The Rising: A Badlands Novel

by Morgan Brice

  “Are there places where the ghost activity has been stronger?” Simon asked, carefully stretching out his senses while keeping his protective charms close.

  “We’ve had incidents all over the house,” Trevor told him. “But the most recent ones were here in the parlor, and upstairs in what would have been the master bedroom.”

  “Show me.” Simon followed Trevor into the front room and slowly made a circuit, expecting to find a cold spot or a frisson of energy that marked a ghost’s presence.

  “Are you getting anything?” Trevor asked.

  Simon shook his head. “No. I have a general sense of the house, which has more than its share of negative energy. But I’m not picking up a specific vibe in this room.” He looked at Trevor and managed a smile, not wanting to disappoint. “That’s not entirely unusual. Ghosts don’t just hang around in one spot, waiting for people to walk through them. If they’re not repeaters, they come and go as they please.”

  Trevor headed up the stairs, with Simon close behind. The foreboding he had sensed earlier grew stronger, a prickle at the back of his neck and tightness in his gut that warned him on a primal level to get the hell out. A flicker of motion to one side caught his attention, and he saw a woman in a long dress appear, walk a few feet, turn into a doorway and vanish.

  “See something?” Trevor asked.

  Simon pointed. “A woman.”

  “We call her Hallway Hannah,” Trevor replied. “She hasn’t bothered anyone, but it does give you a start until you get used to her.”

  “She’s one of those repeaters I mentioned. A bit like a projector with a short film that gets stuck playing over and over,” Simon said. “She won’t hurt you.”

  Hannah might not be malicious, but as Simon reached the second-floor landing, he felt a darker, more dangerous energy that seemed to be everywhere. “Can you feel it?” he asked, amazed that the work crews had remained on the job.

  Trevor frowned. “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that you mean the way it seems ‘off’ up here. Like someone’s watching, and you’re not welcome.”

  Simon nodded. “I’m picking up anger, the way a room feels tense when people aren’t getting along, even if no one says anything.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Trevor said. “Everyone’s edgy on the crew, and tempers are shorter than usual. I think some of the guys cover up being scared with being angry, which just makes everything worse.”

  The bedroom Hannah claimed had the least negative energy. Two of the rooms felt vaguely creepy, but nothing Simon would have considered dangerous.

  “This, we think, was the master bedroom,” Trevor said, leading the way inside. “I thought that even if you didn’t pick up anything elsewhere, you’d get a reading here. Can you tell who—or what—is causing the problem?”

  “Did you find anything in the room that might have been a personal belonging? Maybe something hidden?” Simon asked.

  Trevor shook his head. “Not so far. I trust my crew; they would have told me if anything turned up. Do you think that’s what’s causing the problem?”

  Simon hesitated. “I’m not sure. Some ghosts just don’t like ‘strangers’ invading their homes. From the energy I read out in the family cemetery, the Dunwoods weren’t a bunch of happy campers.”

  Trevor looked like he was carefully weighing his response. “I don’t know much about the house’s history or the people who lived here. But I’ve been in the remodeling and renovation business since I was a teenager, and I go in and out of a lot of houses. I’m not a psychic, but there’s definitely a vibe you get when you walk in a place—even if you’re just visiting someone—about whether they’re getting along, doing okay. And there are times when everything looks perfect, and in your gut you know something’s off.” He licked his lips nervously. “This whole house feels off—and angry. I’d be very surprised to find out that the people who lived here were at peace.”

  Simon felt quite certain that they weren’t, even after death. He’d picked up a dark resonance just walking into the room. Violent, headstrong, masculine. Undoubtedly a Dunwood, but which one of the manor’s former masters, he wasn’t sure.

  The room’s temperature plummeted, and Simon sensed a sudden shift in the air. “Watch out!” he yelled to Trevor, then jumped in front of the other man as a ghostly force rushed toward them at full speed. Trevor stumbled back, pushed out of the way, but Simon took the full brunt of the hit.

