Tales from the Canyons of the Damned: Omnibus

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  They each prepped for the next day their usual ways: Eddie watching Netflix on his tablet, and Daryl scouring the web for old news accounts of the site to be visited the next day.

  The Weston Herald had a story from last year about a man that went into the swamp raccoon hunting and disappeared. He was found days later wandering down the side of the highway babbling incoherently. After a psychiatric evaluation, the man was committed to the state hospital for the mentally ill.

  Another account from three years earlier detailed a fishing trip gone awry as two men in an aluminum boat went deep into the swamp but were never heard from again. The boat washed up a week later, empty. Local legends surrounded the place and stories abounded about the family that lived on the edge of the swamp and were murdered in cold blood in 1897. During the full moon at certain times of the year, people reported seeing strange lights in the swamp and hearing ghostly voices.

  Daryl laughed out loud at some of the reports and he took notes from others. He had gotten good at separating the facts that could be substantiated from just hype and hysteria. Like any good detective will tell you, the devil is in the details.

  He fell asleep with his laptop on his chest. He had probably read too many Swamp Thing comics in his youth, and watched a cheesy B-movie or two, and his dreams proved it. He woke up well before daybreak in a cold sweat. He jumped up at the sound of a crash and he realized that his laptop had vaulted to the floor as he jumped.

  “Shit! Well, there goes that one.” He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The sun had not yet cracked the Eastern sky. From his room, he did have a magnificent view of the halogen light-bathed parking lot, and in the distance, the welcoming glow of a Waffle House sign.

  He picked up the smashed laptop and placed it on the dresser. Eddie was passed out across his bed, still fully clothed, next to his tablet. His ever present ear buds were still jammed in his ears. Daryl picked up his wallet and his room key and decided to get some coffee.

  He walked across the parking lot toward the yellow glow of the Waffle House. He checked his phone. 4:15 am. He tried to shake the cobwebs loose, but he felt like he was looking at the world through cotton candy. He might have slept a couple of hours, but they were fitful. His brain never really shut down and rested. This would be a crazy day and he needed to be on his A-game. The last thing he needed was to fall apart this close to the end of the run. He was determined to get that promotion, and if he had to stay awake for a week on end, he would do it. He looked up at the sign as he approached and couldn’t help being a little disarmed at the full moon hovering just above.

  He walked in to the smell of black coffee and grease, took a stool at the counter, and waved for a cup of coffee.

  “Hey sugar, you need a menu?” the friendly waitress propped a hand on one hip.

  “No, I think I’ll just have some bacon and eggs.”

  “You got it. Coming right up, sugar.” She sang out the order to the cook. He added it to his mental list and kept working as she went to work flirting for tips from the next customer.

  Daryl looked around the little diner and tried to take in the variety of patrons. This kind of establishment is a reporter’s paradise. He’d met all sorts of people, especially after midnight and before daylight. If he ever needed a colorful character for a quote, this was the kind of place to find one.

  The man to his left was mashing out a cigarette and sipping coffee. The bearded man gave him a sideways glance.

  Daryl decided to strike up a conversation. “Hey buddy, my name’s Daryl. I’m here looking into something. Are you from around here?”

  The man nodded.

  “Have you ever heard of a place called Keene’s farm?”

  The man set his cup down and looked at his plate. “What you want with that place?”

  “Well, I’m a reporter and I’m doing a story on it. Do you believe the legends?”

  “They ain’t legends.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Buddy, you ain’t got no business out there. You better get on down the road while you have the chance. There’s devilment out in that swamp.”

  Daryl laughed at that. “Well, that’s the thing, I don’t really believe in all that stuff. I’m here to debunk it. Expose it for what it is. I bet you’re one of the locals that like to keep the stories going. Good for business. I get it.”

  The man stood up and threw a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Do what you want buddy, it’s a free country. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He left the diner without looking back.

  The waitress came back with Daryl’s plate. He shook his head and laughed under his breath at the superstitious nonsense. He thanked the waitress. “Say, do you know that guy that just left?”

  “Billy, yeah, he’s a regular.”

  “What’s his deal?”

  “He lost his brother in that swamp. He hasn’t been right since.”

  ~*~

  Daryl ate his eggs and bacon in silence. The waitress didn’t even talk to him. She set the coffee pot on the counter in front of him without offering to refill his cup. When he needed more, he poured it himself. He had obviously struck a nerve.

  After finishing, he pulled a pen out of his pocket, took a handful of napkins from the dispenser, and started jotting down notes about what he knew of the haunted swamp.

  He listed things from his manila folder and from his research online. Normally there was some sort of pattern in the reported occurrences. Using fairly simple skills of deduction and keeping a critical eye enabled him to see the holes in witness’s stories. The problem with the Weston haunting at Keene’s swamp was that the occurrences seemed to be random. Patterns were scarce and eyewitnesses even more so.

  Daryl was lost in his thoughts when he felt someone’s presence next to him. He looked up to see someone in uniform.

  “Morning. You must be Mr. Daltry.” A gentlemen dressed in a sheriff’s uniform, probably in his early seventies, extended a hand.

