She spotted a couple of tourists walking her way. Not wanting it to appear that she were talking to herself, she turned and pretended to be reading a historic marker on one of the buildings. “But if the Spanish were so bad, why did so many of the Indian tribes make friends with them?”
“Did we have a choice? The Spanish were looking to make inroads into our world. They were looking for food and supplies, and they were looking for labor. If we did not provide these things, they would have destroyed our villages and enslaved our people. Some tried to stand against them, but were slaughtered by guns and cannons. By being friendly to the Spanish our villages and people were spared.
“It wasn’t just the soldiers that conquered our people. The Spanish also sent their priests among us, trying to change our ways of belief. They said it was for our own good, that we needed to believe in their God. We tried to tell the priests we already had a God of our own. Maybe it was the same god, but with a different name. The priests would not listen. They built their missions among us, so they could control our people, and our land. The priests brought their religion, but it was my people who dug the stones and cut the trees to build the churches. We were called their children, but we were really only their slaves.”
“I had no idea the Spaniards were so bad,” Ssabra said, still pretending to read the sign before her.
Tolomato laughed. “It wasn’t just the Spanish. The French and English were no better. Even the Americans did their best to eliminate the native people of this land. But the Spanish were the worst.”
The voice of Tolomato fell silent. Maybe he had finally run out of things to say, or maybe he was thinking of all the terrible things that had happened to his people. A tribe that no longer existed.
Stepping away from the sign, Ssabra continued on her way down St. George Street to the plaza. In front of one of the local restaurants two police officers were arguing with a street performer about why he could not play his violin in public. She gave the argument little more than a passing glance, her mind filled with thoughts of Spanish conquest and the genocide of indigenous tribes.
Tolomato didn’t speak again until she reached her car. She had just started the engine, when he gave her instructions on where he wanted her to go. She easily recognized the building he spoke of, so it was only a few minutes later that they arrived at their destination.
She pulled the car into a tiny parking lot and switched off the engine. Across the street stood a three-story building that had been built as a private residence back in 1791. The building had changed ownership several times over the years, and in 1845 it had opened to the public as an Inn. That made the St. Francis Inn the oldest existing bed and breakfast in St. Augustine.
Ssabra knew the story about the St. Francis Inn by heart, because it was one of the stops on the ghost tour. According to the legend, General William Hardee had owned the building back around 1855, before being sent to West Point as officer in charge of cadets. The General’s nephew, who lived with him in the house, fell in love with a young black slave named Lily. Because such relationships were forbidden back then, their love was kept a secret, with the young couple meeting whenever possible in the attic. But the general found out about his nephew’s interracial affair, and threw the young black woman out of the house.
Heartbroken that the love of his life had been taken away from him, General Hardee’s nephew hung himself in the attic, committing suicide on the very spot where the young couple used to secretly meet.
Around 1888, the attic was converted into additional guest rooms for the Inn, and it wasn’t long after that when people started to notice that Room 3A was haunted. The room was the place where the general’s nephew hung himself, but it was the ghost of the young slave who haunted the Inn. She has been seen so many times over the years, room 3A was now known as Lily’s Room.
A businesswoman checked into the room a couple of years ago, having no idea the room she rented was haunted. During the night, she awakened from a sound sleep to find a black woman standing beside her bed, crying. Thinking the management had given a spare key to someone else, she hurried down to the front desk to complain. It was only then that she learned the story about Lily, shocked to discover she had just had an encounter with the Inn’s ghost. The woman checked out immediately, seeking accommodations elsewhere in the old city.
“We’re here to see a ghost. Right?” Ssabra asked, looking through the windshield at the old Inn.
“You are not as stupid as I thought,” Tolomato replied, breaking his silence.
“Lily?”
“You know her?”
“No. I just know the stories. This place is one of the stops on my ghost tour.”
“Good. Then you will not be too upset by meeting her.”
“But what if someone is already staying in the room?”
“No one is staying there,” he replied. “I visited the room earlier tonight, and it is empty.”
Ssabra got out of the car and locked the door behind her. Crossing the street, she walked past a decorative courtyard to the front door of the Inn.
A feeling of history enveloped her as she entered the Inn, making it seem as if she had gone back in time. The reception area was small and cozy, with the warmth and charm of old Europe. The front desk sat to the right of the door, tucked beneath a wooden staircase leading up to the second and third floors. Beyond the reception area was another room, filled with antique chairs and a sofa, a place for guests to sip coffee and get acquainted.
An attractive, middle-aged woman stood behind the registration desk. She smiled as Ssabra entered the Inn. Perhaps she was smiling at the way Ssabra was dressed, because the tour guide still wore her historic reproduction dress with layered petticoats.
“Yes. Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I would like a room for the night,” Ssabra answered, glancing around at her surroundings. “I would prefer to stay in 3A, if it’s still available.”
