In the Dead of Night

by Aiden James

  “Oh, no…. I see them,” she whispered in terror, reaching for Susan who had begun to whimper at the sight of her husband in tears. Fiona wrapped her arms around her. “We’ve got to go…if we leave now—all of us, we should be okay. You’ll have to trust me…I’m so sorry Susan. The thing that the cards told us about? ‘Soon’ is now…it’s happening faster than I anticipated.”

  What the…?

  Yeah, this mumbo-jumbo made no sense to me and certainly not to Frank, whose eyes were glued to the large window looking out onto the wraparound porch. I followed his gaze, but detected nothing under the security light’s glow. But the temperature inside the house was dropping rapidly.

  “Okay, I’ll help you both pack, and then we’ve got to get you to your place in Green Hills. Or, you can stay with us if you’d like,” I said, to which Fiona nodded. “Let’s get going.”

  The crystal chandelier above the living room table suddenly flickered. Impossible to know if this was a ghost confirming the brilliant idea to leave or to announce the impending invasion from what waited outside. Either way, we wouldn’t have long to aid our beleaguered friends in their escape from a dangerous situation.

  ***

  “You had no idea about how bad this was, did you?”

  It wasn’t the first question I posed to Fiona once the McGrath’s had loaded their sports car and we were following them along the road that would take us to I-24 heading back toward Nashville. But it certainly was the first one I wanted to ask once we were in the Camaro and I had started the engine. Yep, my turn to drive since I was a bit ticked off about what had just gone down.

  “No…no I didn’t,” she admitted. “Sometimes, things are not as clear as others. I knew it was bad…just not that it was this dangerous. My guides never mentioned anything about the burial mound just beyond the other graveyard. And, according to Susan she knew nothing about it until tonight, when a Native American spirit broke through my guides’ protection.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I’ve been present when a spirit has attacked my wife before. Long ago, after we first were married, she woke up choking and gasping for air. Admittedly, at the time I didn’t know what to think of her claim that a dark spirit had tried to strangle her in her sleep. It sounded totally crazy to me. But after what I’ve personally seen over the past five years, it’s quite plausible. Especially given the fact I’ve had a few close calls myself, like the ones detailed in Deadly Night.

  I take Fiona totally seriously. Although, I think her guides have been sleeping on the job as of late. Yes, I realize this puts a whole new light on what’s been going on around us. I had assumed, foolishly so, that her guides would keep us protected from an unexpected attack from the killers knocking off our ghost hunter friends. A new chill embraced me, sending another wave of shivers along my spine.

  “Well?”

  “Yes…I think so,” she said.

  “Well, what did this other spirit want?”

  “For Susan and Frank to tear down the clubhouse, Gazebo and restore holiness to the remains that are buried beneath those structures.”

  Fiona sounded as if she was going to cry again as she said this.

  “Are you serious? And, they had no idea those woods were covering a burial site from long ago?”

  “Yes…Susan had no idea, but Frank did know,” she said sadly. “The spirit says it watched him pay off the workers to not say anything, and then they leveled the graves and carried off the bones to be burned with the lumber waste.”

  “Oh my God….”

  Now I was the one sounding sad. I couldn’t picture Frank doing something like this, and yet it made sense in light of the terror he felt when we were at the clubhouse. It was as if he knew this was his fault, and the heightened antagonism that shortened our visit was likely inspired by his presence.

  The worst thing about this kind of haunting is the aspect of physical violence. I’ve mentioned before that almost every violent haunting in North America has a connection to a violated Native American burial ground—even if it is a mound that was already deteriorating. Local legends state that the Bell Witch had her origination in such a mound, where the youngest kids came home to their cabin one day with finger bones recovered from a mound. The bones fell through cracks in the wooden floorboards, and the haunting ensued soon after. It began with knocks, creaks, and furniture moving, but soon escalated into physical violence against Elizabeth Bell and her father, John.

  That spirit eventually murdered John Bell.