  He’d never played football, but Simon had imagined getting tackled would feel something like this. The force caught him square in the torso and lifted him off his feet, sending him flying. Simon slammed into the wall, taking the force of the hit on his shoulders. He knew the ghost would come at him again, and he was already speaking the words of a rote magic protection spell before he got to his feet.

  The scrim of protective energy that surrounded him wouldn’t hold off a powerful, extended attack, but it would buy him time to recover and drain power from any spirit foolish enough to try to break through. The nearly-invisible barrier brought the ghost up short, and for an instant, as it touched the warding, Simon caught a glimpse of his attacker. He saw a tall man with a dour expression, dressed in a frock coat and tricorn hat from the Revolutionary War period. None other than Jamie Dunwood, Socastee Manor’s founder.

  Get out and stay out! The ghost roared in Simon’s mind. You have no business here.

  With that, Dunwood’s ghost flashed out of Simon’s sight, and the oppressive feeling lifted from the room. Trevor had flattened himself against the far wall, eyes wide.

  “What just happened?” The contractor’s voice shook a little.

  Simon dusted himself off and stretched his neck from side to side, deciding that there was no permanent damage, and wondering if he’d have bruises that he’d need to explain to Vic. “That…was Jamie Dunwood. He doesn’t like visitors.”

  “Jamie Dunwood…for real?”

  Simon couldn’t help chuckling. “Well, I sure didn’t throw myself into the wall. Yes. The man himself—or at least, his ghost. Death hasn’t improved his temper.” He glanced around, sensing that other spirits had watched the altercation from a distance, but they evaded his Sight.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here before Dunwood powers up again.”

  Trevor didn’t speak again until they were on the stairs. “I saw you fly across the room, and then there was a…shimmer…around you.

  After the impression he’d gotten at the base of the steps, Simon made sure to keep a hand on the railing. “A protection spell,” Simon replied. “For situations just like that. It won’t keep Dunwood away for long, but it made him back off.”

  They walked down the stairs and out onto the porch. Simon waited while Trevor locked up. “I think you get the picture. What now?”

  Simon weighed his options. “How open-minded is your developer? I have some ideas about what we can do to make this better, but they might weird him out.”

  “Try me.”

  Simon gave him a lopsided grin. “I’d like to have someone from the clergy bless the cemetery—ideally, I’d say Last Rites, but I don’t know what the owners prefer.”

  “No idea, but that doesn’t sound too weird.”

  “In here, we can smudge with sage—it’s like incense, and it’s good for cleansing negative energy,” Simon went on. “If your crew isn’t already wearing charms or medallions with protective properties, it certainly won’t hurt if they do. Jewelry or talismans that people have faith in really do have power. Putting down salt lines around the doors and windows can help, but not if Dunwood’s anchor is somewhere in the house.”

  “Okay. What else?” Trevor asked. Simon thanked his lucky stars that the man took the situation seriously.

  “I’m worried about the ghost in the bedroom. I think that’s the spirit who’s dangerous. I’d like to do a séance and try to find out what’s behind all this. Do you have any idea whether the violent haunting is recent, or has it been going on for a while?”

/>   Trevor snorted. “I can’t get the developer to admit that there’s any kind of haunting—violent or not. That might increase the sales price in New Orleans, but not here. I’m taking a risk coming to you—but I’m really afraid my guys are going to get hurt.”

  “Okay,” Simon replied, not surprised that the developer wasn’t really onboard. “Then we have to keep this quiet. I’d like to do a séance, and bring a few friends who also have some abilities—or can have our backs if something goes wrong. We’ll do it low key—all we need is a folding table and chairs, and some kind of lights so we’re not completely in the dark.”

  “You want to talk to the ghost?” Trevor looked nervous, and Simon guessed he was weighing the potential shitstorm if the developer found out. “What if he attacks and really hurts you this time?”

