Happily Never After

by Missy Fleming

  “I wasn’t expecting to see stainless steel appliances. Don’t old houses like this have to be historically correct?”

  “You’ve done your homework,” I said and ran my hand over the counter, “but no. This house is listed on the National Historic Register but most of the rules only apply to the outside. They make allowances for updated interiors as long as the exterior is maintained in the original condition and as close to the original handwork as possible.”

  “Did you memorize that?”

  I felt myself blush. “Well, I love this house and up until the last couple years, it has been in the Historic Homes Tour. I used to love dressing up in period gowns and showing people the house. It’s one of our silly traditions. This house is all that’s left of my family. I can’t explain it.”

  “People down here are real sentimental about their houses,” Jason said. “It reminds me of the one we’re using for the movie. It might even be a bit older. I can’t remember the name of the house now. They all have names here, I’ve discovered. Anyway, the owner follows the crew around like a man possessed. They can’t set the equipment there or they can’t move that piece of antique furniture. I think the director’s ready to strangle him.”

  “Luckily, Daddy was never that obsessed. He let me be a child in here, running from room to room, sliding down the banister, even climbing on things I shouldn’t have. I knew other kids who also lived in historic homes who weren’t allowed to do anything. Their bedrooms were full of centuries old furniture and they were only allowed to play in the servant’s quarters, which weren’t as well refurbished. You have to let kids be kids.”

  “My parents were that way, too.” A sad shadow crossed over his eyes. “They were the kind who totally overdid the holidays. Our house always looked like Santa threw up on it.”

  “I know what you mean. This place turned into a winter wonderland only without the snow.” I sighed and stared out the window. “It’s been five years since Daddy died and I haven’t had a Christmas since. Marietta and the girls put up a tree but they go to Atlanta so I’m left alone. Abby and her mama invite me over but I hate imposing. I think I miss holidays the most, and birthdays. It might sound selfish but my best memories are of us as a family at Christmas. It’s such a magical time.”

  Jason didn’t say anything but I could feel his heavy, pitying stare. I hoped he would forget what I said. I hated sounding so ‘poor me’ all the time. I pointed out the rounded window overlooking the backyard and hoped the house would distract him.

  “I told you the house originally took up the entire trust lot. A trust lot is the four smaller lots surrounding one of the town squares. They were once considered places of privilege. Now we only have the carriage house, or basically the garage, a shed and another small outbuilding at the back of the property that I think was used for either storage or slave quarters.”

  “The carriage house is huge.”

  I studied the building that captured his attention. The carriage house was almost as big as the main house. The brick was not in as good a shape as the main house and I noticed one of the rounded doorways had begun to sag. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone up to the second floor but when I had, it was huge, empty and dusty.

  “Well, when you consider it used to house the carriages and the horses that pulled them, it needed to be big. The carriage driver or stable hand would have lived in the rooms above. I read that it once housed close to a dozen horses for the Roberts’ many different carriages. The people who built the house on the other side fought to get it torn down because it sits too close to them. We won that, thankfully. The second floor has great light and I’ve already started dreaming about putting my photography studio and darkroom up there.”

  I felt him watching me for a while before I turned to him. “What?”

  “You come alive when you talk about this house. Now that I see you here, I can’t picture you anywhere else. I don’t blame you for fighting to keep this place. Any other plans?”

  “Maybe a pool.” I grinned and gazed back at the window. “A lot of historic homes have added them so I don’t think it would be a problem. Other than that, I’ll concentrate on making it the home I remember. It has been neglected too much. Let’s go upstairs, I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

  After I showed him the three bedrooms and office on the second floor he looked at me questioningly.

  “You’re staring again.” I eyed him close.

  “So, where’s your room? Call me crazy, but I assumed it wasn’t one of those cotton candy pink disasters. You don’t strike me as a frilly bedroom kind of girl.”

  “That’s because I’m not.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a pink bedroom. It would make me physically ill. What’s your bedroom like? Mirrors on the ceiling, oversized pictures of yourself on the walls?”

  Leaning close, Jason asked, “You’ve thought about my bedroom?”

  My breath caught in my throat at his proximity. He was close enough that I saw specks of brown in his eyes. Nothing could stop the blush I felt working its way across my face. All my strength went into playing it cool.

  “You wish. You want to see my room? Fine. Follow me.”

  Even with my back to him, I sensed the big smile on his face and became aware of how my own lips wanted to curl up traitorously. I stopped at the door to the attic, opened it and pointed upward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “No.” He peered up and then back at me. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish, but now that I’ve worked on it a little bit, I kind of like it up here.” I led him upward.

  The stairs opened up in the middle of the huge space. To the left was everything I had yet to get to, boxes, trunks and armoires full of hundreds of years of junk. My living area was to the right and the only outside light came from the two tiny windows at either end. A ceiling fan circled lazily up in the rafters, moving the heavy air. My portable air conditioner barely made a dent in the heat, even on good days, and most of the time I didn’t even mind the bugs.

