Horribly Haunted in Hillbilly Hollow (Ozark Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 1)

by Blythe Baker

  “Yes, Emma?”

  “When did you get so smart?”

  We both laughed.

  “I feel like I should say college,” he answered. “I’m not going to be smart tomorrow if I don’t get some sleep, though. Ready to head back up to the farm?”

  I nodded my head, and gently picked up Halee and deposited her on the chair.

  He took my hand and helped me up.

  “Steady there, Emma.” He chuckled.

  I put my arms up around his neck and pulled him down to hug me.

  “Thanks, Billy,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Anything for a fellow musketeer,” he replied, squeezing me tightly.

  Chapter 13

  When I got home, Grandpa had put my suitcase up in the attic for me, but he was already in bed.

  It felt completely shallow to think it, but I was thrilled to have my own face cleanser, a few more pairs of underwear, and shoes that weren’t either boots or flip-flops to wear.

  The old truck was back, so I assumed Grandma was in bed as well.

  Snowball was not pleased to smell Billy’s pup on my clothes, and bleated at me, then came and nudged me as I lay down in the bed, hoping for some scratches under the chin.

  “You’re a good girl, Snowball. I did pet a dog, that’s true, but nothing comes between a girl and her goat,” I told her.

  Despite the somber tone of the vigil, I felt surprisingly relaxed. I got to sleep in what seemed like no time. Once again, though, the noise from those cats, or whatever it was, woke me up at about four-thirty in the morning. I tried to wake up a little more, determined to figure out where it was coming from this time.

  I stuck my head out the round window of the attic, and was sure the sound was coming from the roof above me. I listened intently, and could’ve sworn it was a tune.

  I put on my muck boots and headed downstairs and out the kitchen door, where I heard the distinct thud of metal on metal. I looked to the end of the back porch, and there was Grandpa with the straight ladder, starting to climb up to the top of the roof.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “Did they wake you too?”

  “Emma! What? Did who wake me?” he asked gruffly.

  “The cats! Isn’t that a cat wailing on the roof? How’d it get up there?” I asked.

  “It’s no cat,” he said, looking toward the roof. “Just a minute, let me take care of this.”

  He ascended the ladder and I heard him walk across the roof of the porch. A moment later I heard a woman’s voice, saying, ‘What? No, no, no!’ Then, he was descending the ladder with my tiny Grandma thrown over his shoulder.

  “Grandma?” I asked.

  He got to the ground and put her down.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “It’s Mamie’s fault – Mamie’s fault!” Grandma said, emphasizing her point with a bony finger in the air. “She and Dolly don’t get along. Never mind Nancy’s the one stirring the pot! Hmpf!”

  “What are you…” I started to ask her what was wrong and Grandpa cut me off.

  “She can’t hear ya, child. She won’t remember any of this in the mornin’ neither,” he said as he took her by the shoulders and guided her to the back door.

  I opened the back porch door, and stood in the sitting room as he guided her to the bed. He came back out and sat on the sofa.

  “It’s just one of her funny spells,” Grandpa said. “Nothin’ to worry about.” He sat back calmly.

  “Nothing to worry about? She was on the roof! She’s seventy, for Heaven’s sake!” I was shocked at his nonchalance.

  “That she is, but she can still outwork and outrun most people. Child, it’s nothin’. She gets this way sometimes. Been goin’ on for years. She starts singing at – I don’t know! The moon? The chickens? Who knows?” He shook his head. “She won’t remember a thing by the mornin’.”

  “Wait, the…the chickens? Oh, right! Mamie Eisenhower, Dolly Madison…” I replied.

  “Don’t forget Nancy Reagan. She can’t stand that hen!” He let a small chuckle escape, the first one I’ve heard in years, and patted me on the knee. “Get some sleep, now. I promise I’ll look after her. Always have, always will.” He smiled and stood, then turned back to me.

  “Besides, this is the last one for a while,” he added. “This was night number four. Funny spells never go on longer than four nights. ‘Night, Emma!”

