Spooked on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 3)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise.” I tapped on Midas’ arm, but he paid no attention. He was one of the crowd enjoying the historical replay unfolding before his eyes. I yelped in surprise as a wet tongue caressed the back of my bare leg. I nearly jumped out of my skin until I realized that a blue tick hound, if I was not mistaken, was sitting at my feet and wagging his tail. I squatted down and patted his head while I looked for a tag that identified him. The dog had no tags that I could see, but he had a rope around his neck.

  “Ah, boy. I hope you haven’t been tied up somewhere and forgotten.” I glanced around, hoping to see someone walking in my direction anxious to claim their sad-looking dog, but no one appeared. Everyone had their eyes on the skirmish that was quickly coming to an end. Fran and Ed had made their way back to us, and Midas was plying them with questions. I petted the dog’s head one last time before I stood up to break into their conversation and ask for help in locating the animal’s owner. He could get truly lost out here, and the sight of that rope collar disturbed me.

  “Either one of y’all recognize this dog?” I broke into their riveting conversation about local topography. Everyone looked in my direction, but apparently, no one had seen the dog but me.

  Midas glanced around and asked, “What dog, Cassidy?”

  “The blue tick. The one that was just here licking my legs. You didn’t see him?”

  “No. Sorry.” Midas politely checked around again, but none of us saw the dog. It was like he vanished into thin air. Maybe I took his picture? I scanned the photos on the screen as I shielded it from the sun with my hand. No such luck. I hadn’t thought to take one picture of the hound. I shrugged and took Midas’ picture.

  “That’s fine. Maybe he went back to his owner, but I sure hope they don’t keep him tied up on that rope. That just seems cruel.” Like a whirlwind, my friend and fellow investigator Helen went storming past me like she didn’t even see me. “Hey, where you going, Helen?” She wiped at her face before turning around to face me. Clearly, she’d been crying.

  “I’m going to lie down. It’s too hot out here for me.”

  Vexed by her appearance, I asked, “Want me to walk with you? I could use a break from the heat too.”

  “No, Cassidy. I wouldn’t want to tear you away from all the excitement.” She patted my shoulder dismissively. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said as she walked away.

  No, that’s not right at all. So where is Bruce?

  Oh yeah, he was on the battlefield now. Such a big kid. Something was definitely up with Helen. She and I had gotten pretty tight these past few months; I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t talk to me. The four of us began walking around the camp. Ed and Fran Jacoby hung on Midas’ every word now that they knew he was a Demopolis and a paranormal investigator. I had forgotten the influence his last name carried in some circles, but these two were completely impressed. As the two men talked it up, Fran slipped back and joined me as we trailed after them. I took pictures as we passed various campsites and vendors, but the petite brunette pretty much abandoned her photo hunt altogether and obviously wanted to talk about something.

  “So, what’s it like?” Fran asked me as she took my picture.

  “What do you mean?” I asked her, hoping she wasn’t talking about Midas. I wasn’t the kind of girl to share “inside” information. Believe it or not, some of Midas’ fans did ask those inappropriate questions.

  “Being a paranormal investigator, I mean. What’s it like? I’ve watched all the television shows, you know. And I grew up in two haunted houses. That was back when we lived in Ohio. Kentucky has some spooky spots too, but you know, I think Ohio has it beat by a large margin.”

  I smiled at her. “You lived in two haunted houses in Ohio? That’s interesting.”

  “Yes, Ohio sounds like one scary place, but then when you’re young everything is scary. Maybe not as scary as this place, though. Did I hear right? Are you guys staying overnight here at Harrington?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Yes, but we’re not here for an investigation. This is kind of a mini vacation for us.”

  “Oh,” she said thoughtfully. Obviously, she wanted to tell me something, but she wanted me to ask about it.

  Sure, I’ll play along.

  “I know we don’t know one another well, but I feel like you are holding out on me, Fran. Do you know the history of Harrington Farm? I confess I’m kind of in the dark, history-wise.”

  “I know a little,” she said with a smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s a pretty popular spot. I mean, it’s not television famous, but people on the reenactment trail know all about it. Hey, you two don’t have a television show or a YouTube channel, do you?”

