My ex-fiancé, Derek, often rebuked me for what he liked to call my ‘unhealthy fascination’ with the paranormal, wondering why I’d want to spend a career writing Gothic-styled mysteries instead of working hard to become a real writer, whatever that meant. He scoffed upon learning that I planned to center my new novel on the legend of the Gray Man, from the early 1800’s, and the dark history that surrounded him. Derek thought my pursuit of such things was silly, preferring his beloved Science Channel over my go-to Haunted America.
So be it! I thought. Honestly, I’m not sure what I ever saw in Derek. We couldn’t have been anymore different in our likes or dislikes.
So much for making a lifetime of memories together…
We’d certainly made our share of memories in the time we were together. Most of them bad—some of them really bad. Derek had a short fuse and saw no problem with using his hands, or fists, in making a point whenever he felt I’d missed something he tried to impart. Thank God I’d seen him for what he was before we went through with the wedding.
Ghost or no ghost, it was a welcomed relief to be here on Pawleys, enjoying the calming rush of the tide, the sunbaked, salty sea air, and spending leisurely hours hunting through history to make sure I got all my fictional details as accurate as possible with this new novel.
By comparison, even the most vengeful of spirits—in the Gray Man’s case, dating back before Sumter and the Revolutionary War—was a welcomed departure from the nastiness Derek could wield whenever the mood suited him. And, in hindsight, I now realized that it suited him quite often. I’d much rather contend with fictional relationships over real-life ones, especially one wracked with abuse.
Pushing open the door to Turtle Bay Books where I was scheduled to do a book signing for my latest release, Sea Specters, Violet DeMarco’s warm, smiling face welcomed me. The shop’s owner was always kind and inviting. No wonder her business thrived, when others boarded up for the winter.
“Sarah, honey, I have you all set up in front.” Violet led me over to a whitewashed plank table, piled high with large stacks of my novels. A beautiful display surrounded the books, set off by a nautical themed flower arrangement of sea-blue flowers, moss, seagrass, and laced with bone-white sand dollars, brick-red starfish, all held in place by a large square glass vase filled with multicolored shards of opaque sea glass. The floral array was a nice contrast to the stormy graphic of the Specters cover, which featured a clifftop manor house with ghosts floating mist-like across a turbulent sea below.
Violet had taken the time to have the cover art blown up to poster size and mounted to use on an easel next to the table where I’d be doing the signing. “You’re the best!” I told her, hugging her tightly. “You always go above and beyond to make my events truly special. You’ll have to let me pay for the poster, at least. It’s a real beauty. I appreciate all the effort you put into my signings. You’ve outdone yourself once again.”
Violet shook her head. “Don’t you dare think you’re paying me for a single thing, young lady! I love your books. Besides, I can’t wait for the next one to come out. Maybe I can get one of those ARCs when it publishes; that would surely be payment enough. You said you’re doing research on it during this trip, right?”
“Yes.” I nodded, momentarily distracted by a shadow passing by the shop’s large, single-pane front display window. “You-know-who’s going to be featured in this one,” I said with a conspiratorial wink.
“The Gray Man?” Violet asked, her chubby cheeks flushing red at the thought.
“The one and only,” I said, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher she’d provided. I had an hour of meeting-and-greeting ahead of me and was already parched.
* * *
After nearly two hours of signing books and talking with readers, I asked Violet if she’d like to join me for an early dinner at Percival’s, the restaurant located on the main floor of the plantation manor house that had been restored and named in honor of the town’s founder—Percival Pawley. The place was like a second home to me, now that I’d stayed there a number of times on past trips to the area. Derek had always sulked when I insisted on making these research trips from Boston alone. Although he had no interest in sharing in the research of any of these historical paranormal accounts, he still felt slighted for some reason, even if it was clearly all a joke to him.
The staff at Pawleys Inn always reserved my favorite room on the top floor, looking out over the Atlantic. It was a beautiful spot, no matter the time of year. I was one of those people who actually preferred visiting seaside locales off-season, when only the locals were in town. To me, I found it gave more of a flavor for the scenic life, when the rest of the world wasn’t looking. The locals were all too willing to join in conversations about the numerous ghosts said to haunt the area. The Gray Man being one of the most popular ones.
