by JL Bryan
“Hey there.” A woman in her thirties stood up behind the counter, nudging her glasses up her nose and giving us a broad smile. She wore overalls and a long-sleeve shirt polka-dotted with jack o' lanterns. “How can I help y'all?”
“Are you Amber Neville?” I asked.
“I sure am.”
“I'm Ellie Jordan, with Eckhart Investigations.” I produced a business card from my purse. “We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She slumped a bit, her customer-service mask of good cheer dissolving into a worried frown. “I'm glad you're here. I didn't know if y'all were for real or not.”
“We definitely are,” I said.
“I'm so sorry,” Amber said. “I didn't mean to sound...”
“It's perfectly okay. I'm a skeptical person, too.”
She laughed, but there wasn't any real joy in it. The laugh of the person who can't believe how bad things have grown around her. “I used to be skeptical. I wish I still could be.”
I quickly introduced Stacey as my tech manager, then asked, “What kind of trouble have you experienced here?”
“I don't know where to begin.” She shook her head. Her hair was long and dark, her scuffed and dirt-stained overalls manufactured by Calvin Klein.
“Are you the owner of the farm?” I asked. Simple questions to put the client at ease.
“Yes. Well, my husband and me. Mostly him. Jeremy inherited the farm from his family.”
“So he grew up here?”
“No, in Augusta with his parents. That's where I'm from, too. Jeremy's great-uncle left him the place about a year ago. We decided to try to make the farm work, you know? Move the kids out here, away from all that crime in Augusta, the drugs...all of that.” I got the sense she was talking about something specific but didn't want to say it.
“How many kids do you have?”
“Three. Corrine's sixteen, Castor is thirteen, Maya's six.”
“They must keep you busy,” I said. “Along with the rest of the farm, with the corn maze and everything.”
“The maze, the haunted woods. Agri-tourism, they call it,” Amber said. “We even changed the name to Pine Hollow Farm because of the local ghost legend. The farm used to be called....I don't think they called it anything in particular, really. You'd be surprised how far people would come for these little attractions, though. Then we had to shut down.”
“Why was that?”
“Where are my manners? Would you two like a cup of hot cider? Fresh brewed from our orchard.”
“No, thanks,” I said, but Stacey accepted. Amber poured the hot liquid from the steaming urn and added cinnamon before handing it over. It smelled sweet and tasty.
“When did you start having trouble around the farm?” I asked. “When did the strange occurrences begin?”
“Oh, well, now that I can look back on it, I'd say just after we moved here,” Amber said. “For me, anyway. Every once in a while, when I was out in the gardens or the woods alone, I'd hear horse hooves, moving at a gallop. There'd be nobody around. I'd go and check Pixie and Starburst, thinking Corrine might be out riding one of them, and they'd be just as calm as you please over in the corral. And every once in a while, usually late in the day when the shadows are growing dark, I'll think I see somebody out of the corner of my eye, watching me. Then I see one of the scarecrows and just tell myself it was my mind playing tricks. I never believed in ghost stories.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Other people started seeing things just the past few weeks,” she said. “The horses have been making noise at night like something's troubling them. Both my daughters have seen horrible things, Corrine when she was out riding, Maya right in our own house at night...”
“You live here on the property?”
“Yes, our house is just down the way. Other kids saw things, too. Corrine's in the drama club at school—which is great, and really helped her make some new friends after we moved here last year—anyway, she and some of her friends were in charge of haunting the woods. They'd haunt the corn maze at night, too. They'd put on costumes and try to scare people who pass through on the hayrides. They always had fun. Then they all quit a about a week and a half ago.”
I jotted this down. Today was October twenty-seventh, just a few days until Halloween. “Why did they quit?”
“Strangers in the woods,” Amber said. “Scary-looking people. Several kids saw them, said they approached them. They weren't normal, you understand, like real people in costumes. They were more like shadows. You could see through some of them. And they just disappeared in an eyeblink.”
“And you believed their story?” I asked.
“Only because of the other things,” she said. “What my daughters have seen. These things are coming into my house at night now. Terrorizing my kids.”
“What exactly have they seen?”
“There's a girl who climbs up the stairs on her hands and knees,” Amber said. “Wearing a bloody dress. My youngest daughter Maya is the one who sees her. She's crawled right into Maya's room before, too. Right up to where she was lying in bed.
“And Corrine saw something while out riding in the woods by herself. Heard it first—a man on a horse, all wrapped in shadows. He chased her for a minute while she rode hard back to the house, and then he just disappeared. This happened a week ago.”
“Do you know of anything that might have triggered all this?” I asked. “Has anyone here attempted to have any kind of séance or invite any supernatural activity?”
“Nothing like that,” she said. “Just all the Halloween decorations, and the kids pretending to be ghosts, and the haunted hayride past the old cemetery...but it was all in fun, nothing serious. Do you think that could have stirred up something supernatural?”
“Possibly. Where's this old cemetery?”
“Back in the woods. Just follow the same dirt road you drove in on, and you'll see it eventually.”
“It's on your land?”
“Oh, yes. The centerpiece of the haunted woods. A real graveyard. Some of Jeremy's ancestors are buried there.”
