by Aiden James
“Well, in most cases I’d have to say ‘no’,” she said, pausing to look out the driver’s side window at the fading pink and dark sky toward the west. Leaving work at four o’clock wasn’t soon enough to allow us the benefit of sunlight for our trip to Adams, Tennessee. “But, the spirit that haunted John Bell and his family was different from any other ghost I’ve ever heard or read about. It traveled from here to Europe to deliver a message from Lucy Bell to her family in the early 1800s, and then came back to the states, the absence from the Bell’s home lasting a few days. Not to mention the Bell Witch traveled to the West Indies and brought back fruit that it seemingly dropped out of thin air into Lucy’s lap. The spirit was in constant contact with Lucy in those days, and was gone for just a few hours before it returned.”
“That ain’t the same deal as being in two places at the same time, though,” I said, feeling a little trepidation in stating the obvious.
“I was going to get to that, smart ass,” she said, but at least she chuckled.
We had enjoyed a marvelous day together at work, when at first it didn’t seem possible. Shit was still going on outside the relative seclusion of our home, but at the bookstore that Thursday I felt detached from the drama that had erupted within NVP’s ranks following Fiona’s announcement to the group that next Monday’s PTW show had been canceled and the remaining shows were on hold indefinitely. The store’s staff had a fabulous time decorating an artificial tree that afternoon and listening to Christmas carols. The customers loved it too—especially since we also had cookies along with hot cider and chocolate on hand.
Granted, we were supposed to get the store’s decorating done the Monday following Thanksgiving. But without Fiona around to enforce it, nothing had been started. Becky had mentioned it a few times to me, but then no one knew where exactly the tree and lights were stored. Pretty lame, huh? Yeah…I admit that if it had been the latest Seagull acoustic guitar series we were looking for, I would’ve either known exactly where that shit was kept or made it my personal mission to find out—I guaran-damn-tee it. It provided more incentive for me to procure a second set of wheels in January, so I could seek employment at our local Guitar Center after the holidays. Not that I’m ungrateful for having a job in a difficult economy, and especially after I left a nice paying job on a whim this past summer…but still.
“The accounts of the spirit showing up at two different places at the same time didn’t start until the 1980s, when the Bell descendants that had moved across the country would see her ‘familiar’ show up,” she explained. “A mangy black dog would appear at their doorstep or in the backyard when a birth or death was about to happen. No one in the extended family would talk to each other about this strange phenomenon until blogging became popular six or seven years ago. According to several blogs I visited last year, the spirit in this form was seen in two places at the same time, and in opposite ends of the country. One Virginia Beach family member witnessed the same thing his younger sister beheld in L.A.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, I’m not. I’m Nick Rhodes trying to yank your chain—yes, of course, I’m serious, Jimmy!”
“Hey, I am with you on this,” I said, holding my hands up in mock protest. I added a smile that I’m sure she couldn’t detect in the growing dimness inside the Camaro. “I remember hearing something about this on TAPS’ website, in one of the chat rooms…geez, I think it was like three or four years ago.”
“I remember those chat rooms,” she said, right before she exited from I-24 heading to Clarksville. The place we were headed was just a mile or two to the north, on the outskirts of Adams.
“Do Susan and Frank know about the Bell Witch?”
“How can they not, when they spend most of their time these days in a town where the ‘Welcome to Adams’ sign bears the depiction of a witch riding atop a broomstick?”
True. No joke, that’s exactly what the sign looks like. The residents—including the handful from the Bell descendants who still live here—take a certain amount of pride in their resident ghost. It certainly brings in a ton of cash around Halloween.
“I guess that’s a silly question,” I admitted, chuckling at an earlier admonition by her to think before I speak the first frigging thought that pops into my mind. “She and Frank don’t think their haunting events are related to her…or do they?”
“To the witch?”
“Yeah.”
“No…at least I don’t think so,” said Fiona. “There’s the house up ahead.... It always takes my breath away when I see it. Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”
“I guess so.”
