The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road (Gulf Coast Paranormal Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

He lay down where I usually lay and put his hands behind his head. I tried not to stare at his muscular body or imagine what it would be like to snuggle up next to him. I glanced around at the corners of the ceiling and didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for. He sat on the side of the bed and began looking behind my pillows and under my bed. If he asked to search my nightstand, I’d have to draw the line.

  “What are you expecting to find?”

  “Rule number one in paranormal investigation, Cassidy. Always make an attempt to debunk. Always. Even if the person who reports the event is someone you know. I want to help you, but this is how I work.”

  “I can assure you there is no scientific explanation for an owl in my dream coming through my dream and attacking me in real life.”

  He patted the bed and walked to the window. It was closed tight. I never opened my bedroom window. I never even opened the blinds. “Don’t be defensive. It’s possible to have dreams morph as you wake up. Have you ever heard of night terrors? Or sleep paralysis?”

  “Sure, but it wasn’t sleep paralysis.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I could move just fine. Or else that demon-bird would have ripped me to shreds.”

  “Well, during sleep paralysis, the brain wakes up before the body does. And when that happens,” Midas said as he continued to tug at the window, “the brain presents us with images to explain the phenomenon. But you’re right, this doesn’t sound like sleep paralysis. So let’s think like investigators. What else could it be? Let’s rule some things out before we call this a paranormal event. It might be, but we can’t say for sure yet.”

  I knew what I saw, but I liked the idea of detaching myself from the weird experience. “All right. Let me think. The creature was in the room. If I were a skeptic, I would say look for an open window or some other point of entry.”

  “Good. Let’s check the windows.”

  I didn’t for a minute think this thing was a figment of my imagination, nor did I believe it was a friendly hoot owl that got lost and decided to hide in my apartment. However, this exercise did make me feel better. We searched the apartment and found only one window open—the kitchen window. “I swear I shut that thing this morning. And yesterday I found it open too. What could be opening this window?” Then the answered occurred to me. “Mike?”

  Midas peered out the window but didn’t spot any birds, certainly not any large owls. He closed it and flipped the lock shut. He tried to pull the window up, but the lock held tight. “This is a puzzler. Could your ex-roommate have more than one key?”

  “I had the locks changed. I’m the only one with a key now.” I rubbed my lip furiously; the scratch on my back reminded me that it was there.

  “So potentially this could be a bird. I saw birdseed on the balcony. Do you feed birds out there?”

  I sighed and sat back down at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. “Not anymore. My neighbor complained about it and I had to quit.”

  “So it’s possible that a bird was out there and flew through the window. You woke up, half asleep, the bird attacked you, and you naturally thought it was the owl.” He sat next to me and looked me in the eye. “Cassidy, if the Kali Oka Road investigation is too much for you, if it’s disturbing you at this level, you don’t have to participate. Maybe my invitation set things off for you.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to participate in the investigation now? How will that help me?”

  He covered my hand with his big one. His skin felt warm and reassuring. He didn’t hold my hand long, but it was long enough for me to know that he cared. Or was concerned. Or something.

  “All right, can we use your computer? Let’s talk to Sierra.”

  “It’s kind of late. Do you think she’s up?” I glanced at the clock but led him to my computer desk anyway.

  “She’s up.”

  “Sure, it’s over here.”

  He grabbed another chair and sat next to me at the desk. He clicked an icon, and the computer began ringing. After a few seconds, Sierra’s pretty face popped up on the screen. “Midas? Where are you calling from? Oh. Never mind. Hi, Cassidy. Geesh, you look like heck.”

  “I’m at Cassidy’s place. We need your help with something. Cassidy was attacked tonight, by a bird.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I think it was the owl, but I’m not absolutely sure. Tell us what you know about Aurelia’s demon-bird. Could this be some kind of manifestation?” Cassidy leaned forward anxiously.

  Sierra snatched her hair into a ponytail and tossed a jellybean in her mouth. “Okay, let me open the file. I actually found quite a few things. Hey, Josh! Guess who I’m talking to?” she shouted over her shoulder. Joshua popped in rubbing his eyes.

  “Hey, Midas. And Cassidy. Got to take a shower. I got to get up early. My old man needs me at the laundry. Later, guys.”

  Sierra frowned at his back and rolled her eyes. “Anyway…here. I’ve got it. Let’s see. I think it’s better that I read this.

  “Oral traditions in most American tribes associate owls with death warnings, and an owl is typically the bearer of the deceased's soul as it passes from this world to the next. Cherokee women bathed their children's eyes in water containing owl feathers, believing it would help them stay awake during ominous nights. This Cherokee tale explains why owls are nocturnal:

  “When the animals and plants were first made—we do not know by whom—they were told to watch and keep awake for seven nights, just as young men now fast and keep awake during their medicine trials. They tried to do this, and nearly all were awake through the first night, but the next night several dropped off to sleep, and the third night others were asleep, and then others, until on the seventh night, of all the animals only the owl, the panther and one or two more were still awake. To these were given the power to see and to go about in the dark, and to make prey of the birds and animals that must sleep at night.”

