The October People (Gulf Coast Paranormal Extra Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

  I took pictures of the book, inside and out. Then I reached inside the box and took out the next book. It was dusty with a worn fabric cover. “Journal” was written on the front cover in faded letters. There was handwriting inside, but it was too faded to read without proper lighting. I checked out the other books too. Just some school books, academic studies, nothing helpful at all. But this journal, it might give me some clues about the children and teachers here, many of whom called this place home for a time. I picked up the book and headed back to the hallway.

  “If you brought me here to find this book, thank you. I am staying at the end of the hall if you want to visit me. But no touching. I will be waiting.”

  I walked back to my room anxious to examine the book. There were no more strange shadow formations, no more footsteps. Things had gotten quiet, and this would be a good time to catch forty winks. As I entered the room, I closed the door behind me again. Although I meant what I said about being open to visits, I liked to set boundaries early on. It was the same for the living and the dead with me. You could come this close but not much closer. For some reason, I thought about Sherman. I missed him. Missed hearing his toenails clicking on the floor. Missed hearing him huff as he flopped down beside me.

  Huh, I do miss him. Wow, that’s a first.

  “I’m in here if you want to talk to me, but please knock, okay?” I sat on my cot and took off my shoes but kept them close and left my socks on. It was too grungy in here to have any part of my body exposed to the elements or these surfaces. Before I dug into my newfound journal, I flipped through my own scrapbook. I’d been gathering stories about this place for months. First about the murder in 1937, the poor schoolteacher killed on the bottom floor. Then the second murder a few years later, similar to the first. Another teacher stabbed to death in his room in 1942. They found the body of a maintenance man hanging from a beam in the kitchen in 1950. Someone tried to open this place in the late seventies as a kind of local museum, but that hadn’t worked out…no murders had been reported, just a suspicious death, but I couldn’t get the man’s name.

  People believed that this place was cursed because the deaths all happened in October. And there was a fabulous legend about the October People. If you believed the stories, a ghostly swarm invaded this place during the month of October, but I didn’t really believe that. What kind of ghost keeps up with the calendar? And why this particular month? Why not December? Yeah, spooky story, but it couldn’t be true. Could it? It was October now…

  Way to go, Jocelyn. Give yourself the heebie-jeebies before your nap. You’ll be dead tired later. I snacked on a protein bar and picked up the old journal. With a flashlight, I scrutinized the name scribbled on the front page.

  Oh my goodness! I recognized that name. This journal belonged to Moriah Mitchell, a former headmaster of the Leaf Academy. He was a man who by all accounts ruled with an iron fist and who went on to teach at one of the universities in Florida. He was here for the first murder. I couldn’t wait to read what he had to say about this place. But as I strained to see the writing and blinked at the tiny script, I grew tired.

  And sleep came far too easily.

  Chapter Six—Jocelyn

  I must have been dreaming about something crazy because I woke up in a cold sweat and my room was ice cold. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since I fell asleep. I slung back the sleeping bag. My watch was vibrating on my wrist; I loved the alarm app on this thing. Yep, it was a quarter past ten. Time to do the work. I sipped on some water, but not too much. There were no working “facilities” in this place, so if I did have to go, it would be in the woods. Yeah, I planned on holding it until the sun came up, so sipping, no downing a whole bottle.

  The wood popped a few times, which I chalked up to old boards contracting from the colder temperatures. That happened in old buildings like this one. The façade and columns were brick, but inside this place was wood and more wood from wall panels to floors. Almost every step you took, the floor creaked beneath you. And as I swapped out batteries in the camera in the hallway, I paused to listen. I didn’t detect any sounds, but the place had an “opening night” feel to it. Like there were many people outside the building just dying to get in.

  Great terminology, girl.

  And I knew all about opening night. I had been a drama major before I fell in love with photography. I always got cast in the strangest roles. I played La Sorcière Blanche in some play with a title that escaped my memory now. Later I played the Cowardly Lion in an all-female production of The Oz Story, which I loved. Those were the two most memorable, but I had been on stage at least a dozen times in various roles, and that’s what tonight reminded me of. Not because I would be investigating the auditorium either. That couldn’t be it. No, it was something else. Opening nights came with a strange kind of excitement, like what I was feeling now.