  Daryl dropped his pen and shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m Sheriff Aiken. I heard you were coming to cover our fair county.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m with Sunrise America.”

  “Oh, I know where you’re from, son. You’ve been making quite a name for yourself with this series you’ve been doing.”

  Daryl puffed up. “Well, thank you, Sheriff. That is quite an honor.”

  “I wouldn’t take it that way. You’ve been making a name for yourself as a pompous fool that rides into every town you can find looking for ways to embarrass people and make them look like idiots.”

  “With all due respect Sheriff, that is not my intention, but you have to admit that if people are taking advantage of other’s superstitions, then someone needs to expose that.”

  The sheriff waved to the waitress for a coffee. “Well, sure enough. If someone is manipulating people, that’s one thing. All I’m saying is that you need to be respectful when you go into a place you know nothing about and deal with people you’ve never met.”

  Sensing that the sheriff was attempting to discourage him, Daryl sat up straight, senses piqued.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Mr. Daltry, all I’m trying to tell you is to be careful. I won’t attempt to stop you from doing what you’re doing, but just know that emblem on the side of our patrol cars promising to protect and serve only goes so far.”

  “Is that a veiled threat, Sheriff?”

  “Son, if that was veiled then you ain’t had enough coffee. And it wasn’t a threat. It was a warning. Don’t go messing with things that you don’t understand.”

  “All due respect sir, do you know what happens when you put a “keep out” sign on a playground? It becomes the most sought after place of all. You won’t be able to keep people out. If this farm with the haunted swamp really is a bad place, then let me go in with my cameraman and find out. Let’s expose it to the light of day and let the world see. Then maybe people will
stop sneaking around out there and getting hurt. If we expose it, there won’t be any reason to try to sneak in and find out what’s going on. Just let me do my job and just maybe I can make your job easier.” Daryl was surprised at the passion in his defense.

  “I’m not gonna stop you, but you better know what you’re dealing with.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The world’s a strange place. When I was your age I thought I knew everything too. It took me these seventy-three years to realize I don’t know a damn thing.”

  The old man took a sip of his coffee and stared into his cup as if he was a fortune teller reading leaves.

  “It all started in eighteen ninety-seven. Ellis Keene was working in the field all day with his boy, Isaac. Around suppertime, Ellis sent Isaac on to the house to get washed up for supper. He told the boy to let his mama know he’d be in shortly after getting the last of the row of beans in.

  “When Ellis finished and brought in his pick bag, he stored away everything in the barn. He walked up to the house and heard a commotion. Running in to see what the problem was, he saw a man with a knife to his wife’s throat. Young Isaac was laying on the floor in a pool of blood. Ellis was enraged and ran up on the man, but he pressed the knife to Lilly’s throat and said if he came closer he would kill her too. Ellis panicked and went for his rifle that was propped up in the corner. When he did, the bandit must have had a partner that was posted up outside, and the partner shot Ellis in the back.

  “Ellis lay there on the floor, bleeding out, and, with his dying breath, he cursed the bandits and swore to Lilly that he would roam the earth until he found her and brought her back home. The bandits left with Lilly and she was never heard from again.

  “Just a minute later, a neighbor went to the house to borrow a tool from Ellis and found him on the floor, on death’s door. Ellis told him what he could, but he died shortly.

  “They buried Ellis Keene out back, near the swamp. They say that he wanders the old place looking for Lilly to this day.”

  Daryl listened quietly but laughed at the end. “That’s quite a story, Sheriff. Who lives there now?”

  “Nobody. The house is falling in, the whole place is in disrepair. Over the years, several people have bought the place, but they never stay. They all say that Ellis is still there and he won’t let anyone live in peace.”

  Daryl doodled on his napkin. “Here’s the thing. I don’t believe in ghosts, and I sure as hell don’t believe in haunted places. This stinks to high heaven. I think it’s a scam, just like all the rest.”

  The sheriff nodded slightly. “I figured that’s what you’d say, and I won’t stop you if you want to go out there, but remember that some places are special. Weston Mississippi is one of those places. The old timers used to say that some places were closer to the other world than others. This is one of those places. That’s nothing to be scared of, generally. But if you don’t respect it, it will earn your respect.”

  “I don’t get what you’re saying. I told you I don’t believe in hocus pocus.”

  “Don’t matter whether you believe or not. You don’t have a choice in the matter. Some things just are. Don’t matter if you like it or not. Weird things happen here. I’ve seen things that have made grown men cry, and I’ve seen things that can only be described as supernatural. Bad things, good things, all of it can happen here. All I’m saying is watch your step, don’t disrespect what you don’t understand.

  “And above all else, don’t go to the swamp during a full moon. The door is wide open during the full moon.”

  Daryl tossed a twenty on the counter and motioned to the waitress. “I’m buying the sheriff’s breakfast.” Turning to the old man he said, “Sir, I don’t give a damn if the door is wide open or not, I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  Daryl strolled out the door into the rising sun. The waitress leaned on the counter in front of the Sheriff and shook her head. He looked at her with a worried frown.

  “Yeah, Ruby, I don’t know much, but I know that pride comes before a fall.”