“He doesn't mind using his own family cemetery that way?”
“Jeremy says if you have to live near a graveyard, you may as well cash in on it,” Amber said. “Especially with the ghost legend.”
“What's the ghost legend?” I asked. By general unspoken consent, we'd settled into the rocking chairs by the fireplace, Stacey and Amber both sipping warm cider. There was no fire, but it made for a cozy setting, anyway.
“It's just an old story,” Amber said. “There's probably no truth in it. They say after the Revolution, an ex-Hessian mercenary—you know, German soldiers who fought for the British? One of them used to ride up and down that old dirt road out there, preying on the horse and wagon traffic between Savannah and Augusta. A highwayman. One day he killed a young woman, shot her with a pistol while robbing her. There was a big manhunt and he was killed. And they say his ghost still rides around here. You think it was him that chased my daughter out there?”
“I don't know much just yet,” I said. “Did your daughter describe what he was wearing?”
“You'd have to ask her,” Amber said. “She doesn't speak much to me these days. I think she's upset about all her friends getting scared here. She says they're avoiding her at school. She never wanted to move here from Augusta, and the friends she did make at her new school meant so much to her...”
“That sounds tough,” I said.
“And I won't let her ride out there anymore,” Amber said. “Not in the woods, not after she saw someone chasing her.”
“She still wants to ride in the woods after that?” I asked.
“Don't ask me to explain her to you. I've been trying to figure that girl out for years.”
“I don't suppose the old legend offers a name for the highwayman?” I asked. “Or the young woman he murdered?”
“Sorry.” Amber shrugged.
“We'll dig into the local
history and see what we can find. Honestly, it sounds a bit like Legend of Sleepy Hollow, with the Hessian horseman and everything. Someone might have just adapted that story into a local tall tale.”
“That's why we cooked up the name Pine Hollow Farm, to put people in mind of the Headless Horseman,” Amber said. “Corrine plays the horseman in the Haunted Woods. She wears a black hood, black cape, and charges out on Pixie to scare the hayride passengers. Well, not since we shut down, of course...”
“Your older daughter plays the horseman?” I asked, scribbling notes. “The same daughter who was chased by a figure on horseback?”
“Maybe he didn't care for her portrayal of him,” Amber said, with another of her not-very-happy smiles.
“When your daughter's friends witnessed the shadow people in the woods, did the description match any of the other entities you've mentioned? The figure on horseback or the girl who creeps inside your house?”
“Not as far as I could tell,” she said. “They didn't talk about a horseman or a pale girl. They didn't tell me much at all, though. Maybe they gave Corrine more details.”
“Would you mind if I spoke to her?”
“You'll have to wait until she's home from school,” Amber said. “I thought it might be easier if we had this meeting during the day when nobody else was around.”
“Is your husband away, too?”
“He's at work. Jeremy teaches high school English in Waynesboro. It's a long drive.”
“Can you show us where the incidents have occurred?” I asked.
“All right,” she said. “But I won't go near the graveyard or the woods around it. I'm sorry. I'm sure professionals like you can handle that area, but it's too much for me.”
“I understand. Stacey, let's go grab a video camera.”
Outside, while Stacey took a handheld camera from the van, I looked ahead along the dirt road. It passed a two-story farmhouse with a giant wraparound porch. The house looked old but recently restored and painted. Farther along, I could see the corn maze itself, sprawling for several acres on one side of the dirt road. A scarecrow stood by the maze entrance.
The dirt road continued away into pine woods, where it disappeared into the shadows. Though the day was warm, I shivered, apprehensive about going in there. After you spend enough time chasing ghosts, you start to develop a little bit of a sixth sense about them, even if you're not particularly psychic.
I could sense dark things in that forest, things I knew we would have to face before it was all over. The only question was how dangerous they were to the living.
I had a feeling we'd be getting the answer to that one before too long.
Chapter Three
“You think there's any truth to the old ghost story?” Stacey asked as she fired up her video camera. I grabbed a Mel-Meter and a couple of other basic items from the van, loading them into my utility belt.
“We can probably find out whether this road actually existed in the eighteenth century,” I said. “If it was used for traffic between the cities, it should be mentioned somewhere. It does run parallel to the Savannah River, so it's in the right place for an old road between the cities of Savannah and Augusta.”
“And maybe we can find out whether the headless horseman was real, too,” Stacey said.
“Nobody said he was headless.”
“Oh, right. I mean, um, the Hessian horseman.”
“Everybody ready?” Amber descended the steps from the little store. The wooden door remained open behind her, with only an unlatched screen door to keep people out.
“You didn't lock up?” I asked.
“A few people from town come out here to buy produce, and they just leave the money on the counter if we're gone.”
“Wow,” Stacey said. “You'd get robbed blind if you tried that in the city.”
“That's why we don't live in the city anymore.” Amber led the way as we walked up the dirt road.
“You said the horses were acting strange?” I asked. Animals tend to be the most sensitive to the supernatural. They're usually the first family members to detect a haunting, followed by the kids, the wife, and the husband, in that order.