The legend of the Gray Man was quite a tragic one. Allegedly, he was a soldier in the Revolutionary War, who, upon traveling home from Charleston to reunite with his beloved fiancé, became mired in rain-soaked marshlands that had turned to quicksand and literally got sucked into the ground, along with his steed, never to be heard from again.
Of course, his bride-to-be thought he’d chosen not to return home to her and her family and died of a broken heart. The legend held that the ghost of the Gray Man continued to walk the barrier island of Pawleys, using his lantern to stave off incoming ships in danger of being thrashed against the rocks, in the throes of an oncoming hurricane. The locals considered the ghost a guardian angel, doing his best to protect the home of his beloved by watching over its people with his timely warnings. Of course, not all have heeded his warnings throughout the centuries, which supposedly resulted in numerous deaths and immeasurable destruction.
* * *
When I walked Violet out after sharing a meal together, I decided to take a stroll down to the beach to work off the crab cakes, clam chowder, and fried okra we’d split. The local cuisine was incredible, but laden with buttery calories that demanded at least a bit of metabolism-boosting exercise before turning in for the evening.
The night air was warm, but laced with a thread of moisture due to the rain that fell earlier. I welcomed it. The dampness felt good on my face as I made my way down to the water’s edge. The clouds overhead splayed volcanic gray, churning with patches of greenish-blue peeking through. When I reached the short, weather-worn pier that stretched out into the shifting surf, I heard a scream from further down the beach. A young boy waved his arms frantically, pointing toward a curved jetty that always reminded me of the unmistakable shape of Cape Cod.
“What is it, honey?” I yelled to him, as he ran up the beach to meet me.
“I saw—him—” the boy stammered.
“Saw who, sweetheart?” I asked, shading my eyes from the rays of the setting sun that pierced through the parting clouds.
“The Gray Man!” The boy’s voice grew tense with fear.
I followed his gaze out toward the jetty, where a man dressed in a long dark-gray coat and wide-brimmed hat stood gazing out at the whitecaps. A passenger ship headed toward port, venturing dangerously close to shore. I could make out its shape against the gloom because of its bright white exterior. I couldn’t remember ever seeing a cruise ship come so close to land before, unless of course it was docking.
Catching glimpse of the man in the long gray coat, I realized that he did look a great deal like all the images I’d seen in my research of the Gray Man. Even though I knew it couldn’t possibly be the legendary ghost, I didn’t contradict the boy by saying as much. Instead, I bent down and took his trembling hands into my own.
“Honey, I don’t think that man on the jetty is the Gray Man. I know he looks similar, but I think he’s just dressed in rain gear. He must’ve been out in the downpour earlier and just walked out onto the jetty to watch the cruise ship coming into port.”
“No!” the boy insisted, shaking his sweat-dampened head. “I wasn’t talking about that guy.
That’s Gary. He’s a local fisherman who likes wearing that getup. He says it makes him look more like an old salt, whatever that is. The Gray Man was further down the beach, down by the North Inlet. He was dressed like Gary, but his clothes were older, more ragged. And he was a lot paler. Gary’s tanned like my mom gets in the summer. He was kinda serious looking, too. Like he was upset about something—or worried. He walked toward me, holding a lantern out in front of him. I remember my mom telling me stories about the Gray Man that always included a lantern. It’s gotta be him!”
Feeling a chill run up my spine, I reached out and took the boy into my arms. “Honey, where are your parents?”
He didn’t say anything at first, but then shot a look up toward the western bluff of the island, his face turning red like he was going to cry. “My dad left us, and my mom is on her third wine cooler of the day. Usually, when she gets to the fourth one she passes out in front of the television. I’m guessing she’s already passed out, because she hasn’t called me in for dinner yet. She’s gonna freak out when I tell her we’ve gotta leave.”
“Leave?” I asked. “What do you mean…why would you have to leave?”
