by Dale Young
What did it mean? What had the house just showed him? Who was the man, and more importantly, who was the girl? What had happened to her?
Logan knew he had witnessed something horrible. He felt a sense of dread wash over him. He stepped away from the window and tried to clear his mind. Then he returned to the master bedroom and crawled back into bed with Colby, the warmth of her body bringing him comfort as he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But despite his efforts, sleep would elude him and he would lie awake for the rest of the night.
***
Colby was sitting at the breakfast table sipping her coffee while looking at Logan. She could tell something was bothering him.
“What’s wrong?” she said as she reached over and touched his hand.
“I didn’t sleep much last night.”
She smiled when Logan said this.
“Well you know what that means don’t you?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked at Colby. “I can’t imagine.”
“They say when you can’t sleep at night it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream.”
Logan slowly smiled at Colby. He knew right then that she was just about the sweetest girl he had ever met. She was a far cry from some of the brash women that had crossed his path in the past.
“They say that, do they? And who exactly is they?”
“I dunno. But they say it, whoever they are.”
Colby grinned at Logan and took a sip of her coffee. Logan’s smile faded and the disturbed look returned to his face.
“I know what happened to Clara. And I know why her ghost only killed under the light of a harvest moon.”
Colby made no effort to hide her astonishment. She put her cup down on the table, almost spilling her coffee in the process.
“You know what happened to Clara? How?”
“The house showed me,” Logan said stoically.
“When?”
“Last night, while you were sleeping. I got up and went to the window in the back bedroom. I saw a man drag a young girl into the tobacco field. The moon in the sky was as big and bright as any harvest moon I’ve ever seen. He dragged her by the arm into the field. Time passed, I’m not sure how much, but then he reappeared without her. I think he took her out into the field and killed her. First he probably…”
She drew in a breath and then covered her mouth with her hand. Logan looked at her and could see tears welling up in her eyes.
“It makes sense now,” Logan said. “She was killed under the light of a harvest moon after he dragged her out into the field and took what he wanted from her.”
Suddenly a look of wonder crossed Colby’s face. Logan frowned as he watched her slowly open her mouth like she had just remembered something important.
“What?” he finally said.
“I’ll bet he was her first victim. I don’t know the details or his name but now that I think about it I remember my grandmother telling me that the first murder in the Shaw Fields was the owner of the house. This house. It happened in 1931.”
Colby then grew silent as she tried to piece everything together.
“The diary said they buried Clara in 1930. Her ghost must have returned the next year and killed him in the field. I’m sure no one at the time connected the dots. No one knew what had happened.”
“Well now we do, and as far as I’m concerned we can keep it to ourselves.” Logan took a long sip of his coffee. Colby followed suit and then looked across the kitchen towards the back porch and the tobacco fields bathed in the morning sun.
31
It was close to lunchtime when Sheriff Patterson called to tell Logan that Ethan was out of the hospital and had been spotted in town. He advised Logan to steer clear for a while until things cooled off. Sheriff Patterson cautioned Logan about Ethan and reminded him to keep the doors to the Shaw house locked at all times.
“Will do, sheriff.” Logan hung up the phone. Colby was sitting in a chair by the kitchen table tying her shoes.
“Are you about ready?” she asked as she stood up and looked at Logan.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go see what we can find.”
Logan and Colby went out the back door and onto the porch. Colby waited while Logan locked the door and then dropped the key in his pocket. He picked up the axe handle propped against the doorframe and smiled as he lifted it up to examine it. He had found it in the basement earlier in the morning and knew that it would be handy to have given the fact that Ethan probably considered their business unfinished.
The noonday sun was high overhead as Logan and Colby walked across the backyard to the edge of the tobacco field.
“They should start picking soon,” she said as they stepped into a row. Logan had made a mental note of the approximate location of where Chip’s body had been found and he made a conscious effort to make sure he and Colby didn’t walk down a row that would take them to that spot.
Once they reached the middle of the field, Logan scanned the area around him. It felt as if he was wading through a waist-deep sea of tobacco plants. He couldn’t believe how big the field was and the amount of money that would be made from the harvesting of the leaves.
When they reached the far edge of the field they walked along the tree line until they found the trail that led to the sharecropper’s house. Colby paused and reached out and took Logan by the hand.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” Logan asked as he looked at Colby.
“I don’t want to go to the house. Let’s just go to the graves. I don’t ever want to go in that sharecropper house again.”
“I’ll hire someone to come out here with a bulldozer and tear the place down. How’s that?”
“Sounds perfect,” Colby replied.
They stepped onto the path with Logan in the lead. It wasn’t long until they came upon the spot where they had seen the old tombstones.
“There.” Colby pointed into the trees. They could see several tombstones jutting out of the underbrush about fifty feet off the path.
Logan and Colby both found themselves wishing they had worn long pants as they pushed their way through the underbrush. It took several minutes before they finally reached the tombstones. It was then that Logan spotted a footpath that led away from the graves toward the tobacco field.