  He walked into the bedroom and shut the door. It really touched me to see how deeply he loved and cared for her.

  Okay, I thought. So, I see dead people, and my Grandma climbs the roof and sings to chickens – chickens she names after first ladies of the United States. That’s not troubling at all.

  I headed back up to bed and must have been exhausted because I was back asleep within minutes.

  The next morning, I came downstairs to smell bacon and fresh coffee brewing. “Good morning, Emma, dear!” my grandmother said in a sing-song voice.

  “You seem in a good mood this morning, Grandma,” I replied. “You must’ve slept well.”

  Grandpa was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. It was late – almost seven-thirty – since I slept in, so he must’ve been in for a break after early morning chores. He pulled the corner of the newspaper down and gave me a look over it that told me not to poke at the subject.

  “Oh, yes! I slept like a newborn babe! Would you like some breakfast, dear?” she asked.

  “Sure, I would,” I replied. “Let me just use the bathroom first.”

  I walked out to the outhouse, not worried about seeing my unwanted visitor since I’d only seen him in the late night hours on the previous nights. Snowball was following me, as usual, and didn’t stop in the path, which I took as another good sign. She plopped down in some grass near the outhouse, and I went in and took care of business. When I came out, I called her, and she wouldn’t come.

  “Snowball, come on, girl. I’ll sneak you a bite of biscuit under the table. Come on!”

  Still, she wouldn’t budge. I had my doubts about getting a stubborn goat to move but decided to give it a try. I walked over to pick her up and almost fell over at the sight of what was next to her.

  There, on the ground, was a collection of sticks arranged very clearly to spell the word, US.

  “Come here, Snowball,” I said again.”

  She bleated at me, seeming annoyed, but didn’t look at all frightened.

  I determined, based on her behavior the previous nights, that this could only mean the sticks were in place before she lay down. I rubbed my eyes, and looked again, just to be sure. It was as clear as could be. U-S. I had my phone in my pocket, so I withdrew it and quickly snapped a photo. Looking around, I made sure no one, and nothing, was watching us. I picked up Snowball and went back into the house.

  What’s the meaning of the sign? U-S as in us?

  The old fort was a Union fort, which meant it was a U.S. fort. I wondered what else it could possibly mean, and knew I would have to think about what, if anything, it was trying to tell me. The alternate theory was some sort of crazy scenario where Snowball was going to start leaving me messages spelled out in twigs. Although nearly as implausible, I thought the idea of Preacher Jacob, or his ghost at least, being behind the message was far more likely.

  Back inside, Grandma had a plate ready for me. I went to sit at the table, and a chicken flew up from the chair as I pulled it back.

  “Shoo, chicken!” I said as I tipped the chair up to make sure there were no feathers on it before I took a seat.

  I quickly ate my breakfast and was excited to get over to the old fort and see Mr. Littman.

  I wasn’t sure how exactly I was supposed to be dressed, so I put on one of the flowery dresses with short sleeves I had bought from Suzy’s place and a pair of comfortable, slip-on shoes from my suitcase. It felt good to have all my regular things back.

  Chapter 14

  I pulled up to the visitor center at Fort Harris and hopped out of the truck.

 
The visitor center building was not original. The original building, comprised of the quarters of the fort commander and other officers in the company, burned down due to an electrical fire in the early nineteen-forties. The current structure was a faithful recreation that was completed in the early seventies. It was universally regarded by the townspeople as a tragedy that the original building had burned. However, it gave the old fort the advantage of housing a beautiful visitor center with air conditioning, modern bathrooms, and a profitable gift shop.

  When I walked into the visitor center building at nine-thirty, Mr. Littman was waiting for me.

  “Emma!”

  He rushed over and took both my hands in his, kissing me gingerly on the cheek. He was only about five-nine and had always carried a few extra pounds around the middle. Full, rosy cheeks protruded from above his neat salt and pepper beard.

