Footsteps of Angels (Marietta Book 2)

by M. L. Bullock

That had been so long ago I barely remembered my daughter’s sweet face. No, I didn’t want to remember those brown curls and trusting hazel eyes. Only seven. Just seven. Her brother, John Lamar away with his father on his first ever hunt.

  One would be taken, one would remain.

  Yet I remembered the sounds of my own screaming as Sophie was pulled down, down, down, into the dirt. The horror of being buried alive terrified me. I’d dug like a mad man but it had been no use. The Beast had taken her, and she would not return. If I were any kind of mother, I would have ended it then. But would sacrificing myself be enough?

  What about burning the place to the ground? I could not be sure. How was I to know such things?

  Mary finally awoke with yet another scream. The rocking chair tipped over and a blast of bloody odor filled the room. Sally whispered a prayer as the baby emerged into the world. He had a loud, lusty voice. Always a good sign.

  I knew it was a boy. I had known all along. I knew a great many things. The bones told me, and I always believed the bones.

  They had not let me down so far.

  Chapter Two—Rachel

  The drive to Biloxi wouldn’t take long and the view along Beach Boulevard was breathtaking. Strange that I loved the ocean so much but rarely went to the water anymore. But there would be no time for taking strolls. Besides, I was anxious to share all the information I gathered about Marietta with the Stuarts. I was honored that they would invite me along. It had been a while since I've been involved in a full-blown Carrie Jo and Ashland investigation.

  Because of my involvement with the Brotherhood, I suspected that Ashland and Carrie Jo kept me at arm’s length just a little bit. I know they loved me, like an oddball sister. But there was that little bit of distrust because of all that had gone down with our group.

  As far as I could tell from my own experience the Brotherhood was merely a group of scholars who wanted to get to the bottom of local hauntings. They were open to all sorts of phenomena including ESP, psychometry and yes, mediumship. On occasion they asked me about the Stuarts, but I never told them anything of importance. Eventually, they stopped asking. I wasn't down with backstabbing my friends. Despite what they might suspect.

  Still like most people in the paranormal community, Seven Sisters continued to be a place of interest for anyone interested in ghosts, dream catching and the rarely talked about phenomenon, time travel. So much so that CJ decided to close the house for tours. I didn't blame her for that. There were a lot of shady characters out there who had no qualms about coming into your home and doing things they shouldn’t.

  It was the unfortunate truth—the dark side of this paranormal world. There were a lot of bad actors out there. People that didn’t mind stirring up a hornets’ nest and then leaving you to deal with the angry spirits. Bad human beings that treated ghosts and the spirit world in general with a singular lack of respect. This was all entertainment to most of them.

  Sure, occasionally a tour guest would regal us with an interesting story. Everyone has a “ghost” story of one kind or another, but even true-blue witnesses have a hard time believing what they’ve seen themselves.

  Back when Seven Sisters was open to the public, I led more than my share of tours. We were so proud of our work, so proud of Seven Sisters coming to life again. But inevitably we’d discover weird fetishes left behind under cushions and behind doors. Or the odd scrawling of graffiti, a half-burned candle, and even more disturbing things. No matter how hard we tried to corral guests and keep them out of the residence it was nearly impossible to keep an eye out all the time.

  Eventually, Carrie Jo put her size seven foot down and the tours came to an end. It was a smart move.

  And now Heather, the owner of Marietta wanted to open the historic home to the public. I hoped she knew what she was in for and had adequate staffing. Even though Marietta wasn’t as large as Seven Sisters, it had a significant boneyard and other historic locations nearby.

  Lots of bad things could happen if allowed.

  I was sitting in the back seat. Ashland was driving of course, and Carrie Jo had just finished a phone call with Detra Ann. Her other bestie decided against coming to Marietta even though CJ asked her too repeatedly. I got the feeling that that Detra Ann wanted to step away from all things supernatural but that wasn't going to be easily achieved.

  No one that owned an antique store would ever be completely free of the paranormal.

  The three of us were only going to stay the weekend--at least this go around. AJ was with Detra Ann, he loved her daughter Chloe and Lily had gone to tennis camp. I was so proud of her. She was like the little sister I never had. Amazing how intertwined all our families were. It was perfect except for me and Angus.

  "What do you have for us, Rachel? I can tell you are chomping at the bit to tell us what you know. Thanks for coming, by the way. It’s like old times, isn’t it?” Carrie Jo’s pretty smile reminded me of the first time I met her. She was always so excited about life. CJ loved history as much as I did. And Ashland. Maybe that’s what made our friendship so tight. We were history and research nerds of the highest order.

  “Yes! Hopefully not quite as terrifying but I am excited about working with y’all. I did a recon last weekend--I was careful not to be detected. I managed to investigate the property without being noticed. I didn’t go inside though. I didn’t want to spook Heather. From what I observed, there’s a problem on the grounds. The energy is uniquely…” I struggled to find the right word. I didn’t want to doom us with words like “evil” or “cursed” but that’s how it felt. “It was not a welcoming energy, I’ll put it that way.”

