The Ghost of Tobacco Road

by Dale Young

  The fading twilight coming in through the dormers cast long, soft shadows across the floor of the attic. In one corner Logan could see several old pieces of furniture and a large wooden trunk. Then he scanned the rest of the attic until his eyes came to rest on what appeared to be a large pile of dolls. As Logan studied the pile of dolls he suddenly realized that it was just a pile of doll heads and that none of the heads had bodies attached to them. Just then Colby squeezed beside him in the narrow staircase so that she could see into the attic. She took in a short gasp of air when she saw the pile of doll heads.

  “Oh how creepy.” She put her hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I wonder where those came from.”

  “I dunno,” Logan replied. I wish we had a light. Maybe tomorrow we can check this out in the daylight. It’s getting late outside and there’s not much light coming in through the dormers. It’ll be pitch dark up here pretty soon. I can’t believe there’s not even a lamp or something up here.” I’m babbling again, Logan thought to himself.

  “I think I’d rather see it in the daylight. Besides, it is getting kind of late. I should probably be going.” Just then Logan spied a string hanging in the center of the attic. It led to a small light attached to one of the rafters.

  “There’s the light,” Logan said. Wait here and I’ll turn it on.

  Logan walked across the dim attic and pulled the string. There was a resounding click and then the attic was bathed in the dim yellow light of the solitary incandescent bulb.

  Colby climbed the last few steps and then joined Logan in the middle of the attic. Through one of the dormers Logan could see the long, tree-lined driveway that led from the house to the main road. But the light was fading fast. Logan knew it would be dark soon.

  Colby walked over to a small chest of drawers and pulled open the top drawer. Then she did the same to the remaining drawers before remarking to Logan that every drawer was just full of clothes. While she was doing that, Logan had begun to examine the old cedar trunk. But the padlock on the trunk prevented him from opening it.

  “I wonder what’s in this trunk,” he said as Colby walked up beside him.

  “Whatever it is it must be important,” she said. “Look at the size of that lock. We’re not getting into that thing tonight unless you have the key.”

  “I don’t,” replied Logan. “Does Starlight have a hardware store?”

  “Yep,” Colby replied.

  “Tomorrow I’ll buy a set of bolt cutters and we’ll make short work of that lock. I don’t want to tear up the trunk. It looks like an antique.”

  Colby then walked over to the corner where there was something covered in old sheets. She had to crouch down to avoid hitting her head on the angled rafters. She pulled up the edge of one of the sheets until she could see that they were covering several large, framed photographs. Logan joined her and they pulled the blankets gently off of the photographs, careful not to knock them over.

  “Wow, must be old.” Logan said as they sat down beside each other.

  “Looks like your house and land,” Colby replied as she gently poked Logan in the ribs. Her touch sent an electric shock through his body.

  Several of the large, black and white photographs were of the house and the surrounding fields. The house looked the same, just in better condition and the fields were full of tobacco plants. Logan pulled the largest framed photo onto his lap and examined it closely.

  “Hard to believe it all belongs to me now,” he said as he gingerly touched the house in the old photo.

  While he was staring at the large photo of the house, Colby picked up one of the smaller framed photographs leaning against the attic wall. This one was of a man and a woman standing beside a little girl. None of them had a smile on their face. Colby was quick to notice this and point it out to Logan.

  “They look unhappy.”

  “Pissed off is more like it,” Logan countered as he looked over at the photo Colby was holding. “I guess life was hard back then. From the looks of their clothes these photos have to be a hundred years old at least.”

  “They could be some of your long lost relatives.”

  “Maybe,” Logan replied. “Right now I’m just getting used to the idea of Rosemary being a long lost relative. But you could be right. Why else would photos of these people be in the attic?”

  “They could be tenant farmers or sharecroppers that worked the land way back then. But I don’t know why someone would have taken their pictures and put them in the attic,” Colby replied. “Most tenant farmers had lots of children. It’s strange to see just one child in the photo.”

