her late family’s small fortune for her upkeep, but she did not have to tell Elizabeth about what she heard now. She wouldn’t, she just wouldn’t. Marguerite smiled, happy that after two years of unhappy living with the Bosarge family, she had something of her own. As quickly as she could, Marguerite slipped on her black boots. She tiptoed across the wooden floor, pausing twice when the boards squeaked, and carefully navigated the narrow staircase. She had walked only a few steps down before the combined snoring of Bettina and Edward Bosarge rose to greet her.
What a horrible pair, even while they slept!
Marguerite took some comfort in knowing that both Bosarges were heavy sleepers. The only person she worried about was August, their houseman, a swarthy little man with an untrusting attitude. He was mute but very expressive and protective of his employer’s interests. Marguerite was happy to spot him sleeping in the rocking chair before the waning fire in the parlor. She hurried to the front door, quietly lifted the latch and stepped outside. The bracing cold chilled her, but Marguerite did not let the frosty air deter her. Her heart raced as she stepped lightly down the front porch steps and hurried to a copse of trees between the house and the fort gate. She hugged the slender pine as she cast a watchful eye toward the upper walkway.
The watchmen here at the fort were lazy and liked to drink come evening time. She and Elizabeth often indulged in an evening walk; Elizabeth’s mother, Bettina, believed it was good for their constitution, whatever that might be. The girls often traveled around the fort’s parapet and rarely saw a watchman. Tensions had eased after a strong treaty with the Alibamu tribe was established. There were no other threats in this area, except for the biting mosquitoes that could sometimes make one sick.
Sprinting to the gate now, she slid the bolt open with cold, achy fingers. Without pausing, she stepped outside—outside to freedom!
She thought she heard someone calling her name, but after waiting a few seconds and hearing nothing else, she didn’t look back. Marguerite decided she needed to move fast if she was going to see the magical blue lights before they disappeared. While the moon was not full tonight, the half-moon above grew brighter by the second, and even a lazy sentry would spot her in her white dress and bright red shawl if she wasn’t careful.
Marguerite hadn’t gotten far into the meadow before she heard a rustling in front of her. She breathed a sigh of relief when a fat brown rabbit hopped out of the thick grass and then bounced away from her. She must have startled him. Not as much as you startled me, she thought. Marguerite hurried on her way; the lights should be ahead of her soon. She had to see those blue lights up close! Who had ever heard of such a thing?
“Marguerite! Wait!”
It was Elizabeth! Somehow, she’d heard Marguerite leave and followed her out of the fort!
Stupid Elizabeth. If she insisted on yelling, she would wake up half the fort.
Marguerite didn’t acknowledge her, and she certainly wasn’t going to wait for her. She ran faster. Her untied boots tried to slip off her feet a few times, but she pressed on and managed to outrun Elizabeth significantly. As she always did. Elizabeth wasn’t strong at all.
And then Marguerite heard the singing again, a woman’s voice laughing and singing, but the language she did not know. Could it be French? Spanish? It was certainly not the Alibamu language. She’d heard the natives speak many times, and their language was not smooth and flowing like this one. The Alibamu language was difficult to follow, although Marguerite had the basic words or phrases down. In fact, she’d mastered the language so well that Bettina Bosarge often sent her to make the monthly trades when the Alibamu came with fresh deer or wild boar meat. It wasn’t seemly that either Elizabeth or Bettina should engage in such activities. Mrs. Bosarge held a fierce distrust of the Alibamu but not so much that she didn’t desire their furs and the wild boar meat they sometimes bartered.
Marguerite flushed thinking of the time she’d first met Chebola Bula, the most handsome young man in the Alibamu tribe. They’d only spoken a few times during trading sessions, but he had made quite an impression on her. She couldn’t be sure of his age and had no idea how to pose such a question, but her heart always skipped a beat when she saw him in the square. The Alibamu had no qualms about trading with women, and Chebola Bula was always fair and friendly. He had the shiniest black hair she’d ever seen, shinier than even her own. He’d brushed her hand once, and her skin had burned for hours afterward. Elizabeth had caught her rubbing at the spot and elbowed her in the side with a cautious smile. Elizabeth had whispered, “Anything between you two would be impossible.” It was pointless to argue with her, and that would only reveal more of Marguerite’s true feelings.
The song drifted ahead of Marguerite, lingering, luring her, drawing her out of her thoughts. She passed through the meadow, the tall grasses brushing against her palms as she traveled. She focused her eyes on a grove of bushy cedars just ahead of her. Yes, she could see them now. There was a light, no, two lights beyond!
Oh, the music, such sweet music! She wanted to laugh aloud, to call out to the bouncing blue lights that passed near her, but doing so would reveal her hiding place. And she did not want Elizabeth to follow her.
Just twenty feet, no, fifteen feet now. She was so close!
Suddenly, one of the lights stopped and hovered in midair. Did it see her? Marguerite made no attempt to hide from it. Why should she? She put her hand out, inviting it to touch her, give her the song she heard. Marguerite’s dark hair whipped around her as a boisterous wind traveled through the trees. The light paused, bounced once and moved toward her a few inches. She stared, unafraid, her hand still stretched out as a show of good faith.
See? I’m no threat, she thought, but she didn’t have the courage to declare such a thing out loud. The light bounced as if it heard her. It struck the ground, sending sparks beneath it, and then rose high above her. Then the light expanded as if it wanted to stretch into something. Was that a face?
Suddenly, fear washed over her. This was no fallen star, no play of the light. This light was something else—it was a ghost! Yes, that had to be it. These were ghost lights, and they’d seen her. They knew she was there because she’d stupidly reached for them. She did not move; the light did not move either but continued to hover in place. There was no more singing or whispering. The sounds combined and became a strange buzzing.
<
br /> What is happening?
And then hands were on her, one on her mouth and one around her waist. The hands were those of a man! They grabbed her and pulled her down into the frosty grass. She wanted to scream, to call out and break free from her unknown captor. Until she heard a familiar voice in her ear.
Chebola Bula!
Marguerite was too surprised to fight him. He released her mouth, but his arm remained firmly around her waist. His face was in front of her now, and he held up a finger to his lips. His dark eyes warned her to remain quiet. Marguerite shivered when she spotted a gleaming knife at his side. Could she trust him? Of course she could. Chebola Bula would never harm her. She nodded back and held her breath. They were hidden deep in the grass now, and the low branches of the cedar trees hung over them. She didn’t call out for help. She didn’t try to run. She wanted to hide…something felt wrong. Her mouth opened to question him, but he shook his head and she remained silent. She heard another voice now, a sweet voice. Marguerite’s heart fell.
Elizabeth!
Marguerite struggled to rise, for she had to warn her friend, but Chebola Bula would not let her go. His eyes were wide with fear, and she knew something was certainly wrong. Marguerite struggled against his hard body even as she heard the grass stirring on the other side of the tree. The lights were closing in on them, but Chebola Bula held her tight. Then the buzzing ceased and the lights blasted past them, dividing evenly around the tree, three on each side. The blue lights did not bounce playfully now. They headed toward Elizabeth with purpose. Marguerite continued to struggle, and Chebola Bula finally released her.
She lost her shawl as she ran behind the lights. Too afraid to cry out, but desperate to intervene, she hoped to reach Elizabeth before they did. She lost one of her boots and ran awkwardly through the cold grass of the field.
Haunted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 2) Page 21