  Yeah, you’re a weirdo, Jocelyn.

  I swapped out the digital cards in the cameras and replaced them with fresh ones, just in case I needed the digital space. I would hate to miss anything. I’d walked this floor already and planned to do so again, but now it was time to target the auditorium. I would set this rig up in there. It had a handy setting that would snap photos only if something moved. I tapped on the screen and set it for the highest sensitivity setting too. That way, any change in light patterns or shadow patterns would trigger the camera. I had a K2 on my hip, along with an audio recorder in my pocket, and my handheld camera dangled from the strap around my neck. My dreads felt itchy and I needed a shower, but hey, this was the life, right?

  I shuffled down the stairs and to my amazement heard a few notes of piano music, but it only lasted a moment. Was there a piano on this floor? It was certainly possible. I hadn’t walked through the auditorium yet, and that would be an obvious location for such an instrument. The K2 on my hip began to bleep as I cleared the last step. I stood in the foyer now, near the headmaster’s office. To my right was a long corridor and the auditorium; to my left were presumably just classrooms. No time like the present. I set the camera and tripod case down and waved the K2 smoothly at waist height. Point two, point seven…wow! What a jump! It was high to my left and normal to my right. I decided to put off my auditorium visit and follow this surge to see where it would lead me. I reached for my digital recorder and clicked it on.

  “Hey, is that you? My name is Jocelyn. What is your name?”

  Name…

  I gulped at the sound of a deep, gruff voice that I could plainly hear with my own ears. Was it mocking me?

  “I said, what is your name?”

  Said…

  “Is that all you can do? Is that how you get your kicks, mocking people?” I frowned as the K2 went still. Nothing now. I walked a few feet farther down the hall, but it was useless. No spikes now. Dead as a doornail.

  “Hey, where did you go? You could at least tell me your name.”

  Silence met me. With a sigh, I continued my walk down the dark corridor. Man, it was dark, like walking in a tunnel underground. I flicked on my flashlight so I could avoid tripping over random junk. In the foyer, light streamed in from the window over the landing. Here in this corridor, though, there seemed to be an absence of light. Very odd indeed.

  Most of the doors were open, so I peeked inside each room but didn’t detect a thing on the K2. I headed back to the foyer to gather my things and continue on my mission, but my tripod case was missing.

  “What the frick?” I said as I glanced around. Could I have dropped it off somewhere else? No, I knew for a fact I had it with me, along with the camera case. I set them both down here and then followed that spike and…

  Oh my God. How in the hell did that happen?

  I was looking down the opposite corridor, the one that led to the auditorium, and I could plainly see the tripod. It was out of its case and extended fully, just like I would have set it up if I had not been distracted by some mischievous spirit. I shoved the digital recorder in my pocket and gr
abbed my camera case. I couldn’t turn back now; someone was expecting me. I headed down the hall. Yeah, that was my tripod. Despite my curiosity, seeing my things moved without the help of human hands unsettled me. I remembered to control my breathing and reminded myself that this was why I had come here. I wanted to see this stuff, right?

  “Thank you,” I said to the air around me. “But let’s go in, shall we?” With clumsy hands, I opened the door and dragged my case and tripod inside. Man, the smell. It smelled like rot. Thankfully, not dead animal rot but certainly wood and leaves. And oh yeah, there was a hole in the wall and the ceiling. How did that happen? Was that a tree branch hanging down? This place sure needed some tender loving care. There were rows upon rows of theater chairs, all light-colored wood that must have been very fine once upon a time. Looking back at the door I just walked through, I was amazed at the sight of the massive doorframe surrounded by wide, dark wood panels. The ceiling was high, really high. I waved my flashlight around and immediately spotted a few small openings up there too. That was weird. The auditorium must extend out some because I was looking up at a starry sky, not the bottom of the top floor.