“Looks like we took the back way,” he said as he pointed to the path. Colby smiled and feigned exasperation.
The area around the graves was relatively clear. “Looks like someone kept the brush off the graves,” Colby finally said.
Logan nodded his head. “Probably Rosemary until she got too old. Then I would imagine she started paying someone to do it. Probably the same people she paid to keep her yard in order.”
Colby bent down to the smallest of the three tombstones and began to rub the surface of the stone with her hand. It wasn’t long before she had brushed away most of the embedded dirt to reveal the name engraved in the stone. Logan watched as a look of surprise bloomed on Colby’s face.
“This is her, Logan. This is Clara’s grave.”
She looked up at Logan and then back down at Clara’s tombstone. “The date of death is 1930.”
“Poor little girl.” Colby rested a hand on Clara’s tombstone.
“I knew we’d find her out here.” Logan paused for a second as he looked at the other tombstones. “But who do these stones belong to?”
She moved over in front of the next tombstone. It was larger than the other two. Logan kneeled down beside her as she began to rub on the stone.
“Elijah.” Colby brushed away the dirt. “I can’t make out the last name.”
“Who the fuck is Elijah?”
“I don’t know.” Colby continued to rub at the dirt under the engraved name on the tombstone. Then she suddenly stopped and drew in a sharp breath.
“It’s dated 1931,” Logan.
“That’s the year of the first killing.”
“You don’t think this is…”
“That means Elijah was this Florence lady’s husband. They buried that sorry motherfucker right next to Clara.” Logan shook his head in disgust. “No wonder her soul couldn’t rest.”
“That’s not funny,” Colby said as she and Logan got to their feet.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was serious. Why would they do that?”
“They didn’t know, Logan. Like I said, I’ve heard all the stories over the years. I’ve never heard anyone talk about it. No one knew what he did to Clara, except maybe Florence. You were the one that figured it out.”
“I had help.” Logan turned and looked through the trees at his house sitting in the distance.
Logan then turned his attention to the third tombstone. “So who could that be?”
Colby stepped in front of the third tombstone. Then she kneeled down and began to rub on the surface of the stone.
“Scarlett,” Colby finally said after she had brushed away most of the dirt. “Born 1922. Died 1928.”
“Who is Scarlett?” Logan frowned as he stared at the stone.
“I dunno.” Colby stood up and stepped close to Logan. “The photo in the trunk of Rosemary and Clara at the train station was dated 1929. This little girl died in 1928. Who was she?”
A look of revelation suddenly washed across Logan’s face.
“I’ve seen her.”
She slowly turned her head and looked at Logan, who was staring down at the tombstone.
“What do you mean you’ve seen her?”
“She must be the little girl that dropped the flower on my front porch the first night I stayed in the house. And she likes to wander the upstairs hallway at night.” Logan said this matter-of-factly, which unnerved Colby.
“Have you lost your mind?” Colby finally said. Logan turned and gave Colby a look of frustration.
“What, it’s perfectly believable that a ghost can kill people out in my tobacco field but I’m crazy for saying another ghost wanders the upstairs hallway of my house? Seems my house is crawling with the souls of the dead. Same goes for my tobacco field.”
“Good point,” Colby said sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“So, Florence and Elijah did have a child before they adopted Rosemary and Clara.”
“Seems that way,” Colby replied. “But she didn’t make it. It’s says typhoid fever underneath 1928.”
“Sad.” Logan he paused for a moment. Then a question came to mind that he had meant to ask Harmon during their previous meeting.
“By the way. Where are Rosemary and Carson buried?”
Colby looked surprised. “Harmon didn’t tell you?”
“Nope.”
“Carson was cremated. Rosemary had his ashes thrown in the Skeleton River. They did the same thing with Rosemary when she died. I remember talking to Harmon about it when he came in the diner for breakfast right after she passed away. He said it was in her will that she be cremated and thrown in the river like Carson.”
“Well that simplifies things, I guess,” Logan said as he reached down and picked up his axe handle. Then he took Colby by the hand as they turned and followed the path away from the graves to begin the long walk back to his house.
32
Logan and Colby spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the back porch of the house. They made sandwiches for dinner and turned in early. The lovemaking went on for what seemed like hours until they were both so exhausted that they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Outside the tobacco fields were quiet. The leaves of the plants were bathed by the moonlight, which painted oblong shadows from the corners of the tobacco barns sitting dormant along the edge of the field.
Ethan McPhale made it a point to be as quiet as possible as he approached the Shaw house. It was just after midnight and as he moved through the tobacco he tried to put the thought of being butchered by whatever it was that haunted the Shaw Fields out of his mind. He had a score to settle with Logan Shaw and he knew that tonight he would avenge his little brother’s death, even if it meant crossing the Shaw Fields to get to the house.
The can of kerosene brushed against the leaves of the tobacco plants as Ethan moved quickly up the row. Once he reached the end of the row he was relieved to step out of the field and onto the grass of the backyard. He paused and scanned the yard and the back of the house. Just then an owl hooted from a nearby tree and almost caused Ethan to drop the can of kerosene.
