Breed

by Goingback, Owl

  “Yes, but you said it was an intruder.”

  “I thought it was,” she replied. “But now I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She told her friend about how the coffee cup had moved across the table, not once but three times. She also explained how everything seemed to have started after visiting the Huguenot Cemetery, as if something had followed her home from the graveyard.

  “Are you sure your coffee table wasn’t just wet?” Jenny asked.

  “Positive. I checked it. Dry as a bone.”

  Jenny thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. It sounds pretty far-fetched to me, but a lot of people in this town believe in ghosts. Shoot, half my regular customers claim to have seen them, and I’m talking about normal, everyday people. Not kooks. If ghosts do exist, then I can’t think of a better place to find them than in St. Augustine.

  “Maybe this ghost of yours is some kind of spirit guide. You’re half Indian, so one of your tribal ancestors might have stopped by to pay you a visit. Maybe he wants to teach you the old ways: how to use a bow and arrow, bead moccasins, and skin a buffalo.”

  “Don’t start that,” Ssabra warned. “You know how little I know about my heritage.”

  “Exactly. That’s why this ghost is paying you a visit. He wants to teach you the ways of your people.”

  She laughed. “You’re lucky that we’re not speaking in person, otherwise I might be tempted to choke you.”

  "See there,” Jenny laughed. “You’ve got an Indian temper. You’ll probably want to take my scalp after you choke me.”

  “Take your scalp. Now see here, the one thing I know about history is that the French invented scalping. Not the Indians. But getting back to what I was saying about having a ghost in my apartment--”

  Ssabra heard a click on the line, and realized someone had been listening in on the conversation. There was another phone in the other room. A few seconds later the voice of Claire Jones came on the line.

  “Ghost? What ghost?” Claire asked, joining the conversation.

  “It’s nothing,” she answered, angry that someone had been listening in on a private conversation. Claire was a likable person, but she did have her bad habits, the worst of which was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  “Ssabra has herself a ghost,” Jenny blurted out.

  “A ghost? Really?” Claire asked, giggling with excitement. “Wow. That’s great. Tell me about it.”

  “It’s nothing. Really,” Ssabra repeated, wishing she had never brought the subject up.

  “The ghost is in her apartment,” Jenny continued. “Ssabra thinks it followed her home from the Huguenot last night. It turned off the lights in her bathroom, and wrote on her mirror. Scared her so bad she called me to come over. And this morning it moved a cup of coffee across her table.”

  “No kidding? Wow. That’s fantastic,” Claire said, nearly beside herself. “But why didn’t you call me last night? You know how I love scary things.”

  “I did try to call you,” Ssabra lied. “but your line was busy. You were probably surfing the Internet again.”

  Claire seemed satisfied with the answer. “Probably.”

  Seeing an opportunity to make good her escape, Jenny said, “Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I still have a few customers. Ssabra, you call me later on, when I get home. I want to hear more about your ghost. Got to go. Bye.”

  Ssabra said good-bye to her friend, and heard a click as Jenny hung up. She heard a second click and knew that Claire had also hung up the phone, which meant she was on her way into the room. “Oh, God.”

  Claire came bustling through the doorway, a big smile on her face. “If you have a ghost, then you must talk with my aunt. She’s a psychic, you know. One of the best. If you have a ghost, she’ll be able to tell you all about it.”

  “Your aunt is a psychic?” she asked, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I thought I told you.” Claire nodded. “Maybe I didn’t. I’ve been so forgetful lately. She’s one of the best, at least that’s what everyone tells me. She’s done a lot of research into ghosts and haunted houses. She was even on the television show Sightings once or twice.”

  Ssabra thought about it. If Claire’s aunt was a real psychic, then she might be able to explain the strange things that had been going on in her apartment. “That’s great, Claire. But where does your aunt live?”

  “She lives right here in town. If you want, I can call her. Maybe she’ll be able to come over to your apartment tonight, after you get off work.”