  “Originally, the entire space was one large pile of junk. All you see to the left is stuff I haven’t had a chance to go through yet. It’s not as bad as it looks. Sure, I have to share a downstairs bathroom with the disgusting twins but I savor my privacy. And it’s been awesome going through all this history.” I directed him over to my antique desk. “Here’s a good example.”

  Jason studied the letters. “Roberts? These are about your ancestors?”

  “Yeah, and look at this one.” I pulled the one about Catherine to the top. “It’s from Catherine Roberts to a William Jennings. She mentions their upcoming marriage and thanks him for helping her family out. Ten months after their wedding, she died of mysterious circumstances. In fact, they never found her body. I think Jennings helped out the family and she was the payment.”

  “Ouch, I can’t imagine that went over very well but people were used to arranged marriages back then. Did you find anything more about her disappearance?”

  I sat on the bed as I sighed and explained. “No, not really. Catherine went from being a prominent member of Savannah society to never attending functions. She no longer served on committees and only appeared with her husband a handful of times. A couple of these letters mention Jennings, who was a Yankee and not very well respected. He was a suspect in her disappearance and harassed her family after she disappeared. He wanted the house desperately from what I understood of the other letters.

  “There’s a newspaper clipping below those. Yeah, that one. It says Jennings disappeared not too long after the letters were written. No one ever saw him again. Then, at the end, in a related note it says Margaret Roberts had a breakdown. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought it was a pretty convenient coincidence.”

  He read the article and didn’t say anything for a minute. “Even if what you’re saying is true, if the Roberts family had something to do with Jennings’ disappearance, what does it matter now? It sounds li
ke a great mystery and, I don’t mean to sound rude here, but why spend your time on this? So what?”

  Here’s where it got tricky. Could I trust him not to think I’d lost my marbles? Most people would laugh at my conclusions and suspicions. I had already told him way too much. What the heck, if he left and never came back it would probably be for the best solution for both of us. I closed my eyes and blew out a slow breath.

  “I need you to keep an open mind, please. It’s quite possible you might leave this house when I’m finished and never look back.”

  He came over and sat beside me on the bed. “I’m a pretty tough guy. I don’t run away from things.”

  I believed him. “I’ve told you how there have always been strange things happening in the house, spirits and all that.” He nodded. “Well, ever since Daddy died there’s been a different presence here and it seems to have attached itself to my stepmother. It’s hard to describe. A dark shadow has tried to take her over and her shadow is no longer her own. It moves and pulses on its own power.

  “I think it’s what affects her behavior. Sometimes she’s her normal nasty, rude, and demeaning self, and I can live with it. Other times she’s vicious, cruel, threatening. Those times, it’s as if the shadow or darkness or whatever it is grows, changes the air, and expands out. The other morning I was in the kitchen with her and all the cabinet doors and drawers slammed open and closed. She didn’t even flinch. Last night, she spoke to me in a voice that wasn’t quite hers. She told me I was a true Roberts and I had no clue what my family was capable of.”

  Jason took my hand and I realized my entire body was trembling.

  “Coming from anyone else, I’d think you were full of crap. But after what happened last night and being around you, I believe you’re telling the truth. Who knows, maybe you’ll still find a rational explanation for all this.”

  Relief blossomed in me. Until then I’d fully expected him to say I’d lost my mind.

  “That’s not even the worst of it,” I added. “A few days ago, in Marietta’s salon, it reached out to me somehow. I felt its presence again. And it said I wouldn’t see my eighteenth birthday, which is a couple weeks away. Then, the same night I found those letters, I laid here afterwards wondering about what really happened. I’m not even sure what it was exactly but the last thought I had was about Catherine and wondering whatever happened to her.

  “Suddenly, a weight pushed me down on the bed. Cold fingers surrounded my neck. I couldn’t breathe, or move. I came so close to dying and I remember accepting it, maybe even welcoming it. But then a light exploded in the room. For a second I got a look at the thing and then it was gone. I still don’t know what to think but it was the same thing attached to Marietta. I recognized it. And I’m fairly certain it’s Catherine.”

  Jason stood and took a few steps. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Quinn. You’re saying something in this house threatened you and then tried to kill you? And you’re still here?” He turned back to me. “Are you crazy?”

  “Where can I go, Jason? I have no money of my own yet and I’m still a minor for a couple more weeks. You can’t imagine how much I’ve thought about this. I only have to put up with this a little while longer, and then I'll get my trust fund. The problem is now I’m worried about what’ll happen to Marietta and her daughters. I don’t want them hurt.”

  He sat back down on the bed, closer this time and grabbed my arms. “From everything you’ve told me, it’s only getting worse and you might not have time. If you’re as serious as I think you are, this entity wants something from you. It’s not going away.”

  “I think it might be after some kind of revenge.”

  “What do you mean? Did you do something to one of her ghost friends?” I appreciated his dry humor. Some of my tension melted away even as I realized he might not actually be joking.

