A Ghostly Twist

by Carla Solomon

  Chapter 18

  “That’s impossible. Isn’t it?” Eliza asked, looking around the group for support.

  “Is it?” Will asked, leaning forward. “There was no storm predicted for today even though we have all kinds of radar and satellites. How crazy is that?” He pointed to the now dark windows where the storm continued to crash and rumble. “Something changed to make it happen, and maybe it was all of us coming together.”

  Rocky pushed back a bit from the group. “And who would be making it happen? Ghosts?”

  Sam turned towards Rocky. “Aren’t you the same guy who suggested I should figure out how to talk to the ghosts because they know where the treasure is?”

  Rocky’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

  “What?” Eliza teased. “Neither your mama or gramma have a saying about ghosts?”

  Rocky swallowed and found his voice. “Probably, but mostly, they just say not to bother them.”

  “I think it’s too late for that advice. I think they’re in control now,” Sam said.

  Will cleared his throat. “There’s something else I didn’t tell you. I don’t usually mess with Mr. Henley and his ridiculous tour groups. But something,” he said turning and nodding at Sam, “Or someone, or something, made me want to go down to the beach and tell you the tale of the Dragonfly.”

  No one spoke. Outside, gusts of wind pushed and pulled at the window panes. Pine cones hurled through the air and crashed into the building while tree branches raked across the windows like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  Finally, Rocky spoke up. “You know, Sam and Will might be on to something. I’ve seen some wild storms in Texas, but not a one of them felt like this one.”

  “Eliza? Libby?” Sam asked hopefully.

  “It’s weird how the storm came up so fast,” Eliza said, looking at Sam. “You have a pretty good track record at being right. So…even though you haven’t got any real facts to go by, I’ll go along with your crazy idea.”

  Libby nodded in agreement.

  Sam surveyed the group: the cowboy, the storyteller, and the Southern belles all agreeing to follow the geek. It was nearly as unbelievable as the existence of ghosts. “Okay,” he said taking a deep breath. “Now that we’ve agreed that the ghosts are bringing back the Dragonfly, we need to know why.”

  “From what I’ve read, ghosts hang around because they want something finished or made right,” Libby said.

  “Maybe Captain Stover wants to clear the family name,” Will said.

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “But to do that we need to know who really sent the Dragonfly out from Wilmington and into the storm,” Will said.

  “Maybe we need to focus on the why instead of the who,” Sam suggested. “Whoever sent the Dragonfly out was risking everything and everyone on that ship, so it had to be for a good reason.”

  “What seems like a good reason to you, might not seem like a good reason to me,” Eliza pointed out. “Not everyone has the same priorities. Someone like Harold wouldn’t care about the crew at all.”

  “It’s logical that it was Harold since he was in Wilmington at the time,” Sam said. “He would have needed a fast horse to arrive in Safe Harbor at about the same time the Dragonfly did.”

  “But why would Harold risk losing all the treasure? Why would he need money so badly? Wasn’t H & H Shipping Company doing well?” Libby asked.

  “Harold’s house sure looked mighty fine for someone struggling with money,” Rocky said. “But then lots of folks spend more than they have nowadays. Maybe he did too.”

  “That’s just it. There’s no proof it was Harold,” Will said, his gaze shifting to the floor. When he spoke again it was more of a whisper. “Maybe it really was Captain Stover.”

  “No,” Sam said. “I don’t think so. I think we can be sure Harold was up to no good. First, we have the article stating that no one from town went to his funeral. Second, we have word-of-mouth from Mr. Wellbottom’s great-great grandmother that he was a cruel employer. Lastly, and I’m not usually confident about feelings, but the vibe we all felt from the portrait in the library makes me believe he was a heartless man, right down to his core.”

  Eliza shivered. “You’ve got that right.”

  “Then there’s the unnatural wind at Henry’s house. There was none of that at the Stover house,” Sam added. “I believe Captain Stover is in the clear.”

  Will looked up and smiled. “It’s nice to have someone on my side for a change.”

  “Back to that there crazy wind,” Rocky said. “Just what do you think it is?”

  Sam hesitated. “It is a type of energy—ghostly energy,” Sam said, looking as Eliza. “We just can’t prove it because we don’t know how to see it yet.”

  An extra strong gust of wind rattled the windows and they all pulled their sleeping bags tighter around them.

  “I think you’re right,” Eliza said. “I also think there’s more than one unhappy ghost around here.”

  “It sure seems like it. I wonder who they are and what they’re unhappy about,” Libby said.

  “Logically, it would be Henry and Harold at the house, since they both died in that structure,” Sam said.

  “That would be like the good guy fighting the bad guy,” Libby added.

  “Maybe they’re fighting about the treasure!” Rocky suggested.

  “Maybe,” Sam started, not wanting to dissuade Rocky from helping. The wind whistled around them giving Sam a moment to think. “Maybe what we need to do first is figure out when the wind started.”

  “When?” Will asked.

  “The crazy wind didn’t start right after Henry died,” Sam said.

  “How do you know that?” Libby asked.

  “Because the wind wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper article about Henry’s wake. It only mentioned who attended, what people said, and the food.”