  “That would be great.” For once she was actually glad to have Claire’s help with something. Maybe her aunt could shed some light on all the weird happenings. “Please, give your aunt a call. If she’s not doing anything, I would love to have her come over tonight.”

  Claire hurried off to make a phone call, leaving Ssabra standing alone in the back room. She didn’t really put much faith in psychics, but up until that morning she didn’t really believe in ghosts either.

  Intruders. Ghosts. Psychics. What next? Vampires?

  Chapter 12

  The three-story red building that stood at 46 Avenida Menendez, overlooking the bay, was yet another of the many historical structures of old St. Augustine. Built around 1745, it had originally been the private home of Francisco de Porras. Francisco and his lovely wife, Juana, and their nine children, had lived in the house until 1763, when Spain relinquished Florida to the British.

  The house stood empty and unloved during the twenty years that the British occupied St. Augustine, falling into a sad state of disrepair. The city was returned to Spanish control in 1784, but Francisco and Juana never returned from Cuba to reclaim the house they loved. Only their youngest daughter, Catalina, returned, petitioning the Spanish governor to gain back her childhood home. But her happiness in the house only lasted a short time, because Catalina died six years later.

  The house was later destroyed in the great fire that swept through St. Augustine in 1887, but was rebuilt exactly like the original. Various families lived in the house up until 1976, when the home was turned into a restaurant. It had been a restaurant ever since, although it changed ownerships, and names, several times.

  The building at 46 Avenida Menendez was now known as Harry’s Seafood and Grill. Before that it was called Catalina’s Garden, The Chart House, and the Puerta Verde Restaurant. It was a popular place with the tourists and locals, not only for the good food and the historic atmosphere, but for the magnificent view of the bay and the Bridge of Lions offered from the restaurant’s front windows.

  Cindy Hawkins had seen the view from the front windows enough times that it didn’t really distract her anymore. Although she sometimes liked to slip up to the office on the third floor to smoke a cigarette and watch the boats sail in and out of the harbor. She only did this when she wasn’t busy, and had a few minutes to spare, which didn’t come very often. Harry’s Seafood and Grill was usually packed, especially during the evening.

  Not that she minded the restaurant staying busy. As a waitress, she earned most of her income on tips. On a good night she could make as much as many people made in a week. Of course she never reported the full amount to the IRS. What the government didn’t know wouldn’t hurt it, nor would it hurt her.

  She had been working at Harry’s for over a year, and it was one of the best jobs she’d ever had. Her fellow employees were great to work with, and her bosses weren’t that bad. They didn’t even get upset when she occasionally came to work late, or asked to get off early to take in a show. She also liked the restaurant itself, everything except for the stairway that led up to the second floor.

  The stairway was narrow, and had been built for single family use. It was nearly impossible to pass someone on the steps, and she often had to wait for a customer to clear the way even when she was in a hurry. But the stairway added charm to the old building, as did the fireplace in the downstairs dining room.

  Al
ong with the original furnishings, there were a few well-told legends that added to the atmosphere of the restaurant. Like many of the old buildings in St. Augustine, the house that was now Harry’s was reputed to be haunted. Cindy had never seen a ghost herself, but there were those who claimed the spirit of a young woman inhabited the building. Some called the spirit Brigitte, but most believed it was the ghost of Catalina de Porras.

  Most of Harry’s customers came for the excellent Cajun food, but some arrived with hopes of seeing the ghost. Cindy could usually tell who the ghost hunters were, for they often carried cameras and took quite a few photos of the interior. And at some time during their visit, they would make their way up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Supposedly, many of the sightings of Catalina took place upstairs, near the women’s bathroom.

  Several people also claimed to have seen the spirit of a man in the downstairs dinning room, standing by the fireplace or gazing out the front windows. One woman supposedly mistook the spirit for a waiter and tried to order a drink. She was horrified when he disappeared before her eyes, and left the restaurant without paying her bill. Then again, maybe that was just an excuse to get out of paying.