  “What kind of farmer?” Logan said, ignoring the last part of what Colby had said about children.

  Colby chuckled at Logan. She had forgotten that he was from Wilmington.

  “You don’t know much about farming, do you city boy?” She poked Logan in the ribs again. It made him flinch with pleasure.

  “Nope. But I’ll have you know that I now own the biggest tobacco farm in town. Go figure. I’m the kind of guy that if you asked me where eggs come from I’d tell you the supermarket, not a chicken. So no, I don’t know much about farming but I can sell you a used Chevy and make you feel like you just stole it from me.” Logan was trying to make fun of himself. Colby picked up on it immediately.

  “Well where would we be without car salesmen? No one would have cars.” Colby winked and once again poked Logan in the ribs. He wanted to grab her and kiss her and make love to her on the attic floor but he knew he didn’t have the nerve for such a bold move.

  “Tenant farmers paid rent to live on the land. They did all the work and the owner got a cut of the crop price when it was sold at market. Sharecroppers did about the same thing but they didn’t get as much money. They worked their fingers to the bone for a share of the crop, hence the name sharecropper. It was way before my time, but this land was once worked by sharecroppers and tenant farmers. Rosemary has had someone else plant and harvest her tobacco for as long as I can remember. They say that after her husband was killed that she never so much as stepped foot in the fields again. She’s been renting out the land over the years. There are no sharecroppers or tenant farmers anymore, but farmers still rent land out when they can’t farm it. That’s what Rosemary has been doing all these years. I would imagine whoever she hired to plant that crop out there in her fields, I mean, your fields, will be harvesting it soon. It’s that time of the year.”

  “How did you get to know all this?” Logan raised an eyebrow at Colby. She was getting more interesting by the minute. He had never met a girl like her.

  “My great-granddaddy was a sharecropper. At one time he even worked the Shaw land. Poor as dirt, let me tell you. I’ve seen pictures of him and my great-grandmother and they looked like they didn’t have a pot to pee in. But they were just like everyone else back in those days. The tobacco farming was all done by hand and it was almost a death sentence because the work was so hard. Or that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve never worked the fields myself. My parents owned a small tobacco farm at one time, but they managed to get out of tobacco farming right after I was born.”

  Logan thought about what Colby had said about Rosemary’s husband. He suddenly realized it didn’t jibe with what Harmon had told him.

  “You said Rosemary’s husband was killed? Harmon told me my great-grandfather died years ago but he didn’t say he was killed. What happened to him?”

  “Harmon didn’t tell you?”

  “No. He just said he died years ago. Carson was his name, right?”

  “I think so. Carson Shaw.”

  “But Harmon did tell me the story behind the land and the murders. He told me all about the McPhale family and how they want the land. And he told me about how lots of people believe there is some sort of silly curse on the land. Or something like that.”

  Colby paused for a moment. She felt her skin begin to crawl. She thought about Harmon, and understood why he wouldn’t have told Logan about the murder of Ca
rson Shaw. After all, Carson was Logan’s great-grandfather.

  “Carson was killed right out there in one of those tobacco barns back in the Sixties,” Colby finally said. “Everyone in town knows the story. Someone used an axe and hacked him into little pieces. They never caught the killer and in my opinion they never will. There have been other murders like Carson’s and our sheriff hasn’t been able to solve them. And he never will, if you ask me. No sheriff has ever been able to find even a single clue as to who is doing all the killing.”

  As he listened to Colby talk, Logan knew that he was about to learn a lot more than what Harmon had told him about the land. Colby seemed to know the history.

  “Harmon said that most people think it’s the McPhale family.”

  “Harmon always says that. It’s his standard story. But he doesn’t believe it.”

  “That’s true. He did tell me that much, that he didn’t think it was the McPhales. He seems like a straight up kind of guy.”

  “He’s a good man. And I’m sure he figured that your great-grandmother dying and you inheriting her house was enough for you to deal with right now. But there’s more to the story of this land than he told you.”

