The October People
Book One
A Gulf Coast Paranormal Extra
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2018 M.L. Bullock
All rights reserved
Dedication
For Juno.
Table of Contents
Prologue—Hugh McCandlish
Chapter One—Jocelyn Graves
Chapter Two—Jocelyn
Chapter Three—Jocelyn
Chapter Four—Hugh
Chapter Five—Jocelyn
Chapter Six—Jocelyn
Chapter Seven—Hugh
Chapter Eight—Jocelyn
Chapter Nine—Jocelyn
Chapter Ten—Hugh
Chapter Eleven—Jocelyn
Chapter Twelve—Jocelyn
Chapter Thirteen—Hugh
Chapter Fourteen—Jocelyn
Chapter Fifteen—Jocelyn
Epilogue—Jocelyn
Prologue—Hugh McCandlish
Leaf Academy, Orange Grove, Alabama, 1937
“Good job, Ollie. Why don’t you leave the drawing on my desk? What an artist you have become, young man.”
As he placed the picture on my desk, my heart fell to see the subject of his most recent drawing. Did he blame himself for the incident on the playground? He should not blame himself for the bird’s death. He never touched the creature. Perhaps this was some sort of tribute to it? Or more probably I was reading too much into the drawing. Perhaps this austere-looking bird was a raven? We recently discussed the poetic works of Edgar Allan Poe, and the American crow and the common raven were very similar. Ravens were notably larger and traveled in pairs; crows were almost always in large groups. It was hard to tell from this image. It was only a single bird, its head perched at an awkward angle, yet the imagery evoked such intense, brooding emotion.
I smiled as I set the paper aside and asked, “I suppose you will be happy to see your father again, Ollie. Are both your parents coming to pick you up tomorrow? I hope to meet them. Are you looking forward to a visit home?”
The boy’s long bangs fell over his dark, distrusting eyes. He shook his head, returned his pencils to his desk and left the classroom. He paused at the door as if he wanted to tell me something, but he did not. He did not talk much at all. His mouth was set in a perpetual frown these days, such a far cry from the high-spirited child who had arrived here last month. But the truth was that transitioning to life at boarding school was not easy for some children, even those from good families. It was always easier if you had a friend—I knew that from experience—but this child had none. I could not understand that.
Ollie LeFlore had a constantly solemn appearance, a characteristic that the other boys disliked. They made no secret of it, but they didn’t bully him or abuse him, not in front of me. They simply ignored him. I encouraged Ollie to interact with the others, but he never made the effort. And the recent Dead Crow Incident would not help matters. I suppose it wasn’t strange after all that he should want to draw the creature in such perfect detail.
The bird had been cawing and crowing as it perched on the metal fence that surrounded the athletic yard. A few of the boys had taken to throwing rocks at it but were cuffed about the ears by the headmaster for their trouble. When we turned our attention back to the animal, it was lying dead at Ollie’s feet. The other boys were backing away as if he might kill them too. Nobody saw anything, and as I explained to the headmaster, if Ollie had killed the bird, the boy would have been covered with scratches, claw marks…but there was nothing to see, and I had examined the boy myself. It was as if the bird died of natural causes, falling out of the sky right at the child’s feet.
But the odds of that happening were astronomical.
The night of the strange event, I began to work out the numbers. Coming up with the proper formula proved a challenge, and the results were indeed astronomical. One would have a better chance of being struck by lightning—twice—than having a bird fall out of the sky and land at one’s feet. But what other explanation could there be? Yes, the bird must have been sickly. It had been Ollie’s misfortune that it died that day, at that moment.
Yes, such a rare occurrence.
Mrs. Smith, the school’s cook, had her own ideas about the dead crow. And she had no problem sharing those ideas with anyone who would listen…except for the headmaster, of course. “This place, this school is cursed, Mr. McCandlish. It was cursed long before they built this fine building here. The very grounds we walk on are cursed.”
