Deadly Night

by Aiden James

  Jackie had told Fiona earlier that other PR groups were considered before us, but none had the ‘it’ factor, until the guy heard about Nash-Vegas Paranormal. That piqued his initial interest, and after an impressive interview with Jackie, the audio antics sold him on our group’s viability.

  So, stay tuned….

  Finally, we got to Tom’s presentation, which started just after eight o’clock. That gave him roughly an hour to work with, since Ed’s curfew mandated we had to be back by ten o’clock. It would be less restrictive tomorrow, when we all had to be back in our little safe havens by eleven. The only further exception to the eleven o’clock rule is for me Wednesday night, when I needed to return home by midnight from Madison, after my band’s rehearsal ends. I can’t say for sure exactly ‘when’ that’ll happen, just as long as me and the Camaro are back in Nan’s carport before we become a mouse and pumpkin.

  “I prefer we begin with our findings from our aborted trip to the Carnton,” he said, his disdain seeping through. I believe he’d still be fuming if not for the productive visit to Bethpage, and the odd tragedy that followed at the Thompson mansion. “Do y’all remember how excited Tony and I were about ‘something’ we caught on video?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure we all do, Thomas,” said Angie, with her own disdain. “If we had hung out there any longer, all our asses would’ve spent the weekend in jail!”

  Okay, it sounds like she’s got her own axe to grind…careful, children.

  “That’s part of the allure, right?” I asked, my tone impish, though I made sure my expression remained serious. When both Angie and Tom glared at me suspiciously, I looked over at Fiona, whose expression told me at least she got my jest. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained…so, let’s see what you’ve got there, Tommy boy!”

  Don’t know why I said that last part. It just slipped out, and my immediate worry was Tom might mistake it as flirtatious. Thankfully, he thought I made fun of him—which was true. He’s too damned serious about everything.

  “For the sake of time, I’m going to let that slide, Jimmy ‘boy’,” he replied, and then motioned to that great big LCD screen of his. “Roll em’, Tony”

  “Okay…this segment picks up when Tom and I reached the far end of the graveyard,” said Tony. “You’ll hear Tom call me over to him, and that’s when the stuff started happening.”

  “Like the phantoms wanted an attentive audience…here they come!” Tom advised. His demeanor had returned to the childlike excitement we usually see from him at moments like this.

  The familiar color spectrum from the infrared appeared on the screen. For a moment, all I could see was the yellow-green glare and the faint outlines of the wrought iron fence and a tall grave marker. Just beyond the back gate, moving toward the plantation house in the background were three shadows. At first, I figured they were caused by some other light source, since the house is surrounded by security lights and encircled by a six-foot tall wooden fence. A real eyesore in the daytime and quite different from the original owner’s intent, where rolling fields and the nearby woodlands once framed the elegant mansion in “Gone With The Wind” majesty.

  But once Tom adjusted the range and focus of his infrared device, the shadows became much more defined. Everyone gasped in surprise.

  “Oh my God, those are soldiers!”

  Normally, Jackie would look over at Fiona, or lately Tom, to gain support for her observations. No need this time. Although the reddish images were a little faint at various points of the video stream, we could see the long coats with definable stripes on the shoulders. Probably hand sewn by loved ones, since the Battle of Franklin took place long after the Confederacy had the funds to properly outfit its army.

  “They sort of look like kids,” mused Justin, softly.

  Definitely the most poignant description, as it looked like one of the young soldiers led the way, while another carried the third Confederate warrior by wrapping his arm around him. None were tall, so Justin’s guess about them being youngsters seemed believable. Especially since in reality, many soldiers were no older than fourteen or fifteen, and some even younger.

  Invisible from the waist down, the leader suddenly turned toward the camera, right when Tom zoomed in for better detail, as if the apparition could feel the attention. The eyes glowed for a moment, like a cat caught looking into a car’s headlights. Unfortunately, that’s the spot in the video segment where Justin made fun of General Hood, and our laughter resounded from behind Tom and Tony. The camera’s focus shifted ever so slightly while Tom looked back at us, and the image of the three soldiers had completely disappeared by the time he corrected the focus.

