In the Dead of Night

by Aiden James

  “Hey, at least we got a few pics and some video from the grounds, and Tom says something showed up in an upstairs window on his infrared,” said Tony, sounding winded. I had watched him run to catch up to the rest of us after he was distracted by one of the reenactors pursuing him from across the huge lawn in front of the plantation house. Once the guy raised his carbine and pointed it mockingly at Tony, he sprinted to rejoin us. “Fiona…do you think we can get Chet and Margie to meet us a little earlier at Rose Hill than the ten o’clock time we had arranged?”

  “It’s already taken care of,” said Jackie, smiling at us all before Fiona could respond. “I just got off the phone with Chet, and despite Margie bitching about it in the background, he gave the okay. So, let’s get going before it gets any colder out here.”

  Sounded great to me. Hell, it sounded that way to all of us, as Tom quickly loaded his gear into his truck, and the cameramen, Sam Moore and Brandon Jones, did the same for their team’s gear in their van. Once we were all packed up and ready to go, Fiona told everyone to follow us along Highway 31 south to Columbia.

  “Did you see the guy pointing his gun at Tony back there?”

  I waited to mention it until after Fiona had put a good ten miles between Rippavilla and our small caravan.

  “I did,” she said, glancing at me before returning her full attention to the road ahead.

  It was more sleet than rain and would be sticking soon…hopefully not before we met with the itty-bitty CGI gang and quickly concluded our business. The night was already a waste of time in my estimation, at least in terms of what we would have to work with on Monday for the show.

  “And, you might be right,” she continued. “It makes sense that some nut among these guys, who are normally not like this, might have the wild notion to kill us off.”

  Maybe not verbatim, but it was pretty damned close to the wording that scrolled through my head. Yeah, I’ve mentioned before how that annoys me almost as much as it amazes me when she does it.

  “But, an 1850s replica carbine is a far cry from a weapon firing hollow points,” I said, offering a little devil’s advocate, and not sure why. Maybe it had to do with a certain cop. “Has Ed considered this? He probably has, hasn’t he?”

  “If you’re wondering if he and I have discussed theories or impressions from ‘the other side’, since the last time you asked me this question—this past Wednesday—the answer remains, ‘no’,” she said, icily.

  That was my cue to watch the jealousy about a man who has no chance in hell of stealing her affections. Still, I truly love to hate Detective Silver.

  “I’m serious, Jimmy, you’ve got to let this shit go!”

  “Sorry, babe,” I told her, shrugging my shoulders as if I couldn’t help myself. I offered her a more sincere look of apology when she stiffened further.

  “But to answer your question…Ed said they are looking at all possibilities,” she said, raising her hand to quiet my sudden indignation. “That’s coming from Jackie—and not from me. He gave her that update this afternoon, while we were in Mount Juliet.”

  “Well, since he didn’t insist on joining us tonight, I take it that he thinks we’re in no immediate danger, huh?”

  “Actually, he did request to come along…but since we are outside of his jurisdiction, there were too many complications to make it happen.”

  “And…he didn’t think to ask one of his Spring Hill or Columbia buddies to show up in his place?”

  I tried really hard to make sure my tone remained pleasant, almost nonchalant. I swear it would’ve worked on most folks, but not the ones who can easily read hidden contempt.

  “Quit being an asshole!”

  “All right…all right…. So, are we in danger of becoming a target, or not? What do you truly think?”

  “I think you should look on the GPS for me and see if I turn left or right onto Cemetery Avenue. It’s coming up.”

  “Turn left.”

  We were almost there, and up ahead sat the Anderson’s Ford F150. A definite gas-guzzler from yesteryear…or at least sometime in the 1990s. It was parked across the street from Rose Hill Cemetery. We had apparently agreed to meet inside the cemetery, near a grave bearing a large statue of a Confederate soldier. I had seen pictures of this monument, and it was once featured on a travel brochure for the city of Columbia.