I laughed a little and took a green apple from the wooden bowl on the counter. “Yet you work here, dear. What makes you say such a thing, Mrs. Smith?”
“Work here, yes. Live here, no. Never. You couldn’t pay me enough copper for that. Everyone knows about the October People. This was their land before it went to the Leaf Academy.”
I laughed again, trying to cheer her and myself. Why the mention of the October People should chill me to the bone, I did not understand. Perhaps she was just upset that the school was closed for the fall holiday? I could not think of a reason she would speak so darkly about a local legend.
“The October People? That sounds like a fantastic tale. And what is the difference? If the place were cursed, it would matter little whether you worked here, lived here or only visited. I never knew that curses were so discerning, Mrs. Smith. I think you are having me on; a bit of laughter at the foreigner’s expense? I’ll have ye know that my own Nanna was a far better storyteller than you, madam. Besides, if you really believed this place cursed, you would na darken the doorway, would you?”
“There is a difference, and I would think you would know it. But it being your first semester here, maybe you don’t. Tell me, Mr. McCandlish, before you laugh me off, you don’t think it is strange, them shutting down the school for the entire month of October? It happens every year, and I can tell you why. We all know why. We leave for the month so The Others can come.” She crossed herself before continuing her peeling and cutting of the apples. Her helper, a young lady named Emma, did the same and scurried out with food scraps to take to the pigs. Apparently, Emma did not want to be a part of this conversation. Not in the least.
“Ah yes, the October People.”
“Mock me if you like. We all know about the crow, we down here in the kitchen. It is a sign. Mark my words—they are coming. Birds don’t just fall out of the sky, sir. No, they don’t. Be careful, Mr. McCandlish. Be very careful indeed.”
Mrs. Smith was always going on about spooks and haints of one sort or another, but I never put much stock in such ideas. There was nothing she could tell me that would be more frightening than my own grandmother’s knotted tales about the McCandlish ghosts that wandered the broken stones of the ancestral castle. I had never seen those venerated stones or any ghosts, and I took my Nanna’s and Mrs. Smith’s words for what they were, a way of keeping naughty boys in line. But I was no naughty child. I was a grown man and a long way from Scotland.
As nonchalantly as possible, I took a bite of the apple. “Come now, Mrs. Smith. I hope you do not repeat these things to the children. I daresay you may frighten a few of them.”
“Not all of them,” she said as she waved her shiny knife at the shadow in the doorway. It was Ollie LeFlore. He must have followed me to the kitchen, or he came seeking a treat. I sincerely hoped he had heard none of this conversation. I stole another apple from the bowl and ignored Mrs. Smith’s disapproving glance.
“All packed, Ollie?” I handed him the apple as we stepped out into the chilly corridor and left the warm kitchen behind. It was the last day of September,
too early in the year for truly cold weather, but I could feel the fingers of fall reaching toward us. I recognized autumn’s approach, and the chilliness threatened to permeate my old bones. Unlike the headmaster, Mr. Mitchell, I did not mind the heat of the North American South at all. After nearly a lifetime in chilly northern Scotland, the warm temperatures of Alabama were a boon to my body and my soul. It was always easier to get up in the morning here.
“What’s on your mind, then? Out with it. I’ll have none of yer sulking.”
“No one is coming for me.”
I paused mid-bite and squatted down in front of the small boy with the dark eyes and quivering lips. I could see he had been crying, which was very unusual for him. Very unusual indeed. “What do you mean? You mean none of your family are coming today? Ach, na, lad. Surely they will be here tomorrow. They have only been delayed.”
“No.” He clutched the apple, and a shadow passed over his face. I turned to see the headmaster standing behind me.
“There you are, Mr. McCandlish. I had hoped to find you before I left. We have a bit of a problem, sir. If you will come with me.”
I glanced at Ollie, whose expression never changed. I offered him my hand, but he did not take it. The three of us walked into the headmaster’s office, and I took a seat on the bench across his desk as he closed the door. Ollie lingered at my shoulder as if I were his protector. Had he been up to something naughty?