The receptionist laughed. “You’re in luck. Lily’s Room is still available. It’s usually booked weeks in advance, but we had a cancellation.”
“Good. I’ll take it.”
The receptionist filled out a form for the room, asking to see Ssabra’s driver’s license. Ssabra handed the receptionist the license, along with her credit card to pay for the room. Signing the form, she was given a key to room 3A. She was also informed that a free breakfast was served each morning downstairs in the dining room, and that there was still free coffee in the silver urns. She thanked the receptionist for the information, then proceeded up the stairs to her room.
As she climbed the stairs to the third floor, Ssabra became aware of just how low the ceiling was on each of the floors she passed. She also noticed that the entire building appeared to be tilted to one side.
The tilting was especially noticeable when she stopped on the second-floor landing. The wooden floor seemed to slope severely away from the fireplace, as if the whole building were in danger of falling over on its side. It reminded her of the sloping floors in the old carnival fun houses.
At the second-floor landing there was a door that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. Several chairs had been placed on the balcony, so it was obviously a favorite place for the guests. Ssabra was tempted to open the door and step outside for a few minutes, to take in the view and the night air, but decided against it. Instead, she continued up the wooden staircase to the next level.
She arrived on the third floor, only a little out of breath. Room 3A was tucked back into the corner of the building, and she had heard that it was one of the smaller rooms at the Inn. Slipping the key into the lock, Ssabra opened the door and stepped across the threshold.
Lily’s Room was indeed rather small, but it was also quite charming in a storybook sort of way. The walls were painted white, as was the textured ceiling. An antique, four-poster bed sat at one end of the room, against a wall adorned with built-in bookshelves and a small collection of books. On
the other side of the room were several chairs, a dresser, and a small television set. Several old paintings and potted ferns decorated the room, giving it a comfortable feeling.
There were two large windows in the room, both covered by movable wooden shutters. One of the windows overlooked the building and parking lot across the street, while the other offered a view of the courtyard and fountain. A smaller row of windows ran along the wall nearest the door, facing out on the main staircase. They were covered with a set of curtains that could be opened or closed to block out the light.
Opposite the bed, a green door with glass windowpanes opened onto the bathroom. The bathroom was small, but it featured everything one needed to start their day, including an antique bathtub.
Ssabra was delighted with the room, and chided herself for never having stayed at the Inn. She had been missing out, but she never considered the bed and breakfasts of St. Augustine to be places for the locals. Nor had she ever considered one to be within her price range, but the room didn’t cost much more than what many of the local motels charged.
Closing the door, she crossed the room and sat down on the bed. The antique bed sat high off the floor and was covered with plenty of pillows, sheets, and homemade quilts. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out full length and closed her eyes.
“This is no time for sleeping.”
Tolomato’s voice popped into her head, startling her. She sat up quickly, surprised to find that the Indian chief had again materialized, and was sitting in a chair at the opposite side of the room. He was frowning, so he apparently wasn’t too happy about finding her lying down on the job.
“Sorry,” she said, a little sheepishly. “I’ve never stayed in a room this nice, and I just wanted to see what it felt like.”
The chief looked around the room. “It is very nice here.”
“Can we spend the night?” she asked. “I mean, I paid for the room. We are going to stay here tonight. Aren’t we?”
“Yes, you can spend the night if you want, but business first. Now go wash the paint off of your face.”
“My makeup? You want me to remove my makeup?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Because the spirit you are going to meet tonight is very jealous of pretty women.”
“You think I’m pretty? Really?” She smiled.
“Yes. You are pretty. But do not get a big head about it. Now, go clean your face.
“Wow. This is the first time a ghost ever gave me a compliment.”
Tolomato shook his head. “It may also be the last time.”
Ssabra got up off of the bed, still smiling. She thought it was funny that Tolomato had a sense of humor. She had never thought of ghosts as being anything other than scary, or maybe a little lonely. But apparently not all ghosts fit that description. Except for his little rant against the Spanish explorers, and his concern about the Shiru, he seemed to be in rather good spirits for a ghost.
In good spirits for a ghost. Ssabra laughed at her own thoughts.
Slipping into the bathroom, she turned on the water in the sink, grabbed a bar of lavender scented soap, and started removing all of her makeup. She didn’t wear much makeup, only powder, lipstick, and a little eyeliner, so it didn’t take long to get it off.
Removing the last of the makeup, she dried her face with a small towel. She would have brushed her teeth, but she hadn’t brought along a toothbrush. Nor had she brought a fresh change of clothing, or a nightgown. The clothes she had worn earlier that day were still at the tour office, and she had forgotten to pick them up before coming to the inn.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she found Lily’s room to be empty. Tolomato had disappeared again.
Now where did he go? "Tolomato, are you still here?”
A few moments passed, then the chief appeared again. He was stretched out on the bed, smiling at her. “You are right. This is very comfortable.”
“Hey. No fair,” Ssabra protested. “You said no lying down on the job.”