  “I’d heard you were in town and had been hoping you’d find time to come and see me, and here you are!” His smile stretched from ear to ear.

  “Hi, Mr. Littman! I’m so happy to see you!” I grinned broadly. “How have you been doing?” I asked.

  “Oh, very well, I’ve been wonderful, thanks. And may I say you are even prettier than I remember, though I don’t know how that’s possible.” He winked at me in that very sweet and grandfatherly way of his. “How about you? Decided to shrug off New York to come back home to our sleepy little burg, did you?” He chuckled, and when he did, his whole body shook.

  “Something like that,” I smiled, not wanting to get into a long discussion about my reasons for coming back. “So, Mrs. Blackwood tells me that you’re going to show me the ropes around here. Should we get started?”

  Mr. Littman gave me a tour of the visitor center first.

  The gift shop was in the center of the building, and you had to pass through it from both the front and back entrances to access either of the public restrooms. It was apparently a strong driver of revenue for the fort and the society. He showed me into the small set of offices at the back of the visitor center that was reserved for members of the historical society. The men’s and women’s bathrooms, he explained, had doors at the back that opened into small locker rooms that we could use during Old Fort Days, though most residents just arrived in costume. Across the hall was a small break room for the staff of the Visitor Center and grounds.

  Mr. Littman handed me a clipboard, a map, and a pen, and we headed out to walk the grounds. He showed me the officers’ barracks building and pointed out a dent in the floor. Apparently, a wayward cannonball had come through the barracks window during a drill, destroying a bunk from which Fort Commander Philip Stapleton had just risen.

  “Stapleton, you see, didn’t want separate quarters. He wanted to be here, with his men, in the trenches, as it were,” Mr. Littman explained.

  The cannonball was housed on a stand in the corner of the room. I made some notes on the interesting story. I walked to the back where a smaller gun rack as well as one for swords, stood along the wall. Mr. Littman confirmed that this was where the officers kept their weapons while they slept.

  As I walked along the weapons racks, I felt a chill run down my spine at the back corner of the room.

  “Is this building temperature controlled?” I asked.

  “No, just the visitor center. This one’s original. Funny thing, though, Ms. Sadie was in here the other day and mentioned it felt cool. Are you catching a draft, Emma?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I kind of am,” I replied. “Funny, this time of year, isn’t it?”

  “It is. We might have a hole in one of the rafters. Some critter or other probably worked through the eaves, trying to find a place to build a nest. Drew Mabry does all the repair work for us. I’ll have him send his boys out to take a look. Come on, let’s head on to the next stop,” he said as he stepped out through the door.

  I went to follow him, and I could’ve sworn I heard a creak at the back of the room. I turned to look but didn’t see anything. The cold chill ran up my spine again as I stepped out through the door and into the main courtyard.

  We toured the stables, the armory, the mess building, which housed the Old Fort Café, and the grounds. Around the perimeter of the fort, Mr. Littman pointed out brass historical markers that described various battles, skirmishes, and guerrilla attacks by bands of Confederate militia throughout the fort’s history. Each plaque was marked on the map he had given me, and he provided me with a packet that included the verbiage from each one.

  “Now, here’s another story for you, but nobody knows if this one is really true,” he started as we walked back toward the visitor center. “Some of the townsfolk around here like to say it is, of course, what with so many of them having ancestors who fought, and died, right here in this fort alongside Stapleton and the others.”

  He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, in the center of the courtyard.

  “The story goes that Ulysses, U. S. Grant himself came right here to Hillbilly Hollow. The story says that he was here on his way to lay siege to Atlanta. While he was at the fort, a large group of rebel militia attacked. Grant and his men, along with Stapleton’s forces, made short work of the rebels.” He nodded, making a sweeping motion with his hand.

  “I have to say, that story doesn’t sound so unusual.” I shrugged.

