“So you’re like me. You don’t really think things around town are any worse than usual. I mean, this is all just hysteria, isn’t it?”
“I’d sure say so,” said Valentine. “Folks just got short memories. That’s all. There’s been all kinds of strange things that’s happened here in Beaufort, but this is what folks is thinking about right now.”
“Hmm. You’re probably right.”
Adam thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Valentine about the Gypsy coming back with a sick crew, or the spoiled cargo. He decided against it. It would definitely be bad for business if word got out to the folks in town about that.
Valentine sat back down on his own bar stool and picked up the paper again. He must have been able to see a pensive look on Adam’s face because he said, “You think too much, boy. They won’t even remember this tomorrow, and they sure as anything won’t be talking about it.”
Chapter Eight
THE NEXT DAY WAS THURSDAY and Martin was late for work. No one was surprised. Since they’d all heard the crew of the Gypsy was feeling better early on Wednesday, Martin had gone out with Jones, Charlie, and the new fellow, Bill Morton, to have drinks at Russell’s Tavern, which was on the other side of town from the Topsail, closer to where those fellows lived.
When Martin finally did arrive, as soon as he came in the warehouse he was asking, “Y’all heard about that ghost of the little girl folks seen over by the graveyard the other night?” He looked directly at Adam. “And you thought Madame Endora was crazy.”
“She is crazy. And if you think there was a ghost running around by the graveyard, then you’re crazy, too.”
“I’m not sayin it was a ghost, but there’s a few folks down there claimin they saw something. There’s even one girl who’s in some sort of shock because of it. Hasn’t moved or spoken since it happened.”
That caught everyone’s attention. Even Boaz looked up from his work.
Emmanuel had apparently been coming down the stairs, and he overheard what Martin had said.
“She’s in shock?” he asked, concerned.
Martin nodded. “Yep.”
Emmanuel looked over at Adam. “And you’d heard about this already?”
Adam nodded. “Mm-hm. Down at the tavern last night, Jackson talked to some of the patrons who live down that way and they said the same thing—that several of ’em saw a ghost running across the graveyard night before last.”
“It was a full moon the other night, too,” said Martin. “I reckon that prob’ly means something.”
“Sure, it means something,” said Boaz. “It means it was bright enough for the ghost to see where he was running so he wouldn’t trip on a tombstone,” said Boaz.
Adam laughed. “Good one, Bo.”
“It obviously wasn’t a ghost,” said Emmanuel, “so I wonder who it was they saw.”
“Respectfully, Emmanuel,” said Martin, “but how can you be so sure it wasn’t a ghost? Or something unnatural anyway?”
Emmanuel shook his head in exasperation at Martin and started back up the stairs. “You lot get back to work. This is foolishness.”
BY THE END OF THE workday, curiosity had apparently gotten the better of Martin, so he convinced Adam to come with him to visit the man who kept the grounds at the cemetery and was responsible for overseeing the digging of graves.
When they arrived at the small cabin over on Craven Street, the old man wasn’t in his home. Adam and Martin walked around back and found him sitting in a rickety-looking wooden chair in his backyard, smoking a long clay pipe.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Martin as he approached the old man. “You Mr. Shaw?”
The old man craned his head forward and squinted his eyes to try and see who was approaching him.
Martin extended his hand as he walked over and shook the man’s hand. “I’m Martin Smith, and this is my colleague Adam Fletcher.”
Adam reached out and shook the old man’s hand. “How do you do, sir?”
He gave a curt nod and said, “How d’ya do?”
Archibald Shaw was barely intelligible, and it seemed as though he needed to adjust his lips after he spoke. Adam could tell he mumbled because of his lack of teeth. He looked like he was older than eighty, but Adam knew that was unlikely. Apparently, either he came from family stock that didn’t age well, or he’d done his fair share of hard living. Adam guessed it was the latter.
“Sir, we’ve been told you help keep up the grounds here at the graveyard. Is that right?” asked Martin.
Mr. Shaw gave a single nod. He motioned towards the burying ground, which was a largely sandy plot with a few patches of grass here and there. “’Tis true, though can’t say there’s much to do ’cept diggin graves when they ask me and lookin after the place to make sure things stay in order.”
Martin and Adam exchanged grins. They were amused by the old man. Adam for one could neither imagine him digging graves nor keeping out anyone who might come to put things out of order, not that he could think of anything that could be put out of order in a graveyard.
“I see,” said Martin. “Well, I know they must be glad to have a good man like you looking after the place, keepin out the riffraff. Speakin of which, we heard there was some kind of ghost or somethin seen here the other night. Did you hear about that?”
“Mm-hm.” The old man drew on his pipe. “Sure did.”
“Did you see it?” asked Adam.
“Nope. ’Fraid not. I go to bed at a decent hour. Wouldn’t have been up that late.”
“Is that right, sir?” said Martin. “What time was it that folks were sayin they saw this thing?”
Mr. Shaw drew his eyebrows close in deep thought, then answered. “I reckon they said ’twas around nine o’clock.”
Martin grinned at Adam. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Whew! That late, huh?”
