In the Dead of Night

by Aiden James

  While the twosome moved on to Fiona and the other ladies in our group, I happened to notice the rebel flag and gun rack on the back of their truck—complete with a pair of twelve gauge shotguns. The twins’ bio said they were avid hunters, but I wondered if the cops or Detective Silver would give them the third degree to make sure they were licensed to carry weapons into Franklin, since they were Giles County residents as opposed to Williamson County, where we presently stood.

  “See that shit?” whispered Justin, nodding to the truck and wearing a grin that could just as easily count as a grimace to those who know him well enough. “That’s what I’m talking about…they may be smiling and all cordial and shit. But, that truck screams ‘find me a nice black boy to string up!’”

  I almost shushed him when Jason glanced back at us, still smiling warmly. No malice evident yet…and from Fiona’s warm exchange with Jerry, I knew there wouldn’t be anything like that. Definitely not on this night. In my mind, the Thomas brothers’ only sin was having a big red GMC equipped with stereotypical redneck appointments. No one would ever mistake the pair as peddling toys and t-shirts for Disney, although their handsomeness and toothy smiles could get them a video spot on CMT.

  “Lighten up, man!” I whispered back, but with enough force to make my point. “We’re talking shotguns—not military grade rifles and pistols. And the flag you detest today is the same damned flag you have on your bedroom wall.”

  “They’re from Pulaski, man.... Perhaps you’ve heard of the place, since Bedford Forrest founded the Ku Klux Klan there,” Justin continued, sarcastically. But, at least he allowed his smile to widen to where it appeared welcoming to anyone unaware of his repertoire of facial expressions.

  “Michelle was born and raised there,” I countered. “Do you picture her as a card carrying member of the Daughters of the KKK or the NRA?”

  That brought a snicker in response.

  “We’ll continue this discussion later, Jimmy. Here comes Fi and everyone else,” he said, allowing his smile to widen even further. “I’ll wear a really big smile for the rest of the evening…but you better have my back!”

  There wasn’t opportunity for me to say anything else about this, and as the brothers smiled warmly in our direction, I found myself getting angry at Justin’s paranoia. Normally among the most levelheaded people in our group, he was blowing it that night. I worried Fiona or perhaps Jackie would notice something was off about him…but they both ushered us to join the group as we moved across the parking lot to the graveyard.

  I may have mentioned before that the Carnton’s graveyard is the final resting place for nearly fifteen hundred Confederate soldiers who died during the Battle of Franklin. An interesting place, it is a locale that I detailed in Deadly Night. One of our best ghost photographs comes from inside the graveyard. A Franklin tourist attraction during daylight hours, I prefer its distinction as a definite hot spot for paranormal groups from across the country seeking paranormal evidence. Of course, as I also detailed in Deadly Night, the only way to catch that evidence is at night, after the plantation is closed. Lately, it has been a sure way to get a one-way ticket to the Franklin pokey.

  So, the fact that we were able to explore it without having to dodge and hide from patrol cars and other surveillance efforts was a huge perk for us. Not to mention, with a police escort joining us, all of the attendant reenactment bullshit we’ve dealt with lately was almost nonexistent. I detected only two small encampments, and when Tom joined Justin and me at the cemetery gate he said he overheard Ed tell Jackie and my wife that the Franklin cops had already visited both groups of reenactors and warned them to steer clear of us. Sweet.

  Once everyone stepped inside the gate, we wasted little time in setting up our outdoor recording gear. Then we moved through the graveyard methodically, determined to gather as many photographs and digital images as quickly as possible. The Thomas twins hung out mostly with Fiona, Jackie, and Ricky. I thought they would want to peer through Tom’s prized infrared camera, but they preferred Ricky’s Hasselblad camera due to its superb capabilities in low light. Tom seemed a bit miffed by the slight, which seemed to help Justin’s mood as I caught him and Tony snickering about it as they looked on.

