Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller

by Anthony O'Brien

  He can’t help but look, just one fleeting glimpse.

  “Do you like my self-portrait?” Sarah’s eyebrows raise in expectation.

  “Hmm. Yes, it’s wonderfully executed.” He feels like a peeping Tom caught out.

  “I love the light play, what do you think?” She's teasing, surely he knows this?

  “It’s a very beautiful painting.”

  “Thank you.” She lets him off the hook. “Do you know anything about the tarot?”

  “I did briefly study them. They are used for divination. Originally established around the mid fourteenth century in Italy via the three decks known as the Visconti Trumps. This was played as a board game throughout Europe.”

  “You’re well informed, although they can be traced back to a later date.”

  “Possibly, but there’s academic debate regarding that claim.”

  “There always is.” Sarah’s not in the mood for 'academic debate'. “Let’s see what the cards have in store for you.”

  Sarah goes through the same process with Jeff as she did Eve, then waits outside the room until she’s called back in. Jeff hands the cards to Sarah who then places them face up in three horizontal rows.

  “I see you required a lot of strength when you were younger. The lady here with the halo and robed in white is purity; the red lion by her side is anger and rage. You are both the lady and the lion. The woman is your higher self, your super ego, your virtue. The opposite of all this is your dark ego; the lion she tames. You were tested as a child by the Devil; bullied for a short time as an infant. Those who helped you also gave you your life, your reason for being.” Sarah realizes what makes Jeff tick. “It was your teachers who helped you, that’s why you became who you are today.”

  “Yes, if it takes just a few kind words to change the destiny for one child, can you imagine the difference a lifetime’s work might achieve? The power to change life for the better; there’s no greater reward.”

  “Life’s a residual of one’s own past thoughts and actions. As noble as your intentions are, I see much heartache, a love triangle and the fallen tower.” Sarah can see Jeff’s inner turmoil in the cards. “This is your chosen destiny; you must stop punishing yourself.”

  “I remember my past, accept the consequences and live in the present.” Jeff does not want to acknowledge Sarah’s last statement. “Now what of the future?”

  “You are experiencing a spiritual awakening, but the Devil is once again around you.”

  “Casey Lee Jones?”

  “Yes, but this is not clear cut. As you know in Christian theology the original sin was committed by consuming the fruit from the tree of knowledge. God wished to restrict what the Devil would freely give, and you’re being offered that same choice. Ignorance in the garden or the knowledge you seek.”

  “So who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy?”

  “That depends on what you’re looking for?”

  “I wish to gain true understanding and knowledge.”

  “Then only the Devil may give you what you seek.” What Sarah sees warrants both concern and a warning. “Beware too much rope and you may hang, and that’s if the apple isn’t already poisoned.”

  ***

  The late afternoon sky is clear, and old highways stretch through empty barren lands. A windshield full of dust. A large black SUV passes the skeleton of a scarecrow. These stripped-back plains of Kansas are populated by dead towns, where dried timber pays homage to empty post offices and grocery stores. Past residents swirl around as dust. Old steel tracks laid to the north corrode in fields partnered with red oxide railroad freight cars.

  Riding shotgun up front is Sarah. It makes a nice change for Eve to sit in the back beside Jeff and for them to be chauffeured. Marcus interrupts daydreams; fleeting thoughts and past memories.

  “It’s not far now.”

  “Why are there so many ghost towns?” Jeff’s not seen so many derelict buildings before.

  “Back in the day small communities were only several miles apart; this was the distance a farmer could comfortably travel with a horse and wagon for the day’s business. Then the railroads came; they did two things, created large cities and killed small settlements. In 1886 any persons known or unknown in Kansas could, by asking for a charter, and by paying one dollar, build anywhere and any amount of railroad they wished within the state.”

  “He’s not just a pretty face, is he?” Sarah speaks with pride for her man.

  “He’s not.” Jeff concedes; Marcus does appear to be a very different man, than the one he remembers all those years ago.