  “Nope. Privacy is really important in our business.”

  She smiled at my answer. “That is good to know. I guess it would be important if you didn’t want word to get out about your place being haunted by some spirit. About the farm…” She glanced up the hill. The sun was going down now, and it cast a golden glow around the farmhouse, wrapping it in an eerie silhouette. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me from the window of our guest room. “I don’t think many people would want to spend the night there, not with what all has happened. I mean, for goodness’ sake, the farm is right here on a battlefield. Bound to have some paranormal activity, right?”

  “Yes, that’s true, but what have you heard specifically about the activity inside the place? I know it’s an older home.”

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “This house isn’t the first house that’s stood on this land. Before the war—the Civil War, I mean—it was supposedly just an old corn crib. Then at some point, it became a home for a young family, but they left the area when the war came to Patch Town. Abandoned it completely and went west. Later, the Harrington family bought a hundred-acre parcel and decided to build on that very spot. I can’t fathom why. The Harrington family practically rebuilt Patch Town after the war.”

  “That’s such an unusual name for a town. Wonder what the story is behind it?”

  Fran clicked her camera at a small child wearing a tiger paw face painting. Even during a reenactment, people couldn’t shake their old football allegiances. “Now that I do know. Like most small towns in the south, the name came about for practical reasons. There used to be a wagon road that ran near Patch Town. The whole town grew up around servicing travelers headed west or north. You could have your wagon canvas patched, buy a new wagon wheel, secure a fresh horse; whatever you needed, you could find it right here. It was never a bustling metropolis, but it did just fine…at least until the railroad came. And then Patch Town wasn’t much of anything at all. But that’s much later.”

  The four of us took a spot at a picnic table under a shady pecan tree. I’d lost track of Bruce. Good, maybe he went to check on Helen. He’d better make her happy.

  Fran set her camera down. “Jason Goddard has owned the place for the last four years. I couldn’t tell you what kind of experiences he’s had in the place, but the people that lived there right before him, Anderson was the family’s name…well, Mr. Anderson killed his wife. And when he was arrested, he told the investigator that a voice in the house told him to do it. And that’s not the first murder that’s occurred on the property. Remember that shotgun house that was built, the one that used to be a corn crib?”

  “Yes.” I leaned forward and focused my attention on Fran. Ed appeared uncomfortable but didn’t stop her.

  Midas propped up his chin with his folded hand and said, “Please go on.”

  “Near the end of the war, some local Confederate soldiers came looking for their missing brothers. They found one of them shot dead in the house and the others missing. There were rumors of a grave near the house, but it wasn’t marked. And they just assumed that whoever did those boys in decided it wasn’t worth it to bury all four of them. Then the word got out that a young Yankee private by the name of Dar
cy had done the deed. Well, you know how Southerners are. It didn’t sit well with many of the people here in Patch Town. People searched for this Private Darcy high and low, but there was no sign of him.”

  “Do people attribute the activity inside the house to Private Darcy?” Midas asked. He had a touch of sweat on his handsome face.

  “We know there have been deaths in the home. The Andersons had a little boy…or was it a girl? Anyway, the child told the investigators that there had been a man in the house the morning of Mrs. Anderson’s murder. The Blue Man, he called him. Mr. Anderson told the investigator that the voices told him to do it. That he had to kill her. So yeah, if it were me, I would be very careful. But then again, look who I’m talking to. You guys know what you’re doing.” Fran grinned at us.

  I had a dozen more questions, but Ed politely interrupted, “If you guys don’t have any plans this evening, come down and visit us. We’ve got an RV down the hill; it’s the big silver one. Right by the creek. We’ve got television, air conditioning and all kinds of food. If you feel like visiting, just tap on the door. We better get going, Fran. Can’t hold these folks up forever. See you later.”

  “Sounds great,” Midas answered as Ed and Fran got up from the picnic table and headed to their camper.

  As they walked away I shook my head. “Can you believe this, Midas? I wonder if Bruce knew about the history of the farm and that’s why he asked us to come here.” I kissed Midas’ sweaty cheek and put my arm around his shoulder as we watched a teenage girl doing a walkabout with a fiddle on her shoulder. She plucked a peppy song like a professional, and the folks who heard it clapped their hands and sang along.