  “That’s interesting and all, but what about local legends?” I asked impatiently. The cuts on my back were screaming now. Maybe Midas was right that I needed stitches.

  “All in all, there are four or five ‘ghost’ reports from that area, and only a few reports of Ranger’s black owl. The first, most prominent report is associated with a tall, black man, a slave who was killed at the house for some crime against the Davis family. Horrible death, too. They say he was chained to the oak tree, one of the large ones at the front of the property, chained but cut up enough to bleed out. After he died, the plantation owner left him hanging there until he rotted. Supposedly this was a warning to the plantation owner’s wife, who’d taken a fancy to the slave. People see him a lot, sometimes on the porch, sometimes in the woods.”

  “Gross,” I said with a shiver. “What else?”

  “The next is the Lady in White, which I suppose we could assume is Aurelia Davis. She’s looking for either the man or the baby. Rumor has it that she had a baby who wasn’t her husband’s. The husband tossed the baby off the bridge—that’s where the legend of Crybaby Bridge began. That’s one iteration of it. She’s also seen in the cemetery, around the tree, and in the forest.”

  My mind raced back to the painting and what I saw as Aurelia.

  “What else?” Midas asked.

  “Besides a few ghost lights, which are common near the cemetery and the road, you might also see the haint.”

  “What the heck is a haint? I’m afraid to ask,” I said. Sierra appeared genuinely amused.

  “A haint can be different things, depending on which region of the south you are in. In this area and during the time in question, a haint was a kind of witch, a gypsy who wandered the counties offering her services to the highest bidder. Only this haint got her hooks into one wealthy customer, Bernard Davis.”

  “What kind of services did she offer him?” Midas asked suspiciously.

  “She’d curse his enemies, sic a demon on them, cast spells on his behalf. Mr. Davis’ friend�
�s name has been lost over the years. Apparently the haint, whoever she was, lived on his property and was frequently summoned to the plantation for consultation. Mr. Davis was a man who believed in the supernatural.”

  “And where do you get that from?”

  “This really interesting memoir from R. L. Pettway. He lived in the county and was a careful writer. His journals have a ton of information about the time in question. He says that Davis was a hard man, both in his words and in his propensity for cruelty toward animals and people he disagreed with, which was most everyone. Pettway sold Davis a horse once and never saw it again. For some reason, he got the idea that Davis bought the horse just to kill it. His journal says he deeply regretted selling that horse to Davis. He writes that when he complained about the horse’s disappearance, the haint sent the owl to his house. It flew in the window, tore up his pet cat, scratched him all up and was gone.”

  “That’s incredible!” I could well believe that story. Bernard had to have been horrible if his wife was so fearful of him.

  Midas said, “Pretty strange. Even if that were true, say Davis did have a pet owl, how in the world would it live this long? Maybe this owl is a spirit animal of some kind.”

  The three of us sat in silence as Sierra shared images she’d found online, supposedly of this bird. None looked like the bird I’d seen, but some were close. “Why would the owl thing visit me? And why would it pretend to be Kylie?”

  “Maybe the haint sent it?” Sierra joked. Joshua walked back through the camera view with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Hmm…I think I’d better go. I’ll catch you in the morning, Midas. You’ll send us the details about tomorrow night’s investigation? I hope we find answers.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning. Good night, Sierra.” Midas got up to answer a phone call. I tried not to listen.

  Sierra grinned at me. “So you two?”

  “There’s nothing going on, Sierra. I swear that bird came here. It came after me—it scratched up my back.”

  “Mm hmm…” she said sweetly. Then she whispered, “Well, I’m just glad he’s not with Sara. Gotta go!” She closed her computer, and the screen went blank.

  Midas came back and peered at me. “You going to be all right by yourself?”

  “Sure. What you said made sense. It probably was a bird that got in here, got scared and then scratched me. I’ll go see the doctor in the morning, make sure I’m up to date on my tetanus shot. Sorry I was such a baby.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I don’t mind at all. It’s just that I have someone at the house.”

  “Sara,” I said, sounding disappointed.

  “Well, yeah. But it’s not what you might think.”

  I walked to the door to show him out. “I don’t think anything. And it’s none of my business. Please tell her I’m sorry that I interrupted your…time together. Thanks for coming.”

  With an awkward nod, he left the apartment. I closed the door and leaned against it until my back reminded me that I had a significant wound there.

  “What’s the matter with you, Cassidy? You act like a complete mess around this man.” I promised myself I was going to stop acting like a fool every time I was in his presence. He was clearly spoken for, and I wasn’t interested in him anyway, was I?

  I changed the sheets and pillowcases on my bed, as if that would help to erase my earlier experience. I made sure the windows were closed and slid back into bed. It was hard to get comfortable, and not just because of the cuts. I had the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned the bedside light on and eventually closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, the sun was streaming in from the other room.

  Chapter Sixteen—Midas

  “Ranger, when you get this message, please call me. I have some information about your case.”

  Less than a minute later, I did get a call. But it wasn’t from Ranger Shaw; it was from Richard Harlen, the man who currently owned Oak Grove Plantation. The house had passed through quite a few hands during its lifetime and had been neglected for many of those years, but Mr. Harlen had every intention of restoring the old place. At least that’s what I’d heard.