  “I’m all ears. I mean, I do own the place now.” Logan winked at Colby. He wanted to hear all about the land and the murders, and he wanted to be close to Colby. He knew the more she talked, the longer he would get to be with her.

  Colby exhaled and pulled her legs underneath her until she was sitting cross-legged next to Logan.

  “They call the killer “the ghost of tobacco road”. Tobacco road is a nickname for this part of the state due to all the tobacco farms.”

  “A ghost…” Logan furrowed his brow. “How can a ghost kill someone? Where I come from ghosts just make noise at night and scare people. They can’t actually hurt you.”

  “Well around here they can hack you into little pieces with an axe. Every murder victim in the Shaw Fields has been chopped up beyond recognition. And it’s been a while so lots of people think we’re due for another murder.”

  “I know, Harmon and Chip McPhale brought that up when Chip dropped by for a friendly visit right after we got to the house. He was a one-man welcoming committee.”

  “He’s just a pure asshole. Stay away from Chip McPhale. But as for the people that believe the McPhales are behind the killings, well, they’re all just crazy. There’s no way the McPhale family has been killing people for almost a hundred years. That’s just bunk. The first murder was in 1931.”

  “Harmon said as much. He said the McPhales are pretty stupid and that he didn’t believe they were behind the killings. But you never know. It’s easier to believe that story than some story about a ghost wandering the fields.”

  “Some people think it’s the ghost of a slave. Slaves worked the fields until the Civil War.”

  Logan frowned as he looked up at a dormer. “I can’t say as I could blame the ghost of a slave for wandering the fields and hacking people to pieces.” The light from outside was almost gone. “I would imagine this isn’t the only field haunted by those kinds of ghosts. The South is probably full of fields like that. Lots of restless souls…”

  “And the murders only happen under a harvest moon,” Colby said.

  “Harmon mentioned that. I’m ashamed to say I have no idea what a harvest moon is. Where I come from we don’t pay any attention to the moon. It’s all streetlights and neon signs.”

  “It’s a full moon so bright that you can harvest a crop by the light from it,” replied Colby. “Usually comes in September.”

  “Makes sense,” Logan said, ashamed that he hadn’t known that.

  “And every murder has taken place in the Shaw Fields. Carson was murdered in one of those tobacco barns out there, but at one time the fields came up past where those barns are located. Every victim was hacked to pieces by a killer that no one has ever seen. Only the victims know what the killer looks like and they’re not talking.” Colby smiled at Logan, hoping that it would lighten the mood. Logan picked up on it immediately.

  “Enough of all this talk about slave ghosts and spirits,” he said. “Let’s check out the rest of the attic.” Logan then patted Colby on the knee and was about to stand up. But she put her hand on top of his and held it against her knee.

  “Logan, I…” Colby then looked down into her lap for a few seconds. When she finally lifted her face he could see that the twilight coming in from the outside had turned her eyes a dusty shade of gray. Her beauty momentarily threw him off balance.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I just hope you’re going to be okay. I mean, here in this house all by yourself.” Logan watched as Colby’s eyes scanned the attic rafters above them. She appeared to shiver just a bit as her eyes moved from the rafters to the attic space around them.

  “Hey, I’ll be alright.” Logan was thrilled that Colby cared about his welfare, but she was obviously upset and he didn’t like that. He was overcome with as strong desire to protect her.

  “I know you will, but it’s just that I’ve lived in this town my entire life and no matter which story you want to believe about the murders, one thing is for sure – there have been murders in those fields out there since 1931. And it has been years since the last one. I’m just, well I’m just a little worried about you. Promise me…”

  “Promise you what?”

  “Promise me you won’t go in those fields at night, moon or no moon. Just stay out of them after the sun goes down. That’s the safest way to do it.”

  Logan gently squeezed Colby’s knee. The denim felt nice against his hand.

