southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits

by fox, angie

  Frankie had the best excuse ever.

  Glass snapped under my feet. I didn't see a broom.

  An hour into our first night protecting Ellis's investment and we already had a dented stove, crushed lighting, and smashed-up cookware. I couldn't afford to be fired from this job.

  There are more dangers in here than you can possibly imagine, the ghost had warned.

  I didn't doubt it for a second.

  I moved toward the candle I'd left on the serving station. Deep shadows lingered beyond the dancing light. I screwed up my courage and doused the fire hazard. It would be okay.

  Maybe.

  I pulled up Ellis's number on my phone and hit connect.

  The phone didn't even ring and I realized I couldn't catch a signal. Hopefully, it was the lay of the land outside or the thick walls of the carriage house and not something else utterly and frighteningly paranormal.

  "I'm heading outside," I told Frankie. "That won't disconnect me from you, will it?"

  "Don't leave the property," he warned.

  "Of course not." I wouldn't go far. "If the poltergeist comes back, you holler and I'm right back here with you."

  He gave me a dry look. "I'm sure I'll feel much safer because you did such a bang up job earlier."

  "Can it," I said, grabbing my flashlight and moving past him. I'd done the best I could. We all had.

  "No, really," Frankie called after me. "The screaming did help."

  A long sigh escaped me. I wasn't crazy proud of how I'd handled myself with the poltergeist, but I certainly wasn't ashamed. Two nights ago, if you had asked me to tell a ghost story, I'd have spun a tale about the faceless guy in the woods with the hook-hand who liked to run it along the sides of cars and scare teenagers.

  That was spooky. This was real.

  I kept an eye out for the colonel as I made my way past the main part of the carriage house and into the stables. The shadows seemed thicker here, more ominous. I tried to shake off the feeling.

  Up ahead, I spotted the trapdoor in the floor. I could walk straight over it if I wanted. Instead, I detoured around. No sense tempting fate.

  Maybe Ellis had already explored the cellar. Maybe we had nothing to worry about down there.

  And maybe the colonel had filled it with stuffed puppy dogs and candy.

  My body felt heavy. The skin on the back of my legs pricked as a chill wound up my spine and settled on the back of my neck. I could almost feel someone behind me, ready to touch me.

  "Probably just Frankie," I whispered to myself.

  "What?" He called from the kitchen.

  Dammit.

  I turned to look behind me, hoping to see the colonel.

  But I saw nothing. Only the ghostly ruins of the old building, glowing in an ethereal gray light.

  I let out a shuddering breath. Walking quickly, I headed straight for the heavy wood carriage house doors. I yanked the right one open with both hands and slipped outside, into the night. It closed behind me with a deafening boom. I don't think I'd ever felt so isolated, alone in this place save for an annoying "friendly" ghost and a host of other spirits who may or may not want me hurt…or worse.

  At least the air felt warmer outside. Lighter. There were no glowing whiskey barrels, no rusted iron trusses, no broken crates. I walked to the right, holding my phone out in front of me until it caught a signal. I dialed up Ellis and he answered on the second ring.

  "Verity," he said, as if he wasn't quite sure what to expect from me.

  He'd have to put his doubts to rest real quickly. "I met your ghost."

  I stared out at the pitch black night and could feel him stiffen on the line. "What happened?" he demanded, the phone gathering static as he moved. A police radio droned in the background. "Are you okay?"

  That depended on his definition of okay. "A poltergeist attacked me. It dented up your stove, delivered the final death blow to your serving station." I stepped up onto a small stack of patio bricks, the weight of my discovery spilling out into nervous energy. "I'm sorry. It also got the construction lights." I tried not to picture what would have happened if they'd come crashing down on me.

  He cursed under his breath. "But you, you're all right?"

  "Yes." His concern was a surprise. I'd expected him to be mad at me over his stuff. His brother Beau sure would have been.

  I heard movement over the line. "I'm coming right now. I'm not that far."