  “That’s right,” Will said. “It was after finding Harold dead that they said it looked like a storm had blown through the room.”

  “And Betty said that Rebecca wasn’t comfortable staying at the house. That’s why she moved in with Genny,” Eliza added.

  “Hey,” Rocky said. “Speaking of articles, did you find the one about the shipwreck?”

  Sam got his pants from the fireplace and pulled out a soggy piece of paper. “It’s no use. The print is too blurred to read.”

  “Now what?” Eliza asked.

  “What time is it?” Sam asked.

  “What does it matter?” Libby asked.

  “Because if Mrs. Wilson already went home,” Sam said, unzipping one of the pockets of his backpack and pulling out his flash drive, “I can sneak into the office and print it out again.” Sam walked to the connecting door to the office and leaned over to check for light. “It looks dark,” he said, turning the knob and pushing the door open, only to have it stop after a few inches.

  “Drat! She’s got one of those chains on it.”

  Libby walked over to the door. “Move out of the way. These skinny arms of mine are just what you need.” She guided her arm through the narrow space between the door and the frame and easily slipped off the chain. It a few minutes Sam was back with the printed articles.

  “Thanks to Libby, we might have some more clues,” Sam said, handing each one a copy before settling back into his sleeping bag. “The article on top was in the newspaper printed on August 27th. It’s an editorial column, so it’s just someone’s opinion, but it should give us an idea of what people were thinking about the shipwreck.”

  “SAFE HARBOR MOURNS LOSS OF MEN AND SHIP

  On August 16, 1799, the flagship Dragonfly was lost to us. The mightiest storm this area has ever seen forced the graceful hull of the Dragonfly onto the Safe Harbor sandbar. Of how she came to her misfortune we cannot have any account, as the finest sh
ip to come from Humbolt shipping has gone to the bottom with no single soul saved from all on board. Many families have been sent into mourning for the lads and men who were taken from them.

  It is known that Captain Stover set sail from Wilmington on Thursday August 15th after a successful attack on a French frigate. It is believed he hoped to reach Safe Harbor before the storm, but instead, the Dragonfly was caught up in it just a few miles from home.

  Ships bells were heard near five in the morning. By noon, there was nothing left of the ship nor the brave men who sailed her. Mr. Henry Humbolt struggled alongside the rescue crew, risking peril to himself by assisting others. He succeeded in pulling his son-in-law Bartholomew Stover to shore, only to have him die in the arms of his beloved wife, Genevieve Humbolt Stover. Mr. Stover’s body was taken to his home on King Street.

  An unconscious Mr. Humbolt was carried back to his home on Bay Street, where he was attended to by his wife, Mrs. Rebecca Humbolt. Mr. Harold Humbolt remained at the seaside.

  Father Avery held a prayer and blessing service on the beach on August 17th for all those souls lost whose bodies had not been found. All the town attended.

  “So Harold stayed on the beach?” Will asked. “I bet he was looking for treasure, not survivors.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he even helped his own brother,” Libby said.

  “Will,” Eliza said turning towards him. “I’ve been thinking about something. When you told us the tale of the Dragonfly, you said both Bart and Henry’s last words were to tell their wives to keep their treasure safe, right?”

  “That’s right,” Will said. “Those are the exact words Mr. Wellbottom used when he told me the tale as a kid.”

  “Didn’t Rebecca write something similar in the note she left in the box we saw at the museum?” Libby asked.

  “Yes,” Eliza replied. “And I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Rebecca and Henry don’t seem like the gold-and-silver kind of treasure people. I mean their house was modest looking, and I’m sure she could have afforded something more expensive than a wooden box for their anniversary if she’d wanted to.”

  Sam watched in amazement as Eliza methodically worked her way through the problem.

  “So, I’m wondering what kind of treasure they were talking about when they said to ‘keep our treasure safe’,” Eliza said.

  “Wait. Say that again,” Sam asked.

  “Say what?”

  “The exact quote the men said.”

  “It was ‘keep our treasure safe.’ Right Libby?” Eliza asked.

  “That’s right,” Rocky said, jumping in. “I know because anytime someone says something with the word ‘treasure’ in it, I pay right close attention.”

  Sam nodded. “Wait a minute. All the accounts we’ve found specifically say our treasure. If they were talking about the treasure on the ship, I think they would have said the treasure.”

  “That’s where those smarts of yours come into play. I would have never noticed that.”

  “I always thought it was weird that Henry and Bart’s last words were so much like the note from Rebecca.” Will said. “Do you think the treasure they were talking about was something more personal?”

  “Maybe there’s more information in here,” Eliza suggested, looking over the printouts again. “What about the ads on this other page?”

  Sam hadn’t given a second thought to the ads he’d captured alongside the articles he’d downloaded. He’d been in too much of a rush to finish before the librarian came back.

  “Here’s something about an auction at 5 Regency Street on August 30th,” Eliza read. “All items to be sold to pay debts.’”

  “Hey that’s the library’s address!” Will said.

  “And the library used to be Harold’s house,” Rocky said. “So Harold did owe money to someone.”

  “Since the paper said the auction was for all items, it must have been a lot of money,” Will said.