Seriously, any house that is haunted isn’t likely to appeal to me much. Not even a showcase pad that’s lit up with the finest array of spotlights to show off manicured lawns and gardens. I’ll take a simple place that’s comfortable, with just enough living space that can be easily managed, and comes ghost-free. I’m not interested in ever living in a Victorian era mansion that boasts five to six thousand square feet, such as the one we pulled up to right then. And I sure as hell have no desire to live in one that is certifiably home to residents from the afterlife.
The immense house belongs to the former managers of several major acts in the Country Music biz. The McGrath’s began as part time booking agents in the early 1980s and turned that venture into a multi-million dollar success when they sold it in 2009. One of two homes they presently own, this one sits on nearly fifty acres of rolling hills that are mostly covered with undisturbed timber, along with two barns and a two-acre corral for a dozen horses. As Fiona pointed out, the place is laid out nice. Lots of upgrades were added during a substantial restoration that was completed back in 2001, and at that time a spacious guest cabin was added on the other side of the swimming pool out back. They should’ve stopped there.
Sad but true, folks with lots of time and money on their hands can’t resist the urge to keep going. And, when Susan and Frank decided to clear two more acres to add a gazebo and clubhouse near where an old Civil War era graveyard stood, life became a lot more exciting for the retired couple. Terrifyingly exciting, I should say.
Fiona parked our car behind Susan’s baby blue Z4, and before we had gathered our cameras, EMF detectors, and voice recorders, our hostess greeted us from the front porch.
“Hi Fiona! It’s good to see you again, Jimmy!”
“Hey, Susan…hey, Frank,” I said, following my wife who had run up the stairs to greet Susan. They shared a warm hug while Frank met me at the top of the stairs.”
“It’s good to see you, Jim,” he said, offering his powerful grip to my hand.
Mr. McGrath possesses one of the strongest handshakes I’ve ever experienced, even more so than Melvin’s ironclad grip. As for calling me, Jim? I’ve never bothered to correct him, since he reminds me so much of my dad, when he was alive. His regal hairline and thick gray hair are partly responsible for that association, although I believe it has more to do with the way his light blue eyes twinkle when he greets me. It always has a way of lifting my spirit. We see the McGrath’s every few months—usually at their condo in Green Hills—since Fiona became Susan’s spiritual/tarot adviser several years ago.
Although Fiona has been to their Adams estate quite a few times, this was only my second visit. The last time was at a music industry party held here a few years ago. That was a great time, although I found myself looking out toward the woods once the party moved on into the evening hours. The woods were frigging creepy back then…and wouldn’t you know that’s where the clubhouse and gazebo now sit? Not to mention next to the aforementioned graveyard, as well.
Oh, joy.
Susan gave me a hug and then ushered us inside their fabulous home. Yes, gorgeous is a word to describe the decorative millwork, crown moldings, marble fireplaces—I could go on and on, as the list of first class appointments that were original to the house or have been added since its birth in 1849 is quite long. An immense Christmas tree stood in the f
oyer, and was already overflowing with smartly wrapped presents beneath the lower branches. They’ve got a huge family, I should add, with five kids and quadruple that amount of grandkids. And, in the holiday spirit, Frank offered us some hot cocoa laced with peppermint Schnapps.
This being the initial impression to greet us was very cool…. But, speaking of coolness, I felt a powerful presence the moment we stepped inside. Fiona’s nervous look told me that she felt it, too. And seeing her nervousness had an effect on Mr. and Mrs. McGrath’s countenance, as well. Everyone’s smiles began to look painful.
I tried not to snicker from the random thought of Eddie Murphy and his famous Amityville Horror routine….
‘Nice place you’ve got here, Frank and Susan.’
‘GET OUT!!!’
‘Too bad we can’t stay!’