  I suddenly pictured Frank in the same predicament.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Jimmy, and the answer is ‘I don’t know’,” said Fiona. I could feel her looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the icy road that we were about to merge onto, as apparently recent sleet had landed on I-24 heading east. “And I have no idea at all how to restore peace to the now restless spirits infesting the McGrath’s home. Since it’s not the same mound near the old Bell estate, it could be completely different. Everything is so complicated right now, but….”

  “But, you think they could be related to the ‘ancient ones’ who predated the modern North American tribes by several thousand years.”

  “Yes…they could be.”

  “I guess we’ll need to contact a shaman as soon as possible. In the meantime, are we supposed to follow the McGrath’s all the way to west Nashville?”

  “I suggested doing that, but while you were upstairs helping Frank pack, Susan said they would be fine, and that their daughter, Charlotte and her husband would meet them at the condo to spend the night.”

  “So, I take it Charlotte’s aware of what’s going on at the Adams’ place?”

  “Several family members have seen either shadow spirits or apparitions with long feathers in their hair. Susan said the grandkids saw them near the gazebo on Thanksgiving.”

  Yikes. It shed a whole new light on what Christmas would be like this year. They might have to send the National Guard to claim all those glistening gifts from under the tree. God only knew who would take care of their horses.

  We both grew quiet for a few minutes, and maybe that was best. I almost rekindled the conversation, but Fiona turned on the radio, so I let things be. I was content to leave everything that way.

  Then Ed called.

  “He’s calling me from his office…it must be important,” she said, answering the phone that unfortunately for him came through the Camaro’s Bluetooth. Dick Tracy—the detective who never sleeps—was coming to us both live.

  “Hey, Fiona.”

  “Hi Ed.”

  “You sound like you’re not at home, where you’re supposed to be,” he chided her.

  “I had an errand to run,” she said, motioning for me to remain silent. At first I gave her the evil eye, but then realized we might be forced to deal with more probing questions about who was taking care of our kids if at least one of us wasn’t at home guarding the ranch. “I’m on my way back home right now.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he said. “When you get home, make sure you all batten down the hatches. I’m afraid we now have evidence that Pauline’s murder is directly related to all of the previous attacks since your Civil War tour of battlegrounds and cemeteries began.”

  “What kind of evidence,” she asked, worriedly.

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, as if Ed knew I was somehow privy to their conversation.

  “The killer left a small line of ashes near each of the victims—including the one that gave us our first clue near Pauline’s room at the Residence Inn,” he said, releasing a low sigh. “Luckily, there were traces of the same ashes that were collected in Mt. Juliet and Columbia, as well as from the trunk of Susan Lee’s car in Hardin County. We also found these ash traces near where we found the killer’s boot print, where he had stood at the edge of the woods, right before he tried to take me and John out at Stones River this past Saturday. Speaking of which, other evidence that includes the size of t
he boots and a few other items we’ve collected indicate at least one male is involved, and we now firmly believe there is a second perpetrator responsible for the attacks.”

  “So, he’s marking his turf—or at least one guy is,” said Fiona, and I could tell she was shaking her head in the car’s dimness. “I agree that there are at least two, and maybe more. I get a vague impression of someone acting as a lookout while the others do their thing.”

  “That’s the consensus here, and with the feds at this point,” he agreed. “But there is one other aspect that we are looking into further. The ashes contain minute bone fragments, and the analysis on that will probably take a few weeks.”

  “Are you looking to see if the fragments are human?”

  “We are…but it wouldn’t change the significance of what we’re dealing with either way, since it appears ritualistic regardless of whether the fragments are human or animal.”

  That made sense to me, and Fiona was still nodding when Detective Silver moved to end the phone call.

  “Just make sure you and Jimmy, and the kids stay inside your house as much as possible. I should be able to arrange for an Arrington police detail to at least check on your home throughout each day until this gets resolved. But neither of you are to go anywhere alone until further notice.... Am I going to have to fight you on this?”