“I said that for you, but not for me.” He pointed at the chairs on the opposite end of the room. “You will sit over there. Stay at that end of the room until I tell you otherwise.”
She reluctantly did as she was told, choosing the most comfortable chair at the opposite end of the room. Tolomato again vanished from sight, but she could still hear his voice. He was calling to Lily, trying to make contact with the spirit of the young slave woman who haunted the room. Ssabra tried to listen to all the things the Indian was saying, but it had been a long day and she soon found herself drifting off to sleep. Laying her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes and rested.
“Wake up. Hurry, wake up.”
Tolomato’s voice startled her, causing her to wake from a sound sleep. Ssabra blinked and looked around the room. Nothing had changed, except she now had a kink in her neck from sleeping in the chair. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already three in the morning.
“What? What is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She was still sleepy, and her vision was blurry.
“Shhh...be quiet. We have company.”
A cold shiver walked down her spine, bringing her fully awake. She knew what Tolomato meant, and looked around to see who else was in the room. At first she didn’t see anything, but then she noticed a strange blurring in the air at the opposite end of the room, between the bed and an antique washbasin. It looked like heat waves rising up from a radiator.
Remaining perfectly still, she focused her gaze on the other end of the room, watching as the swirling vapors continued to appear. A few moments later she saw something a little more solid, and had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out.
Something small and black floated from the wall near the washbasin to the bed, and back again. It moved across the open space in front of the window several times, hovering a few feet off the floor. At first Ssabra wasn’t sure what the object was. The only light coming into the room was through the row of windows above her head, so it was fairly dark. She watched the floating object for almost a full minute before realizing what it was.
A hand. My God, that’s a woman’s hand. I can see it now. A black hand. Lily’s hand.
The hand was Lily’s ghostly trademark. Other guests had seen the black hand of a woman going down the banister on the back staircase, a stairway formerly used by servants of the house. Ssabra wished she had brought along a camera to take a picture, but she hadn’t. Not that she would risk taking a snapshot, fearful of scaring off the spirit they had come to talk with.
She watched the hand for another minute or so, and then suddenly there was a woman standing at the other end of the room. Lily had appeared so quickly it looked as if she had always been standing there, and Ssabra had to blink twice to make sure she was not seeing things. But her imagination was not playing tricks on her. A black woman stood at the opposite end of the room, her left hand resting on the bed’s headboard.
Lily was short and slim, probably no more than five-foot-six-inches tall. She also appeared to be quite young, and may have only been in her twenties when she died. She was dressed in a white dress and apron, her head covered with some kind of scarf. Unlike the spirit of Tolomato, Lily’s ghost was quite solid. It looked as if a real person stood in the room, and not just an apparition.
The young woman looked at Ssabra, but made no attempt to move away from the corner of the room. Ssabra wanted to communicate with her, and was grateful when Tolomato suddenly materialized on the bed.
The Indian chief spoke with the former slave, gesturing to himself and to Ssabra. He was obviously making introductions to the other spirit, but it was several minutes before Ssabra could hear either of their voices. Finally the conversation began to come through to her; she heard Tolomato’s guttural voice first, followed by the softly spoken words of the slave girl.
“This is a friend of mine,” he said, pointing to where Ssabra sat. “Her name is Ssabra Onih. She is an Indian woman. She has come with
me to ask your help.”
“She is not white?” Lily asked, looking at Ssabra.
“Her mother was white, but her father was Cherokee.”
Lily looked at her for a moment, then nodded. It seemed to be important to the young woman that Ssabra was not white.
“Hello, Lily,” Ssabra said, risking Tolomato’s scolding for speaking. “I’m very happy to meet you.”
The chief turned toward Ssabra and smiled. Apparently her greeting had been the right thing to say. Lily also smiled, but it was slight and fleeting, as if happiness did not know her face.
Tolomato turned back to face the black woman. “Lily, we have come here tonight to ask for your help. It is said that you have certain powers, as well as a knowledge of this city. A great evil has been released from one of the burial grounds in this town, the one that bears my name. It is an evil that has not been seen in the world of the living for a long time: a dark god that may attempt to breed with others. We need your help. Is there anything you can tell us that might help fight this evil one?”
Lily was silent for a few moments, apparently thinking things over, and then she spoke. Her voice was soft, and almost musical to the ears. “I know of the monster that has been called into this world, the thing you call the Shiru. I too have seen it. The three women who set the beast free were very foolish. They played with magic they did not understand. One of the women paid for her foolishness with her life.
“The Shiru now walks among the living, and with each passing day in this world it will grow stronger.”
“Is there any way to destroy it, or send it back?” Tolomato asked.
Again Lily was silent for a few moments before speaking. “Once there were people who knew how to destroy a Shiru, but that was long ago. I have never met any of those people, even though I have been in this city for a long time. But I have read the words they put to paper.
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