  Marcus eases off the gas, leaves the highway and heads off-road.

  “Don’t worry, we’re on an old cart track. We heard a rumor of a ghost town out here; dig deep enough and it’s in the records. Everything is as it was; we move nothing and touch nothing. People usually can’t resist making off with an artefact, and slipping away with a piece of history, so we’ve told no one.”

  The trailing cloud of dust is no longer visible from the highway. Mile after mile of rock, mountains and a riverbed crossing; harsh terrain. The formation of rock ahead opens out onto the plain and the nearby river. At first sight they see an old tired wagon, along with a street of ghostly and dark timber-built buildings. Jeff and Eve both feel the romance of nineteenth century Western towns.

  “What do you think?” Marcus can see the enchantment it has on both of them.

  “I didn’t expect this.” Jeff’s astonished at how well the buildings have stood the test of time.

  “Wow.” Eve loves it. “It looks spooky.”

  The vehicle draws up beside and into the shade of the nearby tree.

  “Welcome to Black Top City.” Marcus has meticulously researched the location, its past, and most importantly any surviving records of the settlers that once lived here. “Named after the ridge, it was established by Patrick O’Donnell and his son. They sold plots here in 1872, with the promise that a railroad connection would also be built.”

  “That sounds ominous?”

  “It was never built.” Marcus smiles to himself at the audacity of the con men. “They said that the mountains were rich and full of gold deposits.”

  “Don’t tell me.” Jeff can guess. “There was no gold?”

  “None, but to be fair it wasn’t an outright swindle. They got their information from Native Americans, who informed them that tin mines and valuable deposits were to be found along Black Top ridge. As unscrupulous swindlers, the O’Donnell’s sold prospectors secret metallurgical techniques to extract gold from shale. Anyone who dared suggest there wasn’t any gold was quickly silenced.”

  “Scum.” Jeff can’t stand lowlifes.

  “They were.” To save time Marcus falls short of reciting the catalogue of atrocities they’d actually committed. “With no railroad and no gold, prospectors moved on. The town would have dissolved except for prohibition. Bootlegging and narcotic operations provided the money, and the town grew into Black Top City. This was run by one of the meanest outlaws of the day: Sonny Malloy.”

  “He sounds a character.” Eve’s fascinated by the complexity of dark individuals.

  “He was a ruthless bastard by all accounts. Old picks and shovels aren’t the only things left behind here. Legend has it that Malloy would befriend the competition, wine and dine their friends and family, and all would stay at the hotel and die that same night. His men would take them out and bury them round these parts.”

  “All of these old towns have legends associated with them.” Jeff’s dismissive. “There’s no proof any of this actually happened though, is there?”

  “There is.” Marcus has to convince Jeff that the past is the past. “We discovered a ground floor room in the hotel that has a rotating bed. Anyone sleeping would have been dropped into the cellar and the pit below. This has a series of wood spikes that still stand to this day; the victims would have been impaled. Rumor has it that they were then fed to the pigs.”

 
; “That’s gross.” Eve shudders at the thought.

  “He must have enjoyed eating his pigs.” Jeff torments Eve by licking his lips.

  “Oh stop it.”

  “This is the real deal.” Marcus can’t help but laugh at Jeff’s humor. “We are on a ghost hunt. Forget what you think you know. Camera crews, lighting and technology all encroach onto the paranormal, and that’s for entertainment purposes only.”

  “Hopefully we’ll get to see Malloy.” Sarah’s hope is to contact the outlaw.

  “Is he still here?” Eve tingles with anticipation.

  “Tell them.”

  “The tree beside us was his hanging tree.” Marcus leans forward as Jeff and Eve stare at the tree, he opens up the glove box and pulls out a photograph, and passes it to Jeff. “This was taken in 1889 by one of our earliest photographic pioneers. He documented the civil war, and he photographed Malloy as they hung him.” The photograph in Jeff’s hand shows a makeshift platform by the tree. Malloy stands on the platform along with two hangmen, whilst further along the branch ropes dig in tight around the bark, and six men dangle like fruit in the midday sun. “Malloy was forced to watch his men hang first.”

