Spooked on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 3)

by M. L. Bullock

  Midas tapped Joshua on the shoulder and said, “Lock up the van, Joshua, and join us inside. And bring in the small case, the one with the new EMF detector, and the digital recorders. Aaron, Sierra and Pete, follow me. There’s no time like the present to get this investigation started. Thanks for coming out on such short notice, guys.”

  “Man, this far out in the country, we might catch more than a few possums out here,” Aaron joked in reference to our previous failed investigations.

  “We’re not dealing with a possum, Aaron. I can promise you that,” I said with my arms crossed. “I hope you’re ready to do some real investigative work.”

  It was Pete who answered in a whisper, “I was born ready.”

  Despite the activity all around us and the celebratory atmosphere, we walked into the house in silence.

  Chapter Five—Cassidy

  “This is a cool place, if your name is Norman Bates,” Joshua said as he surveyed the kitchen.

  “Come on, Joshua. It’s not that bad. I kind of like the farmhouse look.” Sierra was doing her best to be cheerful. “Forget the tour of the house; take me to the hot spot. I can feel the air crackling. Scratch that. I’ll find it myself. Might as well bring a few tools with us.”

  Joshua handed her an audio recorder and picked up the new EMF detector. Aaron grabbed the thermometer, and Pete still looked like he’d just walked into a dream.

  “Pete, buddy? Are you all right?” Midas stood next to his friend.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Just a strange vibe. I swear I feel like I’ve been here before.”

  “Okay. Sierra, you take the lead. And after our walk-through, I’ll fill everyone in on what Cassidy and I witnessed this morning. Lead the way.”

  Sierra and her baby bump headed towards the stairs. They were narrow, and I wasn’t sure that I absolutely trusted the handrail. Yes, the place was in good shape, but there were a few things that needed to be done around here. I wondered what it would be like to live this far out in the country, to just step outside and see the stars without any lights from the city dimming your view. I bet it was like owning your little slice of heaven, except for the tragedies that had occurred here.

  Sierra cleared the stairs and paused in the hallway on the second floor. “Did you say something, Cassidy?” she asked me with narrowed eyes. Sierra McBride was a pretty woman with blond hair and expressive brown eyes. She was petite, even with a baby belly, and she had a strong will. I liked that about her.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t say a word.” We remained at the top of the stairs until Sierra began to head down the hallway.

  “I heard a woman’s voice. Just a minute ago. Not talking but…humming. Yeah.” She clicked on her digital recorder and began to talk to our invisible guest. “I heard you humming. Can you hum for us again?” She pushed open the first door on the left. There were four rooms on this top floor plus an alcove at the end of the hallway. “Are you in here? My name is Sierra, and these are my friends. We’re not here to harm you or make you leave. We just want to hear your pretty song.”

  The bedroom was lovely, but it felt kind of forlorn. Abandoned. An heirloom quilt covered the queen-sized bed. Under the window, there was a small table with a few dusty pictures on it. Aaron and Pete hung back in the hall while Midas, Joshua and I followed Sierra into the bedroom. Sierra splayed her fingers and wiggled them like she did sometimes when she felt the air tingle around her. At least that’s how she described it to me before.

  “Oh, how very sad. She loved him right until the end. I think her name is Amy, Angel? Something similar to that. Something that starts with an A. Yes, she loved him and knew something wasn’t right, but she didn’t believe he would harm her. She knew he was troubled, but he totally caught her off guard. And she died right here. Oh, her name was Anita. She was humming when he came up behind her.” Sierra froze and stared off into nothing as she sometimes did. I didn’t hear the singing or the humming, and I didn’t feel anything except sadness. Sadness at knowing that someone had died in this room, probably Mrs. Anita Anderson.

  Sierra said, “Let’s move back into the hallway, please. I think we’re upsetting her, crowding her a little bit. It’s almost time for him to come home.” As we stepped into the hallway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, you could certainly feel the difference from this room to that one.

  Such heaviness in there. But even though it had been horrible and tragic, it didn’t feel like it did in our guest room. We continued to walk from room to room and even checked out Jason’s room. It was bright with floral-patterned wallpaper, and pictures of him and his wife were positioned on an oak chest of drawers. It was a lovely, happy room.