  Then Colby continued. “And it’s not just the fields, Logan. This house… Well, it’s just that this house has a past too. Everyone in town knows about it. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were full of more ghosts that those fields out there. I know I could never spend the night in this house by myself. I don’t know how you’re going to do it.”

  “Hey, I’ll be alright. Really. Besides, what ghost would waste its time on an old car salesman like me? Or what McPhale kid would risk a jail sentence by coming after me? My legal staff would make short work of him.”

  “Harmon?” Colby said, trying not to laugh.

  “Yep, Harmon. He’s the best legal eagle in the state. I’ll be just fine. Now let’s check out the rest of the attic.”

  Colby and Logan got up and stacked the photos back in the corner before covering them with the sheet again. Then they walked over to the pile of doll heads.

  “What do you make of this?” she asked Logan.

  “Beats me. Just a pile of old doll heads. They look like they’re hand painted. Ceramic, or porcelain or something like that.” Logan frowned at the doll heads and scratched his chin. He stared at some of the blank expressions on the faces of the heads and after a few seconds Colby reached up and put her hand on his upper arm. Suddenly everything seemed to catch up with her – the story about the murders, the old photos and now the doll heads. As she looked around the attic she felt a sense of dread wash over her as she noticed the old trunk sitting in the corner. Suddenly she didn’t like the idea of being in the attic.

  “I think I better go.”

  He felt his spirits sink.

  “Are you sure? We can go back downstairs. We don’t have to rummage around in this spooky attic.” Logan wanted to reach out and put his arm around Colby but was afraid to.

  “I really need to get home. Maybe I can drop by tomorrow and we can finish the tour. I’ve always wanted to see inside those tobacco barns out back. Maybe we can walk down to the Skeleton River.”

  “It’s a deal. Harmon and I have to do some stuff at his office in the morning but I’ll probably be done around lunch time.”

  “Drop by the diner when you’re through,” Colby said. “I get off at two.”

  Logan and Colby then turned and went back down the attic stairs. The hallway at the bottom of the stairs was dark and Logan silently chided himself for not leaving the hall li
ghts on. He knew the dark hallway scared Colby.

  “Hold on a second,” he said as he let go of Colby’s hand and walked several feet over to the wall to turn on the lights. He hit the switch and the hallway was suddenly bathed in the buttery glow of incandescent light.

  “Much better,” Colby said as she walked over and joined Logan.

  Once back in the kitchen Colby put the leftover chicken and dumplings along with the sweet tea in the refrigerator. Then Logan walked her to the front door. Once out on the porch, she turned and smiled at him. He didn’t want her to go but he knew that a girl like Colby wasn’t going to spend the night with a guy she had just met. He felt stupid for even considering the idea.

  “Thanks for stopping by. And thanks again for the chicken and dumplings.” Then Logan forced himself to stop talking. The last thing he wanted to do was start babbling again.

  “You’re welcome,” replied Colby. An awkward moment of silence followed. Logan’s mind began to race as he tried to think of something to say. But Colby spoke before he could think of anything.

  “Good night,” she said as she turned and began to walk down the stairs. Just when she was at the edge of the circle of light being thrown off by the porch lamp, she turned at looked back up at Logan standing on the porch.

  “By the way, don’t mess with those bottles. You’ll set them free.”

  Logan paused for a second and then it dawned on him what Colby was talking about. Already upset with himself for not walking her to her car, he quickly walked down the stairs until he was standing beside her. Then he looked over at the bottle tree next to the porch steps.

  “I know, I know. Harmon told me all about it. They’re full of evil spirits or something.”

  Colby gave Logan a “bless your heart” smile while reminding herself once again that he was from the city and didn’t know much about Southern folklore.

  “The story goes that evil spirits roaming in the night are attracted to the bottles. They get trapped inside the bottles and then burn up when the morning sun hits them. They say when the wind blows through the bottle tree you can hear the spirits moaning. It’s just an old Southern wives’ tale.”