  “I don’t know why Bruce wouldn’t have told us about it if he did know. I guess there’s one way to find out; let’s ask him. I’m starving anyway. Didn’t Jason mention a grill behind the house? I hope there’s something left. If not, we’ll be driving to Jackson.”

  We walked hand in hand to the house and discovered that the grill was empty and Jason was nowhere to be found. “Let me get my purse and we’ll drive into town,” I said as we stepped inside. Gosh, it felt so cool in here.

  And despite her claims that she needed to go lie down, I found Helen in the kitchen washing lettuce and prepping for one of her famous loaded salads. I could see the dinner table was set too. “Helen, why didn’t you tell me you were doing all of this? I would’ve loved to help you set the table at least. Can’t offer you much help cooking, though. I’m not great at it.”

  “She’s right!” Midas joked as he went in search of Bruce and Jason. I frowned at his back but laughed good-naturedly. It was no secret that I couldn’t cook worth a flip. On closer inspection, I could see that Helen had for sure been crying. Nobody else was around, so I took her hand and made her face me.

  “Whatever is going on with you, please know that you can talk to me. You know I can keep a secret. You sure have been great at keeping mine. Let me return the favor, Helen.”

  The front door opened, and I could hear Bruce and Jason talking. She squeezed my hand and said, “Later. For now, help me chop up the eggs and tomatoes. I’ve got to take the bacon out of the oven.”

  “Sure. So that’s the wonderfulness I smell.” I put on an apron with a big smile, searched for bowls and a knife and got cracking on those eggs. After chopping them up, I washed the tomatoes. I always made a mess with tomatoes, but these were pretty firm and didn’t leave a lot of water and seeds behind. Such a nice kitchen. I could imagine being happy here, baking bread and washing vegetables for the family. I shivered. How weird to think like that. Mrs. Anderson lost her life in this house. Knowing that little tidbit, I didn’t care how nice this kitchen was, Harrington Farm would never feel like home to me. After I completed the tasks, I asked Helen, “What’s next, chef?”

  “That’s it. Take your seat at the table, Cassidy. Dinner should be ready any minute.”

  “You mean there is more?” I asked in surprise. That big old salad would surely be enough for all of us.

  “Of course there’s more. Do you think these three brawny men want to eat salad for dinner?” Bruce held up his scrawny arm and flexed it, and Jason followed suit. Midas laughed at both the other men. These guys were totally oblivious to how Helen was feeling. And apparently, she wanted it that way. I played along and poked fun at Bruce’s skinny arm, but I helped her serve supper. She had a stack, and I do mean a stack, of pork chops covered in grilled onions and peppers coming out of the oven. She set them on the table and warned everybody that the dish was hot, but of course nobody listened. And nobody seemed to notice that she didn’t sit at the table with us and that she politely excused herself and went off to her bedroom.

  I started to get up to follow her, but she shook her head and put her hand up as if to say, Stay there. Enjoy your meal. I nodded in agreement because I didn’t know what else to do. Midas witnessed the odd exchange too, and I could see the worry on his face.

  He whispered in my ear, “Check on her after supper.” Bruce wasn’t waiting. He got up from the table and immediately went after Helen; he didn’t bother hiding his concerned expression.

  “I plan on it,” I whispered back as I watched Bruce disappearing down the hallway.

  Naturally, the conversation went to the story that Ed and Fran told us about Harrington Farm. Jason had many more details to share; some were pretty gory. Brett Anderson never had mental-health issues until he bought this place. Until he killed his wife, Anita. As Midas pointed out, the timing could have been a coincidence, but Jason wasn’t buying it.

  “If it was merely a story, I could dismiss it as such…but I think this place is affecting me too. Since Rose died, it’s gotten worse.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Jason. I wish I had known her,” I said honestly.

  “She was such a remarkable woman, and she loved this place. That’s why I did it this year. Believe me, it was a challenge hosting the Patch Town Battle without her help this year, but she would want me to do just that. Rose loved history and this house, even with the Anderson tragedy.” He sighed and pushed his plate away. “I should have been upfront with you guys, but I wasn’t sure how to do that.”

