The Ghosts of Misty Hollow

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Why not leave now?” Vanessa asked. “You won’t get there until late if you stay for dinner.”

  “Because my friend works until 9,” Leroy explained with a tight smile. “But he has off tomorrow.” He turned to Gino. “Are you sure you don’t need me back early tomorrow?”

  “No problem. Stay tomorrow and enjoy yourself,” Gino told him with enthusiasm. “We’ve been working hard for the past week. Besides, I’ll be picking Emma’s brain most of tomorrow.”

  With a salute to Gino that reminded Emma of Granny, Leroy perched on a stool at the bar. “Thanks, Gino.”

  After a few moments, Gino said to Phil, “Like I said before, Phil, I have a little something for you.” When Phil looked at him with curiosity, Gino added, “It’s on the coffee table in front of where Emma is sitting.”

  Phil left the bookcase and went to the coffee table. On it were several books, a large photo album, and a stack of coasters. He picked up the book on top of the others. It had Gino’s name on it. “This?” he asked.

  “Yep. That’s an advance copy of my new novel,” Gino told him. “My editor and his wife stopped by for a couple of days on their way to Maine, and brought that with them. It won’t be out for several months. When Kelly told me how much you enjoy my books, I thought you might like it.”

  Phil looked down at the book like a kid looking at his favorite chocolate bar. “Wow! Thank you.” He showed it to Emma with a wide, goofy grin plastered on his face. He opened the book and saw that Gino had inscribed it:

  To Phil, may this be the start of a beautiful friendship—Gino.

  Under that was Gino’s full autograph.

  Emma laughed. “You just made his day, Gino.”

  “Day?” gushed Phil. He looked up at Gino, still wearing the grin. “You just made my month.”

  Gino smiled. “Glad you like it.” He pointed to the photo album on the table. “That’s the photo album I mentioned earlier. It chronicles the history of this house, including all the renovations. There are even old photos of the original farmhouse not too far from here. Pretty interesting stuff.” From her chair in the corner, Vanessa snorted.

  Leroy cut his eyes quickly to Vanessa, then looked over at Emma and Phil. “It is pretty fascinating,” he told them. “I’m hoping Gino includes the old place in his next book.” He glanced up at Gino like a dog trying to please his master. “It’s kind of creepy, Gino. You really should use it.” Again, Vanessa snorted.

  Emma put her drink down on a coaster. Picking up the album, she placed it on her lap and started flipping through it. As Gino had said, it was a pictorial history of Misty Hollow. Some of the photos were labeled or had comments neatly typed and affixed to the page. The first page was a lovely photo of the farmhouse as it was now, followed by a page with an aerial view of the property, showing the large house with its various outbuildings scattered around the property surrounded by thick vegetation and wooded areas.

  Emma turned the book toward Phil. “This is pretty cool, honey. Check it out.” Phil sat on the sofa next to Emma and they balanced the large photo album across both their knees.

  “Look,” Emma said, pointing at the aerial photo. “There’s the guesthouse and there’s the dock.” She moved her index finger. “That’s where our room is, looking out in this direction. And there’s the road we came in on.”

  “This is very interesting,” Phil said. He pulled out his reading glasses for a closer look, then pointed to a building on the outskirts of the property. “Is that the old farmhouse?” he asked, looking up at Gino.

  Gino came and leaned over the album. “Yes, that’s it. The current owner uses it mostly for storage. He’s fixed up the outside and painted it to match the rest of the buildings, but inside I understand it’s still pretty rough.” He pointed to a small road that started to the left of the garage. “That road leads to it. It’s well worth seeing. I’ll take you there tomorrow when it’s light out if you want. Although I’m sure it will have some electricity and lights if he’s using it for storage.”

  Emma flipped through the album. It seemed to go back in time instead of starting with the earliest history. There were several photos of the place in various seasons, including one in which the yard in front of the dock was set up for a wedding and reception.

