Today, people were strolling the sidewalks of the newly renovated downtown shops. I was usually at work by this time, so I rarely got to see such sights. Then I spied Mrs. Peterson sitting on her balcony just below me. I poked my head back inside before she struck up a conversation with me.
Mrs. Peterson never missed an occasion to make small talk, and that small talk usually became gossip she had to share with the other building residents. Like the time she received a package for me by mistake. She signed for it so I suppose she thought she should open it. She’d been completely surprised by the miniature replica statue of Michelangelo’s David. I tried to politely explain to her that I was an artist and wanted it for my small but growing sculpture replica collection. As if she didn’t know by now that I was an artist—I’d dragged up a few dozen blank canvases during my stay here.
And my ex-boyfriend hadn’t helped at all. I think he took joy in shocking her every chance he got. At first, I found his antics amusing. He’d break out in song at the park and serenade me. Other times he’d get on one knee and ask me to marry him. I never took him seriously and made him get up immediately. On the plus side, Mike brought me out of myself. He encouraged me to live life, not dwell in darkness—and after Kylie’s disappearance that’s all I wanted to do. I trusted no one. For a long time I thought every stranger was a criminal. Yeah, in that way, Mike was good for me.
But then he’d do stupid things like step out into the hall in his underwear to get the paper or insist on calling the neighbors by the wrong name, including Mrs. Peterson. Every time he saw her he shouted, “Good morning, Mrs. Pervertson.” He embarrassed me to no end, and when I’d finally reached my tipping point with him, I was done. Now he was gone and I was left with a perpetually angry neighbor.
I stuffed a zippered tote bag with soiled clothing, including underwear, my favorite blue jeans and my coziest pajamas. Yes, this should get me through the day.
I could have just waited until the power came back on, but I needed a reason to get out of here. No sense in hanging out in the loft all day moping over my lost job. I walked to the elevator and remembered the power was out. Duh, Cassidy. Well, I needed the exercise too. This would make a good start for my marathon training. I peeked down the dark stairwell, my least favorite place in the building. Sure, there were lights in here, but it never seemed to be enough light and they were unreliable. And when I was in here, which wasn’t often, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in a tomb.
“Get it together,” I mumbled to myself as I heard the heavy door click behind me. I patted my pocket. Yep. I had my key. I began my trek downstairs and thought about my students. It was almost lunchtime; I knew what the kids would be doing. This would be the fifth-grade class, my loudest, most boisterous group. They’d whine and work deals with me, trying to get me to let them line up for lunch a few minutes early. As if that meant they would get to eat early. Most of the time I gave in. We’d cut the class short by ten minutes, clean up our mess and head to the cafeteria.
My kids. My heart hurt knowing I wouldn’t see them again.
A few minutes later I was out of the building and almost at the Laundromat.
I sighed and hoped whoever they hired to take my place had some patience. These were good kids. They just needed someone to help them draw out their creativity. Desiree was right. I was letting them down by missing class, and I’d let her down. I hated that because she’d been nothing but kind to me. My one last true friend. But how could I tell her the truth?
Hey, you know how I see things that aren’t there and compulsively paint them? Yeah, that’s happening again.
Only Mike knew my secret, and it freaked him out. But then again, he was a selfish bastard. Desiree knew part of my story; she knew about Kylie and her disappearance. We’d met at a restaurant. She’d overheard me telling Mike about my latest painting, and Desiree politely asked if I’d be interested in helping her develop an art program for the school. I’d said yes almost immediately and had been working at the Plesser Academy not long after that.
Maybe I would wait a few days and then go visit Desiree to apologize in person. If there was any way I could keep that relationship, I wanted to. Once Mike was out of the picture, all our mutual “friends” had sided with him during our breakup, and I had thrown myself into work.
Despite my growing disappointment with myself, I tried looking on the bright side. Maybe this change would be a good thing. Now that I had more free time, I could focus more on my art. I had some skill and could certainly make a living as an artist if I applied myself, to quote my Uncle Derek. Once I arrived at the Laundromat I shoved the coins into their slots and ignored the sight of my paint-stained hands.
