“It was just so sad,” the man murmured. “Casey, she had a hard life after her family lost their ranch. She tried to make it in Dallas, tried to go to school but just didn’t have the funds for it. Back in those days, women didn’t have as many options for jobs as you’d think. Not here anyway.”
One of the other customers joined in, a man who looked even older than the first. “Casey Dint? Hell, Hube. She didn’t go to Dallas for school! I was in high school when she went off, tried to take up with a rough neck and he knocked her around, so she came home. No one here would hire her because she’d had that baby,” he paused and added as an aside, “that was the rumor anyway, that she’d gone up to Dallas to give birth, but no one was ever able to run down what happened to the kid after that. Frankly, I think that was just a load of horse shit and there was no kid. I mean, if there had been—”
“Anyway,” Hube chimed back in, cutting off his friend, “Casey, she was the last of the Dints, and they used to own about a thousand acres south of town. Ran cattle, just a few hundred head, not a big operation but it kept them steady for a while. She was the last of ‘em left though and took to, er, some unsavory goings-on, trying to keep her head above water.”
His friend nodded. “Sad time. I remember her though. She was so pretty. Always trying to get out of here again. When she got killed…” he trailed off, seeing something that happened over fifty years ago play out all over again. “Well. Lots of people were sure the Ghoul was behind it. He always showed up before one of the founding families was gonna have a death in it, you know? Sure enough, the night Casey got killed, lots of folks saw him near the motor court.” He paused, then added, “I saw him. I was riding my bike to the little theater that used to be off Peach Street. He was just… just standing there. Almost thought he was real like me for a second.” Around us, everyone had gone quiet as he sighed and continued in a soft tone, “I didn’t realize what I was seein’ till I got up on him and he just looked at me and smiled. Lord, I got so cold. So damn cold…”
Hube shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the well-worn ball cap on the table before him before slapping it back on his head and saying in a false-hearty tone, “Well. Poor Casey Dint, she got herself pushed out the window, didn’t she? Didn’t even scream, they said. Dead by the time she hit the ground.”
His friend glanced up, looking startled to be surrounded by people in the cafe and not on his bike, decades ago, seeing a ghost seeing him back. “Weirdest part was the fall shouldn’t have killed her. Hurt her, yeah, but not killed her. But once she was gone, that was the end of the Dint family.” He paused again, then shrugged. “Less she really did have a baby up in Dallas. Then I suppose it wasn’t. Though Casey, she don’t rest easy. Lots of folks have seen her at the motor court. It’s why they closed. People couldn’t stand the crying.” There was an awkward quiet as the two men muttered their farewells and headed for the door, leaving an uneasy feeling in their wake as they hurried out into the warmth of the day, away from the ghosts they’d summoned from memory.
“So, the Ghoul is associated with the deaths of specific families,” Oscar said loudly enough for me to hear from my spot, examining an array of photos on the wall by the jukebox. “That sounds like it’d be an interesting thing to study, if one were into that sort of thing.”
I didn’t bother trying to hide my smile. “Aren’t we both into that sort of thing, just from different angles?”
Oscar’s expression lightened a bit more. “True.” His attention was diverted back to one of the townspeople just dying (ha) to tell him about their personal Ghoul sighting and I was left to stare at the collection of tasteful, modern black-and-white photos made to look old-fashioned. The landscapes I’d fetched up in front of apparently comprised a series of photos of the seasonal progressions of a huge tree, arranged to show the cycle of bloom and die off from spring to winter and back again.
“Wanna see something kind of cool?” Sandy asked, sidling up to me. She had an empty tray under one arm and an earbud in one ear, tinny Slipknot playing between us. “This is the only known picture of the Ghoul and it’s why a lot of folks think it’s Mason Albright. Looks just like the only actual picture they have of him at the Budding Community Museum and Ranch Club.” She tapped one neatly short nail against the picture of the tree in full leaf. “You kinda gotta squint but he’s there.”