  “I guess that’s why they were in a hurry to get it back,” Sam said. “The auction was scheduled very shortly after his death.”

  “You mean Harold sent the Dragonfly out into the storm and risked all those lives, just to pay off his debts?” Libby asked.

  “Why didn’t he just bring some treasure home when he was in Charleston?” Eliza asked.

  The group thought for a while.

  “In the movies, if you don’t pay the whole thing, it’s like you paid nothing,” Rocky said. “Maybe he couldn’t carry enough to pay everything off.”

  Stray raindrops sizzled on the fire and the ever-strengthening wind blew the front door open, slamming it against the wall.

  Chapter 19

  Rocky scrambled out of his sleeping bag and forced the door shut, pulling a chair over to secure the handle. “Well I’ll be,” Rocky said, staring at the door. “Mama says, when Mother Nature, or spirits, or whatever you believe in, sends you a message, you need to listen. My head might be saying I’m crazy, but my gut’s saying Sam’s right. This storm is a pretty strong message that the ghosts are tired of waiting and want the truth to come out.”

  “There’s research suggesting decisions made by gut feelings may be more useful in some situations than those made by the conscious process,” Sam said.

  “You just never run out of facts, do you?” Rocky asked.

  “If this is some kind of supernatural storm, what are we supposed to do next?” Eliza said looking at Sam. “What’s your gut telling you?”

  “That’s the problem,” Sam said. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Rocky put a few more logs on the fire. “That’s not a problem. Not as long as we work together,” he said looking around. “Agreed?”

  Not even one second lapsed before Libby, Eliza, and Will shouted, “Agreed!”

  “Now,” Rocky continued, “It seems to me that all this has to do with the Dragonfly, so maybe we have to wait for her to make the next move.”

  “If this is the same storm that sank the Dragonfly, then her bells will start tolling in about six hours,” Will said.

  “We need to get some sleep while we can,” Eliza said.

  “I’m not sure I can sleep with all this crazy talk of ghosts,” Libby said. “Isn’t anyone else freaked out by this?”

  “I am,” Sam admitted. “But like Rocky said, we’re all in this together.”

  Long after they’d said good night, Sam still lay awake, wondering if they would really hear the Dragonfly’s bells or if he was imagining the whole thing. Then he felt something pulling him, gathering strength like the wind outside. And just like that wind, it was uncatchable and unstoppable. He tried to relax and let whatever the force was take the lead.

  Gradually, the warm sleeping bag melted away, replaced by a hard wet surface that rolled violently up, down, and sideways. A heavy rain drenched Sam’s face while a fierce wind pummeled him. He mentally struggled to his feet and a familiar shoreline emerged through the sheets of rain. In that instant, he knew exactly where he was. He was aboard the Dragonfly.

  The clang, clang of the ship’s bells echoed in his ears and the ship heaved and pitched wildly, hitting the sandbar with a mighty thud. Men screamed all around him. “That Shabbaroon Harold Humbolt! May you hang in chains for what you have done to us!”

  Sam felt the ship smack onto the sandbar again and he heard the frightening sound of the ship’s hull breaking beneath him. He heard Captain Stover yell to his crew, “Save yourselves, men. She’s lost! She’s lost!” Then he turned to his son, Bart. “Go my son. Go.”

  Bart hesitated just a moment before he scrambled towards a lifeboat. “Help me let loose the ties,” he shouted to an older sailor as he grappled with the wet ropes.

  “You’ll not make it ashore, mate. The sea’s too rough for such a small craft.”

  “I’ll take my chances. I have to see my Genny
again or die tryin’.”

  Sam watched Bart free the lifeboat and launch into the tumultuous sea. The tiny boat rose on the giant waves, only to disappear quickly into the valleys.

  All around Sam, men were going for the lifeboats or jumping overboard. They shouted and yelled to each other and Sam realized they sounded like the voices he’d heard while snorkeling. There were other voices calling him, too. It seemed like they were trying to pull him away from the ship and the storm. He fought against them, trying to stay on board and learn more about what happened, but the voices were relentless. The thunderous storm faded away until all he heard were the other voices.

  “Sam! Wake up. It’s okay! Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

  It took Sam a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t on the Dragonfly anymore and that the voices he’d heard weren’t ghostly. They were the voices of his friends. Sam opened his eyes to find Rocky, Eliza, Libby and Will gathered around his sleeping bag. He was soaking wet but from sweat, not rain. The pounding in his ears faded, his breathing slowed, and the rocking ship deck beneath him returned to the hard floor. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “It’s 5 a.m.,” Rocky said. “The ship’s bells woke us up. Are you okay?”

  Sam nodded. “And I know what I have to do next. I don’t know why, but I have to go down to the beach where the Dragonfly wrecked.” He looked up at Will. “And so does Will.”

  Will nodded, accepting Sam’s statement without question.

  “Hey! You’re not leaving me behind,” Rocky said. “

  “What about us?” Libby asked.

  “I’m not sure what we’re walking into,” Sam said. “I’d feel safer if you two stayed here.”

  Eliza opened her mouth to argue, but Sam continued.