And the moonlight will save me…
The words of the woman in my dream echoed in my ears. Who was she, the woman in the woods? Wasn’t Kali Oka Road around here somewhere? Tapping on my phone screen I typed in the phrase, and a flurry of articles appeared. I scanned through them, emailed a few to myself and did another search. What was the man’s name, the one she feared?
Bernard Davis. Aurelia Davis. Hmm…nothing. I tried alternative spellings, but nothing came up. I went to my inbox and began to read through the articles. I must have lost track of time because the washer beeped. I slung the clean, wet clothing into the dryer, popped in a few more quarters and continued my reading. Interesting stories, but nothing specific about the woman I saw. But then again, what would it say? Kali Oka Road sounded like an ominous old place. There was a section of the road called Dead Man’s Curve where a lot of accidents happened. One of the articles also mentioned a “Crybaby Bridge.”
I skipped over that section since neither a baby nor a bridge figured in my experience. What was the name of that place? Oak Grove Plantation! I snapped my finger and typed the phrase into the phone’s browser, ignoring the puzzled expression of the young man behind the counter.
The first image in my search results nearly took my breath away. This was the house! I hadn’t imagined this place, and that meant I hadn’t imagined the woman! I rose to my feet and walked up and down the aisle, twisting a long strand of hair with my fingers. “Good God!” I mumbled to myself. I paused and kept flipping through pictures. In all my experiences, I must have painted at least half a dozen paintings and had never imagined that these were real people or real places. Could all these scenes be real? If so, why was I seeing them?
Oh my God, oh my God. What the heck is going on?
I closed my eyes and put the phone away. A sudden breeze blew through the open doors, sending all the loose papers in the shop fluttering up and then shivering down to the ground. It was autumn in Mobile, and that meant random blasts of wind and often daily storms. The counter guy and I scrambled to collect the flyers and papers, most of which had come loose from a large bulletin board.
“Thank you,” he said as we gathered them all up. “Most of these are old anyway and should probably be tossed out, just not in the street.” He grinned apologetically, flashing dimples and green eyes.
“No problem.” I helped him re-pin flyers and current notices as he began sorting through the older ones.
“I think I’ll toss these. Be right back.”
Only a few papers remained on the board now. Another unusually chilly blast blew through, and I tried to hold the loose ones in place. My eyes fell on a purple piece of paper. It was a flyer advertising a local paranormal investigation group called Gulf Coast Paranormal. This was an invitation to local residents to come share their ghost experiences.
Probably selling their paranormal services--or something.
I pierced the sign with the crooked pin, securing it to the bulletin board, and read it again. The address wasn’t far from my apartment, but I didn’t remember seeing a sign for the place. I guessed that wasn’t the kind of thing you could advertise, though.
The counter guy returned after closing the doors. “I’m Joshua,” he said with a smile and shook my hand. I tried to be friendly, but I didn�
�t “do people” well, as Mike used to say. Joshua pointed to the flyer. “Hey, those guys are legit. I know the founders. You thinking about going?” Thankfully, the dryer buzzed.
“Um, probably not. I think that’s me,” I excused myself. I opened the dryer door even though it was still whirring around and was surprised to find that my clothes were still damp. So it hadn’t been my machine buzzing? Oh well, I might as well go home and toss these things over the shower curtain rod. I stuffed the items in my bag and walked toward the doors.
Joshua stood behind his counter and left me alone. I paused at the bulletin board and stared at the purple paper. I didn’t know what made me do it, but I unpinned it, folded the paper and shoved it in my pocket. I ignored Joshua’s smile, offered a head nod and left the Laundromat, hoping to beat the rain home.
By the time I arrived, my clean clothes and I were drenched. At least the power was back on. I took the elevator up and disappeared into my comfortable, safe apartment.