“Mm-hm. I’m usually in bed no later than seven. Nothin but pure mischief to get into much later than that.”
Adam had to work very hard to not laugh. He looked over at Martin, who was clearly struggling to contain himself as well.
“You’re prob’ly right about that, sir,” Martin agreed. “Well, sir, we were just wondering what you thought about the situation. Do you think there was a ghost?”
Mr. Shaw’s eyes grew wide. “A ghost? Good heavens, no. I’m certain it wasn’t!”
“Is that right, sir?” said Adam. “That’s good—you’re a logical man.”
“Course I am. A ghost can’t dig its way out of a grave, and that’s exactly what the little girl did.”
Martin cocked his head and for a brief moment appeared to try to make sense of what the old man had just said. He and Adam exchanged confused looks.
“Uh, what exactly do you mean by that, sir?” asked Adam.
Mr. Shaw looked at Adam in surprise, as though he was baffled that Adam would even ask the question. “I meant just what I said! That little girl has come up out of her grave, and that’s what they seen. It weren’t no ghost.”
“Forgive us if we’re just a little bit slow,” said Martin, clearly trying to retain a respectful tone in spite of the fact that he must have thought the old man had lost his mind. “What little girl has come up out of her grave?”
“That girl they buried in the barrel of rum two or three years ago. Perfectly preserved in that rum she was. That’s how she done it.”
Adam thought back and remembered the strange, sad incident.
“You’re telling us,” said Adam, “that girl came up out of her grave and ran around the cemetery, and that you know it was that particular girl? What makes you think that?”
The old man took another draw on his pipe, then used the same pipe to motion in the direction of the graveyard. “Can’t you see the earth’s tore up at that grave?”
Adam and Martin both strained to look across the burying ground.
“Remind us again where that girl was b
uried,” said Martin.
Mr. Shaw stood from his chair and said, “Follow me, boys. I’ll show you where she was.”
Adam stuck close behind Mr. Shaw, while Martin stayed a few steps back, studying some of the grave markers as they passed by them.
“We’re goin over here to this far side,” said the old man. “And by the way, if y’all want to talk to someone who seen the girl, go right on over to that Midgette house when you leave here. Their daughter is in a right state from seein it.”
He stopped at a grave marked by a simple piece of wood.
“This is it?” Adam asked. He noticed it was marked with the name Smith and the year 1765.
“Take a look,” said Mr. Shaw.
“Martin, get over here,” he said.
Martin came over and joined him.
“Is this one of your relatives? Look at the name. Maybe she came looking for you.” Adam chuckled.
“Funny, but no, that’s no relation of mine. Anyhow, Smith’s the most common name in the world, ain’t it?”
“Just look at it.” The old man pointed at the grave with his pipe. “The earth’s been dug up and put back.”
Adam walked around the grave from different sides. “I see. It’s not obvious right away, but when you look at it, you can see that the ground is a little bit sunken here, and there is an outline around it now.”
“And look down here,” said the old man. He bent forward a bit, pipe in hand, and motioned to the outline that Adam mentioned. “The color of the dirt is even a little bit different, ’cause it’s come from underneath. The girl came outta here, then patched it all back before she started runnin loose.”
Martin stroked at his chin, looking at the grave. Adam stood with his mouth slightly agape, unsure of what to say.
“How did you spot this?” said Martin. “Like you said, it ain’t really like it’s obvious from a distance.”
“Well, boy, if you been lookin at the same patch of ground for as long as I have, you notice when somethin’s different.”
Martin nodded. “Sure, that makes sense.”
The fact was the grave was very well covered. It did look as if it had been tampered with, although Adam wasn’t sure whether it had been dug up all the way or if someone had just been digging near the surface—maybe to bury something else. One thing he knew was fairly certain, barring some strange supernatural phenomenon, was that no girl climbed up out of that grave.
The more realistic alternatives, of course, were gruesome to contemplate.
Either grave robbers had come and dug the girl up for some financial benefit, or even worse, someone might have dug her up for other nefarious purposes, like a bizarre ritual or something.
“This might seem like a strange question to ask,” said Adam. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Have you thought about checking to see whether or not the barrel is still in the ground?”
Mr. Shaw nodded. “I thought about it. Soon as I saw this, I wondered if she’d broken open the barrel and come out, or if this is like all those folks that’ve been tryin to charm up some treasure from the ground north of town.”
Martin looked bewildered. “What’s this? Who’s tryin to—what was it you said? Charm up treasure from the ground? What?”
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Shaw with a look of absolute seriousness on his face. “They’ve got that treasure huntin spell from them gypsies over near Town Creek.”
“I see. Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Adam. “Where did you hear about this?”
“Well, it was Pony and Clem!” The old man said it like they should instantly know who he meant.
Honestly, thought Adam, this has got to be the strangest conversation I have ever had in my life.
Martin pressed his fingertips together in front of his mouth. Adam could tell he was getting impatient but knew he must have also been thinking about the strangeness of this conversation in the same way.
“Mr. Shaw,” said Martin, “are Pony and Clem… men?”