  “They rent this place out for weddings?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah,” said Gino. “On their website they advertise the grounds for weddings and other events. The current owner told me the place hosted a lot more parties when it operated as a B&B, but since it’s now a private vacation rental, they don’t rent the grounds separately very often, so not to disturb their guests.”

  “Beautiful place for a wedding,” Phil remarked.

  The next several pages showed a backward progression of the big remodel in various stages, ending with photos of what the house looked like originally. Before the renovation it was a very large house with many tiny rooms upstairs. Walls had been broken down to merge rooms into the large suites and adjoining private bathrooms. Downstairs had also been a collection of small rooms. It looked to Emma like only the parlor and dining room had been left alone, while the library/den, where they were now, had been carved out of two rooms.

  “It appears that the kitchen was always huge,” noted Gino. “But then I suppose back then the kitchen was the focal point of activity. Still, they gutted it and totally modernized everything. They also expanded the porch in the back to make a nice-sized deck.”

  “This is quite impressive,” said Phil. “Yet on the outside, it still looks the same, just spruced up.”

  “The garage is totally new,” Gino said. “In the older photos you’ll see that there was a barn or stable set back a little farther, between this house and the old farmhouse. It’s now gone. It was torn down and the big garage that’s there now was built closer to the house when the major renovations occurred.”

  Sure enough, in some of the photos there did appear to be a large but dilapidated barn along the small drive between the two houses but closer to the old house. As Emma stared at the photo, an odd feeling came over her, like the humming of an old tune heard coming from another room. She touched the barn in the photo but got no signal or response, just the feeling that she was hearing something no one else could.

  She turned a few more pages until there appeared the same house but in an older photograph. It appeared to be an original, not a copy, as its edges were rough and brown. On the steps, people were gathered, standing in graded levels. In the very front, two straight-back chairs had been placed and in them sat an old couple. A few children sat cross-legged on the ground by the chairs, with children and adults of various ages standing or sitting on the steps. Two of the women held infants. The men wore stiff collars and formal suits with jackets. The grown women wore long skirts and the young girls pinafores. The young boys wore pants with suspenders and white shirts. Again Emma felt, rather than heard, a low hum. She studied the photo closely, especially the photo of one of the young boys in suspenders seated on the stoop next to a girl of about the same age. There was a strong family resemblance among most of the people in the photo. Those who didn’t carry the same facial traits had probably married into the clan. But there was no doubt in her mind that she was looking at a multigenerational photograph—a formal family photo with everyone in their Sunday best. Under the photo was the caption:

  The Brown family circa 1880.

  “Were the Browns the original owners?” she asked Gino, pointing to the family photo.

  “I’m not sure, but I think so,” Gino answered. “From what I can gather from the photos and in talking to the current owner, someone in the Brown family owned it until the mid-1980s, when it was sold to the people who renovated it into a B&B. The current owner bought it and did more renovations in 2009. But those were mostly cosmetic—new paint and wallpaper sort of thing.”

  “Isn’t that when they built
the guesthouse?” asked Leroy. “I thought I heard the guy who leased it to you say something about that.”

  Gino gave the topic some thought, then answered, “I believe he said it was originally some sort of outbuilding, and the B&B people converted it into a guesthouse during their renovation.”

  Emma paged through more of the album until she reached the old farmhouse. In these photos it didn’t look abandoned but like the hub of family life. It was also two-story, like the newer house but not nearly as large, and it did not have a grand front porch. Two women were standing in front of it dressed in work clothes, posing awkwardly for the camera. Nearby, a group of young children played. The camera seemed more focused on the children, capturing their smiles and horseplay. Like the other photo, this one was also brown and partially faded. The caption read:

  Old farmhouse circa 1870s.

  Emma also got a humming sense when looking at this photo, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as with the other picture. After viewing all of the photos, she went back to the one with the large family in front of the bigger house and scrutinized each face, always coming back to the boy in the suspenders. He seemed so familiar.