Chapter Four—Cassidy
Gulf Coast Paranormal didn’t make their place easy to find, but eventually I followed a couple holding a similar flyer down a narrow flight of stairs and into a basement. Apparently, I was at the right place. There were about twenty-five people crammed in here, and four of them were wearing black shirts with GCP stamped in gold on the front and back. I looked around the room to see if I could spot a pile of t-shirts. Maybe that was what this was about? A t-shirt fundraiser for the local ghost hunting group? I didn’t see any shirts or other products.
I took a seat in the back, still unsure as to why I was here. This had been a strange day. Why not finish it with a bang?
I pulled my plaid jacket around me tight. It was chilly in here. I hoped they turned the heat on or closed the door soon. No luck. People were still coming in. How many folks were coming to this thing?
“Is this seat taken?” a young woman with rich, dark curls asked.
“No.”
She sat down beside me and immediately began chatting with the woman in front of her. Obviously, this wasn’t their first time to attend one of these things. God, I hoped this wasn’t some wacky spiritualist group. I eyeballed the door to make sure it wasn’t locked.
Everything seemed okay. We’d just have to see, wouldn’t we?
“All right, let’s get this meeting started. Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone. We’re so anxious to hear about your experiences and talk to you about our agenda for the coming year. If this is your first time, raise your hand. I’d like to introduce you to everyone. Do we have any first-timers here?” The dark-haired woman beside me stared at me, and I stared back. She cleared her throat and smiled.
Thanks for outing me, lady.
Luckily I wasn’t the only newbie here. An older guy wearing an Army t-shirt on the other side of the room raised his hand.
“Glad you could make it. Let me introduce myself and the rest of our team. I’m Sara Springfield, the co-founder of GCP.” A polite sprinkling of applause filled the basement.
“I’d like you to meet Joshua McBride. Stand up, Josh. He’s our resident techie and something of a genius when it comes to ghost hunting technology.” Oh, heck. That was the guy from the Laundromat! Joshua grinned at everyone and sat back down. He didn’t appear to notice me, and I considered scampering out the door now. As Sara continued with Joshua’s resume, I studied him a little closer. He had short blond hair that he wore in a “waxed” mess, as was the current style for Hollywood heartthrobs and the like. He had sculpted lips and a square jaw. No doubt Joshua had a handsome face, but I suspected that like most good-looking men, he knew it.
“Next on our team is Sierra McBride. Sierra has a unique gift; she’s a sensitive and also an award-winning photographer. She’s been with GCP for what, three years now? We feel so lucky to have her with us.” There was another round of applause, and Sierra waved as she sat. Joshua nudged her playfully. McBride. Right, she had to be his wife.
“And this is Peter Broadus.” I noticed that Sara didn’t ask him to stand. Instead, she stood behind him and put her hand on his shoulder, patting it. “He’s the newest member of our team; we stole him from Paranormal International.” The crowd chuckled, and he smiled awkwardly at the mention. Peter didn’t look like the kind of guy who smiled much. “He does an excellent job with video recording. As those of you who follow us on YouTube know, Peter is brilliant at capturing not only interesting images but also sounds and even voices.” Everyone clapped again, and Sara returned to her spot at the television monitor that hung on the wall behind her.
“I am sure some of you came to see Midas, but I’m afraid he’s not going to make it tonight.” There was an audible groan from the audience, and I glanced at the lady beside me. She was clearly disappointed and ready to leave. And leave she did, along with the lady in front of her. I nudged out of the way and hoped she wouldn’t run me over trying to get to the door. Their exit did not go unnoticed, but Sara didn’t acknowledge them.
“Thanks again for being with us tonight. Now that you know who we are, let me tell you what we do. Gulf Coast Paranormal is an investigative team, but we’re not strictly ghost hunters. We’re interested in all aspects of the supernatural, including cryptids, doppelgangers, shadow people—you name it. And unlike some folks you might see on TV, we take each case seriously and never charge our clients.” Sara perched on the edge of the big wooden desk. She appeared very comfortable talking to a room full of strangers.