  “No, that’s not the unusual part. You see, Grant and Stapleton took part in the combat themselves. They fought right alongside their men. The story says that Grant ran the commander of the rebel forces clean through with his beloved saber. When the fighting was all said and done, though, the body of the rebel had been carried off, still impaled by Grant’s sword. He was livid at the loss of his weapon, but as the hours dragged on, he had to get his troops moving. He left the saber behind, and as we all know, went on to lay siege to Atlanta.”

  “So, they never found the sword?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s the funny part. Supposedly, the troops found the man who had been impaled by Grant and retrieved the sword for him. They kept it here at the fort, expecting him to return, but he never did. The fate of Grant’s saber is then simply lost to history. No one knows whatever became of it.”

  “Okay, they talk about history coming to life, but that is a pretty cool story,” I replied.

  He seemed pleased to have made the tour interesting for me.

  Back at the visitor center, Mr. Littman showed me into his office, and we sat down. He pulled a couple of cans of pop from the mini fridge behind his desk and handed me one. “So, your first Old Fort Days will be coming up in about a week,” he said, popping the top on the can and taking a gulp. “If you’ll give Sadie your size, she’ll get you your costume.”

  “I can give you my size,” I replied, but he stopped me mid-sentence.

  “Emma, I’ve been married for thirty-five years. I wouldn’t have been if I didn’t know better than to ask a lady what size dress she wears.”

  We both laughed.

  “Now, you’ll have your choice of jobs. We do have some ladies who take the role of a soldier,” he paused, looking me up and down, “but with that long hair and a face as pretty as yours, you’d never pass for a boy.” He shuffled through several pieces of paper. “Ah, here we go. We have several open slots for camp followers – those were the wives and other ladies who would stay at the encampment to do laundry, cook, and things like that.”

  I wrinkled my nose a bit, and he must’ve sensed that didn’t sound particularly interesting.

  “Important jobs, but nonetheless…here we go! How about a nurse? I have a slot open.”

  “Ooh, that sounds fun! I’ll take it!” I smiled broadly and had a fleeting thought that Billy would probably try to correct me on what I should and shouldn’t say or do in my role. “So do I have to do some training or something?”

  “No, we’ll go over everything with you Friday morning next week when you arrive. We get here early. Gates open at nine, and we’re here by seven-thirty. Will you be able to make it?” he asked.
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  “Of course, no problem.”

  “Good. Oh, one other thing. On Monday night, we have the bi-weekly cleanup at four in the afternoon. All the society members come down, and we take bags through the whole site, make sure everything is clean and ready for guests at the weekend.” He nodded to emphasize the last phrase.

  “Got it! I’ll be here!” I smiled and thanked Mr. Littman.

  After I left, I texted Suzy to see if she wanted lunch. She asked me to pick up sandwiches at the sub shop inside Chapman’s gas station, and I brought them to the store.

  “So, how’d it go?” she asked in a sing-song voice as I entered.

  “How’d what go?” I replied, mimicking her.

  “You know! You and Bil-ly?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re friends, Suzy, just like you and I are. Let. It. Go.”

  I sat on the stool behind the counter and handed her the sandwich I’d brought her.

  “I just came from the old fort. Mr. Littman showed me around. Good to see him looking so well,” I said.

  “I suppose your grandma told you about Prudence?” she asked, taking a bite of her club sandwich.

  “No, she didn’t mention. Is she okay?” I replied, tucking into my turkey sub.

  “Well, apparently, she was so distraught after the vigil, Margene had to give her a tranquilizer.” She raised an eyebrow. “Word is, she kept saying ‘I shouldn’t have done it,’ over and over. Now, what do you suppose that is all about?” she asked.

  “Hm, that’s pretty dramatic.” I contemplated. “You don’t think…I mean, she was in love with Preacher Jacob. Surely she wouldn’t have hurt him, do you think?”

  “No. I mean…” She stopped and thought for a moment. “I heard that she had finally come right out and told him she was in love with him just a few days before he died. It makes no sense. How do you kill someone you’re in love with?”

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “They say it’s a thin line between love and hate, right? If he rejected her…what do you think?”