As an Old Memory

by Vic Kerry

  “If you’ll talk with me, my brother will rake your leaves. It’s important that I get this interview. If it’s good, I plan on using it in my portfolio to try to get into the journalism school at Alabama,” Josh said.

  “I’m raking her leaves?” Thomas whispered. “I could have done that at home and saved the drive.”

  “Shut up,” Josh whispered back. “Don’t forget about Johnny House.”

  “I’d be happy to rake them,” Thomas chimed in.

  Mrs. Windham paused for a long moment, but she smiled and removed her work gloves.

  “That sounds fine. It’s backbreaking work, raking leaves. If you’ll excuse the clothes I’ve got on, we can talk.”

  “Thank you.” Josh walked across the driveway and onto the porch.

  Thomas made his way to the rake and started piling up more leaves on the heap. Mrs. Windham sat in a white wicker chair with a large round back. Josh sat in the matching chair on the other side of round wicker table.

  “So, let’s get started,” she said. “Where’s your notebook?”

  “I have an excellent memory,” Josh lied.

  “That’s not going to cut in the professional world, son. From this point on, always bring a notebook even if you don’t use it. You’ll be taken more seriously.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re right. I’ll remember that. Can we start?”

  “Of course.”

  The two of them sat for a while. He asked questions he thought someone who wrote feature articles might ask. The conversation came around to why she wrote ghost stories. She told him the story of Jeffrey, the ghost who supposedly haunted her house.

  “How do you pick the stories that go into the books?” Josh asked.

  “I went around the state and the South listening to people tell their ghost stories. I used a notebook to record them. After that, I narrowed them down to about twenty. Those got typed up so I could look them over with better eyes. After that, more were eliminated.”

  “My town is in one of your books.” He took the copy he’d stolen from Jessica’s house from behind his back where he’d kept it shoved in his waist band. He wiped the perspiration from it with his shirttail. “Why did you pick that one?”

  “May I see the book?”

  Josh gladly handed her the text. She turned right to where the marker was and smiled.

  “I see you marked the story.” She read for a moment. “I remember this one well. I wasn’t completely honest with you. I don’t pick all the stories myself. When I was writing the first book, I had all the possible stories lying in a pile on my desk when I went to bed one night. The next morning I woke up and a different story was on the top of the pile. Jeffrey had chosen it. I hadn’t even planned on including that particular tale. When I wrote this book, I wasn’t going to include the story about Pinehurst because I found it too, well, scary. Jeffrey put that thing on the top of the pile three times. Once even taking it out of the trash can.”

  “Why did you find it scary?”

  Mrs. Windham smiled at him, but it wasn’t a sweet old lady smile. It was more of an uncomfortable smile used to hide anxiety.

  “Josh, most of the stories I put in those books are stories. There’s nothing in them except a good yarn. The one about Pinehurst felt like much more than that. It was real, and evil. Looking at it right now gives me the willies. Why are those markings in the margins?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t help my feelings at all.”

  “Why does the story feel real?”

  “I saw things while I wrote this story, and not just in Pinehurst. Ghosts or something seemed to follow me back here. They were angry. I think the only thing that kept them from doing something to me was Jeffrey. I think he bargained with them by agreeing to get me to print their story.”

  “Mrs. Windham, strange things are happening in my town. It’s the fortieth anniversary of the massacre talked about in your story. People have died in horrible ways. Some of us, like me, my brother, and my dad, have seen ghosts, and possibly a witch,” Josh whispered. “We’re not crazy.”

  “I know you’re not.” She stared at the book, closed it, and sat it on the table. “I remember this story well. I didn’t put all of the tale in there. Hazel’s curse was far worse. She supposedly cast a spell to reincarnate herself to exact her revenge. The old witch’s soul embodied a new human so that she could return every forty years and try to make up for the wrong committed against her. The person I talked to said that he believed she had been stopped every forty years before it could happen. She had bounded the curse for every forty years to punish at least two generations at a time, according to my source. He said that he believed when the massacre happened in the ’50s that her revenge had almost been fulfilled.”

  “We can stop it?” Josh asked.

  “McAdams was the name of the man who insisted on Hazel being hanged.” Mrs. Windham stared off toward a place beyond the yonder. “That witch is after y’all, isn’t she? Be honest as I’ve been with you. You don’t write for the school paper, do you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You wanted to know what I knew.” She leaned over to him and patted his knee. “You two seem like nice young men. I hope I’ve helped.”

  “You have. Thank you.”

  “You’ve got a long drive back to Pinehurst,” she said. “Best get on your way.”

  “What about your yard?”

  She looked out at the good progress Thomas had made and smiled. “He’s done most of it. Not much work left, and it will be good for an old lady like me to do. The exercise will help keep me young, help clear my mind.”

  Josh thanked Mrs. Windham again. He took the stolen copy of her book and headed back to the car. She yelled her thanks to Thomas for raking her yard. They left with her giving them a hardy wave.

  “Did you find out anything?” Thomas asked.

  “I think so. I’ll tell you on the ride back.”