  "I'm glad for that." Now for the even harder part. "Ellis?" I asked, moving to another stack, my jittery legs getting the best of me. "They don't like us here."

  "Tough shit."

  I let out a small cry as I slipped, the patio bricks clattering out from under my feet. I leapt sideways and jogged a few feet to regain my balance.

  "What's happening?" Ellis asked, as if he were ready to leap through the phone. "Where are you?"

  "Outside. I'm fine." I shook out my legs, glad I didn't turn an ankle. "I'm not ordinarily this clumsy." A chill pricked the small of my back.

  In all fairness, it had been an unusual night.

  He let out a breath. "I know you can handle it," he said. "I just wish I hadn't had to leave you tonight."

  "You and me both," I said, staring out into the darkness, the sheer isolation of the place starting to get to me.

  This was the longest night of my life and it was barely past ten o'clock.

  Headlights turned onto the property and my heart lifted a little. "Is that you coming down the drive?" He'd said he was close, but this was great.

  "No. It's not me," he said, his voice like ice. "What do you see?"

  "Lights. A car. Maybe Harry the handyman?" I hoped, fear skittering up my spine.

  "I'm not expecting anyone," Ellis said, his tone clipped. "Go inside. Lock the door. I'm coming for you right now."

  Oh God. I hurried for the stables, the rock-strewn ground slowing me down. Gravel crunched as the car continued down the drive, right for me. I shoved my phone in my bag and held it tight as I took the crumbling steps two at a time and opened the oversized carriage house door.

  Headlights swept my face, blinding me for a moment. I ducked inside, slamming the door closed with a boom that echoed throughout the stables.

  I shoved the bolt closed and leaned my forehead against the aged wood, the hard panting of my breath sounding loud in my ears. Hot orange circles of light danced in front of my eyes as my pupils adjusted to the darkness once more.

  No telling who could be outside.

  He said it couldn't be Harry, and with a sinking feeling, I realized he was right. Harry wouldn't come back this late. The shelter had a curfew. He wouldn't risk his bed to drop by unannounced.

  I moved silently to the narrow window on my right. Construction dust and age clouded the glass. I rubbed it with my hand, trying to see if the intruder had come any closer. I felt like a sitting duck here all alone.

  There could be entrances to this place I didn't even know about. I hoped they were locked.

  The car idled about twenty feet from the door. From the height of the headlights, it had to be some type of a sedan. I couldn't see the plates, the color, the make, or even how many people were inside. Two headlights, reaching for me as if to say, I know you're in there.

  "Frankie, I need you," I hissed.

  "We got trouble?" the gangster asked, appearing with his back to the wall on the other side of the window. He peered out, reaching under his suit coat and drawing a revolver from a side holster. He made a quick check of the chamber and I could see it was fully loaded. "Stay low."

  "You think a shootout is the answer?" I asked, realizing I was well and truly alone in this. Frankie could fire all the ghost bullets he wanted. I didn't believe for a second it would stop the living.

  My lack of faith must have been apparent. Frankie glared daggers at me. "Excuse me. I was under the impression you called for help."

  The gangster pointed his gun through the window, which was a pretty neat trick all things considered. "They
're driving around the side."

  There was a narrow wooden door to our right. I tested it. Locked. I hoped they didn't have the key. "What should I do?" I whispered.

  "You hide. I'll torpedo these mugs," he said.

  I stumbled back into the darkness. First the poltergeist, now this. There was no way I was heading back to that haunted kitchen. That left me with precious few places to go. I didn't know this space or where I could go that they wouldn't follow.

  Unless…

  I spotted the cellar straight ahead. No one in his or her right mind would go down there. The colonel had seen to that.

  "Colonel," I whispered, my voice wavering. "I need some protecting. Please?" He seemed to be the strongest ghost here, except for the poltergeist.

  He didn't respond, but at least he'd left me with an option, a terrible, horrible option.

  I rushed for the trapdoor. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Terror pounded through me. I grabbed the handle, yanking hard. The door felt heavy, sealed tight.