I leaned in and, sure enough, a dour-faced man who could have been considered handsome if he didn’t look so angry was staring at the photographer from a distance, partially obscured by the shadows of the leaves. The image was black-and-white, so he was also in grayscale. Nothing about him screamed undead cowboy to me but then again, I wasn’t expecting it to. He looked like every other middle-aged man in rural Texas to me, from my Uncle Roger to the guy who talked to me when I was trying to call CeCe on the side of the road.
Sandy was still talking about it. “When she took the picture, there was no one there. It was, like, seven in the morning because she always tried to go at the same time and the Hicks’ place hasn’t run cattle in forever, so it’s not like someone was out there working.” She shrugged. “It’s pretty spooky. She even sent it off to one of those paranormal investigation groups to see what they thought but no one ever got back to her.” She cut her eyes over to Oscar and Ezra. “Do you think—”
“Their specialty isn’t really in photography,” I murmured, peering a bit closer. The man wasn’t fuzzy around the edges or translucent or any of the other things people might expect a ghost photo to look like. No, it looked just like a grumpy man caught standing under what looked to be a mesquite tree, glaring at someone taking his picture. “Does Albright still have any descendants in the area?”
“Huh? No. I think he had some kids but after he died the farm got chopped up so there was no reason for them to stay, and I don’t think there’s any Albrights even left in the county.” She made a face, wrinkling her nose in thought. “Maybe one of the cousins, but if they’re the ones I’m thinking of, they’re not Albrights, they’re Donaldsons and, like, cousins twice removed or something so I guess the answer is no?”
She didn’t sound super sure but honestly, her explanation kind of exhausted me, so I just nodded. If this guy looked enough like Albright for the photo to gain some fame as the only photo of the alleged ghoul himself, I’d be willing to bet Sandy’s mom caught some descendant of Albrights checking out old family history. Lord knows my own mother was fond of that sort of thing when CeCe and I were kids, taking us on drives to see where Aunt So and So lived back in the day or the place where Great-great-grandad’s store once stood. I’d like to say those road trips are what started my love of history and anthropology, but really they were just the seeds of my hatred of road trips. “I know a few people back in Houston who do forensic analysis and—”
“Forensic analysis?” She scowled. “It’s not a crime photo! Why would we need them to do an analysis of it?”
The words fell out before I could stop them, and I really tried to stop them. “Well, they can tell if the image of the man was added after the original photo was taken and—”
And I swear to God I was going to say ‘and provide verification if you’d like,’ but Sandy’s offended gasp was the equivalent of a record scratch. The small crowd around Oscar and Ezra swung their heads our way and Sandy hissed, “Are you accusing my mother of faking this photo?” she demanded, jabbing her finger at the picture. “Asshole!”
Oscar was on his feet and smiling his charming don’t be mad at me, I have floppy hair and a sexy accent smile. “Our resident skeptic,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes, “is an absolute bear before he has a second cuppa.”
“I meant no offense,” I said stiffly. “I was—”
“He was just doing his job,” Oscar said with another eye roll, one that said isn’t he just adorable, thinking he’s a big boy and doing work. I bristled but bit my tongue. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly out here curing cancer, but pretending like I was making shit up? Definite
ly fucking having a talk later. Oscar and Ezra passed out business cards with the production company email on it, promising they’d get any messages with their name in the subject line should folks have more stories to share, and they hustled me out of the diner like I was a misbehaving child.
We made it as far as the bandstand, where we’d started from, before I shook them off. “What the Hell?” I demanded. “I know you think it’s a pain in the ass that I’m having to try to do what I do, but you don’t have to pretend like I’m just an inconvenience or making it up! I didn’t say one damn thing to that woman that wasn’t true!”
“Sometimes,” Oscar bit out, “we need to keep our loud voice quiet and our quiet voice loud.”
“Guys,” Ezra said. “Guys…”
“I didn’t say her mother was a liar,” I snapped. “I said there are all sorts of reasons for the picture, not just a ghost!”
“Oz,” Ezra said a bit more sharply. “Something’s wrong.” He swayed hard, then fell, tumbling into Oscar’s startled grasp.