Of course, Fiona shot me an imploring glance to behave myself. Probably an excellent idea to fully heed her warning, since the investigation portion of tonight’s agenda was going to be handled mostly by me. Fiona planned to do her readings for both Frank and Susan to start the evening’s agenda. Afterward, she would join me in investigating the paranormal hotspots inside the house, which were mainly upstairs and in one of the parlors that now served as a living room.
My immediate assignment?
I was privileged to investigate the grounds by myself, including the new building near the graveyard. Frank would help as far as unlocking the front door to the clubhouse, and then I’d be on my own. It was one of the times when I really wished the rest of the gang could be here with us. But after Pauline’s murder, Ed had extracted a promise from Fiona, Jackie, and Tom to not do any more investigations until Saturday’s new finale for our Civil War tour. It would be the last time we would have a police escort, and beyond that event we were all on our own. On our own and on supposed lockdown, I should say.
So, why are we here again?
Because of my wife’s promise to Susan to come a-runnin’ whenever something terrible, paranormally speaking, ever happened again. Yes, this is the second time something menacing on the property has presented a serious threat…. So here we are—against Ed’s orders and without his knowledge and definitely without his permission. Maybe if she had told him, and for some crazy reason he didn’t stop us with some bullshit legality, we might’ve been able to enlist the presence of Adams’ finest. That thought brought a brighter smile to my face, as I pictured Barney Fife showing up wearing an arm patch with a little witch riding a broomstick on his jacket’s shoulder.
I’m sure everyone must be wondering why the McGrath’s don’t just hole up in their Green Hills pad until we can bring the entire ghost busting army with us to eradicate the infestation of several shadow spirits. Yeah, I asked that very question myself earlier this week, and again this morning. The answer I got was in effect, ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to do this,’ which assuredly meant that Fiona planned to come here regardless. Damned straight I could never let her do it alone.
“Well, Susan and I will get started in the dining room,” Fiona advised me, while pulling out her preferred tarot deck. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, hon’?”
Now she asked me this. What could I say, when Frank and Susan wore matching hopeful expressions upon their faces? And seeing the dark circles under Susan’s eyes that made her normally bright hazel eyes look dull added confirmation to the seriousness of what they were dealing with. Better for someone like me, who’s used to this sort of thing, to handle it.
To infinity and beyond. Yay.
“I’ll be fine, babe,” I said. “I might as well start at the clubhouse and work my way back to the main house.”
Frank joined me as we crossed the driveway and moved away from the main house floodlights’ reach. For a moment, we walked in thick darkness that was unnerving as hell. Even my host turned tentative, looking around him as if expecting a shadow man to jump out in front of us and say ‘boo!’ Granted, that would certainly freak my ass out pretty badly, since the only warning we would have in the darkness is the deep chill announcing the spirit’s presence.
The security lights atop the clubhouse suddenly came on, and despite their automatic response to our approach, both of us jumped. Maybe we were scaring ourselves…maybe not. All I knew was the frigid temperatures in the low 20s that night had taken a sudden dip toward zero. That could be natural, since the building’s nonuse and the approaching woods would logically be colder than the perimeter of the house. However, while Frank unlocked the door, I thought I caught a glimpse of movement inside, where other security lights inside the clubhouse had turned on as soon as we stepped onto the porch.
Frank saw it, too.
“Jim…Fiona’s probably going to be irritated with me, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to venture inside alone,” he said, eyeing me solemnly. I thought for a moment he might suggest we give up the damned exploration and just go back to the house. Part of me really liked that idea a lot. “I’d rather not discuss what has happened to me inside here, but it was bad enough the last time for me to not feel comfortable leaving you here on your own. I’ll come inside with you, and I’ll wait by the door for you to finish.”
The way he said this was nothing like the ashen color on his face. This place scared the holy shit out of Frank, and my gut told me that it was a really stupid and bad idea to be here. But, facing the wrath of a ghost would be small potatoes to disappointing my wife who I could tell wanted desperately to help this older couple, our friends. Getting a ‘feel’ and some evidence was a necessary first step, unfortunately, and it would be up to either Fiona or me to get that info. If it meant waiting for her to do it, we would be getting back to Nashville much later tonight, which would engender more problems like a pissed-off sitter for our boys, less sleep, and a steady descent into more horseshit.
