by Eva Pohler
“Over by Cain’s Ballroom in the Brady Arts District,” Ellen said.
Miss Myrtle looked up at her sharply. “Why all you white folks want to buy up old Greenwood?”
Ellen was taken aback, not sure what to say.
Sue said, “Miss Myrtle, that building has been sitting there abandoned for decades. It’s not like we’re cheating any black buyers out of a deal. No one else wants it.”
Miss Myrtle sucked in her lips as she continued to light the candles.
Then Tanya asked, “Do you know anything about unmarked mass graves that may have resulted from the 1921 race riot?”
“No, I don’t. Why?”
Tanya clasped her hands together. “We think there might be a connection between that building and the ghosts of some of the riot victims.”
“We could be way off,” Ellen interrupted when she saw Miss Myrtle frown. “The spirits we sensed could be American Indians who were burned in a fire way before the riot ever happened. We don’t know.”
“Vivian seems to be urging us forward,” Sue said. “And we were hoping you could tell us why.”
“I don’t want to be a part of anything pertaining to the riot,” Miss Myrtle said. “How ‘bout I read your cards or your palms instead?”
Ellen blanched. “Why not? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I do mind.” Miss Myrtle blew out the candles she had only just lit.
“Fine,” Sue said, holding out her palm. “Tell me what you see.”
Miss Myrtle took Sue’s hand in hers and leaned over it. “We’ll, I’ll be.”
She reached out for Tanya’s and inspected it as well.
“Show me yours, too,” she said to Ellen.
Ellen sat on the edge of the sofa, stretched out her arm, and held up her palm.
“Well aren’t you some lucky ladies. You three are about to come into some big money. I hope you’ll remember me when you do!”
Ellen hid her disappointment as she reached into her purse and brought out a twenty-dollar bill. Tanya and Sue did the same—the fee they’d agreed on over the phone.
“Thanks for your time,” Sue said as she climbed to her feet.
“Let me show you out,” Miss Myrtle held open her screen door, and the three friends left.
As they climbed into the car, Tanya muttered, “What a rip-off.”
“Let’s go try that barbecue place we saw on the way over,” Sue said. “That should cheer us up.”
While they ate, Tanya had the idea of contacting Carrie French, their haunted pub crawl guide. “Maybe she can help us.”
Sue used her phone to find Carrie’s website and phone number. Ellen called but was taken to voicemail, so she left a message.
Discouraged, she finished her last bite and said, “Now what?” But her friends only shrugged. They were out of ideas, too.
On the way back to the hotel, Ellen stopped at a UPS Store for a shipping box. Then she returned to the hotel and began the disturbing process of packing the little skeleton arm with a letter to the online lab.
They had already changed trains in Fort Worth and were halfway to San Antonio, when Ellen, who’d been reading the book the Director of Programming at the Greenwood Cultural Center had recommended, arrived at the place that discussed the search for unmarked mass graves. The book, Riot and Remembrance: America’s Worst Race Riot and Its Legacy, by James S. Hirsch, told how a black journalist and politician named Don Ross was outraged when the 1995 bombing of Oklahoma City received worldwide attention as the worst urban tragedy in America, while the riot of 1921 seemed to have all but disappeared from human memory. He had already made it his personal mission to fight for old Greenwood, and after the Oklahoma City bombing, he spearheaded the passing of a bill that created the Tulsa Race Riot Commission. Eleven members were appointed to identify survivors, establish an official account of what had happened, and make recommendations for reparations.
A white historian named Scott Ellsworth, who’d already published a book about the riot, was hired by the commission to help. Ellsworth convinced the commission, the historical society, and independent scholars to help him search for bodies, insisting that they could reveal information about the victims’ identities and how they were killed, which would provide a clearer picture of what happened. Additionally, the exhumed bodies could be given the proper burial they deserved.
“Listen to this,” she told Tanya, who sat beside her, and Sue, who sat across the aisle from her facing the same direction, toward the front of the train. “Ellsworth got the director of the Oklahoma Archaeological Survey at the University of Oklahoma to lead a team through Newblock Park, Rolling Oaks Memorial Park, and Oaklawn Cemetery with ground-penetrating radar to look for the graves. They even dug with loud hydraulic machines and manually operated rods, but never found the bodies. Eventually, the commission reversed its decision to continue the search.”
“That’s too bad,” Sue said. “Sounds like they could have looked around a bit more before giving up.”
“How do we know the spirits in that building have anything to do with the missing bodies?” Tanya asked. “What if they’re unrelated?”
“We have to go back,” Sue said. “We have to go back and have a séance.”
Ellen sat up and leaned forward, “I agree, but this time, we need to be better prepared. I’ve been doing some research about paranormal investigations. I even ordered a ghost hunting starter kit, but it hasn’t come in yet.”
“Seriously?” Sue laughed.
“I’m very serious,” Ellen said. “And I found a team of investigators in San Antonio. I think we should contact them and ask if we can observe how they operate.”
“I’m up for that,” Tanya said.
“Sue?” Ellen raised her eyebrows.
“Count me in.”
“Great. As soon as we get wi-fi again, I’ll email the team.”