  Out of curiosity, I asked Sierra, “Anything in here? The homeowner’s wife died recently. I think he was concerned that she might be lingering.” Before she could answer, a cannon fire echoed and the whole house shook. I laughed nervously at the effect and of course at my fellow investigators, all of whom had no idea a cannon was about to be fired.

  “What the hell? You guys could’ve given us a heads-up.” Pete had done some sort of weird shuffle in the hallway. It was straight-up hilarious.

  Midas grinned and said, “That does happen until sunset. It is a reenactment after all.” Suddenly, the EMF detector in Joshua’s hand spiked and made an unusually loud sound.

  “Whoa. That shook things up. It went all the way up to an eleven, no, make that a twelve. Sheesh. It’s still spiking.” Joshua sounded astonished.

  Aaron waved his thermometer around and agreed with him. “Check out my temperature reading. It’s dropping by the second. It was a 72, now it’s 68…66…64.”

  Pete put his hand out into the space where Aaron had directed his instrument. “Yeah. You can feel the cold spot. Dude, it’s moving. It’s headed back to the stairs, I think. No. I’m wrong. It stopped right here.”

  Aaron was so excited about the reading he’d forgotten to hit record. I tapped the button for him. He mouthed a “thank you” and continued to monitor the temperature anomaly.

  Another cannon shot fired and the invisible activity accelerated, at least according to all of our instruments. Sierra said, “I think it’s time to go downstairs. There’s somebody I have to meet.” We followed our sensitive friend down the stairs and spread out into the many rooms of the farmhouse’s lower floor. To my surprise, Sierra made a beeline to the back room where Midas and I had spent the night.

  “Wow.” She squatted down on the floor and then got on her knees and began moving around and touching various spots with her hands. “Oh no. This is horrible. There is blood everywhere. This is horrible. So much blood.” She suddenly gasped and clutched her stomach. I was worried something was wrong with her, but I quickly realized she was only reacting to what she saw in the spirit world. And I could feel whatever was here responding to her presence.

  Yes, this man, the one with the hazel eyes wanted to connect with her. With all of us. He wanted us to know the truth.

  Before I could say anything about my sketch, Sierra yelped. “He’s got my hand. Joshua! He’s got my hand.” Before Joshua could get there, I fell down beside her and slapped the floor with my hands.

  “Turn loose of her! We want to help you, but you cannot do this! Turn loose now or we are leaving!”

  The spirit must have believed me because Sierra pulled her hand back and rubbed her wrist. I expected to see fingerprints on her skin, but there wasn’t anything to see. No proof that a phantom had reached for her except for her wide-eyed expression. But Sierra wasn’t the kind of person to make things like this up. None of us were—that’s why we were paranormal investigators. Together we rose to our feet and walked back to survey the scratch marks on the floor.

  “What does that say? Are you okay, Sierra?” Joshua put his arm around his wife and held her close to him. “Midas, are you seeing this? More spikes.” He handed Midas the EMF detector and whispered to Sierra protectively. She whispered back that she was okay, and I paused to take a few photos
of the floor with my cell phone and pretended that I couldn’t hear them.

  “I think it says Bart, but I’m not sure. What do you guys think?” I said as I bit my bottom lip.

  “I think I’d like to get out of this room, Cassidy.” Sierra rubbed her wrist and held her stomach protectively with both of her hands.

  “Fine with me,” I agreed.

  “I think we found our hot spots.”

  We headed down the hall and gathered in the kitchen. The team immediately went into planning mode, but I was feeling the need to draw. I hoped I wouldn’t be perceived as trying to get out of work, or not a team player, but the urge to sketch what I saw was overwhelming. “Would you guys miss me too bad if I skipped this meeting? I’ll be back before tonight, promise.”

  Midas eyed me thoughtfully but didn’t try to stop me. “If you happen to sketch anything related to the case, I want to know about it. But I’ll be looking for you at dark if you aren’t back.”

  “Roger that, Midas.” I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried off to the guest room to retrieve my sketchbook and pencil case. As I dug in the bag, a shadow passed behind me; I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I spun around thinking maybe Midas or one of the team had passed the doorway. There was no one there. I stepped out into the hallway to look around. Nope. Nobody there. But there had been someone. And I had clearly seen a man.