  "The driver's side door just opened," Frankie said, watching out the window.

  Ohmygosh. I battled the instinct to run as I gripped the ring harder. I pulled with all my strength and felt the door give an inch. Cold air rushed from the hole, seeping over my ankles and filling me with an inescapable dread.

  Ignore it.

  It had to be better than what was behind me.

  "Just one fella. A mean looking sucker, head down, making tracks for the side door," Frankie called.

  I crouched above the horror seeping from the hole and redoubled my efforts. My abs twinged and my arm muscles stretched as I forced the creaking door open. It fell back onto the floor with a crash loud enough to wake the dead.

  Okay, that was a bad choice of words.

  Keep it together. I shook out my arms and tried to ignore the pure malice leaching out of the hole.

  "The colonel made it feel nasty," I reminded myself. He'd laced the door with fear and dread. "That doesn't mean it's real."

  Only that it could be real.

  A rough, homemade ladder descended into the abyss. With my satchel over my shoulder and the mini-flashlight bouncing in my dress pocket, I said a quick prayer and began my descent.

  It was awkward, climbing backwards, but I kept at it, moving as quickly as I could. Barely a few rungs down, my legs chilled. It made me go faster. Lord in heaven. I half-expected something or someone to grab one of them. But I was more afraid of what awaited me if I didn't move than if I did.

  I reached for the trapdoor and closed it behind me.

  The tang of rust and mildew assaulted my senses. Keep going.

  Something slithery wrapped around my ankle.

  I gasped, jumped the last four feet, and spun to face my attacker.

  A dull light penetrated the room, bathing it in an eerie silver glow. Stacks of horse feed piled up against the walls on either side of me. An unearthly gossamer cobweb wrapped around my ankle.

  "Ick, ick, ick!" I shook it off and it disappeared.

  More of them floated in the air, as if suspended on an invisible breeze. I drew my arms close to my body as another silky web threatened to wind itself along my forearm.

  My flashlight lay on the floor at my feet but I didn't need it. The silver light down here was weaker, like looking through smoke, but I could still see.

  I shoved the flashlight back into my pocket. Get a grip. I'd done this before.

  I heard a scrabbling behind me and gasped as I saw a wiry shadow clamber toward the open trap door. I forgot to breathe as I watched it scurry out like a trapped spider.

  Holy Moses. Had I broken some kind of seal?

  Yes.

  But what kind, I had no idea.

  Images flickered into focus all around me. I saw baskets of corn and carrots near the base of the wooden ladder. A nearby shelf held several cloudy glass jars of Tuttle's Elixir: Special Veterinary Horse Liniment. Hay littered the stone floor. Ghostly lanterns cast shadows along the century-old brick walls.

  I adjusted my bag over my shoulder. The clanking of its contents sounded as loud as a brass band in this otherworldly place.

  I had to find a way out of there. Every instinct I had screamed for me to claw my way out of this haunted hole, back the way I came.

  But I couldn't go back. The only choice was forward.

  Hollow, ghostly gunshots echoed from above.

  Frankie swore. "Die, you bastard!"

  The door creaked closed.

  The intruder was inside.

  I breathed in the stark bitterness of decay as I pressed deeper into the cellar, past the horse feed and toward an arched doorway on the far left wall.

  Maybe I could find some kind of weapon down here and pull it into my dimension, just like I had done with Josephine's locket. Of course that necklace had also disappeared rather quickly.

  The air felt heavier in here, the room still as a tomb.

  Rough-hewn wooden shelves clung near the walls, stocked with jars put up for the winter. Only instead of peas and carrots, tomatoes and pickled onions, I saw rot. It muddied the glass in shades of muted gray and black.

  A pitiful cry rose up behind me, stiffening the hairs on the back of my neck. I spun to face human attackers, a ghost, I didn't know what.

  The corridor stood empty.

  The shelves to my right flickered as I heard another hollow cry. "Help me." It echoed. A woman wept.

  Oh geez. "It's okay," I said, low under my breath. "Everything's fine."

