The Reaper Within

by Stephanie Jackson

  The Reaper Within

  by

  Stephanie Jackson

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2013 By Stephanie Jackson

  S.O.S. Publishing © 2013

  For Lynn…again!

  Chapter One

  Melisa Chaser unlocked the door to her Nashville, Tn. apartment, walked inside, and collapsed onto the couch. She had just gotten off of a three day job, and she was absolutely exhausted.

  It felt good to be back. She’d worked so much in the last couple of years that the apartment really seemed more like a vacation spot to her than an actual home. It wasn’t much, just a small two bedroom, but it made her happy.

  Her job kept her surrounded by a certain type of darkness, so she chose to keep her apartment; her sanctuary, light. Every wall was either yellow or light orange, and the wall to wall carpet was snow white. It was hell to keep clean, but the effect of lightness was well worth the price of the constant carpet cleaning.

  There was only one downside to the apartment…

  “Good, you’re home. I have a couple of job options for you.”

  …Betty Taylor, her roommate/assistant/best friend.

  She’d known Betty ever since 3rd grade, and didn’t have a clue why she liked her. She got on her nerves in every way imaginable. Betty was way happier than any one person had a God given right to be. She was always perky, and in a perpetual good mood.

  She was the kind of person that sang in the shower and refused to see the bad things in life, even in their line of work. But in all fairness, Betty wasn’t really in the same line of work as Mel. She mostly just answered the phone, gathered information, and booked appointments. She never actually went out to the sites with her. She never saw what Mel did on a daily basis. She wouldn’t be able to see it even if she did come along to observe.

  She raised one eyelid to peek at Betty. She was standing in front of the coffee table, wearing shorts and a tank top, all her blonde curls in perfect place. She was holding a notepad in her hands…and smiling.

  Mel hated it when Betty smiled. “I just got home from a job. Can’t I get just a little break?”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Then I quit. This job sucks anyway,” she said and closed her eyes again, hoping that Betty would go away for a little while. It didn’t work. It never worked.

  “You know you can’t quit. You have a gift, and you have to use it. You remember what happened the last time you tried to quit, don’t you?”

  “I ended up in a mental hospital for two weeks,” she admitted grudgingly.

  “Exactly, and I know you don’t want that to happen again. If you don’t use your gift it will drive you insane, and if I remember correctly, you didn’t really enjoy the Thorazine drip they had you on after you flipped out down at Wal-Mart.”

  “I didn’t flip out. That woman was following me around and wouldn’t leave me alone. I just snapped a little.”

  She could feel Betty’s sympathetic smile. “The woman was a spirit that was begging you for help, and you started screaming at her and throwing merchandise at her from the shelves. You didn’t stop until a police officer tasered you. I’d call that flipping out, honey.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if she’d just left me alone.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d just helped the lady out in the first place. It would have taken you all of two seconds, and then you could have gone about your day. The only person you hurt by trying to deny your gift is yourself.”

  “Whatever,” Mel said, giving up. She was never going to get Betty to understand how much she hated her gift sometimes. “What are the job options?”

  “Well, the good news is both options are close by. You won't have to travel out of the state for either one of them. The first one is a man who thinks his dead wife is haunting him. He swears he hears her talking and moving around the house."

  "Where is that one?"

  "Adams, Tn."

  "Nope, that's Bell Witch territory, and I refuse to go there.”

  Betty sighed. “That’s just silly. The Bell Witch is just an old wives tale. She isn’t real, Mel.”

  “You don’t see what I see; therefore, you don’t get to tell me what may or may not be real. If you could see what really lingers out there on the fringes of what you know as reality, you’d be the one locked up in the mental hospital, not me.”

  “Even if the Bell Witch is real, I don’t think you’d have any reason to be afraid of her. She’s the one that should be afraid of you.”

  “Look, I don’t know if she’s real or make believe, but I do know that I’m not going to be the one to find out,” Mel said, bringing the issue to an end.

  There were some things that she had an unidentifiable, yet innate knowledge that she shouldn’t be messing into. The Bell Witch was one of those things. Real or not, the Bell Witch wasn’t her business, or her concern.

  She let Betty push her into a lot of things, but on this she would not be moved. “What's the second option?"

  Betty gave her a critical look, and then relented. "Memphis.”

  Mel raised an eyelid to look at her. "Memphis? I can do Memphis. After the job, I can skip on over to Beale St. Maybe have a few drinks, and a little fun for a change; actually be a 26 year old for a minute. What's the job?"

  "A woman by the name of Mrs. Angela Mabry came into possession of an old mansion that she wants to convert into a Bed and Breakfast, but it’s pretty run down, and she can't get the renovations done. She said she's two years into the project with almost no progress to show for it. None of the construction workers will stay more than a little while before freaking out and leaving."

  "What's going on there?"

  "I'm not sure. She said the workers reported being touched and hit, and several have reported women screaming. There’s been one serious injury. But you'll have to ask her about the rest of it.