  Alan looked out the window. Jessica stood on the street at the entrance to his driveway. She had been there for a while. He first noticed her not long after he’d gotten home from the hospital. During that time, he made sure to keep the doors locked, but it was getting time for his wife and sons to get home.

  He let the curtains fall back into place and walked to the kitchen. His wife kept the Morton’s salt in the cabinet above the stove. He took the box down and went back to the front. His wife parked as he peeked back out the window. Jessica moved enough to let the car pass but stepped back into her place. His wife got out of the car, and the girl started walking toward her. They seemed to have a conversation. The time had come. Alan stormed out the door pouring a handful of salt into his palm.

  “Get away from my wife, Jessica,” he said.

  “What’s the matter with you?” his wife asked.

  He threw the salt at the girl instead of answering. She screamed and backed off. He tossed more and more until he had her backed into the street. A line of salt went onto the pavement between the street and his driveway.

  “What’s the problem, Jessica or Connie or whoever you are? On a low sodium diet?” he asked.

  “I’ll get you,” she said.

  “And my little dog too?” Alan asked.

  Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger. “And everything you care about.”

  “Let that girl come in,” his wife said, coming up to him and trying to take the salt from him.

  “She’s no girl.” Alan tossed another handful of salt at Jessica.

  Her feet slid backward on the pavement. The power of the salt moved her back. His wife looked amazed. To both of their wonderment, Jessica cackled like some kind of Halloween character and disappeared into a wisp of black smoke.

  “What was that?”

  “She’s a witch,” Alan said. “She’s trying to kill us.”

  “Where are the boys?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What should we do?”

  Alan threw a handfu
l of salt in the air. “Pray.”

  “I’ll do that.” His wife pulled on his arm toward the house. “How did you know that would work?”

  He smiled. “Hocus Pocus. You know that movie with Bette Milder.”

  Chapter Thirty

  1956

  The evening before Homecoming

  Charlotte walked out of old man Shannon’s store with rolls of crepe paper in her arms. She was disappointed that all he had left anywhere near the color she needed were baby blue and gray. With Homecoming a few days away, he said he’d had a run of the school colors in all products.

  She fumbled with the rolls, trying to open the back door of her parent’s car without dropping them. A car slid into the parking lot as she tossed the rolls into her car. Tobias jumped out of his Monterey. The engine idled. He looked like a scared animal. She stopped herself. Tobias looked like a frightened child, not an animal. Comparing him to a dumb beast was something that her brother would do. Charlotte knew she was better than that.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Don’t go back to the gym. Don’t go back.”

  “I have to. I’ve got the rest of the crepe paper,” Charlotte said. “Has something happened?”

  Tobias nodded his head with manic flair. “Very bad, very, very, very bad. Don’t go back.”

  “What is it? You can tell me.”

  He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into him. The pressure of his hands hurt. A squeal of pain escaped her mouth. He looked at her, and his expression told her he wanted to stop. The grip however got tighter. Sheer terror contracted his muscles. She yelled.

  The door to the five-and-ten flew open. Old Man Shannon rushed out, carrying a nicked baseball bat. Despite his frail appearance, the old owner had fire in his eyes. He advanced on Tobias and Charlotte.

  “Let her go, boy.” He drew the bat back ready to swing it. “Ain’t going to be no trouble at my store.”

  “He’s not doing it on purpose,” Charlotte protested. “He’s terrified.”

  “Don’t care. I ain’t having no colored boy hanging onto a white customer, especially a girl.” He looked at Tobias. “Get on out of here, boy. Tell the Harringtons if they want something from my store to either send your daddy or Mr. Harrington himself. I won’t have none of this riffraff business.”

  Tobias let go of Charlotte. His eyes looked wilder. He headed back to the driver’s side of his car. Before sliding in, he gave Charlotte another desperate look.

  “Don’t go back up there,” he said. “Please don’t.”

  “I have to. Why don’t you go there, too? I don’t think you need to drive all the way to the Harrington Plantation in your condition.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to lose them. They’re after me. He’s after me.”

  “What are you talking about, boy? Quit wasting time and get,” old man Shannon said.

  “Sim. He’s after me. Please don’t go back.”

  Without saying anything else, Tobias sped away. She watched the car disappear down the street. Charlotte had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Tobias was upset to the point of irrationality. She’d never seen him act like that, not even the day in the cafeteria when everyone had picked on him and she’d been Joan of Arc standing up for him. The idea crossed her mind not to go back to the gym—to let them make do and follow him. But if Sim was involved, she needed to get to the gym to drop off the stuff and find her brother. He always listened to her and would be happy to settle things.

  She got in the family car and drove to the gymnasium. The sky grew darker as the sun set. The streetlights flickered on as she drove closer to the gym. Something bad must have happened for Tobias to plead like he had. She passed by the diner on main street. Sim and his buddies, Marshall and Johnny, sat at a booth. Charlotte whipped the car into a parking space. Her brother came out to meet her on the sidewalk.

  “What is it, Charlotte?” he asked.

  “Did you try to scare Tobias?” she asked.

  “What are talking about?”