  ~*~

  Daryl burst into the motel room more determined than ever. He flicked on the lights and yelled at Eddie to get up. He grabbed a change of clothes from his suitcase and hit the shower. When he got done, Eddie was up but barely stirring.

  “Come on Ed, we have to get rolling. I want to get out to the Keene place and check it out before too many people realize we’re here.”

  “You think that’ll happen?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve already had a little chat with a couple of the locals this morning.”

  Eddie rubbed his eyes. “How long have you been up?”

  “Long enough to know these suckers aren’t going down easy.”

  ~*~

  They checked out of the motel and loaded up the van. Eddie drove through a Hardees and stocked up on orange juice and biscuits. Daryl had the GPS on his phone loaded up and navigated for Eddie as they drove out of Weston and toward the river that bordered to the west.

  As the river got closer, the landscape changed into a marshy mix of grass and water. They arrived at a dirt driveway on a nondescript, narrow country road. There was a lopsided gate across the driveway. Daryl got out and looked at the latch. There was no lock and the latch was rusted open. The gate just rested on the post. Not much for security, he thought.

  He swung open the rusty gate and held it for Eddie to pull the van through. Daryl walked up the driveway and let the gate go. It slowly swung back to its resting place. He got back in the van and they crept up the gravel path. Vines and kudzu had overtaken what they could only imagine was once a beautiful homestead.

  After a quarter mile or so, it opened up on a clearing and the remnants of the old home stood in shambles. Bright sunlight bathed the wreck of a house, and Daryl couldn’t help but notice the odd juxtaposition of haunted house in happy sunshine.

  Eddie parked the van and started unloading his hard shell cases that housed his cameras, cables, and other accessories. The normally docile tech sprang to life when in his element. The two partners had a system. Daryl would walk around the area looking for things that might be a clue. He approached the scene of a story the way Sherlock Holmes cataloged a crime scene. He had an uncanny ability to spot things that didn’t look right.

  Eddie setup cameras around the property that would be triggered either by motion or by low light so they’d begin recording at dark. He set out to record B-roll footage that would be used to produce the full package once they had their story figured out. The two worked like a well-oiled machine.

  The setup took most of the day and early that afternoon, they relaxed together under an ancient oak tree that provided ample shade. The oak looked to be the oldest of a massive orchard of oaks that extended from the house to the east side of the property. From where they sat, they could see to the west, across the swamp that eventually led to the Mississippi River.

  Sitting under the tree, Daryl recounted his encounters from the morning to Eddie.

  “I expect us to be joined by someone this evening. I wouldn’t put it past the locals to come out and scare us. So be on your toes.”

  “Don’t worry. I have twelve cameras setup all around. If anyone comes from any direction, we’ll catch them. And if this ghost of whatever it is that lives out here comes out, we’ll have it too.” Eddie pointed out.

  “Well, I guess we just wait then.”

  ~*~

  The warm afternoon sun set across from them and both men dozed off in the heat and quiet. Daryl was startled awake by a tap on his shoulder. He jerked to see an old man in front of him.

  “Who are you?” He said.

  “Ellis Keene. I think you be looking for me.”

  Daryl jumped to his feet. He kicked Eddie. “Eddie, wake up.”

  The old man held up a hand. “Won’t do you no good. He ain’t waking up right now.”

  “What did you do?” Daryl was still panicked from waking in a start.

  “I ju
st put him to sleep for a spell.”

  Daryl tried to get his wits about him. “I know you’re not Ellis Keene, he’s been dead for over a hundred years.”

  “It’s true I died, but I ain’t been at rest yet. They got her and I guard this place from folks that would defile a man’s home. One day I’ll vindicate her and I can go to my rest.”

  Daryl looked around for anyone. There was no one there but him and the old man and a sleeping Eddie.

  “I want you to go for a walk with me,” the old man said.

  “Where to?” Daryl remembered the cameras that would be filming this so he decided to go along with the old man to see what the scam would be. The old man turned and walked toward the swamp. They went to the edge and he turned to Daryl.

  “Do you believe in the hereafter?”

  “I don’t believe in the hereafter, no sir. I think it’s safe to say that.”

  “Then you won’t be scared of Isaac then.”

  Daryl cocked his head, wondering what the old man was talking about. Suddenly he felt a tug at his pant leg. The old man jumped back and let out a whoop.

  “Get him!” The old man yelled.

  Daryl struggled to maintain his balance, but the tug was stronger. He fell down. As he lay in the muddy edge of the swamp, he saw what the tug was. An alligator had his foot and was moving forward to get a better grip. The next thing he felt was a sharp clamp on his calf, then it let go and a harder clamp on his thigh. He screamed in pain as the gator finally got the grip he wanted and dragged him into the swamp. The last thing Daryl saw was the old man jumping for glee and clapping his hands.

  The old man walked to the edge and watched the alligator drag the reporter under and roll him.

  “Well, you ought ta believe in the hereafter, ‘cause you were what old Isaac was here after.”

  The old man walked into the oak grove and disappeared.

  Eddie woke later that night to the sound of something gliding across the ground. The last thing he heard was, “Hey boy, do you believe in the hereafter?” Followed by a wicked laugh that echoed in the Mississippi oaks.