  “She did say that if she doesn't get the problem cleared up soon that the Bed and Breakfast is going to die before it ever gets off the ground. She’s had paranormal investigators, psychics, mediums, and cleansers come in to try and get rid of the problem, but so far nothing has worked. She said that she can't afford to keep paying the taxes, and paying the fees to extend the permits on a property that's not getting any closer to turning a profit. You're her last hope."

  “Did you find out anything about the house?”

  “It’s a mansion on an old plantation, but I can’t find any record of anything particularly gruesome ever happening there. It was a functioning plantation, but the records show that it never incorporated slavery to work the land.”

  Mel shook her head. “Just because the records show that doesn’t make it true. A lot of those old records were altered or destroyed after slavery was abolished. People didn’t want the stain of it on the family name, so they paid to make it just go away.”

  “I know that; I’m just telling you the history that’s available in the public record on the property,” Betty said. “It was originally built by the Harlowe family in 1835 and was passed down through the family line. It stopped being a plantation in 1912 when it passed into the hands of Curtis Harlowe.

  “He had no interest in the family’s cotton fields, but what he did have was a keen mind for business and finance. He took all the family’s money, sank it into different companies, and was very successful. He’d earned the family over eighteen million dollars by the time the stock market crashed in 1929.”

  “And then he lost it all in the crash,” Mel said. “That must have driven him crazy.”

  “Actually, he didn’t lose a dime,” Betty smiled. “Curtis may have had a good eye for business, but he held no trust in the financial institutions. As far as his fi
nancial records showed, Curtis never kept more than $22.00 in the bank. He did all of his business in gold.”

  “Gold?” Mel asked, shocked. “As in actual gold? Where did he keep it all if not in a bank?”

  “Yes, actual gold; today’s value would put it around $200 million, and as far as anyone knows, he kept it in the home. But the gold disappeared when Curtis died in 1944 of a massive stroke.”

  “Where did it go?”

  Betty shrugged and sat down on the loveseat across from the couch. “Nobody knows. Curtis left a will leaving his wife and two grown sons around $4 million to share, and another $2 million in a trust fund to maintain the property.

  “He gave that money to the lawyers and it was deposited into a bank account upon Curtis’s death. The family got their share, and the rest went to the upkeep of the property, just as he’d instructed.

  “The house was paid off long before Curtis was even born, so the bulk of the money just sat in the bank to pay taxes and keep the utilities on.”

  “So $12 million dollars just went missing and nobody looked for it?”

  “I didn’t say they never looked for it, just that they never found it. I know the family damn near tore the house down searching for it, thinking maybe he’d hid it in the walls. They even brought equipment in to dig up the grounds, but no gold was ever found.”

  “So the gold could still be in that house somewhere?”

  “I guess it’s possible, but I highly doubt it,” Betty said dismissively. “The family fixed the house back up, and it passed down the line until it reached Abbott Harlowe; the last descendent of the Harlowe family bloodline. The family never lived in squallier, but there’s no indication that they lived beyond their means, either. I’m willing to bet they never found that gold. And then Abbott disappeared from the face of the earth in 1993, and the Harlowes were gone.”

  “What do you mean he disappeared?”

  “I mean he just vanished. He clocked out of his job at a leather factory at the end of his shift on February 13th of 1993 and was never seen again. His car was found in his driveway, and the house was locked up, but he was gone just the same. They mounted a search for him, but he was never found.

  “Abbott was an avid hunter, and when they did a search of his house they found that his hunting rifle was also missing. It was assumed that he died while out scouting for deer. 1993 was a harsh winter in Tn. so it was a good assumption

  “The trust money that Curtis sat up ‘maintained’; meaning they paid utilities and taxes, but nothing more, until the banks went belly up a couple of years ago. After the property taxes weren’t paid, and there was no Harlowes left to take over, the house was put on the market by the county, and Mrs. Mabry bought it at auction. ”

  “Maybe that’s it, then.” Mel said. “Maybe Curtis is still in that house protecting his gold.”

  “I guess it’s possible, but the construction workers reported women screaming,” Betty reminded her. “Where would that tie into Curtis and the lost gold?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t,” Mel said, and looked down at her watch. It was 8:23 a.m. “Tell Mrs. Mabry that I’ll meet her at the plantation at 5:00 this afternoon. That gives me a few hours to sleep, and then make the three hour drive to Memphis. She can either be there, or find someone else to help her.”

  “I’ll let her know,” Betty said while pulling her cell phone out the pocket of her shorts to make the call.

  Mel listened to her set up the appointment, and then rolled off the couch and walked down the hall to her bedroom to catch a few hours of shut eye before firing up another work day.

  ***

  Mel stepped out of the shower and used a towel to wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror. She gave herself a critical look. Her long, wet black hair clung to her shoulders and breasts, accenting her pale skin and dark brown eyes.

  Her body was lean and hard, but her job had left its scars. Ridding a location of lost souls wasn’t always an easy job, and on occasion it was down right dangerous. Not all souls wanted to cross over and some were strong enough to put up a pretty good fight.