  “Man, it’s really dark out here,” I said, once Fiona parked behind the old Ford. Everyone else parked behind us. “This place seems creepier than the last time we came out here.”

  “Yeah, it does,” she said, and I could see a deepening worry on her face as the dome light dimmed. “I’m not liking this at all. Something’s not right. I hope Margie hasn’t been giving Chet the third degree about coming out here on a night like this. It might mean that this investigation will be just as unproductive as Spring Hill.”

  “As if taking pictures in the rain will make anything productive at all,” I mumbled. Hell, it was too late to change plans now.

  She grimaced, but managed a forced smile as we exited our car. Always the leader in our group, she wasn’t about to let everyone else down. Enthusiasm from Fiona always improved our prospects. There would be plenty of time later to lament about an unproductive night.

  “They’re supposed to be right here!” said Jackie, zipping up her parka as she came over to Fiona.

  “I thought we had decided on the monument?” said my wife, zipping up her coat, as well. The wind was threatening to invert our umbrella.

  “No, we changed that tonight, since Margie didn’t want to stand around in the rain and mud waiting for us.”

  Well, that really sucked. It sounded like some serious miscommunication going on—the key ingredient to a major cluster fuck. It also meant we could look forward to freezing our asses while we searched for our missing colleagues.

  “Maybe they got confused, too, and are waiting by the monument,” I suggested.

  “Hey, Jimmy might be right. I see something glowing over there. Isn’t that where the monument is?” Justin pointed to what looked like a flashlight’s glow, in the general direction of where I remembered the marble soldier to be located.

  “Yes, that’s it!” said Fiona, who immediately joined Jackie and Michelle in calling out to Chet and Margie.

  When they received no immediate response, the girls and our camera crew hurried toward the light, with us guys jogging behind them. Justin was in the process of making a wise crack about us looking like Band of Brothers trotting over a hillside, when Jackie let out a shrill shriek. Several other screams followed hers, including screams from my wife and our camera crew.

  I sprinted to the statue, and didn’t immediately see the bullet-riddled bodies of Chet and Margie Anderson, along with their son, Percy and his wife Sarah Jane. Instead, I couldn’t believe the amount of blood covering the statue, the grave it stood upon, and the marble flagstones surrounding it. Blood was everywhere.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Sunday afternoon. November 30, which as I mentioned earlier is the anniversary of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. Although not as famous as Gettysburg, Chickamauga, or even the more infamous battles of Stones River and Shiloh in Tennessee, The Battle of Franklin bears the distinction of being the ‘bloodiest per hour’ conflict of the Civil War. Both sides racked up nearly nine thousand casualties in less than five hours.

  Many of the dead remain interred in the Carnton Plantation cemetery, courtesy of Sarah McGavock, whose tireless efforts to give the fallen Confederate soldiers a decent burial landed her in the annals of the war’s history. However, many of the slain men—both Union and Confederate—who died back in 1864 now reside inside the earth beneath the neighborhoods surrounding the former plantation. Many were blown to bits by cannon and grape shot, so collecting and identifying these men’s remains was nearly impossible back then. As a result, NVP has investigated more than a dozen reported hauntings among the statel
y homes within earshot of the Carnton’s grounds.

  “No, I’m not sure,” Fiona told me. “But, what choice do we have?”

  She looked as if she might collapse. Of course, I intended to catch her before she hit the floor. But there would be no way to prevent the deluge of tears that I sensed were dammed up behind her beautiful green eyes. They were tinged with amber that afternoon—another telltale sign of the grief she bore for our latest murdered friends, still fresh since they had only left us the night before. Yes, I’m sure some of the pain was amplified after Fiona, Jackie, and Michelle had expressed their irritation with Margie Anderson beforehand, only to behold Margie’s frozen terrified expression less than two hours later. I damn well guarantee that sight will stay with us all forever, along with the fact her body had almost been cut in half by multiple gun shots from close range….

  “Jimmy? Are you even listening to me??”