“They seem loud and troubled some nights, and they've been skittish. Especially Pixie, after she and Corrine were chased by that dark shadow.”
“Which one's Pixie?” Stacey asked, pointing her camera at the horses.
“The little gold champagne mare,” Amber said.
“Aw, she's so cute. I love that red Appaloosa, too. My grandma had a black-spotted Appaloosa. Dolly.”
“That's Hector. He's our boarder. We're hoping to get a few more.”
“You have a number of buildings here,” I said, nodding at an old barn that still looked abandoned.
“We've tried to restore what we can,” Amber said. “There are a couple of overgrown buildings in the woods, too, but there's not much we can do with them, except use them as haunted houses for the hayride.”
“Sounds like you had a fun little business going here,” Stacey said.
“We did. We opened up at the beginning of September. School and church groups came out, and we had a Girl Scout camp-out, but now I don't feel comfortable inviting anybody here at night. I'd hate for someone to get hurt, or worse...” The worry was clear on Amber's face. “I don't want my kids to get hurt, either. Do you think you can help?”
“We'll have to try to figure out the identities of the ghosts causing your problems,” I said. “It's a process. We'll set up cameras and other gear and stay here overnight to observe.”
“Okay. I haven't really discussed it with Jeremy. I mean, we talked about it, but I didn't tell him I'd, um, found your agency online and invited you over...”
“Unfortunately, there's no quick fix. We'll have to hang around for a while. He'll notice we're here.”
“It's going to be an awkward dinner conversation.” Amber sighed.
“Has your husband experienced anything?” I asked.
“He says he's seen shadows in the woods that looked like people. Then they disappeared. He's not convinced it's...ghosts, or whatever you'd call them...but he was rattled when he told me about it. The next day he declared we should try to forget about it and move on.”
“But he was open to the idea of calling in paranormal investigators?” I asked.
“He's having some trouble admitting that the problems are real.”
“Denial is normal when you encounter something that doesn't fit your belief system,” I said.
“Well, I hope he's ready to move on to the bargaining phase soon.” Amber led us down the sandy dirt road, past a large dirt parking area and right to the main house, which had a saltbox shape, two stories at the front sloping down to a single story at the back. A brick chimney rose at one side, big enough to fit Santa Claus and multiple reindeer. The broad wraparound porch looked welcoming. The farmhouse had been painted a cheerful yellow and white.
“How old is that house?” I asked.
“It was built in the early nineteenth century, but the foundation goes back even earlier, to colonial times,” she said. “We've invested a lot in this place over the last year. The idea that it's not safe for our family is just so troubling...”
“We'll do all we can do to make them safe,” I said. “I promise you that.”
We crossed the front porch, past a swing and a couple of jack o' lanterns, and Amber led us through the door.
The interior of the house looked warm and cheerful, with plenty of sunlight, a silky blue color on the walls, and family photographs displayed on the wall above an antique side table. Open doorways led to a dining room on one side of us and a book-lined sitting room on the other. The rough-hewn planks of the staircase rose directly ahead. The foyer narrowed to a small hallway past the stairs, visible through a propped-open door.
“Are those the stairs where your younger daughter saw the ghost?” I asked.
“Maya has seen it here a few times. Trying to climb up on its hands
and knees. It looks like a woman in a bloody dress.”
“And that same apparition has entered her room?” The wooden steps and banister were thick, scuffed, and ancient, but polished to a gleam. My Mel-Meter ticked up by a milligau, indicating anything from a weak residual haunting to a few electrical wires in the walls nearby.
“Oh, yes,” Amber said. “This was only two nights ago. That's when I got serious about calling you, whether Jeremy agreed or not. It's one thing to see something strange in the woods, or to feel like the scarecrows are watching you, but it's another when things start coming inside your house and threatening your kids.”
“Can we see her room?” I asked.
Amber led us upstairs. The kids' bedrooms were fairly small, but they each had their own. Maya's room wasn't surprising for the nest of a six-year-old girl: Disney character figurines, a pink plastic dollhouse, a half-constructed farm puzzle, coloring books, and stuffed animals heaped in a basket by the small bed.
I took some readings, but there was nothing to indicate a supernatural presence in the girl's room. The scary bloody woman must have hid elsewhere during the day.
We checked the other rooms, too, taking some baseline readings with my Mel-Meter so we could identify any strange electromagnetic activity later, if the ghosts returned to the house during the night. Castor, the boy, had a drum set in his room and laundry scattered all over his floor. Corrine, the older girl, had decorated her room along a psychedelic theme, with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and twinkling Christmas lights on the headboard. I also looked into the sunny master bedroom, decorated with a few old antique end tables and a wardrobe.
We took a quick look around the downstairs. At the back of the house was a comfortable, spacious living room, with a laundry room connecting it to the garage. The garage had a work area with a blowtorch and a welding mask, and I was a little surprised to learn these things belonged to Amber instead of her husband.
The front sitting room was furnished with oversized chairs. Board games and books, mostly cracked old paperbacks, stocked the room's built-in shelves. Overall, it seemed like it should have been a happy place for a family to live, but there was a heavy, oppressive feeling in the air, even with the early afternoon light pouring inside.