“Shit! He’s having another seizure,” Oscar hissed. “Julian—”
I was already helping him get Ezra to the ground. “Are you sure he doesn’t have epilepsy or a seizure disorder?”
“Are you calling me a liar now?” Oscar snapped. “Shit. Sorry, sorry, not the time. Shit! Ezra, come on, talk to me!”
Ezra’s head rolled to one side, and he shuddered, drawing in a deep breath. As he exhaled, his eyes opened and he stared up at me and Oscar, a smile spreading across his face. He showed too many teeth, too much gum. It was a grimace, a rictus grin, not a real smile. “I’m so glad y’all are here,” he drawled in a voice unlike his usual one. “I’ve been running out of time, but y’all got here right in the nick,” he laughed. “Just in time…”
“Ezra, no!” Oscar grabbed for Ezra’s face as he turned away again, and Ezra arched as if shocked. A bright flash of orange light blinded me for just a second, someone’s headlights or something cutting across the square, and when I blinked my eyes clear, Ezra’s head was in Oscar’s lap and Oscar was pale, trembling. “Ezra,” he whispered. “Ezra, are you… are you?”
Ezra groaned softly. “I feel like absolute shit,” he muttered in his own voice. “Fuck.”
Oscar looked up at me, eyes wide and a little wet. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“No,” Ezra protested, sounding stronger than a moment before. “No! I’m fine. I came over funny for a moment. I’m okay. I swear.”
Oscar and I exchanged a long, speaking look. “He’s an adult. We can’t force him to go. But I think he should seriously consider it.”
Ezra shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It was just… I just need a nap or something.” He was talking fast, shaking. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked like he was tweaking out or something similar. Yancy’s truck rolled to a stop beside the bandstand, and he rolled down his window.
“Y’all ready?”
Ezra nodded, struggling to his feet. “More than.”
Oscar and I followed more slowly, both of us wearing near identical expressions of confused concern.
Chapter 8
Oscar
Ezra made a beeline—albeit a wobbly one—for the bunkhouse when we returned to the ranch. Julian made a small show of calling CeCe in front of Yancy as if to reassure him we really were trying to leave, his problematic houseguests would be out of his hair soon. By the time Julian caught up to us in the bunkhouse, I’d wrestled Ezra out of his shoes and socks and gotten him to lay on the bed nearest the window unit so cool air would blow on him directly. He protested but was already drifting into a fitful doze.
Julian shut the door quietly behind him and watched me as I set Ezra’s shoes beneath his bed and brushed some of his wild hair back from his face. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore and all but threw myself into Julian’s arms. “What the fuck,” I muttered. “What the fuck is happening?”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt a spike of relief—part of me had been afraid he’d be stiff with me or push me away. I knew I’d hurt his feelings by playing off his comments as a joke, as something we just had to deal with, but he did not know yet how to handle an audience, how to give information without hurting unnecessarily.
How to play the game, as they say. Whoever they were.
“I know you want to trust him, but I think Ezra’s… I think something is wrong.” I laughed wetly at Julian’s pronouncement, and he gave me another little squeeze, his fingers moving gently in my hair, soothing me. “You know what I mean. This isn’t just a dizzy spell or being tired. I don’t know a lot about neurology, but what he did last night, and again today? That’s not healthy brain activity.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Ezra muttered from where he’d buried his face in the bedding. “I’m fine. I just need a nap.”
“Yoo hoo!”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered as Mrs. Carstairs knocked, then opened the door.
“Boys, Yancy said y’all had a bit of an awful morning in town. Now, this seems like a perfect occasion for a slice of cake and some coffee. Let’s head for the kitchen.”
It wasn’t so much a gentle suggestion as an order. She hurried us back into the house and got us settled around the table. Yancy had gone to tend to chores once it became apparent Ezra was going to live, and Carstairs was walking the pasture with a sheriff’s deputy after finding signs someone had been camping on their property near the creek. “I tell him every time, it’s just teenagers in town thinking they’re all grown and being sneaky. But every time he insists on calling out the deputies to look. I honestly don’t know what he thinks they’re gonna find. Some kids canoodling? Oh, do they say canoodle anymore? Well. Now, who wants cream and sugar?” Mrs. Carstairs asked, bringing a coffee tray over to the table. “Ezra, honey, want me to bring you a cup?”