  “I was buying crepe paper down at old man Shannon’s store. Tobias drove up in a fury while I was trying to leave. He started ranting about something happening and that you were after him. What have you done, Sim?”

  “Calm down.” Her brother put his arm around her and walked her back toward her car. “I’ve not done anything. I waved at him a little while ago when I met him on the road. We were driving down the street. I had to make a U-turn because Marshall needed something from the hardware store before it closed. He must have mistaken that for me coming after him.” Sim smiled. “He’s your friend. I’d never do anything to hurt you or any of your friends. You know that.”

  Her big brother’s arm and words comforted her. She smiled back and got into the car. With a hearty, love-filled wave, she set off back toward the gym. Her brother loved her. She believed it, like she believed he would never, ever hurt her or let anyone else hurt her. He had some sharp points, but all in all, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone else as a brother.

  Without much more thought about Tobias and how silly and excitable he had been, Charlotte worried about the crepe paper in the wrong color. She hoped no one would mind.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Josh eventually called his folks. It was the last thing he’d wanted to do, but after getting lost in a detour, the time had gotten away. His parents would be worried. Fortunately, his dad answered the phone and understood why they’d skipped off to Selma. The only thing his dad made sure of was to warn him about Jessica. Well before getting back into Pinehurst, he and Thomas stopped off to eat at McDonalds. He’d gone to a grocery store near the restaurant and bought two boxes of salt, one for him and one for Thomas. His dad told him it would come in handy.

  As they drove down the street that passed their grandfather’s house, Thomas started rolling the tubular box of salt between his hands. He licked his lips. His brother always did that when he was nervous.

  “Settle down,” Josh said. “You’re going to get yourself all hot and bothered.”

  “That’s the point. I need to get fired up. If anything goes down, I’ll be ready. This is how I get pumped up for a football game.”

  “If anything does happen, it’s going to be a lot different than a football game.”

  “Still, I’ll be ready.”

  As they drove past the old gym, Josh noticed lights in the high windows. Cars lined the drive up the parking lot. He stopped his car in the middle of the street. No one was behind him, and it looked like no one was coming up the road.

  “What’s going on up there?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It looks pretty crowded,” Thomas said.

  “It’s not Friday, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Did they decide to move the anniversary dance up to tonight?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know. People quit talking about it around me after Corey died and a bunch of them got called into the principal’s office.”

  Josh pulled his car into the driveway. There were no spaces in the parking lot on the hill. He parked directly in front of the doors. A few students he recognized but didn’t know stood outside smoking. He and Thomas got out of the car and walked toward the door.

  “What are we doing?” Thomas whispered.

  “Finding out what’s going on,” Josh said, stopping by a pimple-faced boy with his arm draped over an ugly girl with greasy blond hair.

  “What’s up?” pimple face asked.

  “That’s what I was wondering,” Josh said.

  “Don’t talk to them,” the ugly girl said. “They’re the McAdams brothers.”

  “Oh,” pimple face said. “I don’t know. I came here to smoke cigarettes and suck face.”

  “Be careful, sweetheart,” Thomas said to the ugly girl. “You might catch what he’s growing on his face.”

  “Hey!” Pimple face flicked his cigarette to the ground and squared off against them.

  Thomas threw his arms back and
pushed his chest out toward the boy, who backed off. It was apparent to Josh that even if they weren’t supposed to talk to the McAdams brothers, they didn’t want to fight them either.

  He was reaching for the handle when the heavy metal door flew open. Harvey walked out. A joint hung from his lips. He smiled toward Josh and Thomas.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Josh said. “Are they having the massacre dance tonight?”

  “Don’t tell him nothing,” the pimple-faced boy said.

  “Shut up, Papa John’s,” Thomas said. “This is our friend.”

  Harvey stepped out and motioned for them to follow him to the side of the building. He lit his joint and pulled off of it before holding it out to them.

  “No, thanks,” Josh said.

  Thomas reached for it. “Exactly what I need.”

  “No, Tommy, you need a clear head. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah.” Thomas shook his head and pushed the joint away.

  “More for me.” Harvey took another toke.

  “So, is this the dance or are they having an ugly teenager contest?” Josh asked.

  “It’s the dance, and it’s starting to thump. They got that Louie Linguine guy from Tuscaloosa to DJ. It’s awesome. You ought to come inside.”

  “We can’t,” Josh said. “And you need to get out of there, too.”

  “Why? The fun’s getting started. They haven’t even played the Hokey Pokey yet,” Harvey said. “Plus they’ve got awesome munchies food in there. Funions, dude, Funions.”

  “Something bad is going to happen,” Thomas said. “Probably real bad.”

  “Why did they change the date?” Josh asked.

  “To keep the man from finding out,” Harvey said. “What kind of bad stuff? Are the cops coming?”

  “Maybe,” Thomas answered.

  “I think it’s going to happen again,” Josh said.

  “What’s going to happen again?” Harvey asked.

  “The massacre.”

  Harvey burst out laughing. It was his I’m-getting-a-bit-toasty laugh, like when he watched some Adam Sandler movie while taking bong hits. Josh shook his head and tapped Thomas on the arm. They started walking back to the car.