  “Again, we’re sorry about your loss, Jason. I’m sure you’re right. Rose would like you to continue this.”

  Jason continued, his voice sounding broken and ragged, “This was going to be our dream home. We were going to retire here, but now that she’s gone, I don’t want to stay. Too many memories. But I don’t want to leave and disappoint Rose. And if she is here, I don’t want to leave her alone.”

  “Do you think Rose is still here, Jason?” Midas asked. “Have you seen her?”

  “No. I have on several occasions heard what I thought was a female voice upstairs, but when I go up, there’s no one there. It’s the weirdest thing.”

  I said, “It sounds like you and Rose believed the stories about the older murders are true. The ones from the War.”

  “Yes, we did believe it, like I said. Personally, I haven’t seen anything. No ghosts. No orbs of light. No shadow people, but you do get the feeling that someone is watching you, especially in that back bedroom.”

  “The one you put us in?” I said with a disapproving smile.

  “I should have told you about that. I’m sorry about that.”

  I gathered the plates as they continued talking. I couldn’t leave Helen to clean all this up herself. I heard Jason say, “I’m glad you guys are here, and I understand if you say that I’m completely out of line here, but…”

  Midas knew what was coming and didn’t hesitate. I loaded the dishwasher as they talked. “Give me the green light, Jason, and I’ll call my team. I think they’re available, but I can’t speak for them since like you said, this wasn’t on the schedule. Just for future reference, I like it when my clients are upfront with me. I’ll be honest and upfront with you in return.”

  “That’s a promise.” Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Of course we w
ill investigate if it helps you gain some peace of mind.”

  “Thanks,” Jason said as he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “What do I need to do?”

  “Nothing. We usually investigate a few days, at least initially, and then we will go home, analyze the data and present to you any evidence that we might find of any paranormal activity. Having an eerie feeling or a feeling that someone is watching you is not unusual, especially if there are high levels of EMF in the area. We’ll do a sweep as soon as possible and see what the EMF baseline is here, and if it is high, then we will have somewhere to start.”

  “Jason, you didn’t ask these guys to investigate the farm, did you?” Bruce surprised us and sat back down at the table. “I told you to leave that to me.”

  “I can’t in good conscience sell the house not knowing one way or another. It’s not right…and what if Rose is still here? Now with Helen’s condition, I didn’t think you’d have the time.”

  That comment grabbed my attention. I came back to the table and sat with Midas. Bruce patted his brother’s shoulder and said, “Sorry, Midas. I really didn’t invite you two up here to the farm to investigate. I thought it would be fun to have a few days away from the city, and Helen wanted to talk to you guys. It’s pretty important that she talk to you sooner rather than later.”

  And that was all he had to say. I was out of my seat and headed to Helen’s room. Whatever her news was, whatever she wanted to say, I was ready to hear it.

  No matter what it might be.

  Chapter Three—Private Darcy

  A storm for the ages rolled over us that night. Even the blue tick sought shelter in the ramshackle house, but the lieutenant wasn’t about to let him in. I watched him scurry off to find a dry spot beneath the porch.

  Maybe I should give him a name. Every dog deserved to have a name. Obviously, he’d lost his owner. Or his owner was a soldier far from home.

  We all lay in our different corners, the bound men uncomfortably so, but I didn’t dare ask if I could untie them. Nor did I really trust that they wouldn’t harm us in the night. No matter what happened, I couldn’t forget that we were at war. Dead men forgot facts like that. I may have hated Bart Humphries, but he and I were both Kentuckians and Union soldiers. The rain blew so hard and at such an extreme angle that rainwater began to flood in under the door of the tiny shotgun house. The lieutenant and I began searching for items we could use to block off the water from gaining further access into the house. Furniture was sparse here, but I opened the cedar chest and found two old grimy pillows. I immediately pushed the pillows into the crack of the door to slow down the water. This wasn’t a permanent solution, but it hopefully would get us through the night without waking up in a pool of mud. I’d eaten my body weight in mud in the past few months.