  “Good morning. Is this Midas Demopolis?”

  “Yes, it is. Mr. Harlen?”

  “Call me Junior. I got your message. My daughter tells me you are interested in my house? I’m going out there this morning. Supposed to meet the contractor who’s going to help me restore the place. If you’d like to come out, Barbara and I would be glad to talk to you.”

  “Thank you, Junior. What time?”

  “I’m headed that way now. How about 8:30?”

  “That sounds great. I’m on the way. Thanks in advance.” I hung up the phone and quickly made my way to the shower. Sara had left early; the only evidence that she’d been here was an empty wine glass and a folded blanket on the couch. I paused in the doorway wondering what that had been all about. Hopefully whatever had been wrong was now right. I could never tell with Sara.

  I opted for blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. If Mr. Harlen really did give me access to the house, I wanted to be prepared. I grabbed batteries for the camera and the EMF detector, and then I headed out the door.

  As I slung the items into the passenger seat of the car, I called Peter. He had mentioned some new technology he wanted to try on our next investigation, a sonar-based detection device, but we’d be borrowing it from one of his friends. An old house like this would make the perfect location for trying out that kind of tool. I hoped to get us into Oak Grove sooner rather than later. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was going on at Kali Oka Road had something to do with that house. To my surprise, Sara answered Peter’s phone. I winced at the sleepy sound of her voice. I stared at the phone screen. Had I dialed the wrong number?

  “Where’s Pete, Sara?”

  “Hold on,” she said without offering any explanation of what just happened. I reminded myself that just last night I’d rejected her.

  “Morning, champ,” Pete said with a hint of something that sounded like sarcasm. But then that was his fallback position. He was the kind of guy who’d take the first swing, especially if he knew you had a good chance of beating him. Or if he was in the wrong. There was no doubt that a part of me would love to beat his ass, but we lived in the twenty-first century and I wasn’t in kindergarten. I was the boss.

  “Meeting with the folks from Oak Grove Plantation this morning. If I can get us in there I’d like to try the sonar. What do you think? Lots of old houses have hidden wall spaces, hidden rooms. I don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”

  “I’ll call Gavin and see if we can get it today. Do you think we’ll get in there tonight?” His tone changed immediately. The only thing Peter Broadus loved more than tweaking my nose about Sara was a house investigation.

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “I’ll check with him and text you.”

  “All right, later.”

  I hung up and made the drive to Kali Oka Road. Like before, I was impressed with the wildness of the area. It was like the place refused to step into the present. Sure, there were houses scattered here and there and the inevitable light poles and street signs, but there was plenty of scraggly underbrush and acres of dense trees. And every so often there was a hidden path weaving crookedly into what used to be a historic forest. There weren’t too many places downtown where you could experience this type of wildness. As one who believed in ghosts, I thought it seemed like the perfect place to find one.

  “Hi. You must be Midas. I’m Junior Harlen, and this is my wife, Barbara.”

  “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you both. Thanks for meeting me and letting me take a look around.”

  “Oh, when I told Barbara you wanted to come check the place out, there was no denying her. She’s into all that supernatural stuff. Me, not so much. I’ve never seen a ghost, but her sister sees them all the time. Doesn’t she, Boo?”

  “Stop, Junior. You’
re going to have this man thinking she’s crazy. But then again, maybe you wouldn’t. You might be just the guy my sister needs to talk to. We saw that television report about your group. Good work…I always knew that lighthouse was haunted.”

  I didn’t argue with her. We’d not declared the lighthouse haunted, but it didn’t seem like a good time to correct her. “I’d be happy to listen to her story. Did she have a supernatural experience?”

  “I wish I could tell you all about it, but I have to ask her permission first. She’s a very private person, and she’d kill me dead if I spoke out of turn. But you came to see Oak Grove today. Can you imagine what a lovely place this was when it was first built? We’re looking forward to putting her back together.”

  “Come on. We’ll take you on a tour,” Junior said with a polite grin.

  I followed the friendly couple through the gate and onto the property.

  “Hard to believe this will be the talk of the town soon, but we plan on making it just that. In fact, Barbara would love to turn Oak Grove into a bed-and-breakfast. What do you think, Midas? Does this place have enough of a reputation to make it as a bed-and-breakfast? People seem to like this haunted stuff.”

  “Some people do. But I know plenty of people who run from anything labeled haunted.”

  “Even if the place isn’t haunted, it feels that way. And the stories about Oak Grove are amazing,” Barbara said, her brown eyes wide with excitement.

  We stood in the front room, huddled together and talking in low whispers as if someone could hear us. “What kind of things have people experienced here? What stories have you heard?” I couldn’t help but glance around. There was fresh paint on the walls and new carpet runners down a long hallway that sprawled in front of us. An elegant chandelier glowed warmly above us.

  Junior raised his eyebrows at Barbara as she continued, “So many! The most popular story seems to be the one about the man who hangs around here. Apparently, he was a slave here and had a big old hulking frame. He’s seen on the porch, in the windows and on the property surrounding the house.”