“Troubling news, Mr. McCandlish. I hear you plan to stay here at the Leaf Academy instead of taking your holiday off campus. Surely you remember that this is against the rules. There is to be no one here for the month of October.” I tossed the apple in the nearby trash can. It made an unusually heavy, dull thump as it landed, like a cannonball dropping to the ground. “This puts me in a very bad position, I am afraid. We have a very strict rule here—everyone, without exception, leaves for the fall holiday, Mr. McCandlish. It is tradition, and more than that, it is a requirement. It says so in your contract.”
I glanced over at Ollie standing by the door. It made me sick to see Mr. Mitchell ignore him so, but that was his way. Mr. Mitchell was headmaster, true enough, but he never interacted with the children except to administer discipline or distribute awards at our quarterly events. “But surely the academy can make an exception this time. Ollie has just told me—no, don’t sulk, lad. He has just told me that no one is coming to pick him up. He is quite alone, sir.” I swallowed at my excuse. Of course, I’d had no such excuse before a few minutes ago and I had planned to stay here at the Leaf Academy before I knew Ollie was in need, but that was beside the point now.
Mr. Mitchell stroked his slightly over-greased mustache as he thought about my plea. “You say a boy is in need?” The headmaster paled but still did not acknowledge Ollie at all.
“Yes, come, Ollie. Come tell the headmaster what you told me.” The boy walked over, his hands by his sides, his head down. “Speak up now. Don’t be shy, lad.”
“No one is coming for me,” Ollie said without looking up. His dark hair hung in his eyes. I would have to see that he got a haircut and soon. The headmaster would certainly complain about the length. No fops here, boys. No fops at the Leaf Academy.
Mr. Mitchell shot up like an arrow being released from a bow. He moved so quickly that I jumped up too. What was going on here?
The headmaster was visibly shaken at the news but offered no solace to young LeFlore. “There will be no staff here, Mr. McCandlish. No one to cook, clean or tend to your needs. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. I daresay there is room at the Yellow Rose Hotel; that is the closest place. It would be better for you to stay there.” Ollie began to cry, and the apple fell from his hand and hit the ground with a plunk. Mitchell’s knuckles whitened as he moved behind his chair and clutched the leather back.
“There now, lad. We will figure this out. I am sorry about your family, Ollie. Putting the boy up in a hotel seems a bit risky. He is only a child, Mr. Mitchell. Surely he could spend his holiday with one of us. We could write to his father and ask his permission.”
“There is no time for that. Tomorrow is the first of October. Nobody stays here in October. In fact, the staff is leaving tonight after supper. If you stay here, McCandlish, I want you to understand that you will be alone. Quite alone for the entire month.”
I was a grown man and could tend to myself, and I welcomed the silence. I had books to read, and there was an interesting star alignment predicted for the middle of the month. I had spent a month’s pay on the proper telescope and equipment. I planned to map and record the entire three-day event. But this unexpected turn of events threatened to force my hand. Should I confess to the headmaster what I had planned? No, he did not seem to care now.
“I assure you I will be fine, Mr. Mitchell. I cannot in good conscience leave the Leaf Academy with Ollie’s future so uncertain. I will remain until someone comes for him. Surely, you can understand the need here.”
“On your own head be it then, Mr. McCandlish.” He grimaced as he leaned forward, his pen in hand. “As headmaster of the Leaf Academy, I grudgingly give you permission to remain for the holiday. You are a good man, McCandlish, perhaps too good.”
“Thank you, Headmaster. I shall do my best to keep Ollie occupied until his parents arrive.”
“And then you will leave. No lingering about, McCandlish.”
“I will absolutely not linger about, Mr. Mitchell,” I lied quite easily. “Thank you, sir. Come, Ollie.”
We left the headmaster behind and walked down the narrow hall that led to the two staircases, one to the teachers’ wing and the other to the students’ dormitory. The place was already as quiet as a church. There was no laughter, no shuffling of books or scraping of chairs. Hardly any noise at all.