  Carrie Jo glanced at me in her visor mirror. “I agree.” She wasn’t smiling at all. “I saw something—in Mary’s vision. Or dream. Gob smacked, that’s how it left me. So, the thing that molested Mary, what happened to Portia, it is not just symbolic. There is something on that property under the ground. Is that what you're saying?”

  “Yes, that’s what I believe. But why? And what?”

  “The dream, I was looking through Marietta’s eyes. It was horrible, Rachel. She knew there was something here and she contributed to its strength. She referred to it as the Beast. It was here on the property when her husband built the house. And even before that, or so Marietta believed. I can't even express how terrifying it was to witness how it appeared firsthand. Sometimes being a dreamcatcher really sucks.” She shivered as she slowly recalled the details of her most recent dream.

  When she was done it was my turn to shiver. "I can honestly say, I no longer want your gift. I don’t know how you do it, Carrie Jo. I sense things but I don’t have flat out visions, nor do I see ghosts like you, Ashland. Well, not on the regular.” I dug the folder out of my backpack. “Here it is. I dug up some interesting stuff that could fit with Marietta’s experiences. Have either one of you ever heard of a grim?"

  “You mean like the Grim Reaper? The guy with the sickle?" Ashland asked with a slight grin on his face.

  I frowned at him as if to scold him for not taking this information seriously. "This particular grim is nothing like that. It's not a cartoon or a figment of someone's imagination. According to legend this thing is deadly and dangerous. I can't understand why it would be terrorizing the living though. According to my research, grims are mostly found in English and Scandinavian graveyards. When a new cemetery was established, the church or landowner would assign a protector. Usually a dog. A black dog—that’s a grim. These black dogs were supposed to protect the dead from grave robbers, witches, warlocks. Even the devil. A grim had great power. Here’s the terrible part, the tradition was the dog had to be buried alive under the cornerstone of either the church or the corner of the cemetery property. Unfortunately, settlers from those areas continued the practice when they moved to America. Even down here."

  Carrie Jo half spun around in her seat as much as her seatbelt would allow her. "Are you kidding, Rachel? That's horrible. An actual living animal buried in the gr
aveyard alive. I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking. Wait. Are you saying that there is a grim on the Marietta property?"

  “According to the records I found, yes. A grim was sanctioned by the church when Marietta was built. There was a small church on the property, but it is long gone. Burned to the ground. You know that there were several houses on that land before Marietta was built. People had already been buried on the property before the Lancaster family moved in. And the Lancasters all met with foul ends. Even the Native Americans considered the land tainted.”

  The couple exchanged glances and we rode in silence for a minute. Okay, it was a lot to take in. I gave them time to process it all. They didn’t ask any questions, so I picked up my narrative.

  “Anyway, more about the grim. The English settlers believed that when a new churchyard was opened, the first person buried there had to guard it against the Devil. Sounds like a horrible assignment, huh? Since no human soul wanted to do the job or should be expected to spend eternity fighting evil it was the grim’s job. The Irish believed a little differently. They believed that the spirit of the person most recently buried in a churchyard had to protect the dead from evil until the next funeral. Then the newly buried would become the new guardian. They called this the Graveyard Watch. I don’t know why I am telling you this. But it is an interesting bit of history. Obviously, the Lancasters weren’t Irish. Look at this church record. It’s a rare find. It’s from the chapel that used to be on the Marietta property. Luckily, the smaller churches had to send records of deaths and births to the basilica in Mobile. That’s where I found this.”

  Carrie Jo studied the paper and handed it back to me. “Rachel, you’ve outdone yourself with this research. How on earth did you uncover all this?” Carrie Jo asked as she sipped her iced coffee. I didn’t want to tell her, but I wasn’t going to keep it to myself. No secrets between us. Honesty was the best policy.

  “Okay. Full disclosure. The Brotherhood archives. They’ve got a library like you’ve never seen but I had to request records. Or rather the Brotherhood asked, and the basilica delivered. I could show you sometime if you’re interested.” I offered with a smile.

  Carrie Jo smiled back at me in the mirror. “Maybe.”

  Ashland broke the silence that followed. "You know I think I have heard of this practice. Grims aren’t just dogs, right? I have heard of pigs and other livestock being buried but never dogs."

  "That's right, Ashland. In Scandinavia they often buried black pigs as protectors. But here in the south, it was most often a black dog. They have more than one in Mobile. You’ve probably seen them at Magnolia Cemetery. There’s one in the old section, in a back corner. That black dog statue.”