  “If I don’t talk to the ghost that’s causing the problem, then I’d at least like to speak with some of the other ghosts,” Simon replied. “Aside from Hallway Hannah, I think there are other spirits attached to this house, but they’re not around right now. It could be that they don’t like the noise and fuss of renovations and they go somewhere else on the property. But ghosts can also be afraid of other spirits. And if the angry ghost has gotten stronger for some reason, they might be hiding.”

  “Ghosts are afraid of ghosts? What can happen? They’re already dead?”

  Simon sighed. “You’ve heard of something being a ‘fate worse than death?’ There are entities out there that can hurt other spirits, feed off them, and destroy them. Those aren’t usually things that started out human, but I’ve read about very bad people turning into really awful ghosts.”

  “Huh. I guess I can see that.”

  Simon felt relieved that Trevor accepted his explanation. Whether or not the man was a true believer in psychic phenomena, he definitely seemed to trust Simon and believe he could help. That made Simon all the more determined to figure out how to fix the problem before anyone got hurt.

  “Now that I’ve been here and seen what’s what, I need to do some more research,” Simon said as they walked back to the car. “I also need to talk to a few people—in confidence—and get their input. I want to take care of this for you quickly, but if we don’t do it right, the spirit could get even angrier.”

  “We don’t want that,” Trevor said with a shudder. “And I get doing it right the first time. As we say in my business, ‘measure twice, cut once.’”

  “I’ll give you call in the morning, and we can set up a sage smudging and having the cemetery blessed,” Simon said. “It’s a good next step.”

  “Thank you,” Trevor replied. “Not just for coming out, but for taking me seriously. A lot of people wouldn’t have understood.”

  “This is definitely not the strangest thing I’ve seen,” Simon assured him. “And I’m going to do everything I can to keep your people safe.” But as he drove away, leaving Socastee Manor in his rearview mirror, Simon worried that he might not be able to make good on that promise.

  Before Simon made it back to Grand Strand Ghost Tours, his phone buzzed. “What’s up?”

  “There’s a guy here who wants to talk to you,” Pete told him. “I said you were going to be out for a while, and he said he’d wait. He’s been here over an hour.”

  “Any idea what he wants? If he needs an appointment, just go ahead and get him set up.”

  “I tried that. He said he read your books and wants to talk to you about the wreck.”

  “The ship everyone’s talking about?”

  “I guess so.” Pete kept his voice down, and Simon figured his assistant had gone into the break room. “Are you coming back?”

  “I’m on my way. Should be there in a couple of minutes. Keep an eye on him until I can get there.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if he wants coffee. Thanks.” Pete disconnected, leaving Simon to wonder how it was that two strangers with ghost issues came looking for him within days.

  It took longer to find a parking spot than Simon hoped. He turned off the car and got out. From where he stood, he could see out over the ocean, and he paused for a moment to drink in a deep breath and enjoy the view.

  In a heartbeat, the perspective changed. Instead of standing on dry land, looking out at the ocean between modern high-rise buildings, Simon saw two young men aboard a black sailing sloop. The ship flew no colors, meaning it was either a pirate or a privateer. Both men looked to be in their early twenties, in clothing that suggested the Revolutionary War period.

  The dark-haired man was clearly the leader. He and the other man worked the sails expertly, skimming fast across the waves in pursuit of another ship, with a distinctive figurehead. Then the leader turned and stared right at Simon, meeting and holding his gaze as if he could see through the centuries.

  Simon blinked, and the vision vanished. He put out a hand to steady himself against his car and breathed through his panic. Just seeing a glimpse of the past didn’t faze him. But the sense of connection he’d shared in that look from the man on the black ship chilled Simon down to his bones. He’d never had something like that happen. Sure, he’d interacted with plenty of ghosts, some of whom were centuries old. But this was a vision. It should have been like watching a DVD—glimpsing a snippet of time without being able to interact.

  But the man’s expression seemed to make it clear that he hadn’t just looked in Simon’s direction—he had seen Simon across a span of more than two hundred and fifty years. What did it mean? What message was Simon to take from that—and did it have anything to do with the haunted mansion or the possessed hanging victims?