  “Emma,” she heard in a low whisper. “Emma.” Snapping her eyes open, she jerked her head up to see Phil staring at her with concern. She looked at Gino, then Leroy and Vanessa. All three were also watching her. “You okay, Emma?” her host asked.

  She giggled slightly. “Between the drink and the long day, I must have dozed off. Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Gino said reassuringly. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We have no plans for tonight, so feel free to turn in early.”

  Vanessa snorted. “Turning in early is all there is to do here.”

  Gino shot her a dirty look, then turned back to Emma and Phil. “T told me that you guys are vegetarian.”

  “Her,” Phil said, pointing at Emma, “not me. I enjoy a good steak or rack of ribs when the boss here lets me.”

  “I do eat fish and seafood,” Emma answered after giving Phil a playful swat, “but please don’t trouble yourself with anything special.”

  “Vanessa doesn’t eat meat either,” Gino said. “Marta is cooking up some local seafood for tonight, along with a roast chicken.” He turned to his wife. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  As if hearing a cue, Vanessa uncurled her legs and stood up. “I’ll go see if dinner is ready.”

  Gino watched her as she walked from the room, then sat down heavily on the matching sofa across from them. “I must apologize for Vanessa’s behavior,” he said in a low voice. “She did not want to come here, especially after all the parties and fun she was having in Italy. I should just send her back there or let her go home. If I don’t, Leroy and I might not get any work done.”

  “Oh I’m sure we’ll manage, Gino,” Leroy said with a crooked grin as he swirled the ice in his drink. “We always do.”

  Emma gave Gino a small, understanding smile. “I’m sure it’s difficult spending a lot of time in the country when you’re not used to the slower pace.”

  “Back in Chicago, we hardly see each other,” he confessed. “She’s always on the go with friends and I’m buried in my work.”

  “Speaking of your work,” Emma said, moving the conversation away from the Costellos’ domestic problems, “how can I help?”

  “You’re tired,” Gino said. “Tomorrow morning after breakfast I can give you a tour of the place and tell you what I’m thinking for my new book.”

  “Does it involve Misty Hollow?” Phil asked.

  “Not specifically,” Gino said, “but it does take place in a sleepy New England town like this one.”

  “Please,” Emma encouraged him, “tell us the plot and how ghosts or the paranormal fit in.”

  Gino took a big slug from his drink and leaned forward, eager to talk about his latest creation. It was then Emma saw the resemblance between Gino and his daughter. Tanisha’s mother had been African-American. At first glance, T and Gino didn’t look anything alike, but now Emma saw it. It was in the eyes. T had gotten her father’s teardrop-shaped smoky eyes.

  “Basically,” Gino explained with barely contained excitement, “it’s about a local serial killer who has been plaguing the countryside for years, but his kills aren’t close together enough so as to rouse panic. People go missing here and there in a wide radius and no one suspects the real killer or that it’s the work of a serial killer. They seem like random disappearances and no bodies are ever discovered. The killer is a seemingly nice guy, a quiet and solid family man, pillar-of-the-community type.”

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” quipped Phil.

  “Yeah,” Gino said with a laugh, “a real stereotype. Maybe I should make him loud and obnoxious.” They all chuckled, and Gino continued. “There’s this big, old, dilapidated farmhouse on the edge of town that everyone thinks is haunted and that’s where this guy stashes the bodies. He never kills close to home and not close enough in time to spread any suspicion to him or his town, but he transports the bodies back to this spot. He’s very possessive about them and wants to keep them near.”

  “Is the farmhouse really haunted?” asked Phil. He shot Emma a sideways glance before adding, “In the book, I mean.”

  “No, it’s just a local legend,” Gino explained, “but strong enough to keep people away until someone from out of town buys the old place and starts fixing it up. This unnerves the killer and he does everything he can to stop it, which starts unraveling his secret.”