  “Damn—it could’ve been even better,” he lamented now, regarding us all solemnly. “It could’ve been really something special…just a little more clarity and no one could refute it.”

  “It’s still very impressive!” Fiona sought to assure him, drawing everyone else’s attention. “At least as astounding as anything presented on TV—definitely as good as any footage I’ve seen on TAPS.”

  He nodded, though frowning, while the rest of us offered our support for Fiona’s feedback.

  “That’s the problem,” he sighed. “For us to make a strong name for ourselves, I believe we need to be better than TAPS.”

  Not sure I agree, but without waiting he motioned to Tony to queue up the next evidence, this time captured at Marie Petersen’s place in Bethpage.

  “There are a few odd things that showed up at both the Petersen and Thompson houses,” Tom advised. “Nothing as defined as our Carnton soldiers, but something pretty bizarre nonetheless.”

  Hearing this actually made me more intrigued. After all, it’s not like we haven’t seen ghost soldier images before. Hell, every serious longtime investigator living in the southeastern United States has at least one shot like that in their collections, and many of those photographs are defined as clearly as the subjects in tonight’s presentation.

  “Tony, Jackie, and I sifted through all of the still shots I developed from everyone’s cameras during this past week,” he continued, moving over to where Tony sat, peering over his shoulder to gauge the progress in queuing up the next video segment. “Unfortunately, nothing other than a few dust orbs showed up…except in one shot. That photograph came from your camera, Fiona, and you took it of your husband walking out of Marie’s kitchen to rejoin the rest of us, gathered in her living room.”

  She nodded, as if remembering that Kodak moment. I sort of did, but couldn’t swear to it…just that Marie’s kitchen has consistently given me the creeps.

  “Take a look.”

  Tony signaled the segment was ready, and a moment later the screen filled with a grainy image of me. I’d just stepped past the mantel of a two-hundred-year-old stone fireplace that dominates Marie’s living room. Once Tony dialed in a cleaner version of the photo, the fireplace and mantel came into clear view—along with me, dressed in my favorite investigative garb.

  The Queensryche 03’ world tour shirt among my favorites, my facial expression in the picture so plainly revealed my distaste for the Petersen’s kitchen. It might’ve even had something to do with the creepy ink-black darkness behind me, though I only recalled the brightness of the kitchen’s naked bulb at the time—bright enough to shield my eyes from its glare.

  Disturbing…especially since the black shadow behind me looked a little blob-like, and not all that dissimilar to the menace that appeared in my kitchen last week. Maybe recognition was what Tom wanted to gain from this exercise, because his face lit up when he noticed the scowl I wore.

  “You want to share your impressions with us, James?”

  Ouch! No need to go there, bud, since I’m not the one who called you by your Christian surname. That was Angie’s doing. My only transgression was calling you ‘Tommy Boy’.

  “It’s just a creepy house,” I said, glancing again at my wife, who looked concerned. “There are probably lots of dark patches throughout the place—maybe even
one for every shadow person on the premises.”

  I thought this would make him chuckle. It didn’t. At least Justin and Angie snickered.

  “Well, not to be morbid or anything, but Tony and I discovered a similar image during our short investigation at the Thompson mansion,” he said, holding his hand up to ask Fiona to wait on voicing her concerns about bringing Charlain’s place into this discussion. “We’ll queue that one up in a moment, and then everyone can be the judge.”

  I literally prayed Fiona didn’t mention the scant information I shared earlier with her about the weird mist in our home last week. She hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, from what she told me in the car this evening. But it wasn’t like I swore her to eternal secrecy either.

  “So, you’re saying the same shadow showed up in Charlain’s house?” I snickered nervously after I said this, realizing I had to be careful to not let on that I knew exactly what Tom was talking about.