  Once six o’clock arrived, we felt comfortable with what we had collected from the graveyard, and prepared to move over to the mansion, where we planned to take a few outdoor photos and then head inside. It was a very rare treat, since the building is almost never opened for visitors at night. In fact, this would be our first time ever inside the house after dusk.

  I was the last one to leave the graveyard. It’s often my habit to be the last one out, since sometimes I might pick up a ‘feel’ and snap a few last pictures before rejoining everyone else. Often, I’ve caught some interesting anomalies that could well be evidence of ghostly presences.

  It didn’t take long to experience something that night.

  Right before I followed Tony and the Franklin cop designated to pull up the rear out through the gate, I heard footsteps coming up behind me…fast. For a moment, I got excited, thinking I might capture an image of a soldier. As I mentioned, though rare, it has happened before—both to us and to others who have explored this area of the property.

  But then I noticed the pace of the steps sounded more like a girl sauntering along the path, moving purposely from the rear of the graveyard to the front gate where I hesitated. The boot step was definitely light in timbre, and then all of a sudden whoever it was started running along the graveled path. It certainly wasn’t what I’d picture as the heavier battle run of a Confederate soldier—or any Union soldier either….

  Oh shit!

  No sooner than I uttered my own girlish yelp in surprise, I heard the same frigging chuckle from yesterday afternoon. I kept my nerve long enough to snap a couple of pictures. Then, I scurried out of the graveyard, drawing plenty of unwanted attention from my peers as I inadvertently slammed the gate shut before running to catch up with everyone else.

  But I believe anybody present that night would’ve done the same damned thing. Especially, when the laughter and footsteps soon resumed their pursuit of me.

  ***

  “You’re sure you didn’t hear any of what went on back there?”

  “What in the hell are you talking about, Jimmy?!”

  Fiona was irritated with me. Not that she didn’t necessarily not believe that Dolores Cabrini had seemingly decided to tag along with our investigation. But, when she gets in her mode of making sure everything is going as it should—namely, wrapping up our quick investigation of the grounds so that we had a good hour and a half of exploring the inside of the exclusive mansion—she’s not usually paying any attention to her clairvoyant/clairaudient side. It’s all right side brain function at that point, and she’s a pistol in keeping everyone on the same page.

  However, did I mention that I asked her this same frigging question three times while we circled the house? Or, that my pals all looked at me quizzically when I repeatedly sought confirmation from them??... Looking back at what I just penned in a rush, I guess not.

  I could live with the fact that none of them heard what I did in the graveyard, since they had already made their exit. But how could none of them hear this spirit’s taunts? I mean, Angie’s ghost was going off on me and acting every bit as much of a psychotic bitch as she ever had in life. Only now she stalked me with her favorite insolent taunts from before she got ‘promoted to ghost’, as Justin likes to put it.

  “I’m only going to say this one more time, Sweetie…Angie has been taunting my ass for the past twenty minutes,” I said, finding it hard to be as endearing to the love of my life as I normally am. “In fact, it would not surprise me in the least, if we don’t have something on tape from her vile mouth already.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  Ooh, I hated the coldness, and I braced myself for her rebuke, since obviously she truly hadn’t heard any of the specifics until that moment. But now she was angered by
my delivery, and I regretted the fact that my formerly sharp negotiation skills had dulled in the three months since I quit my call center supervisor job.

  Thank the Good Lord for an honest miracle to save my ass from Fiona’s wrath. No, it wasn’t any of my pals who came to my rescue, and it sure as hell wasn’t Dick Tracy or his Franklin pals, who stood around as if unsure what to do in the dimness. (I doubt any of them understood why Jackie insisted on them sharing one flashlight among them, with the beam turned to its lowest setting). My wife suddenly saw my pursuer.

  “Oh my God, Jimmy!” she whispered, as if the wraith had stolen most of her voice. “She’s standing just outside the house and peering through the window at us…. Her face is so pale, and she look’s really pissed!”

  “Well, I imagine she’s finding it hard to afford her Lancome and Chanel products on what they pay diva ghosts these days.”