“Five years ago today we began investigating the Gulf Coast, and we’ve faithfully shared our findings on the GCP website and on our social media platforms. Our goal is to approach each case in a unique way and help those involved find closure or get a better understanding of what’s happening to them. We do that through our investigative techniques, and I’m happy to say we have made so many friends along the way. Since we’ve had such a great turnout tonight and we want to make sure we talk to each of you, please fill out this brief form. We’d like to get to know all of you. In fact, we have some dates available for a few more investigations this spring. In order to meet everyone, we’ll have to limit these sessions to a few minutes each. Then the team and I will get together later and decide which encounters we’ll investigate further. From that smaller list, we’ll pick a few and then contact the ones we’ve selected. Even if we don’t get to you this spring, we may schedule you for this summer.”
Joshua began handing out forms while Sierra gave out pens with Gulf Coast Paranormal printed on the sides. She smiled as she passed me. I liked her immediately. “Thanks,” I said as I stared at the form. Did I really want to do this? I wasn’t here for an investigation, I’d just been curious or bored. Well, why not? I was here. Maybe I could find out something about Kali Oka Road. I scribbled my first name on the paper and jotted down my house phone. I never answered it anyway.
Sierra and Joshua collected all our forms and put them in a clear bowl on the desk. “I promise we’ll call each one of you, and we will stay until we’re through. Remember to keep it as short as possible. There are refreshments on the back table. One last thing: if we don’t pick you tonight, please try us again later. We don’t want anyone leaving here thinking that we don’t believe you or that what you experienced wasn’t unique or interesting. We may in the future contact you.”
Each team member began picking names out of the bowl. Apparently, it was luck of the draw. I would have preferred to talk to Sierra, but that did not appear to be an option. The GCP team called a few names, and individuals from the waiting crowd came forward and stepped off to the side for private conversations. I heard the side door open and close beside me. I guessed a few others were leaving too. I didn’t look back but kept watching the interviews. True to her word, Sara kept the sessions short. She called another round of names and thankfully none of them were mine. I found a brochure on the floor in front of me and began flipping through it. I waited another five minutes and twisted the strap of my purse nervously, wondering what the heck I w
ould say if they called me.
Hi, my name is Cassidy, and I’m bat-crap crazy. I see images in my head and paint pictures of them. Have you ever heard of Kali Oka Road?
Nope. Not going to happen. I couldn’t do it. The last person I had confided in left me high and dry after he humiliated me to the utmost. Well, technically I threw him out, but only after he told me he thought I was having a mental breakdown.
“Cassidy?” Sierra called from the front. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me to get up and leave. I obeyed and only paused in the doorway when she called my name a second time. I didn’t look back.
I’d deal with my compulsion somehow. These people couldn’t help me. They wanted to look for ghosts and Bigfoot, not listen to troubled artists. Well, I’d been curious and I checked it out. Let them move on to bigger and better things.
I’d be okay. I’d figure it out.
Somehow.
Chapter Five—Midas Demopolis
I’d been surveying tonight’s gathering for the past fifteen minutes, and Sara had done a great job. As usual. Although the head count was high, about thirty people, I wasn’t sure how successful we’d be. I recognized many of these faces. Most were just fans. No, this was going to be slim pickings.
Or maybe I was just more jaded. Thanks to a local television station, everyone in Mobile knew we were looking for places to investigate. The station featured us when we documented activity at a local lighthouse last month. It had been exciting at the time, but rather than bringing in more cases we’d gained a whole slew of looky-loos.
And not everyone here was on the level, but that was true for most of these community meetings. I recognized a few faces; some were repeat customers who showed up at every one of these events with a new “experience” to share with us. And then there were local business owners who wanted to tap into the paranormal crowd by having us classify their establishments as haunted. The label “haunted” carried a lot of weight these days. I didn’t mind that, as long as the business reps didn’t hand me a load of BS. Like the one from Welford House. That guy thought he could pay us to get what he wanted. He had been wrong. In the end, I told him off.
The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road (Gulf Coast Paranormal Book 1) Page 3