  “Yeah, babe, I am…. Here, let me hold you.”

  I stepped toward her, hoping to gather her in my arms. But she stepped away.

  “No, I’m serious!”

  “I know. I just can’t help thinking about what happened last night, and how they all looked…. How everything looked.”

  Well, hell, it was true. Seeing Margie, Chet…and their kid and his wife. Nothing but horror…the blood so thick and the war-weapon bullets that had torn their bodies to where I could only readily identify three of the four Anderson family members, and one because it had to be Chet since it was the tallest of the four.

  Fiona must’ve seen something in my thoughts’ imagery that shattered her protective wall. She did collapse, and luckily I caught her in time. She sobbed uncontrollably in my arms while I sought to comfort her.

  When she finally had regained herself, she realized we would be late for our first appointment that day, at the Carter House. Before a new rush of tears set in, I assured her that I would get with everyone and make sure we rescheduled our exploration of the house and grounds to begin at three o’clock instead of two-thirty. I was even confident I could obtain the Carter House staff’s full cooperation, since much of their tourism these days comes from interest in the ghosts that haunt it and the Carnton Plantation.

  Turned out I was right about all of it. Fiona wasn’t the only one distraught from our group, and most everyone wanted to cancel. But Jackie’s clearer head and Fiona’s fears about this golden opportunity being gone forever were enough incentive for me to ensure everyone else would be waiting for us when we arrived. The only bugger in the stew was Ed Silver, who would also be attending. My lovely wife forced me to invite him over the phone. She even watched me as I spoke to the slick bastard, wearing the amused smirk I’ve come to dearly cherish.

  ***

  At least the weather was much better that Sunday afternoon. With bright sunshine and temperatures in the mid to high 50s, it boded well for our grounds tour at the Carter House. The weather was supposed to remain pleasant until long after our planned arrival at the Carnton, around 5:30 p.m.

  That meant we had two good hours to work with at our first location. Our camera crew was getting used to the routine, so setting up was a snap for them. In fact, they were the first to arrive at the Carter House that afternoon, and had their cameras ready to roll when we arrived.

  “Oh great…they’re going to see me with puffy eyes,” my wife lamented, right after I pulled the Camaro next to Sam’s van.

  “Here…you can wear my shades,” I told her, handing her my cherished Ray Bans, snickering because she didn’t want to run back inside our home to pick up her sunglasses from where she left them on the fireplace mantle. “You scratch ‘em, and you’ll owe me some intense sex later on.”

  “Maybe I should scratch them now…sort of like a down payment, and at the same time I’ll get to see that pompous smirk of yours vanish before it shows up on today’s footage.” She chuckled and opened the passenger door before I could respond or even offer to open the door for her.

  “Hey, Jimmy boy! Fiona!”

  Justin called to us from the back porch of the famed estate. I guess he beat us there…. Actually, it looked as if everyone had, as I soon saw Tom, Tony, Ricky, Jackie, and Michelle emerge from behind him. And, once the camera folks pointed their cameras at my wife and me, I immediately felt self-conscious.

  For those who think I am incessantly narcissistic, they should know my antics are mostly for fun. Plus, you’ve gotta have some attitude if you want to make a lasting impression as a performer—as I strive for with my music. It’s a little like that in the ghost hunting biz, too, although I prefer to blend in much more in this environment. Long story short? I wasn’t thrilled about having center stage, and this was either our group’s or the producer’s idea of having the cameras follow Fiona and me from our car to our destination.

  It was even worse for Fiona, who honestly couldn’t care less about being in the limelight. But she looks better than I do on film, so I can’t blame the producer’s for wanting to get her in there…. It dawned on me, suddenly, that maybe this was all about her and not me after all.

  She chuckled.

  “What?” It came out harsher than I intended, but I shot her a sheepish grin.

  “You!” she replied, smirking again, while shaking her head.

  Like I’ve said, sometimes it ain’t exactly a picnic having her peer inside my head like that.