  “Got what he deserved.” Jeff has no sympathy.

  “Before he dropped, his last words cursed this town, and all who lived or stepped foot here.” Marcus passes Jeff one last photograph. “See for yourself what they did to him.”

  Two men kneel beside Malloy’s dead body which is now laid out in the dirt at the base of the platform. They wear the contemporary hats and jackets of the day, even the decency of a pocket watch is seen in the photograph. One has his hand on Malloy’s leg, whilst the other pulls Malloy’s shoulder back. Both men look into the camera, proud of the kill.

  “Where’s his head?” Jeff frowns.

  “Beside the body, face down.”

  “What’s it doing there?”

  “An inexperienced hanging posse with a long rope. Malloy was grossly overweight and was decapitated the moment he dropped.”

  “Ouch!” Eve winces at the thought.

  Marcus starts the engine, leaving behind the tree that once suckled on Malloy’s blood. Driving slowly along the strip the tires dig into soil that was the domain of men, horses and carts. Jeff and Eve are mesmerized by the old timber buildings standing shoulder to shoulder. Hand painted signs once proudly displayed as works of art by store owners are now weathered relics. The architecture was borrowed from New Orleans double-gallery houses, framed and supported using timber columns. The architectural flair of French and Spanish prospectors surrounds them. They pass the infamous large hotel before drawing to a halt outside the saloon.

  “The only thing missing is the people.” Eve’s contemplative with her statement.

  “Some are still here.” Marcus looks at their apprehensive faces and laughs. “Come on, I’ll show you round.”

  They step out onto soil which is smooth and windswept, like a beach once the tide is out, except for the fresh tire tracks.

  “Now all we have to do is wait till sunset.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The label reads 'Black Top City Pure Rye Whiskey'; the bottle stands where it was left on the ivory piano keys. The surrounding wood has decayed to a crumbly dark cracked appearance, along with a white musty residue. Timber steps lead up to the gallery and the rooms that once housed whores. The walnut bar still stands with ornately carved arches containing mirror fragments. This was once a standing saloon with an old brass rail that ran along the front of the counter. It’s dark and gloomy. The timber floor now resembles hard-packed dirt, a brass cuspidor is as black as the residue of dried tobacco spit that still resides within. Rusty oil lamps hang from the ceiling. Small bowls containing the ashes of burnt herbs go unnoticed. It was Native Americans who performed the ritual of the sacred smoke bowl cleansing when the town was abandoned, smoke attaching itself to and removing negative spirits and energies. Marcus and Sarah have set up cameras around the saloon; their attention is focused on the digital screen in front of them.

  “What are you looking for?” Jeff frowns. He’s curious, what’s Marcus up to?

  “Anomalies. I’ll use the analogy of radio and television signals. You don’t see or feel them, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s because we vibrate at a different frequency, and only perceive that which our senses can recognize; what they permit us to see. The frequency we live in is a mere drop in a vast ocean of infinite waves. Science has established that energy condensed to a slow vibration is matter, or that matter accelerated is energy. Thus energy and matter, including ourselves, cannot be destroyed, only transformed.”

  “I understand the science, but if you forgive me saying so, your discourse does invite controversy.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Life is but a dream, my friend, and this equipment permits us to glimpse into the imagination of our consciousness.”

  “What are we looking for?” All Jeff can see is a monochrome image of the saloon and nothing else.

  “Think of this as the modern equivalent of a tuning dial for a radio, but instead of radio waves we scan for energy waves. Then we see if the past has left any imprints.”

  “And has it?”

  “There’s nothing yet. If we locate the energy we can fine tune it, much like a TV set. Then it’s a simple matter of retrieving any data that’s been left behind.”

  “How can matter have a memory?” Jeff knows this theory has been discredited before, and is testing Marcus.