  But she had yet to fail to complete a job. Once she was in, she was all in. When she committed to a project, she always saw it through. It wasn’t as if she had much of a choice. Once she agreed to do a job and entered the home, she couldn’t leave. She became as bound to the property the ghosts were.

  She sighed and pulled the hairdryer from the shelf. She had exactly four hours to get to Memphis to meet Mrs. Mabry, and it was time for her to get on the road again.

  ***

  Mel pulled down the long driveway of the Memphis plantation at 4:45 that afternoon. There was already a Chevy truck waiting in the driveway for her. A woman stepped out of the vehicle when Mel pulled up behind it.

  Mel got out of her car and looked up at the house. Betty hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said it was a mansion. The house was positively huge. It was three stories high with a wide porch that wrapped around the entire house. It used to be white, but the paint was so peeled and faded that it was now more of a dull gray.

  “You must be Ms. Chaser,” the small red haired woman said, walking over to her.

  Mel pulled her eyes away from the house to look down at the tiny lady. “Yes, and you can call me Mel. I hear you’re having a little problem.”

  “Call me Angie, and a think calling what’s been happening here a ‘little problem’ is an understatement. Do you want to go inside? We can sit in one of the few finished rooms and talk about it.”

  “No, I don’t want to go inside yet; and when and if I do go in, I’ll be alone. Is there somewhere else we can go and talk? I think I saw a diner a few miles back.”

  “Ma’s Diner is the name of it. It’s been there for fifty years. They have the best pie in the county. Just follow me back down the drive and I’ll meet you there.”

  Mel took one more look at the house and got back into her car. She didn’t need to go inside to know it was haunted; she could feel it in her bones. The house called out to her, beckoning her inside, but it wasn’t time to go in. Not yet.

  She drove back down the road and pulled up in front of the diner. Mrs. Mabry was already standing out front waiting for her. They went inside and took a seat at a booth.

  “So can you tell me what exactly it is that you do?” Angie asked.

  “Betty didn’t tell you?”

  “She said you could get the ghosts out of the house, but she didn’t go into any kind of detail as to your process. She said that was best left up to you to explain it. If you were doing this for free, I wouldn’t even ask you, but…”

  “But I’m not doing it for free,” Mel said. “I, like everybody else in this great nation, work for money. But my results are guaranteed.”

  “How can you guarantee to get rid of something that I can’t even prove exists?”

  “I know it exists; that they exist. I can see them, and I can cross them over.”

  “So you’re a what, a ghost hunter or an Exorcist?”

  “No, I’m neither of those things. Though I do believe in God, I don’t deal in any kind of religion in my work. And I don’t really have to hunt for ghosts. Most find me just fine, and the majority of them want to leave here, they just can’t find the way out. I’m more of what you’d call a Reaper.”

  “A Reaper?” Angie asked in disbelief. “Like a Grim Reaper?”

  “Well, I don’t have a scythe, but yes, I’m a Reaper. I pull a lost soul to me, and pass it through my own. It crosses them over to the other side, and they don’t come back…ever. That’s my process.”

  Mel took a sip of her coffee and waited for Angie to soak in what she’d just told her, and then to ask her the question that she knew was coming. This was the part of the job that her clients found the most difficult; belief.

  “How do I know that I can believe you?” Angie asked. “How do I know that this isn’t just some kind of scam, and that you’re not just going to take my money and run?�
��

  “You don’t. It’s your money, and I can leave. You’re under no obligation to hire me. But you found me, and you had to jump through quite a few hoops to do that. You had to go through at least half a dozen people just to get to talk to my assistant. I don’t think you went through all of that just for me to turn around and go home now.”

  There was still uncertainty in Angie’s eyes, but Mel knew the job was hers if she wanted it.

  “Your assistant said your fee is a thousand dollars per ghost.”

  Mel nodded. “I charge the same for each soul that I cross over, and you just have to take my word on the number of souls that I reap, because I have no way to prove it to you. I’m sure that Betty gave you a confidential list of my past clients for you to contact?”

  Angie nodded. “She did, and I called every one of them. They had nothing but praise for your work, but for all I know I could have been talking to a group of people that you paid to tell lies for you.”

  “That could be the case, but it’s not. Again, my business is based on a certain amount of trust. If you can’t do that then we’ve reached a crossroad, and I’m afraid there’s really nothing more for us to say. I’ve wasted my time coming here.”

  She reached for her purse to leave and Angie stopped her, just as Mel had known she would. “No, please wait. I need your help.”

  Mel settled back down in the booth and picked her coffee cup back up. “Betty told me the public history on the house. I need you to tell me everything that you know that may not be on public record, and everything that’s been happening in the house since it’s came into your possession.”

  “So you’ll help me?” Angie asked in relief.

  “That all depends on what you can tell me. I like to have some idea of what I’m walking into before I’ll commit to a job.”

  “Well…” Angie said, and told her everything that Betty had already told her about the house, including Curtis Harlowe’s lost gold.

  “What do you think happened to the gold?” Mel asked.