  A man dressed in blue.

  Chapter Six—Private Darcy

  The rain stopped falling about the time the old man quit crying. It was a wonder Humphries tolerated the noise as long as he did, but I guess even a Devil like him had some restraint. For my part, I felt like a man who walked in a constant nightmare and couldn’t find his way out. Even though we’d covered the dead soldier, I imagined the young man’s eyes still followed me. After the dead man’s father stopped weeping, he didn’t move at all. I thought maybe he’d died from heartbreak. Humphries must have thought so too because he addressed the prisoner multiple times, but the rumpled sack of a man didn’t speak or move. Not at first. Finally, Humphries kicked him, and he began to stir. No. He wasn’t dead, at least his body wasn’t, but I was very sure he wished that he were. At that moment, I understood what the lieutenant had done, besides kill an unarmed prisoner. He’d broken this man’s heart and his soul too. The prisoner beside him sat up straighter and cast a look of disgust at Bart Humphries. He didn’t bother to hide his hatred for the lieutenant; I couldn’t say as I blamed him. After a while, Bart stomped outside to water the yard; I was glad to be rid of him, even if for only a few minutes.

  I took advantage of his absence and asked the older man, “What was the boy’s name?”

  “Wilmer. Wilmer McCoy.” He whispered his answer. It was then that I noticed that his hands were shaking. His bony shoulders shuddered beneath his dusty coat as he silently wept. His friend leaned forward to speak to him, probably just words of comfort, but I couldn’t allow their conversation. What if Humphries caught them? It would be worse for them for sure.

  “Back away now,” I warned with my empty rifle in my hand.

  The other soldier, the one who sought to comfort the older McCoy, snarled at me. His black eyes were sunk deep into his head. I saw desperation in them. “You killed his boy. Don’t he deserve a little comforting?”

  I shook my head. “Back away, sir. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  “I guess we shouldn’t expect any decency from you pair of Yankee killers. I’m sorry about your boy, John.” The old man smothered a sob while the dark-haired man leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  I was mortified that these men would put Humphries and me in the same category. I was nothing like that man! I wanted to say so, but I didn’t. They didn’t know what I knew. They hadn’t seen what I’d seen.

  You were tricked, Darcy, but you also hold some responsibility. You knew what a murdering coward the lieutenant was, and you pushed him anyway.

  When was he going to return? I was ready to light out of here and leave this poor man to grieve his son. As if he heard my thoughts, he cried again. As his hands were tied behind his back, he was unable to wipe the tears and snot that dripped from his face. The liquid made his beard shimmer in the sunlight. As quickly as I could, I wiped at his face with a dingy cloth I pulled from my pocket. The black-haired man and the mute both stared at me, both of them concerned that I would harm their friend. I offered them no assurances. I finished the job and stuffed the dirty rag back in my pocket.

  What must it be like? To be loved by your Pa?

  I would never know. As I recalled, I only met my father one time when I was five or so. He showed up one day, introduced himself as my Pa and said he wanted to take me shooting. Aunt Ruby confirmed his bonafides, and I allowed myself, at least for a few hours, to hope he’d come back to claim me. As he led my cousins and me into the woods, I had never felt prouder. That was probably the happiest moment of my life. Unfortunately for me, I had no experience shooting a bow and arrow, never shot one in my life, so when Pa handed me his I didn’t immediately begin flinging arrows at the tin can target. At first, he took the time to show me how, to explain it all to me, but I could feel his disappointment. He soured on me when shot after shot I missed the tin can. Even Leevale popped that target, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. If I’d had more time, maybe I could have done it. I’m sure I would have gotten it right if I had been allowed to put more time in, but time wasn’t afforded to me.

  After a while, Pa slapped my ear and snatched the bow from my young hands. “You’re just plum stupid, ain’t you?” After that, the name Plum stuck with me. My real name was William, but nobody seemed to remember that, not even the Union Army. All my paperwork had me down as Plum Darcy.

  Well, at least my Pa gave me a name, even if it wasn’t a good name.