“Okay, Frank. It should take me maybe ten to fifteen minutes to have a look around.” I forced a wide smile to sell my confidence, while praying fervently for the prickly feeling along my neck to go away. “Fiona said you have a loft in the back of the building, so I’ll start there and work my way back to you.”
“Sounds good, Jim. Be safe.”
Two men forcing smiles that were too damned transparent to convince each other of anything other than the fact that this building was creepy as hell. I had no doubt in my mind that he regretted disturbing anything on this spot…his frightened eyes said so.
Knowing it would only get worse, I turned around and moved across the vast open space designed to accommodate large parties as I headed for the rear of the building, struggling with the urge to hurry to the wall next to an immense fireplace and flip on the overhead lights. I resisted…barely, while soft creaks resounded from the ceiling just beyond the kitchen area. There was someone moving upstairs in the darkened loft, or so it sounded.
“Moving to the kitchen, and then I’ll approach the loft,” I said into the voice recorder, all the while feeling a frigid breeze caress the back of my neck. I had no doubt that someone was there with me, and my only comfort was in the fact that most entities are not overtly violent to short-term visitors. They usually save their greatest ire for the folks who are permanent tenants. “I am only here gathering evidence, to help the owners make things right. If anyone wants to say something into the recorder that can be useful, please feel free to do so—”
Click.
Oh shit!
The recorder shut off. At the same time, I heard a low moan coming from the stairs that were barely visible from a security lamp’s glow in the kitchen. The last ten feet to the stairs leading upstairs were shrouded in thick darkness.
I think I’ve mentioned before that in regard to some of the creepiest investigations we’ve had we end up getting very little paranormal evidence. Lots of normal-looking photographs, empty recordings, and non-eventful video clips. As I approached the kitchen area, I had been taking random pictures with my preferred analog beast that Justin likes to make fun of, but negatives are
necessary to prove that an image hasn’t been tampered with. As soon as I heard a low moan emanating from the darkness, I bravely pointed my camera directly at the spot and snapped a photo…or so I had hoped.
My camera jammed, and like the recorder moments before, it no longer worked. The green battery light faded to orange before my eyes.
What in the…
The kitchen’s security lamp suddenly popped, and a swishing sound approached me in the sudden darkness. The best way I can describe it is as if someone had tossed several handfuls of paper sheets into the air and then they drifted to the ground.
“Jim, did you hear that?” Frank sounded stressed. “We need to leave…they’re moving around behind you. We’ve got to get out before they…Oh shit—Jim I’ll meet you outside!”
I heard Frank give a startled shout as he stumbled on the porch and then the front door slammed behind me.
I might be a seasoned ghost hunter, and sometimes you can wait it out when weird shit happens. But, I also have the good sense to know when it truly is time to go. Even before I heard several padded footfalls upon the wooden floor as at least two different individuals approached me from both sides of the clubhouse’s dim expanse, I was already running. Running with the intent of breaking through the door or a window if necessary.
Thankfully, Frank managed to reopen the door as I reached it. Without bothering to retrieve his key from the lock, he and I sprinted for the house. The painful prickles from the chills embracing my back didn’t stop until we had climbed back onto the house’s steps and clambered into the foyer. Instinctively, I closed and locked the door behind us, not caring how absurd it was to even bother, since physical doors and walls provide little protection against the dearly departed.
“What in the hell? Jimmy, Frank…are you okay?”
“Does it look like it?”
I hated sounding like a jerk, but I was more than a tad miffed at my better half. It was my first confirmation that her gifts that normally protect us from harm were out of sync with the dangerous spirit world around us. Someone on the other side should’ve sounded the alarm for her long before our arrival.