  Interesting.

  The walls were covered with moldy once-white plaster panels, and each of those was surrounded by yellowed wood that might have been painted gold. They were like neat boxes, or they would have been if the paint wasn’t flaking and the plaster wasn’t rotting off the walls. Looking ahead, I couldn’t see a clear path to the stage. Some of the chairs were overturned, another oddity since they were connected in clusters of six. Had someone turned over the entire row? No, make it three rows. I guess so. Who would do that? Vandals?

  “Hello?” I said more quietly than I’d intended. Don’t be timid, Jocelyn. You’d better show them who’s boss. “My name is Jocelyn Graves,” I said a bit more confidently. “I came to see you in the play. Are you performing tonight?” I stepped around the dumped-over chairs and found a space in the center aisle to place the tripod. I took the camera out of the case and set it up, double-checking the settings. Yep, still set to high sensitivity. I hit the wide-angle option to give myself a better shot at capturing anything that crossed that stage.

  “I hear you like to perform in the month of October, and I’m excited to see your show. I haven’t seen a good play in a while.” I waved the K2 around but got only a random blip or two. I kept rolling with the audio recorder. I would have liked to sit down to rest, but none of these chairs looked remotely clean. Instead, I paced the outer aisles hoping to get some action. I kept my eyes and my flashlight trained on the stage.

  “Hello? Why are you hiding? I can see you.”

  Peeking out from behind a faded crimson curtain, a pale face looked back at me, but only for the briefest of seconds. No! There he was again. It was the face of a boy! Okay, was I talking myself into seeing that, or did I actually see a ghost boy? To be fair, he did look similar to the boy I’d caught in the image upstairs.

  “Hello?” I said in a whisper, but he did not reappear. I carefully made my way to the stage.

  Chapter Seven—Hugh

  I woke up to a horrible sound. Someone was banging on my door. Furiously banging. No, that wasn’t it. It was my bed, my very own bed that was banging, shaking about as if some invisible giant had every intention of tossing me out of it. I screamed as I clung to the wobbly headboard and then everything got still.

  “Ollie!” I whispered once my heart began to beat at a steady rate again. How could the boy sleep through such an event? “Ollie, are you all right, lad?”

  I blindly reached for the lamp on the night table. I found the screw that flipped the light on and twisted it. Nothing. No light at all. Had the electrical service gone down? That would be no surprise; it was still raining from what I could hear, and the electrical often went out during rainstorms. There were no lights on in the hallway, I noted as I scurried to the door to open it. The floor was cold beneath my feet. I searched the boy’s cot, but it was empty. Where could he have gone? Had he heard or seen my bed shaking and fled the room in fear? What was happening here? I peered at my bed in the darkness as I rubbed my eyes; clearly, the bed was not resting in the spot it should be in. The footboard was almost a half-foot from the wall. I shoved it into place and slid my feet into my slippers as I pulled on my robe. There was certainly no heat; it was unbearably cold. Where could the boy have gone? To find a warm fireplace? One of Nanna’s sayings came to mind, but I did not have the heart to speak it aloud.

  Cold as the grave, Hugh. Cold as the grave, dear lad.

  Strange goings-on here at the Leaf Academy. Too strange. I checked under the bed briefly, but there was no obvious cause for the violence I had endured. I hurried out into the hallway in search of the boy. He was my responsibility after all. Poor, helpless boy. Imagine leaving him in the care of a stranger?

  “Ollie? Ollie LeFlore? Where are you hiding?”

  I heard footsteps walking down the staircase. “Ollie? Don’t make me chase you in the dark, young man. Ollie?”

  Then I heard the sounds of laughter and tinkling glass, as if someone were having a party on the bottom floor. Near the auditorium. No, the sounds were coming from inside the auditorium. And a piano played a lively tune, something sweet and familiar. What was that tune? I knew it but could not recall the name.