  “This is very different from Gino’s other books,” Leroy said with enthusiasm. He shimmied his shoulders in an exaggerated shiver. “I can’t wait to see where it goes.”

  “So how can I help you?” Emma asked again, still unclear of her role. The photo book was still on her lap, but closed now. She stroked it as Gino spoke. She still heard the low humming but it was more faint, more like a memory than a viable sound or sensation. “If the house isn’t really haunted, it seems you could make up anything you want to fit the story.”

  “Because,” Phil answered for Gino, “Gino is known for his thorough research and realism, even though his books are fiction.”

  Gino touched his meaty nose with an index finger and with his other pointed at Phil. “Bingo.” He stood up and paced as he continued talking. “Even though the haunting is a hoax perpetrated by the killer, I don’t want my readers to know that until near the end. I want them to feel the eeriness of the place. I want them to fear the ghosts who supposedly inhabit the old farmhouse, which will not be nice like this one, of course. I want my readers to be terrified of the ghosts.” He stopped and looked at Emma. “I want you, Emma, to guide me in setting that feeling so I get it right.”

  “Boy,” said a voice from thin air, “what this guy knows about spirits would fit into a thimble and still leave room for two squirrels and their nuts.”

  Emma shot a look in the direction of the familiar voice but saw nothing. She turned back to Gino. “I hate to break your bubble, Gino, but spirits don’t exactly operate the way you see them portrayed in movies, especially the scary ones.”

  Phil caught Emma’s glance off into nothing and sensed that Granny was nearby. “Besides,” he said to Gino, “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t,” Gino was quick to respond, “but I think including them in the book as a red herring would be great.” He came back to the sofa across from them and perched on the arm, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Listen, Emma, I mean no disrespect to you and your field, and I know a lot of people do believe in things that go bump in the night. That’s why what I write has to sound plausible to them.”

  “You do know that your own daughter strongly believes in spirits, don’t you?” Emma asked. She didn’t know yet what Tanisha had mentioned to her father about being able to sometimes hear spirits, so she left it at T
anisha’s belief. Emma also knew that Gino’s friend Jeremiah Jones was a medium and had not told anyone but Phil and her.

  “Yeah,” Gino answered with a nod. “I know after that problem with the body in her apartment she got totally on board with ghosts and all, and of course her friendship with Kelly has certainly cemented it.”

  “Kelly is not a bad influence on your daughter,” Emma said, bristling like an annoyed cat. “And I really don’t think T is easily influenced by anyone.”

  Gino leaned back and held up his hands, palms out in defense. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Emma. I’ve come to love Kelly almost like my own, just as you two have nearly adopted my daughter. Kelly has had a very positive impact on T. She’s a lot more sociable these days, believe me. And she seems to want to have a closer relationship with me. She visits often now. Before, I practically had to bribe her to come home. I attribute her change of heart to your family’s influence and I’m very grateful.” He lowered his hands. “As for the ghost part, T has always had one foot in that mud puddle. My grandmother Nonnie was a true believer in the spirit world and claimed she could see and hear them. When T would come to visit, she’d spend hours with Nonnie listening to her stories.”

  Emma exchanged sidelong looks with Phil, then said to Gino, “I believe that medium skills are most often genetic. My mother can hear and speak to them, but cannot see them. Kelly is like me, but not as developed. Three generations right in a row, and who knows how many others have been like us in our family but never realized it or told anyone.” She didn’t say anything further, deciding to see if her veiled suggestion sunk into Gino’s head.

  “Is this guy thick, or what?” snapped Granny, pacing behind the sofa Gino was sitting on. “Just come out and tell him, Emma. Tell him his daughter is a ghost buddy like you.”

  In response, Emma looked at Granny and gave her a slow, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  Granny stopped pacing and stood with her arms crossed in front of her, a deep frown on her fuzzy face. “Fine, but I think he needs to know, and coddling this old bear won’t do him any favors.”