“You know the legend, don’t you? Whenever the Gray Man appears, a deadly storm follows. He’s here to warn us, so we can all get out before the storm hits.”
“You’ve really done your homework, haven’t you, honey?” I rustled his head and smiled in an attempt to ease his nerves. “I’ll bet your mom is really proud of you. You seem like a very smart, special boy.”
“I doubt it,” he said, pushing away from me. “She doesn’t seem to notice anyone but that new boyfriend of hers. If you ask me, he’s a real loser. I know my dad isn’t perfect, but he’s certainly better than this new jerk. He’s a stupid guy if you ask me. He’s always putting his hands on her, even when she tells him to leave her alone.”
“C’mon, let me walk you home,” I said, taking him by the hand. “I want to make sure you get home safely, and I’ll tell your mom where you’ve been, so she isn’t worried. Do you have your dad’s phone number? If you’re mom’s passed out in front of the TV, we will need to call her dad to come and get you.”
The boy pulled a small flip-phone from his pants pocket and held it up, looking far more mature than his age would suggest. “It’s in here,” the boys said, holding the phone out to me. “Mom programmed him as number two. She’s number one.”
* * *
It was a short walk to the boy’s house. He and his mom lived in a small weather-beaten cottage that, if you craned your neck in just the right direction and stood on your tippy toes, you could see a sliver of beach and water and some of the rooftops of the shops on Alabaster Avenue.
Still holding tightly to the boy’s sweaty hand, I knocked on the door. In no time at all, I heard footsteps approaching, which I took as a good sign, thinking I may not have to call the boy’s father after all.
When the door opened, I gasped. It was like seeing a ghost. A real one.
Derek’s lumbering frame took up much of the doorway. He appeared just as surprised to see me, as I was to find him there.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my mouth no doubt gaping. “And what on earth are you wearing?” He was dressed head-to-toe in all gray. His clothes were ragged and worn, even tattered in some spots. At seeing me, his face went ashen.
The boy tugged at my arm frantically. “That’s him! That’s my mom’s new boyfriend, but I’ve never seen him dressed like that. That’s the guy I saw down on the beach the Gray Man!” The boy looked confused.
“Honey, can you give me a minute. Go in inside and see how your mom’s doing, and I’ll be in to speak to her in a minute.”
He slipped past Derek, and I could hear him explaining to his mom—who must’ve passed on having a fourth wine cooler—where he’d been, and what he’d been doing.
“I came here to bring you home,” Derek said, reaching for my hand. “You came here looking for your Gray Man—and you’ve found him. Now let’s get outta here.”
“Hold on a second,” I said, feeling a noxious chord of anger rise inside myself. “What are you doing here? I mean, at this woman’s house. The boy said you’re her new boyfriend. You sure don’t take long before moving onto your next conquest!”
“Julia and I are friends. She’s been helping me try to find you.”
“Friends, huh? Where did you meet her? At some bar, no doubt.”
“She’s a very nice woman, Sarah. And her son’s a great kid.”
I shook my head. “Well, he didn’t have such great things to say about you. He said you put your hands all over his mom. Even after she’s told you not to. Sounds familiar…”
* * *
Trying my best to discourage him, Derek insisted on walking me back to Pawleys Inn when I refused to ‘get outta here’ with him. I couldn’t believe he’d followed me all the way to South Carolina, in some hair-brained scheme to dress like the Gray Man to force my return to Boston with him.
My head was swimming with everything that’d transpired in the last hour. It was all pretty crazy. He was crazy. I had no trouble standing my ground when he’d asked me to leave with him. But I also didn’t want to provoke him, or get his ire up. I couldn’t tell if he’d been drinking, so I didn’t want to do anything that might provoke him or result in an argument. From experience, I knew all too well how things could go from one extreme to another with Derek in a matter of seconds. Which usually ended with him laying his hands on me, like he apparently did with this Julia woman.
I’d be damned if he was ever going to lay his hands on me again! Least of all after we’d ended everything between us and called off the wedding.