  Cindy had not seen either one of the spirits, but she didn’t discount the stories. There was an ambiance within Harry’s that was hard to describe, as if an unseen presence watched over everyone. It was a good feeling, not scary at all, like someone was protecting them, keeping them safe. The sensation made her happy, and she often found herself whispering a greeting to the spirits when she came in to work.

  She wasn’t the only one who noticed the atmosphere of comfort and warmth that seemed to hang over the old building. Some of the other employees also noticed, and spoke about it on their breaks. They also told stories about the strange encounters they had over the years, glimpses of movement out the corners of their eyes when no one else was around, doors opening and closing, footsteps coming up the stairs, laughter, and the momentary sighting of a woman dressed in a long white dress. Even the manager had such experiences, though he was less inclined to talk about them than some of the other employees.

  One thing for sure, whether or not the restaurant had any real spirits, the ghost stories were good for business. Not only did the stories draw in customers, but the ghost hunters always tipped generously. It was as if they were leaving a little something extra for the spirits. Not that Cindy was going to share her earnings with anyone, dead or otherwise.

  The waitress wasn’t thinking about spirits as she hurried across the second floor dining room to the kitchen. Instead, she was thinking about the salads she had ordered for table number four, and wondering what was taking them so long. Glancing up at the large round mirror hanging above the wait station, she rounded the corner toward the kitchen. The mirror was placed strategically at the junction of a blind corner, and was used to prevent servers from crashing into each other. It came in handy, especially on a busy night.

  Entering the kitchen, she found her salads on the counter, ready for delivery to the table. Cindy quickly arranged the salads on a round serving tray, then hurried back to her hungry customers. Making sure nothing else was needed, the waitress hastened to check on her other tables.

  She was on her way back to the kitchen when she nearly collided with a man coming up the stairs. He was tall and bearded, dressed in a black shirt, jeans, a denim jacket, and boots. Probably a biker on a sacred pilgrimage to Daytona, stopping off in the old city long enough to eat.

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Cindy stepped aside to let the man go ahead of her, but he made no move to go past. He just stood at the top of the stairs, staring at her.

  Cindy felt her skin break out in goosebumps. She started to ask the man if he needed any help, but he broke eye contact and moved past her, making his way toward the rest rooms. She watched as he crossed the room, letting out a sigh of relief. “What a creep. We do get some strange ones in here.”

  Dismissing the man as being slightly eccentric, or perhaps drunk, she entered the kitchen to check on the appetizers for table five, then stopped by the wait station to enter an order into the computer. As Cindy punched in the numbers, one of the other waiters, Tom Crawford, joined her at the station.

  “How’s it going?” Tom asked, favoring her with a smile.

  “Not too bad,” she replied, returning the smile. Tom had a bit of a crush on her, but he was much too shy to ask her out. “I’m keeping busy. No real headaches, except for the old lady at number four. How are you doing tonight?”

  “About the same. I’ve got rest room duty tonight, so I had to make sure there were plenty of paper towels for the drunks.”

  Cindy punched the last number into the computer, then stepped aside so Tom could use the machine. “Were you just in the men’s room?”

  He nodded. “I just came out of there. Why?”

  “Did you see the guy that just went in? What a strange one. There’s something about him that gave me the chills.”

  “What guy?”

  “The man with the beard, and the Levi jacket. He just went to the men’s room. You must have seen him.”

  Tom entered his order, stepping away from the computer. “I just came out of the men’s room, but there was no one else in there. Just me.”

  “Maybe you passed him on the way out.”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t see anyone, especially a man with a beard.”

  She turned and looked around the room. “That’s odd. I could have sworn he was on his way to the rest room. He’s not sitting at one of the tables. He’s not at the bar either.”

  “Maybe he went downstairs,” Tom suggested.

  Cindy shook her head. “I would have seen him if he did. He would have walked past me.” She turned to Tom. “You don’t suppose he’s in the women’s rest room. Do you? Maybe he’s another ghost hunter, looking for Catalina.”