“Ollie, bring your things to my room. You know where it is, don’t you? It’s the last door on the left, down the hall there. You can bunk with me. We will be like two friends spending the holiday together.”
“We aren’t leaving? What will we do when The Others come? They won’t like that we are here.”
I smiled up at the boy as I squatted down in front of him and he rubbed his red nose with his coat sleeve. “What do you know about the October People? Have you been listening to Mrs. Smith and her stories? It’s all rubbish, lad. I don’t know exactly what our plans will be, but we will be together. I promise you that. I won’t leave you. I will just have to keep you entertained until your parents can retrieve you.”
In a surprising gesture, Ollie put his arms around my neck. He hugged me but then released me quickly, running down the hall to fetch his undoubtedly meager things. I felt a shiver at my shoulder. I glanced behind me, but there was no one. Not even a shadow on the wall.
Jumping at shadows now, are we? Too many of Mrs. Smith’s stories, McCandlish.
No, it wasn’t that. It was something the boy said that gave me the goose-willies.
They won’t like that we are here…
Humming quietly to myself, I walked to my room and began rearranging furniture. Surely there was enough room to drag a cot into my quarters. We would make it comfortable and cozy. It would be perfect. I wouldn’t be lonely, and Ollie was quiet enough. He might enjoy studying the stars too.
What will we do when The Others come?
And what would Mrs. Smith say when she discovered we stayed the entire month and there were no Others? No October People. No curse. I smiled at that idea. I was one to enjoy disproving such things. See, Nanna? It was only the wind blowing the curtains. No high spirits here. And I had been looking for a new subject to study. Why not something like this? I could imagine the headlines now.
Local Teacher Puts Local Legend to Rest
Or better still…
Tenured Professor Debunks Local Legend
Surely they would offer me tenure for such an achievement. Yes, that’s exactly what I would do. Ollie and I together. And when it was over, we would have a good laugh together, the lad and I.
A s
hadow crossed my door. I thought perhaps it was the headmaster or Ollie returned with his suitcase, but there was no one there. No one at all. I stepped out into the hallway and glanced around. No, there was nothing to see.
Just a black feather. Surprised to find it, I picked it up and laid it on my desk. Better still, I should hide it. No reason to upset the boy. I opened a drawer and squirreled it away for closer inspection later.
As I closed the drawer, Ollie stepped into the room, a looming shadow behind him. But when I blinked, the shadow vanished and only the smiling boy remained.
“Come inside, Ollie. Close the door. All is well now.”
The door closed with a creak.
Chapter One—Jocelyn Graves
Mobile, Alabama, Today
“You know how much I enjoy working with you—the whole Gulf Coast Paranormal team—but I can’t commit to another team investigation right now. That last investigation was one I will never forget, but I’ve got something I have to take care of first, Midas.” I pretended I didn’t notice his sigh of exasperation echoing through the phone.
Don’t feel bad, my friend. I have that effect on people. Just ask anyone who knows me.
Aaron, Gulf Coast Paranormal’s newest team member and all-around sexy dude, knew all about how frustrating I could be, and it wasn’t that I was playing hard to get. I liked Aaron, but I wasn’t one to be ruled by my heart—or my hormones. If Aaron really wanted to know more about me, he could just ask Pete. If Pete wasn’t still running from the Dogman. I couldn’t believe he’d left us in the middle of an investigation, but there was no denying it. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might not have believed it. Yep, he took the van and left us high and dry. Granted, he came back a few minutes later—I mean, apparently even Peter Broadus had a conscience—but the fact was he’d left us. If I ever had doubts about whether breaking up with him had been the right thing to do, I didn’t anymore. Totally the right thing. But I never second-guessed myself, not concerning matters of the heart. There was too much to see, too much to do in this great big world to settle down with someone who was anything less than amazing.
The October People (Gulf Coast Paranormal Extra Book 1) Page 1