  Aunt Ruby named Leevale. He hated his name, and I had to admit I liked Plum better than Leevale. For all that, if that were me lying there dead like young Wilmer McCoy, I knew that my Pa wouldn’t have shed one tear for me. He surely wouldn’t have had any good words to say over me. Shortly after our failed target practice, Pa went on the road again preaching the gospel to the heathen folks in Virginia, and I never saw him again. He never wrote a letter or sent for me as he halfheartedly promised to do before he left. We heard nothing else about him after that. I must have been one major disappointment to him. But Wilmer McCoy had a father who loved him.

  Lucky bastard. I never thought I’d be jealous of a dead man.

  The lieutenant returned to the shack with an inch of mud on his boots. “Take him out and bury him, private. Can’t leave him to rot in here. Make sure you take him away from the shack, now. Don’t want to attract any critters who might be tempted to make him their dinner.” Bart grinned at the prisoners as he struck a match and lit his pipe.

  “Now? It’s awfully muddy out there, lieutenant.” I glanced down at the covered body and then at John McCoy; his anguished expression spoke volumes.

  “Do we really need to go through this again? Stop trying me, Darcy. Get after it while I search the prisoners’ bags. I saw a shovel out back. At least you won’t have to use your hands.” He pulled on his pipe, and a cloud of smoke obscured his face. I looked down at the pitiful sight at my feet. The sight of those swollen bare feet poking out from the blanket made me sick.

  And I had on his boots and his torn socks.

  I wished I could tell John McCoy that I would give Wilmer as decent a burial as possible, but I couldn’t. If I showed even the slightest bit of kindness to any of these prisoners in front of the lieutenant, I may as well shoot them myself. Humphries would see me as the enemy; he might even kill me, not that that would be much of a loss. I wasn’t afraid of the pain of death, but I was fearful that Bart Humphries would get away with murder.

  I wrapped the boy as tightly as possible in his raggedy coat and dragged him out of the shack. The dog was waiting for me on the porch; I was glad to see him. He was about the only friend I had left in
the world.

  “Come on, dog.”

  I tugged on the boy’s body. This was going to be awful work. The wound at the back of his head wasn’t bleeding anymore, but as I dragged him, bloody marks smeared the wooden floor in the body’s wake. With a concerted effort, I eased Wilmer out of the cabin and closed the door behind me, pretending I did not see Humphries digging through the prisoners’ pockets and bags. If only I had a wagon or something I could use to carry Wilmer. I was too weak to hoist a body over my shoulder although I had plenty of practice. I sighed and gritted my teeth as I tugged on the blanket.

  Dragging a dead boy through the thick mud was about the toughest thing you could do. The boy’s arms flopped around as I struggled, and I readjusted his coat to try to cover more of him. I dragged him a hundred feet away from the house, and then another hundred, and it felt like it took me two forevers to achieve just that. But I did it. I walked back and grabbed the broken shovel and began digging a hole for Wilmer McCoy.

  I talked to him as I dug; I told him all about Young Springfield and his wife and new baby daughter. I asked Wilmer to kindly greet Young when he made it to heaven. I was sure he’d make it, this Wilmer McCoy. He’d been innocently killed, and Aunt Ruby said the innocent always go to heaven.

  Mud kept sliding into the grave, and it began to rain again. Not hard, but the ground was already saturated. The whole process took longer than I expected. I felt a sense of urgency; I didn’t think it wise to leave Bart alone with the others for too long. Once the hole was deep enough, I edged Wilmer to the side of it, but then I had a thought. The boy might have something on him, like a photo or a letter, something that should go to his Pa. I apologized to Wilmer as I plundered his pockets. I didn’t see anything of value, no money or jewelry. His pockets were empty except for a folded piece of paper and a broken pencil. I slid the pencil in my pocket and wiped the mud off my hands as best I could before I unfolded the paper. The page was blank except for the centermost part. It was a drawing of a bird, a small sparrow sitting on a branch. It was obviously an incomplete picture but skillful nonetheless. In fact, seeing that lifelike drawing in his pocket took my breath away. I wasn’t skilled at such things and never met anyone that was until I joined the infantry. There were many artists among the Union ranks and apparently on the Confederate side too. Now there was one less.