  “That’s possible,” he agreed. “Think you should check it out?”

  “No way. Not without backup.”

  “I can’t go into the women’s room. There might be a customer in there. They would freak if I went walking in there. How about if you go in, while I wait outside by the door?”

  “Thanks,” she smiled. “I really appreciate it. Let’s go check out the ladies room.”

  Not wanting to waste more time than was necessary, they made their way to the rest rooms. Cindy opened the door to the women’s room slowly, a little fearful that she might find a man standing inside. But the rest room was empty, even the two stalls were unoccupied. She stepped back outside; Tom was still guarding the door.

  “He’s not in here,” she said. “The place is empty.

  “Let me check the men’s room. Maybe he went in after I came out.” Tom entered the men’s room, but found it empty and returned a few moments later. “No one in there either.”

  “That’s odd.” She looked around the room. “He must have gone back downstairs when I wasn’t looking. Oh well, I’m not going to worry about him. I’ve got food to deliver. Thanks, Tom.”

  Putting the bearded man out of her mind, she went back to work. The restaurant was filling up quickly, and she kept busy with hungry customers. About an hour later she was standing alone at the wait station, when she happened to glance up at the mirror. Standing behind her was a man, but his image in the mirror was dark and cloudy, appearing to shimmer and ripple as if made out of smoke. And instead of arms, the man in the mirror had long black tentacles.

  Cindy almost screamed. She spun around expecting to find a shimmering monster with tentacles for arms, and instead found herself standing nearly nose to nose with the bearded man she had seen earlier. The man didn’t say a word. He only stared at her for a moment or two, then turned and slowly descended the stairs to the first floor.

  She watched the man go down the stairs, but her heart continued to jackhammer long after he was gone.

  Chapter 13

  Claire Jones and her psychic aunt showed up at the apartment a little after elev
en p.m.. Ssabra had only been home for a few minutes when the doorbell rang, her evening ghost tour having lasted a little longer than usual. Hearing the bell ring, she finished changing clothes and hurried out of the bedroom to open the door.

  “Sorry to make you wait,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I just got home and was changing clothes.”

  “Hi, Ssabra.” Claire said, stepping across the threshold to give a quick hug. “This is my aunt, Barbara Jaeger. She’s the psychic I was telling you about.”

  Barbara was a large woman, but she was not fat. She was tall and stout, with curly black hair and pale skin. She was wearing a long dress of purple and black that looked almost medieval, like something out of a renaissance fair, accented with silver earrings and a matching necklace. The dress revealed more cleavage than it should have, drawing attention to the tiny purple and green salamander tattooed on her left breast.

  “Hi, Barbara. I’m Ssabra. I’m so glad you--”

  Barbara placed an index finger against Ssabra’s lips, cutting her off midsentence. “Shhhh... Not another word. Don’t tell me anything. We’ll talk later. Just let me come in and walk around, see what kind of vibrations I can pick up. I don’t want any descriptions of your encounters to taint my psychic impressions.”

  She removed her finger from Ssabra’s lips and stepped past her. Slightly dumbfounded, Ssabra turned and watched as Barbara entered the room. Quickly regaining her composure, she closed and locked the door.

  The psychic was carrying a large purse that matched her dress, which she set down on the kitchen counter. Opening the purse, she removed several small scented candles, a handful of dark blue incense sticks, and what looked to be an herbal smudge stick. She set the items on the counter, and then crossed the room to the sink. Waving her right hand back and forth over the faucet a few times, she reached down and turned on the water.

  “Running water attracts spirits, draws them out of the woodwork. We’ll leave this on while I’m here.” Barbara turned around and looked at Ssabra, offering her a slight smile. “I learned that bit of wisdom when I was in the Orient. Asian people consider spirits to be good luck, and they want to keep them around. That’s why you always see an aquarium, or a waterfall, in Chinese restaurants. It draws the spirits, and brings good luck to the business.”