  My smart remark brought an immediate chuckle from Justin. I didn’t realize he had crept over to us in the main floor’s dimness, since I thought he wanted to keep a watchful eye on our two white supremacist guests. Maybe he was no longer seeing these kids as venomous.

  “Damn it, Jimmy, I’m serious!” she hissed, loud enough for everyone in our immediate area to cease their low level conversations and turn their attention to her, as if she was E.F. Hutton. “You’re going to make her really mad…so stop it!”

  “Then can I assume you believe me now—”

  “Yes!”

  And so ended the cordial conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Alea. As is our habit when such misunderstandings arise, I sought out the company of the guys and Fiona moved over to where Jackie and Michelle waited. I glanced at our lesbian cohorts long enough to see their knowing looks in the soft glow from Michelle’s video camera display. Behind them stood the Thomas brothers, looking around like they were waiting for some warm-blooded prankster to jump out from a hiding place and say ‘Boo!’ Meanwhile, Fiona cast a few of her own wary glances toward the window where she claimed Dolores/Angie had peered at us. She grimaced worriedly.

  Not a good sign, and I worried that maybe our uninvited former NVP member might insist on coming inside. That would be most unfortunate for me, since it was bad enough being followed by a feeling or voice outside. It would be so much worse inside a place that was giving me the creeps on its own. But, so far, I didn’t feel her or hear any more taunts.

  “This is great,” said Tony, snapping a few pictures with the low-level light camera he had purchased the week before on Ricky’s recommendation. Only three of us remained unconverted to the newer, and more efficient, technology. Fiona, Jackie, and I weren’t ready to give up our analog beasts just yet. “I’ll bet we’ll get something tonight. Maybe we’ll see the kitchen ghost that Fiona mentioned earlier.... What was that about back there anyway?”

  “It was nothing,” I lied. Yeah, I gave into a moment of superstition, thinking maybe that my tormentor would fly off to some other mischief and leave me the hell alone. “Did Fiona ever show you a picture of the kitchen ghost? She used to be the McGavock’s nanny, and is featured on the Carnton’s brochures.”

  “The hell you say it was nothin’,” said Justin, joining us as we moved down the hallway to the back rooms on the main floor. “You damn well know I heard enough back there a moment ago. A ghost is following you, and I can only think of two that had a thing for you while they walked among the living.”

  “Charlain? It isn’t that crazy witch…is it?”

  Tony sounded mortified, and suddenly a small green light was pointed toward us that quickly became two. Sam and Brandon had their new commercial infrareds zeroed in on our conversation, ready to capture the gem morsels our producers craved. Great. Just frigging wonderful.

  Ricky and Tom came over as well, and before it turned into a bigger powwow that included three lawmen, I set out to assure everyone it wasn’t Charlain, or anyone else of interest, for that matter.

  “Really man…it ain’t anything to worry about. At least not for you guys,” I assured Tony and Justin, and proceeded to snap a few photographs indiscriminately around me. I thought appearing busy doing what we came here to do would work in my favor. “There’s a little girl that has been seen and photographed upstairs, and a Confederate officer whose been captured on both floors and while he takes a stroll from the back porch to the graveyard.”

  “You are so full of shit, you know that, man?” said Justin, disgustedly.

  “What, you don’t believe what I said about the girl and rebel officer?”

  “I ain’t talkin’ about that…you know what I’m getting at, Jimmy,” he said, this time snickering. In the dimness, I could tell he had turned his chiseled good looks toward Sam’s camera. “You see what I have to put up with around here? An endless parade of half-truths, innuendos, and invitations to suspicious strangers without consulting the group first. You know…it’s in our little constitution that everything is supposed to be on the up an up about everything…. Let me know if I’m boring y’all with my grievance. Right, Tom?”

  “Huh? Did I miss a joke or something?”

  Tom sounded confused, and I could tell he was half-listening to us. He was doing his normal surveillance method of slowly scanning the room with his little baby, his cherished infrared device.