  “Nothing as simple as that. I believe it's Catherine. If Jennings helped the Roberts family with the intention of marrying into the fabled Southern lifestyle, Catherine was an innocent pawn. Maybe she was abused and it resulted in her death so she wants revenge against her family. It’s the only reason I can think of that accounts for her disappearing from the public eye. What if she was sent into a horrible situation?”

  “True, being forced into a marriage, especially an abusive one, would have changed anyone. Even more so if it ended in her death at the hands of her husband. She might be angry enough to take revenge on the last Roberts. You.”

  All I could do was nod. I wasn’t even sure if it was true, but it made a strange kind of sense. Her vicious attitude towards our family made sense now. Killing me seemed a little extreme but, like Jason said, maybe it changed her in the worst imaginable way.

  I looked at him as the implications sunk in. Until now, I hadn’t been able to come up with a tangible reason for her threats. So much of the puzzle was still missing. I needed to figure the rest of it out. In order to do that, I needed to keep a low profile.

  Jason studied my face and leaned in closer. I wondered if he would kiss me but before he did, he jumped.

  “Something moved over by the desk.” He sounded scared and after the stories I’d been telling, I didn’t blame him.

  I’d been so distracted by Catherine and Jason and wondering if he was going to kiss me, I didn’t notice George leaning near the desk. I looked at him in my peripheral and saw him studying Jason closely.

  It almost made me laugh. Right when I thought I’d shared every strange thing about myself, something else popped up.

  “Don’t worry. Remember I told you there were other spirits in the house, peaceful spirits?” He jerked his head up and down in quick movements. Then it occurred to me. “You can see him?”

  “Yeah,” Jason whispered. “Not if I look at him straight on but from the corner of my eye I see a little black boy with bare feet. What the heck is going on, Quinn?”

  I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve called him George. He’s a good spirit, Jason. You don’t need to be afraid of him. George, this is my friend Jason.”

  Jason let out a crazed laugh. “You talk to him?” His voice rose to a higher pitch.

  “You have to imagine being a nine year old girl. Talking to a little boy I saw would have felt normal. I guess I kept doing it out of habit. He can’t talk back but he understands me.”

  Eventually, Jason seemed to relax a little. “I–I don’t know what to do. I mean, does he just hang out?”

  George smiled which made me do the same. “Sometimes he does. I haven’t seen him since the night I was attacked. He disappeared before it happened.”

  I noticed George flicker and a feeling of helplessness crashed through me. I turned my attention to him. “It’s okay George. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything to help. I’m glad you came back though.”

  “You don’t think he was the one who made that thing go away?”

  George shook his head sadly.

  “No, whatever saved me was powerful. For the life of me I can’t come up with any theories about what the light was. I’m stumped.”

  We were both quiet for a long time and I sensed George getting weaker. Eventually, he faded away completely.

  Jason let out a relieved sigh. “Wow.”

  “I’m happy you could see him. I think he did it on purpose to show you I wasn’t alone here.”

  “You’re one interesting girl, Quinn Roberts.”

  I grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He returned the smile cautiously. “It’s not a bad thing. Maybe intriguing would be a better word than interesting. I’m filming a movie about the paranormal, about vampires, and here I am in the middle of a real life paranormal experience.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Give me a chance to catch up.”

  “Okay, let’s get out of here. I think you’ve had enough of my house for one day.”

  He stood and followed me down the attic stairs. “Good idea. Where are we off to?”


  “I need to do some more research. I understand if you wanted to go do something different or more glamorous.” I almost hoped he would jump at the chance.

  “Are you kidding? You’re not alone anymore Quinn. I want to help you figure this out. Maybe George thinks I can help. I’ll warn you though, if you keep giving me crap about being all ‘Hollywood’,” he made quotation marks with his hands, “I’ll come right back with an ‘I see dead people’ joke.”

  I laughed loudly at him and it felt good to let go. Before I answered him, I locked the house as we left and took a deep breath of the fragrant air.

  “Fine, no more Hollywood remarks but I can’t have you squealing like a girl again because I’m thinking this is only going to get more unreasonable and scarier the farther we go with it.”

  “Awesome,” Jason muttered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We spent most of the day at the historical society and same as before, there were only mentions in the society columns and newspaper about Catherine’s strange absence from events.

  “Wow, this place is awesome,” Jason said as he studied a brittle copy of an old newspaper. “Is it still standing?”

  I leaned over to see. He pointed to a faded black and white photo of the long torn down Pulaski House. Once, it was the finest hotel of its time, which always amazed me, considering it had been owned by Yankees. The hotel, known for its lavish parties, was too lavish for some Southerners to resist.

  “It has been torn down for a long time but was supposedly haunted. I heard even the building that replaced it has reports of the same kind of paranormal activity. That is one place I would love to investigate.”

  “You and your ghosts.” He smiled and shook his head. “What caught my eye was that it talks about Catherine being at these parties, at least until she married. The most notable thing after that is Catherine not being in attendance. They mentioned it a lot. Her absence was noted by the papers as well as the patrons. Then, after a few months, they stopped printing anything about her at all. At least until they found her body. I kind of get the feeling she was the ‘it’ girl of her time.”