  I wasn't sure if I was talking to the ghost or to myself.

  It didn't matter. We both needed to get a grip. I was one freaky encounter away from melting into a shivering puddle on the floor.

  Footsteps echoed directly above my head.

  "Help me," the watery voice called.

  I forced my voice, at least, to remain calm. "Where are you?"

  No response.

  I saw no other exits to this room, no weapons, no new places to hide. If I didn't find something soon, I could be in a lot of trouble. The colonel had certainly been hiding something down here. Perhaps the cellar held a secret door. I touched the brick wall at the back of the room. It felt smooth with age, cold. Solid.

  I turned to the shelves lining both walls. Perhaps I'd missed something in the first room.

  Then I spied a large piece of weathered plywood, flush with the left wall. I hadn't noticed it before, not with the putrid jars in the way. But now that I gave it a second look, I could see it was real.

  Black dirt lay in clumps around the bottom. Fresh dirt, if I wasn't mistaken.

  The colonel had been especially angry about digging.

  Oh my God. Was this where the intruder was headed? My neck flushed and I broke out into a cold sweat.

  Maybe not. Maybe this was the way out. I searched for a space between the jars, one big enough for my hand. If I could knock the wood away and see…

  The ring on the cellar door clanked.

  Please let it be a ghost.

  I rubbed my palms on my jeans and reached out, to the left of a jar of brackish sludge, between that and the one with the round globules. I closed my eyes and stretched up to the shoulder, my fingers barely touching the edge of the rough lumber. Tiny splinters pierced my fingertips as I squeezed a little farther around the back of the panel. I held my breath and tipped it just so…

  The board fell forward and I jumped back. It whooshed straight through the unearthly illusion, tearing it apart in a rush of prickling energy and dust. The grit made my eyes water.

  The board hit the stone floor with a resounding thud. I slammed my eyes shut and prayed that the intruder hadn't heard.

  The footsteps stopped directly above my hiding place.

  Chapter Twelve

  In front of me stood a narrow passageway, brick lined and as tall as I was. The silver light didn't penetrate more than a foot or two inside. This could be my escape.

  Or the trap that would corner me.

  Eithe
r way, it was the only place left to hide. Heart pounding, I reached for my flashlight.

  It occurred to me that no one knew I was down here. Not my mom, nor my sister. Certainly not Ellis, although he might eventually figure it out. My only link to the outside world was Frankie, and he couldn't talk to anyone I knew, nobody alive at least. If I became trapped, there would be no one to rescue me.

  My light flickered against the walls, casting its beam a few feet ahead. Beyond that, pitch darkness.

  I counted each stride I made. Five steps in. Ten.

  A pile of crumbling dirt and rock brought me up short.

  This was the end of the line for me. The trap door to the cellar creaked open. I'd run out of time.

  Panic seized me. They were coming. And here I stood in the very place where the intruder was likely to go. I hurried out of the tunnel, each step feeling like ten. I needed to move faster, step lighter. I slipped on a fallen rock and my shoulder hit the side of the tunnel hard.

  A ghostly wail echoed behind me and I doubled my efforts.

  I ran faster than a hot knife through butter and burst out into the empty underground room.

  The fallen board had dislodged the ghostly illusions. I had no shelves to hide behind, no jars. Not that anyone would even see them, except for me. I passed through the arched doorway and found falling-apart wooden whiskey crates, some red and white rusted-out signs advertising Southern Spirits, and a whole lot of dirt. None of it had been there before. It seemed a new ghost now held sway over the cellar. My breath caught in my throat. It could be the poltergeist.

  The hard beam of a flashlight pierced the darkness directly in front of me, scattering light around the room. I cringed and sank back against the wall and prayed that Ellis wasn't too far, that I could hold out long enough. With every cell in my body I tried to be invisible.

  "Verity," Ellis called from above. His voice sounded clipped, worried. I'd never been so glad to hear from him in all my life.

  "Ellis!" I burst from my hiding place into the bright beam of his light from above.