  “See what I mean, man?” Justin sighed.

  Sam’s main camera’s light came on, although at its lowest setting. Time to get a ‘reality aside’ in. But instead of hamming it up, Justin merely shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Meanwhile, Tony and Ricky snickered nervously. Were they expecting a confrontation between Justin and me?

  That question would go unanswered and become a moot point. Tom grabbed my arm, suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention to the viewing screen on his camera. At the moment, the lens faced the back porch where the famed blood stained floorboards had long since been painted over with industrial gray.

  “No frigging way!” whispered Tony, while the rest of us guys murmured or merely stood speechless. “Shit! Fiona and Jackie?? Come take a look at this? Come quick!! You better hurry before it fades away!”

  I thought for sure that it would fade…or that the twin images would fade. Maybe it was wishful thinking, at least for part of what the infrared caught that my naked gaze could not.

  The window looked empty to all of us when we looked at it directly again. But not when using Tom’s camera. Definitely, there was someone standing outside, dressed in what looked like a Confederate cavalry officer’s uniform…the face unseen but the hat and coat clearly defined.

  That part was cool. Very cool, in fact.

  But the figure with him sent far more chills up and down my spine than the first image could have. The second figure was shorter, and might’ve been a male. However, it couldn’t be, despite the fact I couldn’t make out the face. The moonlight glistening on the leather contours of the feminine bodysuit and the red tint to the short hair that was visible around the shadowed face like a Christmas halo told me and everyone else that it could only be one person.

  Angie. Angie with another ghost. Our biggest spirit skeptic in life had an apparent new sympathizer for her plight as a relative newcomer to the realm of the dead.

  Chapter Five

  I knew it was a bad idea scheduling an investigation without an extra day to review our findings from Sunday. Seriously, we’re not at our best in front of a live audience if we don’t have all of our ducks in a nice, neat paranormal row. And this isn’t like so many shows in Hollywood, where they’ll stop and fix any booboos. Once the cameras start rolling inside Studio 4F, it’s a one-hour run until they’ll stop. No ‘do overs’, no “hey, I gotta pee,” or anything else. Hell, if we get some crazy shit like a heckler in the audience, I bet we’d have to keep going while security took care of the dumb ass and booted him out of the building.

  Needless to say, Monday was a day marked by anxiety for me…lots of standing on pins and needles while I waited for my shift to end. Both Sunday investigations
ended up giving us a mother load of paranormal evidence to work with. We already knew that the Carnton would be chock full of stuff that could make us the best buzz in the paranormal investigative community—just on Angie and her Confederate friend’s appearance in the window alone. But, it turned out that our stationary mikes and cameras in the Carter House picked up some very interesting events, as well.

  We really needed more time to regroup, discuss, and then decide on an effective game plan for presenting all of it on our local TV show. Fiona and Tom assured me that they could get it done well enough on their own, which is why my darling wife left me to run things in the bookstore she personally oversees (she runs three independent bookstores for a guy who has a helluva lot more money than business sense). The plan was for her to come back to the Franklin Tattered Pages store around 4:30 p.m. and pick me up, which should give us plenty of time to pick up a bite to eat and be ready for our 6:30 p.m. showtime.

  But that won’t mean a hill of beans if we get on stage and things aren’t flowing cohesively as they have on our previous shows. I know Fiona and Jackie are pressing a bit, since Nick Rhodes and Lisa Stanfield, our producers, have worried them continually about the show being dropped at a moment’s notice due to ‘less than compelling content’. Honestly, I don’t know of anyone who can work effectively with that kind of pressure constantly coming at them.

  Since the decision was out of my hands, I tried to stay as busy as possible. Traffic is high at the Franklin store on Mondays, and with the holiday season officially upon us after a robust Thanksgiving weekend, it ended up being quite busy in the store that Monday. Does this craziness make the job as stressful as being a call center supervisor? Nah…not even close. I should probably mention here that I didn’t just up and quit my other job…at least that’s not how I see it.