  “Yes…I am,” he said quietly, surveying the room before returning his penetrating gaze to me.

  Everyone alternated glances between him and me, until I finally looked away. I searched the room for Fiona, even though I knew full well where she sat, less than a few feet away. I’ve never had the unnerving experience of feeling this closed in before…intense claustrophobia. Utterly suffocating, man...where the room’s walls, ceiling, and floor felt like they might engulf my body and soul—just as soon as the damned thing quit spinning.

  Good thing I was sitting down.

  “Tony, let’s go ahead and move on to the evidence gathered from the Thompson residence,” Tom instructed, still regarding me while offering only a slight nod to his dearest partner in crime.

  “Okay…coming right up.” It sounded as if my work buddy enjoyed my discomfort a little more than he should.

  “We’ll try to skip over the stuff where Charlain was acting so strange,” Tom explained. “I’d rather start with the first bit of intriguing evidence we captured upstairs.”

  Jackie and Angie’s faces soon came into view on the screen. Jackie offered a warm wave to go with her excited smile, while Angie simply nodded toward the camera positioned in one corner of the gallery. Tony stopped the video.

  “Did y’all see the door slowly close at the end of the hall?” he asked.

  He ran the segment back and forth a few more times. Sure enough, just as Angie walked by the camera, the door to Charlain’s bedroom closed, and the latch clicked as if someone pulled it tight. We might’ve missed this if not for Tony reminding us that no one was upstairs at the time, as the kids were downstairs in the game room.

  “There are other interesting moments captured by that same camera” said Tom. “Like a few streaking orbs flitting across the gallery’s oak floor. But the biggest event was caught on one of the downstairs’ cameras, shortly before Charlain chased Jimmy, Justin, and Tony out of the house. Here it comes….right there!”

  Tony had found the segment, playing it slowly…again more gasps, from everyone but me. I’m sure I would’ve joined them…joined them gladly. But when my mouth fell open, nothing came out.

  Just as Tom had advised earlier, there was a mist…a misshapen ink-blot suddenly appearing in the room’s corner, nearest the kitchen. Like a giant gorilla, it seemed to climb into the house from a tall window. Even the curtains swayed…billowing as the thing came into the room and then followed us guys into the kitchen.

  It looks just like what I saw the other night.... Shit!

  I don’t know why it freaked me out so much. I mean, hell, I’ve seen a lot worse over the years, and even felt things far more ominous.

  “Dude….you’re turning vampire white, like some Canadian cracker!” teased Justin, though his expression seemed worried. “You should finish your beer, man…maybe that’ll bring some color back to your face.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a little warm in here,” I agreed, feeling my face flush. “I’ll be fine in a moment, so let’s just move on to whatever else we captured that night.”

  “Not yet,” said Tom. “The mists are quite similar, and both times they’re following you. And, I bet this has happened before. You’ll have a tough time getting me to believe otherwise.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” I countered, feeling my nose try to extend further from my face.

  “Bullshit, Jimmy!” Fiona blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. She looked worried. “These are your friends, so they have a right to know about the thing you told me about…what happened to you last week.”

  There’s nowhere to hide now…just frigging great!

  It was nearly impossible to ignore the curious stares, which were an enormous weight getting worse by the minute. With little choice but to cooperate, I held out hope I’d sneak through with an abbreviated version.

  “Don’t even think about it, hon,” my wife admonished. “You need to share everything about that night…. I do mean everything!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I spent most of Tuesday morning and afternoon continually looking over my shoulder. Really, since getting up that morning it was like frigging Pig Pen from the old Charlie Brown comics, picturing in my head some unseen menace tracking my every move. A dirty murky dust cloud? In my case it’s more like the ‘curse of the ominous mist’ syndrome.

  Yeah, I know, there’s probably nothing to it.... That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.