  “It might surprise you that as good as you look, it isn’t always about you,” she said, confirming my hunch.

  “Shhhh! They’ll hear you, and then everyone will think I’m an ass.”

  “Hmmmm, maybe that would be good for your spiritual growth, Mr. Ghostbuster!”

  She chuckled again and picked up her pace before I could respond with something witty…but the smirks that Brandon and Sam were wearing told me my worst nightmare had already happened. Yep, that entire exchange was recorded in pristine clarity by Sally and the boys.

  Great. Well, it couldn’t get more embarrassing for me…or could it?

  Jackie gathered everyone and then repeated an earlier lecture to efficiently use our time in exploring the grounds. It meant separating into three teams—two with three members, and the last team having just two people. Each team would have its own cameraperson.

  For those who remember how things were usually handled in Deadly Night, Fiona was the one in charge and Tom was generally accepted by the rest of us as our ‘second in command’. However, things had changed once we survived our near-death experience with crazy Angie. Tom now shies away from anything other than being in charge of the data collected from our investigations—which he now willingly shares with Tony. Fiona also had a change of heart about running things, feeling a bit superstitious that she might’ve invited some of the negative energy that brought Angie into the group in the first place, by insisting on running things her way. Thus, she now splits her leadership duties fifty-fifty with Jackie.

  I honestly like this new group structure and NVP’s revised overall personality. It seems to be working well. Michelle and Ricky have brought new perspectives and energy, and veterans like Justin and Tony now feel more included in major decisions. Good times…if not for another crazed killer spreading mayhem in our world.

  As for me…I am quite content to go with the flow. Since I’ve recently taken on a bigger role with my rock band these days—which we will get to before long—I don’t have time to worry about the hierarchy of NVP. I’m happy with wherever my role fits in our organizational flowchart, even if I eventually become the low man on the totem pole. Seriously. At least I’m still the one who gets to chronicle our ongoing saga.

  But, back to the ranch we go…or rather, the back porch of the Carter House.

  “It will take less time to explore the grounds than we originally anticipated, so if we could all meet back here in half an hour, then Fiona will prepare us for our tour of the inside of the house,” Jackie announced. “Stick together and for God’s sake keep your eyes peeled for anyone who looks suspici
ous! The Carter House staff will do the same. Afterward, Fi has a story to share with us from a good friend of hers whose grandmother used to be the curator here.”

  Actually, there are lots of stories from this friend of hers, who will remain unnamed due to her request for privacy. Just know that it should be an interesting tale. This lady made me totally forget about band practice one night while listening to her stories. I didn’t even bother to respond to my band’s angry texts to get my ass immediately to Madison for rehearsal.

  “Where in the hell is our supposed police protection?!” asked Justin. “Don’t tell me that they ain’t here because it’s still light outside!”

  “Well, it’s true, Justin,” said Jackie, which drew looks of surprise from all of us—including Fiona. “No one knows we’re here, and they’ll meet us at the Carnton—”

  “No one knew the Anderson family was planning to meet us last night. Right?” said Tony, angrily interrupting her. “Whoever killed them could be around here hiding with a high-powered rifle, ready to pick us off one by one.”

  “You don’t remember the announcement on our website last week, after Chet Anderson won the contest to co-host last night’s investigation?” Jackie sounded perturbed. “That information was also mentioned during our commercial spots for more than a week. I’ll bet my life that’s how the killers knew where we’d be…. All they had to do was follow Chet as he drove to the cemetery. That’s probably how George and Melissa got killed as well—somebody must’ve followed them from Tom’s place. We’re in more danger staying home than we are out here today.”

  Faulty logic, completely. But when Fiona nodded her support of Jackie’s view, most of us agreed to move on to the next thing on our agenda. Only Tony sulked, while shaking his head.

  “Is that where Ed will meet us, too, at the Carnton?”

  My question this time, and one where I felt the answer would benefit us all.