Walking back to Pawleys Inn, as we passed by Violet’s bookstore, in the lamplight that glowed from the large window at the front of her shop, I watched as our reflections rose up in front of me. In the window, I saw myself clearly—even the anger on my face when Derek kept trying to take my hand, like we were still a couple.
But something with Derek’s reflection seemed off. The face staring back at me beneath the large, wide-brimmed hat, was somehow stronger, more angular, and the sideburns were much more accentuated, like muttonchops from a bygone era. Instead of seeing Derek looking back at me, it was the face I’d always pictured when I tried to imagine what the Gray Man might look like—had he really lived, and died, in the early 1800s.
Even in the surrounding twilight, I could see the blood drain from my face in the window’s dark reflection of me. I jumped back from the pane of glass noticing a menacing glint spark in the eyes of Derek’s reflection. There was something wild about the glimmer in his stare.
Derek bent over and began to cough, quietly at first, and then more pronounced. A throaty, gurgling sound rose from within him as he heaved.
At first, I thought he was coughing up blood, but soon realized it must be something else. It had a briny, sea-sour smell so it could only be one thing. Seawater. A full stream of water gushed forth, filled with long, slimy tangles of seaweed, clotted with broken shards of glass and seashells. Fixed to the spot where I was standing, I was terrified by what I was witnessing. I watched in horror as a rush of fist-shaped hermit crabs dropped out of his widely opened mouth, each clattering to the pavement before scuttling off.
I couldn’t believe Derek could be vomiting up such a gruesome rush of sea castoff. The air grew thick and warm and even more humid than it’d been during the brief deluge of rain from earlier. Soon, everything around us ground down to an absolute sea of black nothingness. A tinkling of bells interrupted the silence, and then a hand touched my shoulder.
“Honey, who’s this man?” It was Violet. “Is everything okay? Do I need to call an ambulance or the police?” Her face creased with concern, a calming light shining out at me through the sudden veil of putrid darkness.
“This is Derek...” In a state of utter shock, I could barely find words to tell Violet what was happening. In truth, I didn’t really know m
yself.
Beside me, Derek’s whole body began to tremble, and then thrash as he fell to his knees, vomiting up another solid stream of the sea’s salty waste.
Despite my near hatred for the man, I found my senses firing again, propelling me to grab him by the wrist in an attempt to help stabilize him. As I grasped onto him tightly, I realized there was no pulse beneath my slime-slick fingertips.
“Oh, my God!” I shouted. “I think he’s either dead…or dying!”
Violet crouched down next to us and wrapped her ample arms around me.
“Honey, do you have your cell phone with you? Or should I go inside to call 911?”
“I can’t believe this is happening—” I barely whispered. And everything around me devolved into a queasy sea of black.
* * *
When I came to, amid a swirling staccato of flashing blue and red lights, Violet still knelt next to me, holding me tightly with a mother’s care. “Sweetheart, everything’s been taken care of. I called the coroner’s office, and they already came to get Derek—and the EMTs are here now to take you to the hospital. Tidelands Georgetown Memorial is less than fifteen minutes from here, so you’ll see a doctor in no time!”
I wanted to say that I didn’t need a doctor or to go the hospital, but I didn’t have the energy to put up a fight. So I just remained where I was, until two tall men dressed in blue came over with a sheet-covered gurney, lifted me onto it, and into an ambulance that idled a few feet away.
Even in the subtle chaos of the moment, I couldn’t help but notice something needling at the back of my mind. Wasn’t it said a hurricane or tornado always followed an appearance from the Gray Man? As the thought occurred to me, I smelled something drifting in on the incoming tide. A strange odor, dark and menacing. I’d lived through a number of hurricanes and knew intimately their potential for terrible destruction.
After I was secured into the ambulance, one of the EMTs helped Violet up into the vehicle beside me. With the worrisome smell coming in off the tide, I found myself thinking, if I was going to ride out a hurricane over the next couple of hours, no better place to do it than in a hospital. After all, hospitals were constructed of some of the strongest, most impenetrable walls possible.
Fearful Fathoms: Collected Tales of Aquatic Terror (Vol. I - Seas & Oceans) Page 5