  As I stepped onto the bottom floor, the power must have been restored, for every light in the place came on. I gripped the newel post and held on while a wave of confusion struck me. I shook my head and rubbed my face with my hand. Yes, I was alive, but was I awake? I rubbed at my skin roughly to wake myself up. I could feel stubble on my face; I needed a shave. I was sweating and in need of a shower to refresh myself. A woman passed me wearing a long red dress and carrying a slender red rose in her hand. She looked so familiar, but I could not place her. Was there a party going on here? Was that why the headmaster had been so insistent that I leave?

  Perhaps this was the true reason for the dismissal of the staff for a month. Merrymaking. But who were these people? Yes, there were many people here; they were filing in through the open doors of the academy. And they all knew me, for many of them greeted me. An older woman in a black and gray dress purred my name as she passed me on her way into the auditorium. She too was familiar. A swell of music indicated that the performance was about to begin. Someone said my name again.

  Hugh McCandlish! Come sit with me.

  The woman in red appeared in the doorway. She wiggled her finger at me as if to summon me to her, but I could not see her face and was not willing to obey her. Emma? The kitchen girl?

  “What is all this?” I asked, feeling embarrassed to be walking through the middle of a fine party in my pajamas and robe. What would they think? Why was I here again? Oh, yes. Ollie. The poor lad. I had to find him.

  “Leave him to us,” a man said. He was about as tall as me but with long, jet-black hair, and he wore strange garb.

  Was I going mad? No, that’s not it. I know who I am and where I am. I am not mad. I am Hugh McCandlish. I am a teacher here, and this is the Leaf Academy. But where was Ollie?

  “Leave him with us. He belongs with us,” the man said again as he bumped my shoulder with his. He shoved me hard and walked into the auditorium. Was that a threat? Was this stranger threatening me?

  Others began to appear in the hallway. I could see them now, yes. I could see them very clearly. A very thin woman, with her hair in two long braids over her shoulders. She looked very much like Mrs. Smith, but certainly that could not be. Was this a costume party? She wore a deerskin dress and leggings. She was whispering words I could not understand; she was speaking a different language! Oh, dear. I was not proficient with languages at all.

  “I don’t understand you. Speak slower, perhaps.” But she walked away and headed to the auditorium. And that’s when I heard him scream.

  Ollie was screaming my name.

  I ran as fast as I could into the auditorium, but my hasty pursuit of Ollie was delayed
when the place went black. It was so black I could not see my hand in front of my face. The lights were gone again, but no, that couldn’t be right. I could see the many faces around me. They glowed slightly in the darkness; they were not like before, real people with friendly expressions. The absence of light revealed their true nature; they were surely not of this world. The October People!

  And they all hated me. They wanted me to die!

  I ran past them into the auditorium screaming Ollie’s name. The stage was empty except for the little boy curled into a ball in the center of it. His hair was mussed, the dark strands covering his face, and he was heaving as if he had been crying for a long while.

  “Hush, now. I have you, Ollie.” I pulled the boy close and collected him quickly as he shivered in my arms. Poor child. What was going on in this place? I hesitated on the stage wondering whether to go left or right or what to do. From somewhere in the darkness, I heard a man clapping; yes, it had to be a man’s hands. They were loud, and then many hands were clapping. The sound was thunderous. And then silence. I raced from the auditorium as lightning filled the hall with a strange blue light. The faces vanished, and I began to cry as I ran with Ollie in my arms, his head on my chest. He was crying too.

  We would leave this place come morning, as soon as we could navigate the road. Perhaps the rain would stop by then. We would leave the Leaf Academy and never come back. This place truly was cursed; it was the home of the damned. Mrs. Smith had been right all along, but then again, she was one of them.

  This place belonged to the October People—it had always been theirs.

  I hurried down the long corridor and raced to my room, holding Ollie as he wept. I lied to him, “It will be all right, lad. It will be all right. We will leave this place when the sun comes up. I promise you. I do so promise. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” he sniffled, but he did not let me go. I did not have the heart to ask him what happened. How did he end up in the auditorium? What devil had led him there and why? Some questions need not be asked or answered. There would be time for that later. Yes, later. At least it had stopped raining.