Chapter Eleven: The San Antonio Ghost Busters
“Where are you going?” Paul asked when he entered the master bathroom, where Ellen was getting dressed.
“Sue and Tanya and I are going to observe a paranormal investigation tonight. Doesn’t that sound interesting?”
“You haven’t even been home one day, and you’re already leaving again,” Paul complained.
Ellen was caught off guard by his remark. They rarely made plans together anymore, and he always seemed content sitting in his recliner watching the history channel, or the gold digger show, or the Alaskan crabbing show. “Was there something else you wanted to do?”
Paul shrugged and left the room.
After she finished dressing, she went into the den, where he’d made himself comfortable in his chair.
“I’m planning on eating with the girls, but I could whip something up for you real quick if you’re tired of doing your own cooking.”
“I’ll find something,” he said. “You go on.”
She hesitated, wishing she could read his mind. He used to tell her that she needed to be more independent, back in the days when she used to complain about all the golfing and fishing and hunting he did. Now that she was being more independent, he still seemed unhappy with her.
“Okay, then,” she finally said. “I’ll see you later.”
She went to the front room, to her own chair, with her new ghost hunting kit, and waited for Sue, who arrived within a few minutes. Together they picked up Tanya and headed to the new Mexican food restaurant Sue wanted to try, and, from there, to the east side of town to meet the paranormal team at a local residence.
“That margarita was a disappointment,” Sue said from behind the wheel.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Tanya asked from the backseat.
“One margarita doesn’t affect me like it does you, skinny bones,” Sue assured her.
“Oh, hush,” Tanya said. “I’ve actually put on weight since my mother passed. I can barely fit into these pants anymore.”
Sue and Ellen exchanged eye rolling.
When they were only a few minutes away from their destination, Sue said, “This neighborhood is as shady as Greenwood.”
“This was my grandmother’s neighborhood.” Ellen’s grandmother had passed eleven years before at the ripe old age of ninety-two. “It brings back so many memories.”
“Well, your grandmother lived in a shady neighborhood,” Sue repeated with a laugh.
“It’s just old and run down,” Ellen said.
“Isn’t that the definition of shady?” Sue challenged as she followed the directions on the GPS.
“Just because it’s poor doesn’t mean it’s shady,” Ellen said.
They pulled up to a worn down, one-story cottage in dire need of new siding. It sat on a corner lot with a huge oak tree infringing upon the short, narrow driveway leading to what was once the garage but was now part of the house. A corner lot, it sloped precariously toward the side street where a thorny bush and a hill of weeds met the curb. The windows of the house were barred, as was the front door.
Sue parked behind the red van already sitting beside the curb. “We’re here,” she said in a tone that sounded unsure that they should be.
“Should I take in my ghost hunting kit?” Ellen said. “Or do you think they’d be offended?”
“I’d leave it in the car,” Tanya said. “Maybe you can use it next time.”
They stepped from Sue’s SUV and climbed the short hill to the front door, navigating over the massive roots of the oak tree that took up most of the front lawn. When they reached the front door, Ellen took a deep breath and knocked.
“Yeah?” a man asked suspiciously at the door. He was young—probably mid-twenties—and Hispanic with a thin mustache and very short hair. He wore an open plaid shirt over a white muscle shirt and a pair of very baggy jeans. A tattoo stretched up from his neckline to the right side of his face.
“We’re here for the paranormal investigation,” Ellen said.
The man frowned. “Ah man, Philip! You didn’t tell me no one was comin’!”
Ellen’s mouth dropped open and blood rushed to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”
Another man, about the same age, but white with blond hair and a five o’clock shadow, came to the door abruptly and said, “Not at all. Don’t mind Ernest. He didn’t mean to sound so rude. Come inside, please. I’m Philip.”
After introducing themselves, Ellen followed Sue and Tanya into the small living room. Not only was it small, but it was filled with every knickknack imaginable. Shadowboxes full of figurines covered the walls, and three book cases with a handful of books and at least a dozen dolls, tea cups, Christmas globes (even though Christmas was still three months away), and crocheted figures crammed every square inch of the scratched oak veneer finish.
The sofa on the left side of the room was covered with boxes, and the table, at the back of the room, held an array of equipment. On the one armchair sat a young woman, also in her late twenties, with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and a little boy, maybe six years of age, held protectively on her lap. She had tears in her eyes, as she bounced her boy on a shaky thigh.
“Amanda, I hope you don’t mind if a few interested observers join us tonight,” Philip said to the woman.
Another young woman stood with a camcorder on her shoulder, her blonde curly hair pulled back with a headband. “This probably wasn’t the right job for them to come on.”
Ellen frowned again, getting the impression that Philip was the only one among them that wanted them there. “Should we leave?”
The woman with camera said, “Just stay close to us. Don’t wander off. And be prepared to leave if things get bad.”
Philip clasped his hands together and said, “We said we wanted more exposure in the community, Brenda. Well, this is an opportunity for that, okay?” Then to Ellen and her friends, he said, “Just stand there, and I’ll answer your questions when we’ve finished. We were in the process of interviewing the client just before you arrived.”