  When Simon felt his heart rate slow, and he got himself under control, he locked the car and headed for the shop, making a mental note to talk to his witch friend Gabriella about the incident. Pete’s nod when he walked into the shop told him that the stranger was still waiting. Simon spotted the customer sitting at the readings table and strode to the back of the store to greet him.

  “I’m Simon Kincaide. Pete said you were looking for me?”

  The man’s grip was sure and firm. He was a few inches taller than Simon with broad shoulders and a bearing that suggested ex-military. His brown hair was cut short, and his green eyes had an appraising glint to them. “Josh Williams. I’m an underwater explorer and maritime historian, sent down by USC to have a look at that wreck everyone’s talking about. I’ve read your ghost books, and I wanted to talk to you about the Gallows Nine.”

  Oddly, shaking the man’s hand didn’t give Simon any clue about his energy. While Simon’s Gift focused on speaking with the dead, it tended to give him some insight into the living as well. Simon’s psychic radar was giving him nothing on Josh. That immediately raised a red flag in his mind, despite the fact that Williams’s energy made Simon feel comfortable, as if it were easier to breathe.

  “I’m not really an expert on the Nine,” Simon said, taking a seat on the other side of the séance table. “I know the lore, of course, but I haven’t particularly studied it.” Until he knew Williams better, Simon had no intention of mentioning his vision, or the fact that he’d seen the hanging.

  “The nine pirates who were hanged were the crew of the Annabelle,” Williams said. “A fast ship that had been a thorn in the side of the East India Company. Rumor has it that they were scuttled by a privateer—a legal pirate—they’d tangled with before. I’ve always been fascinated with the Nine, and I did my graduate work on known wrecks off this stretch of coast. There had been rumors that the Annabelle was one of them, but no one could find it. Then we had the hurricane, and it shifted enough sand that the currents finally exposed her.”

  Simon sat forward. “So the wreck that’s been in the news—you’re sure it’s really the Annabelle?”

  Josh nodded. “I’m sure. But that’s not the same as being able to prove it. I’ve got a dive team with me, and we’re doing everything the weather will allow to get a look at the wreck in case this storm that’s on its way covers it back up or drags it out to sea.”
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  “That’s all really interesting,” Simon said, genuinely intrigued by the story. “But I don’t know how I can be of help.”

  “We have permission to bring up artifacts from the site,” Williams said. “Of course, it’s a tangle of salvage and antiquities law as to who they belong to, but one way or the other, they’ll probably end up in a museum. Depending on what we find, I’d love to be able to ask you to take a look at them, see if you can contact the spirits of the pirates.”

  Simon fought an involuntary shiver, thinking about the vision he’d had the day before. “Why? What would you hope to gain from that, even if I could make a connection? Which, by the way, isn’t guaranteed. Spirits move on, or they just don’t bother to answer when you call.”

  Williams leaned forward. “I’m a historian, first and foremost. I’m in it for the story. There are so many versions of what happened to the Annabelle and what made the Gallows Nine the most wanted men in their day. They’ve become a legend, like Bonnie and Clyde or Billy the Kid. I want to find the truth.”

  Simon still couldn’t get more of a read on the guy. That rarely happened, but when it did, it threw him off his game. “You know, the truth has ruined a lot of good legends. Do you really want to go there?”

  Williams sighed. “The true story is always the most important one. If it turns out to be different from the legend, it won’t really matter. Everybody loves a good pirate story.”

  Simon couldn’t deny that the idea of actually making a connection with the long-lost crew of the Annabelle intrigued him. He had been very careful visiting museum exhibits with artifacts from the Titanic and the Hunley because he knew the tragic story behind them and didn’t want to live it through the eyes of any spirits that might have attached themselves to the items. But the Annabelle was shrouded in mystery, and even the scholarly theories competed. Simon might have walked away from his job as a folklore professor, but it didn’t lessen his love for the subject matter.

  “All right,” Simon told Williams. “If you bring up anything notable, give me a call, and we’ll figure out where and when to get together.” He gave him a card with the shop’s number.