  “It just does. Think of it this way; the human brain is seventy five percent water; we essentially have a water memory. In fact many scientists believe water itself can contain imprints of energies it’s been exposed to. Science is opening up new frontiers all the time. I don’t understand the physics, nor do I need to, I just know it works.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point.” Jeff’s not convinced. “What can we expect to see?”

  “It depends on what’s here.”

  “Well, can you see anything?”

  “Look closely at the screen.” Marcus, with his finger, indicates the area he would like them to focus on. “What do you see?”

  “The bar.” Jeff’s manner is blasé. “There’s nothing to see here.”

  “Look closer.” Marcus ignores Jeff’s flippant attitude. “Can you see anything, Eve?”

  “I think I see… are those transparent shadows?”

  “Where?” Jeff looks over Eve’s shoulder.

  “Here.”

  “Is that not simply a reflection?” Jeff dismisses Eve’s statement.

  “No it’s not a reflection, and yes, you’re correct Eve. Although this isn’t a specific individual, but the energy of many people in the same space over a long period of time. Sometimes we may pick up on this imprint, a sensing that the energy has shifted in a room. We may experience anxiety and unease, goose bumps and chills.” Marcus gestures towards the bar. “Walk over and see if you can feel anything.”

  At the bar neither of them wish to place their hands on the thick layer of dust that covers the top. On screen they can be seen mingling with a faint misty energy which passes around them, energy that was left behind by the living over one hundred years ago.

  “Do you feel anything?”

  “I’m not sure.” In this situation Jeff knows that the mind can play tricks.

  “I think I do.” Eve has goose bumps and chills.

  “Really?” Jeff’s eyebrows raise in astonishment.

  “Yes really!” Jeff’s closed mind and manners are beginning to grate on Eve. “Wave your hand around in front of you.” Jeff copies the motion of her hand “Can’t you feel it?”

  “I’m not sure. We may be feeling what we expect to feel.”

  “Just this once have an open mind.” She strokes the side of his arm in a bid to bring him round to her way of thinking.

  “I have.” Deep down he knows this is a lie.

  “How are you two love
birds doing?” Sarah notes Eve’s attentive nature.

  “Eve believes she can feel energy.”

  “Great.” This excites Sarah and Marcus. “What do you feel?”

  “The air feels static-y.” She waves her hand slowly in the air. “There’s energy on my hand when I move it around, it’s a tingling sensation.”

  “Your energy field is interacting with a much older and fainter one around you.” Marcus notes that Eve’s far more perceptive than Jeff. “It’s a start, but it’s merely an impression. We’re going to relocate and search for stronger activity. Give us a hand with the equipment Jeff.”

  “Sure, where to?”

  “The hotel.”

  Once the cameras are set up, the hotel has an altogether different vibe, dark and heavy. Jeff for once acknowledges that his senses have kicked in.

  “There’s a change in the air?”

  “Coming from you Jeff.” Marcus smiles. “That’s progress.” Then turns to Sarah. “We’ll leave this camera set up here in the lobby.”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s take the stairs. They look solid enough but watch your footing. I’ll take the lead.” With authority Marcus organizes them into single file. The camera records their every step up the creaking stairs. Four flashlight beams cut through the blanket of darkness that envelopes them. The handrail and spindles remain in fair condition, and the wall to their side is patchy with an eerie patina of textures. Crumbling plaster has exposed the wood slats. The walls buckle; the thick dust covering the floor could be mistaken for dirty snow, the only footprints being the ones they leave behind. Moving from the open space of the staircase and into the corridor, some doors still hang whilst others hold on to the one remaining hinge. It’s so very dark in here. Then Marcus signals for them all to stop.

  “Listen.”

  In the silence they hear what can only be described as faint inaudible voices further down the corridor.

  “We’re alone out here aren’t we?” Jeff’s concern is for the safety of the group.

  “Yes, there’s no one out here but us.”

  “So who’s talking?”