The old man drew his head back, his eyes wide in shock, and said, “Of course they are! What else would they be?”
Martin nodded and took a deep breath. He looked down at his shoes. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. What else would they be? I just didn’t know if Pony might actually be equine.”
“Good Lord, boy! Have you been drinkin?” said Mr. Shaw.
At this point Adam was standing behind the old man and he was laughing hard, but silently, but his hand was over his mouth and he wasn’t making a sound. Martin shot him a nasty look and tried to twist up his own face so he wouldn’t start laughing, too. There was still more information to get from this old grave keeper.
“Mr. Shaw, who are Pony and Clem if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, they’re my great nephews—my sister’s boys. They help me do the grave diggin around here. They live a couple miles north of here.”
“And how did they come to learn about this treasure charming spell, or whatever it is?” asked Martin.
“They went to see that gypsy woman—she’s a fortune-teller and all. She told them a great fortune was in their future, so they asked how they would get it. She said it was buried in a secret location, but they would need another readin to tell them where it was, and of course they figured that would be a right reasonable investment, so they got another readin, and she said it was about halfway between town and where they live, so that’s where they’ve been diggin.”
“But you said ‘all those folks’ trying to charm up treasure. You mean more than just your great nephews are doing this?”
The old man nodded. “Mm-hm. There was a few of ’em.”
Adam knew he would probably regret what he was about to ask next, and yet he still felt compelled to do it.
“Mr. Shaw, what all is involved with charming a treasure out of the ground?”
“Oh, you boys want to try and find your own, do you?” Mr. Shaw narrowed his eyes at the two of them.
Adam shook his head. “No, sir. We’re not going to look for the treasure. I’m just fascinated by this and wanted to know how it’s supposed to work.”
The old man looked like he was thinking about whether or not he would answer them. Finally, he began to explain.
“See, it’s real easy. I even done it once myself when I was a lad. Summertime’s when you wanna do it, ’cause everybody knows the heat of the sun helps buried things to rise closer to the surface.”
Adam scratched his head and nodded. “Uh-huh.” What is he talking about?
“And you wanna do your diggin between midnight and dawn—and that’s why I ain’t gone with Pony and Clem up there. My hours’d be all turned around if I did.”
Adam nodded, fingers pressed against his lip so he wouldn’t laugh. “Sure, I understand.”
“Now, you take a silver spoon and you spread around this potion—you buy it from the gypsy—and you sprinkle it all around the place where you’re gon’ be diggin. Then you say the spell, and it helps cast away the evil spirits that might want to get the treasure before you.”
“Oh, that’s an important step,” said Martin. “You sure don’t want to forget that step.”
“No,” said Mr. Shaw. “You sure don’t. And you got to keep your mouth shut after you done recited the spell, ’cause if you don’t and you start talking, the treasure’s liable to start buryin itself right back down again, or they might send out spirits to keep you away from the treasure.”
“That would be a shame,” said Adam.
Mr. Shaw nodded. “Mm-hm. It’s very precise. You got to do things just right, but you know what they say—‘And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’”
Adam raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Hmm. I’ve heard that verse. But nobody ever told me it had to do with finding buried treasures.”
“Mm-hm.” The old man raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You learn somethin ne
w every day, don’t you, whippersnapper?”
“Well, Mr. Shaw,” said Martin, extending his hand, “I believe we’ve kept you long enough, sir.” He shook the old man’s hand. “We learned right much from you here today.”
Adam shook his hand as well. “Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Shaw nodded and smiled. He seemed genuinely pleased to have had the visitors. “Y’all seem like good boys. Come on back and see me sometime. Don’t wait till you come back in a box. Go on and see that Midgette woman. She’ll tell you about that girl.”
Adam and Martin nodded and bade him farewell.
Chapter Nine
PER MR. SHAW’S SUGGESTION, ADAM and Martin decided they would go visit the family of the girl who was said to be in shock from seeing the ghost. They were interested in finding out if anyone in the house could provide a description of what they had seen, but mostly they wanted to see for themselves if the girl really was as bad off as they had heard.
The family lived in a modest two-story home with cedar shingle siding. The name Midgette was scrawled on a small rectangular wooden sign by the front door.
When Martin and Adam stepped up on the porch and knocked, a middle-aged woman answered. She was short and plump and had her mousy brown hair pulled into a tight bun under her mobcap. She didn’t open the door all the way but rather stood blocking Martin’s and Adam’s view of the interior of the house, though they could hear several voices inside.
“Good day, ma’am. Mrs. Midgette, we presume?”
She nodded. “Mm-hm.”
“We’re sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Adam Fletcher, and this is my friend Martin Smith.” Adam motioned to introduce Martin. “We were wondering if we might speak to you for just a moment.”
She turned to look back into the house and yelled some instructions to someone inside, then nodded. “I reckon that’s alright.”
The woman spoke in a strong down-east brogue. Nearly everyone from around Beaufort talked with that brogue to some degree, but her accent was definitely stronger. Saying a phrase like “high tide on the sound side” would instead end up sounding like “hoi toide on the saind soide.”
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