  “Interesting and heartbreaking. I can’t believe it. That’s so sad.” Carrie Jo slid her eyeglasses over her face. The sun was so bright now. At least the clouds had parted. It was nice to see the sun. It had been raining for days. “Here’s a question: If it is a grim I saw, if that’s what we’re dealing with, why would it turn on the owners? Why would a guardian demand a sacrifice? And another thing, the image I saw in Marietta’s mind, it didn’t look like a dog. It was tall and had a humanoid shape to it.”

  I twisted my lips as I considered her question. “Um, well. There is more than enough evidence to suggest that before it was a church cemetery, it was a Native American burial ground. People have burying people on that land for hundreds of years. I just wonder if that might be part of the conflict? Native American beliefs about the afterlife vary greatly from tribe to tribe many of the southern Native American tribes also believed in protectors for the dead. They could appear in different ways too.”

  “Really?” Ashland asked curiously. “I never thought of that.”

  “The Pascagoula and Biloxi tribes believed that after the souls of the dead pass into the spirit world, where they can occasionally still communicate with the living through dreams or the intercession of medicine people. There is an interesting account written by a French officer about the Biloxi from the year 1730. Want to hear it?”

  Carrie Jo turned again. “Ooh, read it.”

  “The Pascagoula and the Biloxi tribes have curious thoughts about death and dying. They do not immediately inter their chief when he is dead. They dry his body in fire and smoke to make it like a mummified body or skeleton. After having reduced it to this condition they bury the chief in the place occupied by his predecessor. As such, he is assigned the role of Protector of the Dead, also known as a Watcher. He will perform this role until the next chief takes his place. It is then that he can move on to enjoy peace with his fathers. Once his job is complete, they move the mummified chief and place him with the bodies of other chiefs in a sacred location, where they are all ranged in succession on their feet like statues. There is no specific information about where the sacred location, but it might be, above ground or below it.”

  “Geesh. We might literally be talking about a spiritual conflict between this grim and a Native American protector. I can’t even imagine what the atmosphere will be like at Marietta.”

  “I’m not through,” I murmured as I flipped the page and continued reading. “It gets worse. Regarding the Watcher, he is buried with a long pole painted red. This is his medicine stick. In his other hand he holds a war club or an ax which he can use to defend the other buried chiefs, their wives, and children, if required. The living or the dead. It is said he can use these magical items to attack any who dare attempt to pillage the sacred land.”

  Traffic forced us to creep along Beach Boulevard. I took a moment to enjoy the beach scenery.

  “Whatever happened to the Biloxi tribe? I admit I don’t know much about the local Native American tribes, but I am very interested,” Ashland asked as he adjusted his rearview mirror.

  “A smallpox epidemic nearly took the Biloxi tribe out. They left the land and went to join their brethren to the north, the Tunica. But they have many burial mounds in the south Mississippi and south Alabama regions.”

  “I guess this adds to the mystery, right?” Ashland declared as he eased the car into the right lane. We’d arrive at the house soon. I was glad we’d be staying there. It was nice of Heather to open the place back up to the Stuarts and me. Really nice.

  “Is it the grim? A Biloxi chief? Something else? I don’t know. I can find no records of a grim going rogue, or one demanding blood but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. There are no headstones, no markers in that graveyard. No evidence of a grim statue. I wonder if it is in the wooded section. Maybe we should check that out?”

  Carrie Jo shook her head. “It is so strange. Heather referred to that area as a boneyard, not a graveyard. So did Marietta. There’s no crypt that I know of. No mausoleum, no headstones. Nothing to mark any resting places. It’s just a wide-open clearing with trees surrounding it. It was the same back in Mary’s time. Crazy, huh?”

  “Maybe it’s underground?” I suggested as I flipped through the folder again.

  “This close to the coast?” Ashland commented with clear disbelief. “The water table wouldn’t allow that kind of construction. Would it?” He glanced at Carrie Jo who peered at him over her sunglasses.

  “Anything is possible, babe. As if you needed to be reminded of that.” He grinned back at her. They were so cute together. They were always so happy, even when they weren’t quite getting along. Talk about soulmates. I didn’t want to feel jealous, but I sure wished for that very thing myself. What must that feel like to be yourself with someone and not scare the hell out of them? I wouldn’t want to spend my life being a pretend version of myself and let’s face it. I am into the weirdest stuff. Not many men want to talk about death rituals or crystal skulls. I almost had that once with Angus. For a short time. In the end, none of it was real.

  Nope, I wasn’t going to think of Angus. Backstabbing cheater. At least Chip had moved on and wasn’t ringing my doorbell anymore. Nope. Not today. That would totally ruin my good mood. Goodbye, losers!

&n
bsp; I shrugged my shoulders. “It was just a guess. I’m sure we’ll find something this weekend. Ooh, there it is. It’s such a lovely place. Why are such beautiful houses always so haunted? Why do we love them so much?”

  “Well, when you inherit one, you do what you have to. I can speak for you though.” Ashland joked as his blinker began tapping. He turned off the boulevard and we headed toward the house.