Ethan could see that all of the lights were out in the house. Even the back porch light had been left turned off.
“Stupid city fuck,” Ethan muttered as he began to make his way across the backyard towards the house. “He doesn’t even have enough sense to leave a light on.”
Ethan crossed the backyard quickly. When he reached the base of the back porch steps he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the dark hulks of the tobacco barns. Then he thought about the story his father had once told him about a man being hacked to pieces in one of the barns. Just as he was about to climb the back porch steps he was startled once again by the owl perched in the tree next to the house. He gritted his teeth in anger at the bird, and at himself for being so skittish.
Ethan moved quickly up the stairs and onto the back porch. He felt relief when he stepped into the dark shadow cast by the overhanging roof of the porch. The moon was bright tonight, but it was not a harvest moon. This brought Ethan a degree of comfort. He knew he was safe. But then he thought about how his little brother had not been so lucky, and how he had been slaughtered the night before last.
“I don’t know who or what killed my brother but I’m going to make you pay for it, city boy,” Ethan said as he began to pour the contents of the kerosene can down the length of the porch against the back wall of the house. He splashed kerosene on the swing and down the back steps. Then he stepped back and pulled the book of matches out of his pocket. He struck one and dropped it into the puddle of kerosene lying on the bottom step.
The fire ran up the steps and in seconds engulfed the entire back porch. Ethan knew he was only half finished and had to move quickly. He grabbed the handle of the kerosene can and ran around the side of the house to the front porch. To his dismay there was a solitary light burning above the front door, but Ethan knew he was safe. The house was too far away from the road for anyone to see him as they drove by.
Ethan moved up the steps of the house and poured more of the kerosene along the length of the front porch, splashing a good bit of it on the door. He cursed as some of it splashed back onto his clothes and in his eyes. The oily, pungent odor of the kerosene filled his nostrils as he worked but he didn’t let it slow him down.
Ethan knew the house only had a front a back door and that by lighting both porches on fire he would effectively close off the escape routes, forcing Logan and Colby to have to jump from the upstairs windows if they managed to awaken before the smoke and fire killed them.
Ethan poured what was left of the kerosene down the steps. Just as he was about to light the puddle at his feet, he looked over at the bottle tree jutting out of the ground close to the porch. He smirked as he remembered that his mother had put one similar to it in their yard when he was growing up. Then he struck a match and dropped it into the kerosene. Within seconds the front porch was ablaze.
Ethan knew all he had to do now was to make a dash back around the corner of the house and into the tobacco field. It wouldn’t take him long to make it across the field and back to his house. Then he could climb into bed and in the morning he would wake up and everything would be over. The Shaw house would be gone, and with it Logan Shaw.
Just as Ethan turned to move towards the corner of the house he was startled to see a little girl standing only a few feet away from him. In her hand was a small yellow flower. Ethan had picked enough tobacco in his day to know what the flower was and where it came from. But he had no idea who the little girl was and he was even more surprised that she had been able to approach him without him knowing it.
“Who the
fuck are you?” Ethan hissed as he took a step backwards. The little girl only smiled and lifted her arm in an effort to hand him the flower.
“You stay away!” Ethan shrieked as he took another step backwards. He knew something wasn’t right about the little girl. In his haste to get away from her he overstepped and put his foot into the burning puddle of kerosene at the bottom of the front porch steps. The fire moved quickly up his leg and onto his upper body. He screamed in agony as the hot fire burned away his clothing and scorched his skin. In a few more seconds he was completely consumed by the fire, his arms flailing as he tried in vain to escape. He fell to his knees and then onto his stomach as the fire quickly took his life.
The little girl was unfazed by the sight of Ethan’s burning corpse. She walked past him and onto the steps of the porch. The fire was all around her but she ignored it. She walked up the steps and then through the raging fire to the front door of the house. Standing in the middle of the flames, she turned and looked at Ethan one more time before stepping through the burning surface of the front door.
Logan and Colby were fast asleep in the upstairs bedroom. Both porches were ablaze and the fire was beginning to make its way into the house. It would not be long before the entire bottom floor of the house would be consumed by the fire. Wispy fingers of smoke were already making their way up the stairs to the hallway above.
He was startled awake by the touch of a small hand on his face. When he jerked awake he sat bolt upright in bed. It took him a few seconds to gather his wits and orient himself. Once he realized he was awake he looked over at Colby lying asleep beside him. Then he turned his head and gasped when he saw the little girl standing beside the bed. He knew right then that it had been her hand that he had felt touch his forehead.
“You have to get out,” the little girl whispered.
Logan frowned and looked at the little girl.
“Scarlett? Is that you?”
“You have to get out now,” Scarlett repeated.
Then Logan turned and looked at the windows of the bedroom. He saw the flickering yellow light and then smelled smoke coming into the room. He knew right then that the house was on fire.