  “No, we’ll make sure to follow your instructions.”

  “That includes little trips like the one you’re on right now. No more after tonight. I’ve already arranged to leave here early tomorrow night to accompany you to the party you had already invited me to….”

  I admit that my mind went numb for a moment. I forgot that he was coming to Aunt Stella’s Christmas bash Friday night. I hated that news when I first found out a few weeks ago, although it was Fiona’s auntie who had invited him, along with a couple of Metro cops that are friends of Stella’s.

  Thankfully the call ended in under three minutes, as Ed advised he still had to contact the rest of our ghost hunting group. I’m sure he loved doing that, and I would’ve assumed that Jackie would take care of it. But just the same, I was actually grateful for this courtesy call.

  Fiona and I rode home in relative silence, with our favorite hard rock station playing in the background. I wanted to find out more about her impressions of what went down at the McGrath’s place as well as Ed’s update about the killers stalking our ghost tour. I especially wanted to know if she thought this crazy shit would ever end. But fearing her answers to my questions, they remained unasked.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday night’s big Christmas bash at Aunt Stella’s place was a lavish affair, complete with hired valets to park everyone’s cars in a roped-off area next to her sprawling ranch-styled home. For those who remember, Stella allowed us to stay with her for nearly two weeks, the summer before last, when it looked as if our ghost hunting group was about to join the spirit world on a permanent basis. As for tonight’s gala, although no notable celebrities were in attendance, Fiona’s dear auntie likes to treat her friends exceptionally well. Hell, she’s got the expendable income, and as very few women in Fiona’s family make it past seventy years on earth, she might as well have as much fun as possible while she is able to enjoy it. That’s what I’d do if it were me.

  Fiona snuck away from work early, hitching a ride with her mom, who is Stella’s younger sister. The two of them helped finish the decorating that Stella had started two days earlier. So, Mr. Ed’s plan to drive with us in the holy sanctum of my Camaro was averted. No negative karma incurred, and no need to throw salt over my shoulder when I exited my beloved muscle car after parking next to Joanna’s Honda Civic.

  Ed’s unmarked cruiser was parked a few cars down, and it would figure that he’d be here before my arrival. Granted, I had to stay at the bookstore until five o’clock, and the party actually didn’t start until six. But traffic was horrendous, and it seemed like the usual weekend holiday exodus to leave town was a week ahead of schedule, since Christmas Eve was still eleven days away. Even so, since I was only ten minutes later than I had hoped, maybe I should instead offer up a prayer of thanksgiving that it was my only true instance of bad luck this Friday the Thirteenth...so far.

  Could one or more of the killers be lurking somewhere nearby? It definitely crossed my mind as I walked along the driveway to the main entrance. The property is surrounded by tall trees that line a creek that surrounds the house and grounds, and was there long before the house was built in the early 1970s. Thus far, the house didn’t seem protected by any police officers that I could see. Only a mechanical Santa waving hello on the front porch kept a vigil of any kind.

  “It’s Daddy!” shouted Ryan, when I tried the latch on the glass storm door. At least it was locked, providing a slight deterrent in case any murderous party crashers showed up in Goodlettsville, which marks one of the northern boundaries of Nashville’s urban sprawl. “Daddy’s here—can I let him in?”

  I chuckled. More from the innocence that ignited the deep blue peepers he had inherited from his old man. He’s got my smile, too, although his is more dimpled. Just wait until he gets old enough to drive in ten years…he could be every mother’s nightmare by then. I’m not too worried, though, since he carries Fiona’s tender heart and a bit of her intuition.

  “Daddy!!” shouted Alex, as he raced around the hallway’s corner into the foyer with Stella right behind him. She smiled warmly as she opened the door for me.

  “Come on in, Jimmy!” she said, offering me a warm hug as I stepped through the doorway. “It’s so good to see you. You’re just in time, since we just started.”