We’d set Ezra on the living room sofa, and he was propped at an angle, trying to look engaged but looking more like he was barely awake. He shook his head before he answered. “No, ma’am. Thank you for asking though.”
She clicked her tongue but passed out the other cups and set a tray of sweets down in the middle of the kitchen table. “If you change your mind, you just holler, alright?”
Julian dosed his with an obscene amount of sugar and added enough milk to make it turn beige before nudging the tray in my direction. I dropped in two sugar cubes and hoped for the best—coffee had never been a favorite of mine, and I knew no matter how much sugar I added, it would taste bitter and acidic. Mrs. Carstairs hummed to herself as she sliced pieces from a loaf cake that smelled absolutely amazing. “It’s a lemon ginger poppy seed cake,” she announced proudly. “I came up with it myself after a little mishap in the kitchen when Deborah was, oh… ten? Eleven? I asked her to get me the lemon zest, and she grabbed grated ginger instead and, well… here we are!” She tittered happily, settling her soft bulk into the chair at the head of the table. “Now, boys, we’ve had way more excitement here today than the past six months combined! I feel like I should apologize for this morning. Between our… well, rather abrupt request, Enoch showing his tail like he’s doing… Well, it’s been a day, hasn’t it?” She sighed, tears welling up in her eyes and a quaver racing in her words. She glanced between me and Julian, her expression becoming wistful and a little distant as she reached out and laid her hands atop both mine and Julian’s and gave us a squeeze. “Now, don’t you think we’re some of those folks who get all sniffy about who you love, alright? I know you have it bad for each other—don’t deny it! I can see it in your face whenever you look at him. I noticed it at the party last night. Saw that sweet look you kept giving him and I said to myself, Karlotta, those boys are head over heels for each other.” She patted my hand and drew back a bit, her expression falling once more. “I hope you don’t think we’re all ignorant here. It’s a tiny town, but… Well, we’re not monsters.”
Julian gently set his cup and saucer aside and addressed her earnestl
y. “I appreciate it, Mrs. Carstairs. I grew up in this state and I know it’s come a very long way since… Well, even since I was in high school. And I’m not so naïve as to think everywhere is safe. But thank you for assuring us.”
“Karlotta,” she insisted, dabbing at her eyes. “After all of this, it’s the least I can do, let you call me by my first name!”
“Karlotta,” I repeated with a practiced smile. “I was wondering if I could ask you about your daughter. We, ah, we didn’t get much of a chance to discuss the issue this morning and seeing as how we’re staying at least one more night, maybe I could help you out.”
She looked arrested for a moment, her expression and posture frozen. Karlotta.exe has stopped running, I thought with a hint of hysteria. She relaxed, though, and her smile slipped into sadness. “Maybe… I should get David, though. Deborah was—is—his daughter and…”
“And we’ll get him in a moment. Whenever I do a séance, I like to speak with family members separately.” That wasn’t exactly true. I’d been known to do it if there was some question as to the motivation behind the séance—were they trying to do an end run around a will, perhaps? Or were they simply wishing to talk to a dead loved one? But for the most part, I simply did my job without theatrics.
Okay, with a tiny bit of theatrics.
Maybe a medium bit. I’d read the room before deciding.
Karlotta hemmed and hawed for a few moments, then sighed and threw up her hands. “Let’s do it. I don’t want to sound cavalier about my Deborah’s passing but… Well, at this point, we just want to know she’s okay. Or as okay as can be,” she added in a rush. “Oh, that didn’t sound right, did it?”
Ezra smiled reassuringly, lurching his way from the living room and attempting to lean nonchalantly against the kitchen door. He looked more drunk than casual though and I edged a bit closer, ready to catch him if he pitched over. “It’s alright, ma’am. We understand. Do you mind if we record the session? Just for veracity’s sake,” he added when she frowned. “In case there’re questions later.”
Ghoul Friend Page 10