Ellen nodded and stood by the crowded front window beside the woman with the camcorder. Sue and Tanya squeezed beside her.
Philip picked up a laptop from the table in back and sat it on a rickety kitchen chair beside Amanda and her son, pointing what Ellen recognized as an Xbox Kinect device in the mother’s direction. Ellen noticed a colorful screen with skeleton-like lines on the images of Amanda and her son. Ernest hovered near him with another device in his hand.
“Can you show us the marks?” Brenda asked Amanda.
Amanda lifted her son’s Spiderman t-shirt to reveal dark bruising around his ribs.
Ellen covered her mouth.
“And you think this happened at night in his room while he was sleeping?” Brenda asked from behind the camera.
Amanda nodded. “More than once.”
“And you and your son are the only living humans in the house?” Brenda asked.
“That’s right,” Amanda said.
“Has the boy ever come home from school with new marks on him?” Brenda asked.
Amanda shook her head.
“And do you often receive visitors? Or does the boy ever stay with friends or relatives?” Brenda asked.
“I don’t got time for visitors. He sees his father every other weekend, but John would never harm his own son,” Amanda insisted.
“What makes you suspect there’s a demon in Timmy’s room, other than the markings?” Brenda asked.
“At night, I hear footsteps,” she said. “And when I go in and check, Timmy is sound asleep.”
“How often does this occur?” Philip asked.
“At least twice a week, sometimes more often,” Amanda said. “And Timmy sees something.” She kissed the top of the little boy’s head. “Tell them what you see, Timmy.”
He shook his head and pressed his face against his mother’s neck.
“He told me it’s a dark shadow standing at the foot of his bed,” Amanda said. “He says it comes from his closet.”
Brenda turned to Philip. “Are you getting anything?”
“Nothing yet,” he said, looking at the laptop screen. “It’s just the two of them.”
“I think we need to go to Timmy’s bedroom. For now, you and Timmy stay here,” she said to Amanda.
“What about us?” Sue asked.
Ernest rolled his eyes, but Philip said, “They can stand in the hallway and look on, can’t they?”
Brenda nodded. “Follow me, but stay back.”
Philip led the way, carrying his laptop, with Ernest behind him. Brenda took up the rear of her team, and then Ellen and her friends made their way behind her through the cluttered room to the hallway. They passed a tiny kitchen at the back of the house that smelled strongly of onion and garlic. The first room on the right was Timmy’s. Through the doorway from where she stood behind Sue, Ellen could see toys on the floor and the twin bed that was pushed against the corner of the room. Dusty blinds covered the front window, which had a dresser in front of it, covered with more knickknacks. A closet opened to the left wall, but Ellen couldn’t see inside of it, as Ernest stood in front of it with his device.
“She said Timmy sees it come from the closet,” Brenda said, pointing her camera in that direction. “I’m going to begin. Ready Philip?”
Philip had his laptop on his lap where he sat on the edge of Timmy’s bed, pointing the Xbox Kinect device at the closet. Ernest stood with his back against the wall near the closet door. He had a handheld device that was currently blinking.
“Ready,” Philip said.
Ernest nodded. He turned off the bedroom light. The only light remaining in the room was a kind of black light coming from Brenda’s camera, turning everything an eerie pale purple.
“If there’s a demon in this room,” Brenda said. “This is your chance to prove it. Show yourself to us now.”
Ellen was surprised with the brazen way the young wo
man was challenging a supposed demon, but she watched on. Unlike the feelings of suffocation she had felt in the abandoned building in Tulsa, she sensed nothing in this house.
“Why are you hurting Timmy?” Brenda asked. “Speak to us. Tell us what you want. Prove to us that you exist.”
Ernest put his hand to his head and bowed forward.
“Are you alright, man?” Philip asked him.
“That was frickin weird, man,” he whispered. “My hand feels like ice, and I feel sick as a dog. Are you getting anything?”
“No, not yet,” Philip said. “Play back the recorder, and let’s have a listen.”
“I’m feeling sick, too,” Brenda said. “Something evil is definitely in here with us.”
Ellen glanced at her friends with a questioning look, but they shook their heads and shrugged. None of them were feeling it.
Ernest pushed a button on his device, which played back Brenda’s speech. In between her speeches were some unintelligible moments of static, which seemed to make both Philip and Ernest very excited.
“Whoa, man!” Ernest said. “Did you hear that? Let me play it back.”
“Is that laughter?” Philip asked. “The demon’s frickin’ laughing at us.”
To Ellen, it sounded like empty static.
“I’m feeling sick,” Brenda said. “I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. Are you picking up on anything, Philip?”
“Not on the screen, but I definitely feel it, too. Cut the black light for a minute.”
Timmy’s room became bathed in darkness.
Then more loudly Philip said, “If you’re here, demon, show us a sign. Touch me. Grab me. Do anything you want. Prove to me that you’re here.”
Ernest flinched and said, “What the hell was that?”
Brenda asked, “What? Are you okay?”
“Something hit me, right here on my back. Lift my shirt. Can you see anything?”
Philip turned on the bedroom light and lifted Ernest’s shirt. “I see something. It’s very light, but something got you. Let me take a shot of that with my phone.”