  The boys both tried to jump into my arms—something I used to look forward to nearly every night. Now, it just causes pain—mainly from the fact that Ryan is too big and Alex almost is. But I also regret missing those earlier years when I was often out of town touring the surrounding states with Quagmire on weekends.

  “That’s good. I was hoping I wouldn’t miss anything,” I said, while getting on my knees to give my boys the bear hugs they especially enjoy from their old man. “Where’s Fiona?”

  “Right here, hon’.”

  She had just stepped around the corner with Joanna and Ed right behind her. As tempted as I was to plant one big sensual kiss on my wife’s lips for Ed to enjoy, I restrained myself as I stood up, keeping my ‘greeting’ affectionate but appropriate for the occasion. Still, I held Fiona in my arms for another moment before letting her go.

  “What?” she asked, wearing the loving smile that lifts my heart more than anything else in my world…although my boys’ loving smiles come damned close.

  “I love you so much, Fiona.”

  “As I do you, Jimmy,” she replied. To my surprise, she laid one on me. Naturally, I responded in kind, although any thought of getting a reaction out of Detective Silver was lost in our brief revelry. When she pulled away from me, only our boys were in attendance, lightly pounding our thighs with their fists as if hoping to get their parents to stop embarrassing them. “We should join the party. Come on.”

  She slipped her hand inside mine, and the coolness I felt within her palm confirmed the not-so-subtle hint of Zinfandel on her breath. The inspiration for our kiss was uncovered. But that’s okay…it certainly fed the fantasy of getting her a few more glasses of the sweet wine. But after this party, we had another to hit out in McMinnville with our ghost hunting pals and our Pulaski Paranormal Posse cohorts. Actually, the bonfire/marshmallow roast and Jack Daniels event was being held at a farm belonging to the older sister of the Thomas twins.

  Our presence in McMinnville was expected by ten o’clock. Unfortunately, that left us just two hours tonight at Stella’s. I would later learn that Fiona’s dear auntie was quite disappointed, since my wife had assumed she had told her about this other party more than a week ago. She had not. Luckily, the offer of leaving Ryan and Alex in Stella’s care proved to be an effective olive branch. Otherwise, I do believe we would have some u
nhappy friends down south of Nashville, since I had no intention of allowing this wonderful woman to be sad on the one night she looks forward to most of all.

  Her late husband initiated the annual Christmas party, and as painfully lonely as Christmas itself is for her, being able to celebrate the one event he looked forward to above all others has become a balm for that loneliness. So, no way in hell would I let anything disrupt her party, and I can honestly state that Fiona would’ve felt the same way, too. But finding a compromise that keeps peace in our entire world is always best.

  “Please tell me that Dick Tracy will not be joining us in our journey south tonight,” I whispered in Fiona’s ear, as we waited for Stella to say grace before everyone could dig in.

  When she finished, Stella’s warm green eyes seemed brighter. She has the same inherited gifts that my wife carries, and they both remind me of my mom, who ranks as a saint in my estimation.

  “Sorry, Jimmy,” said Fiona, once the prayer was finished, and everyone began moving through the serving line that ran from the kitchen and all the way through the formal dining room. Fire pits had been placed around Stella’s pool along with banquet tables. Surprisingly, despite the subfreezing temperature outside, it felt warm enough to remove my coat, despite the back door standing wide open. At least I could see one of the three Goodlettsville cops in attendance just outside the doorway. “It’s the only way we could join everyone else. I mean, even though there’s a minute chance the killers could follow one of us to the bonfire it’s still possible. And, with a party list that includes Louise and Marie’s ghost hunter groups, I have to agree with Ed’s assumption that it would be an attractive event for these sick assholes.”

  Then why are we going at all? And, no, that’s not what I thought at the time, since I was having a really hard time catching anything she said beyond ‘Sorry, Jimmy’. But the general gist of her point sunk in far enough to register somewhere in my head. For an instant, I actually considered broaching the idea of nixing our presence at the later event…but then decided it might be best to grab some cocktail weenies and a couple small ham and cheese roll sandwiches and think on it.