  We damn near missed our curfew last night talking about this shit...me reliving what happened a week ago in our house. At least Fiona got a small taste of her own medicine when Justin grilled her on why Charlain Thompson went from high-society pompous bitch to Sybil, jumping over the banister to her death like some glory-deluded Kamikaze at Pearl Harbor.

  My wife proposed spirit possession as a possible answer, which led to even more questions and a discussion that could’ve lasted well into the wee hours of the morning. At least I enjoyed a humorous moment when Jackie brought a stern elbow to Angie’s ribs after our resident skeptic’s initial response to Fiona’s theory was a burst of cynical laugher. Muscle Mutt’s yelped response had to be faked, though. The girl’s body fat is somewhere around three percent. It’s like punching a cement wall.

  Lizzy Robertson’s spirit taking over poor Charlain’s body for the day is sort of like renting a car, fully intending to smash the sucker up and return it as a trashed heap. The premise wouldn’t fit well with what we knew about Lizzy, but another wicked spirit might find that sort of thing quite entertaining. So, it might not have been Lizzy’s ghost involved after all…. Regardless, I sure as hell didn’t want to speculate about it until dawn.

  But the worst thing about last night is what didn’t happen. Fiona never shared her card reading from Sunday night. She didn’t get a chance once the other stuff came up. Had she done so, we definitely would’ve been late getting back to Stella’s, and the group’s psychological state might’ve been much worse after hearing that information….

  “Jimmy, don’t drive so fast—Jackie and Tony are having trouble keeping up!”

  I don’t believe I’ve mentioned how much Fiona hates it when I’m behind the wheel. Usually it’s more about my bad habit of hugging the lane’s left edge too close…makes her nervous as hell. But she’s right…I need to slow down, since I can barely see the pair of SUVs a half-mile behind us.

  Tuesday night. We’re on our way to Twin Forks, after the group met up at Jim and Nick’s Barbeque in Murfreesboro. Heard it was fantastic, and no disappointment there. Great brisket, man. That’s all that mattered to me, anyway, and everyone else seemed pleased with their orders as well. Afterward, we shared a few beers while waiting for the TV station’s camera crew and the Murfreesboro cop assigned to escort us. Once they arrived, the two male camera techs elected to ride with Jackie and Angie, while the lone camera girl graciously agreed to join Tom, Tony, and Justin.

  My reason for driving fast is to keep up with the cop, who seems to have no inkling of how far behind the others are. And, i
t’s not like I can call him on my cell phone.

  “Flash your lights at him!” Fiona urged me.

  “You don’t think it’ll piss him off?”

  “Who cares?! He needs to quit being a dick and slow down…if it were you or me in front of him right now, he’d sure as hell be pulling our asses over and handing us a speeding ticket!”

  She’s probably right.

  To the guy’s credit, he did slow down, and it only took me flashing the lights a couple of times. After that, the patrol car’s pace remained steady—just five miles above the speed limit, which allowed the others opportunity to catch up.

  Before long we reached the back roads that would take us to the bed and breakfast inn. When we arrived at Twin Forks, Charlien and George McGlothin were already waiting for us, standing in front of their massive Victorian estate.

  The building’s quite impressive, with matching turrets and a full wraparound porch that stretches for several hundred feet. Hell, if I was a ghost I’d be a happy camper in a place like this.

  “Sorry about the race over here,” I told Jackie and Tony, after we all parked and began unloading our gear.

  “Geez, I thought maybe we’d stepped onto the set of ‘The Dukes of Hazard’,” teased Tony, who paused to look over at tonight’s police protection.

  Officer Ted Compton stood by his patrol car, reflective shades still covering his eyes despite the fact twilight had already arrived. The anti-Jerry Sloan. An average looking, no-personality kind of guy. Just as long as he kept out of our way, we’d be done with him in a couple of hours.

  “Hey, Charlien! It’s so good to see you!”

  Fiona led the way up to the porch, where the McGlothins had retreated once they saw us coming with all of our gear, followed by our three camera techs. She and Charlien embraced as soon as she climbed the steps to the porch.