“That makes sense,” she says. “I knew they were doing something illegal on the far side of the springs.”
“Why would drilling for oil be illegal?” I ask. “If it was their property, they could do what they want.”
“Not if they didn’t have a permit and it affected the lake, or if they knew there was a salt dome underneath and something like this could be possible,” Elijah says. “Several boats were damaged.” He looks at his grandmother. “Docks were pulled apart, weren’t they Grandma? My dad always said the damage was worse than they admitted to.”
Miss Bessie turns solemn. “Two people were fishing on the lake when it happened.”
This news takes us all by surprise, even makes Old Man Frederick stop eating.
“But, they didn’t die that night,” Sirona inserts.
Everyone looks her way and it’s obvious that even Miss Bessie thought the accident was the cause.
“They told the authorities what they saw,” Sirona continues. “And they disappeared.”
We all turn silent until the beeping of the microwave brings us back and we jump at the sound. While Elijah rises to bring us reheated eggs, I look out the back window on to the placid lake, glistening in the morning sun as if tiny nymphs dance on the surface, their feet lightly touching. I glance back at Sirona and she smiles as if she knows what I see.
“Okay, so now we know what caused the lake to disappear a million years ago,” Frederick says scooping eggs on to his plate. “Can we get back to the problem at hand?”
“Fred,” Miss Bessie admonishes him. “I lost my son because of that accident, lost him to Chicago for the rest of his days.”
“And I lost my land, Miss Bessie.”
The two start arguing so Elijah rises, pushing two palms out to calm the fighting seniors. “Please, you all, we need to get back to solving our problem with the ghosts.”
“You all,” Frederick says in a huff. “Spoken like a Yankee. It’s y’all, son.”
Elijah rolls his eyes and I feel more arguing ensuing so I start explaining the connection of Matt Wilson and the smells coming off the site at Easter. I pull out the financial reports I nabbed in Houston and relay what I learned at Hobart while under cover. I feel like an investigative journalist but know that Pulitzer will have to go to someone else.
“So, Matt Wilson has been lying to us about the water quality while his company dumps toxic waste at the springs?” Sirona asks.
“I’ve been telling y’all this,” Frederick says while looking smugly in Elijah’s direction, who rolls his eyes again.
“Is the state involved?” Miss Bessie asks.
“I don’t know.” I pull out the paperwork TB and I printed out at the department in Baton Rouge. “The state did find problems here but the department glossed over those facts. Maybe it was Matt acting alone or maybe someone higher up helping, but one thing’s for sure, Wilson’s probably acting illegally by dumping on the site, then covering it up at the department. This all needs further investigation.”
“Probably?” Frederick says. “Matt Wilson is the devil.”
“But why the ghosts?” Miss Bessie asks. “Oilfield waste doesn’t cause the dead to walk the earth.”
Sirona suddenly appears uneasy. She frowns and it’s like a cloud passing over the sun. We all feel the sudden darkness and turn to look her way.
“I did it,” she finally says.
Miss Bessie pats her hand. “Did what, honey?”
Sirona becomes antsy, rises and begins pacing the room.
“The first time worked. When they started bringing in prostitutes and the springs were suffering. I only meant to scare them and it worked pretty good.”
We’re all ears. Even Old Man Frederick gives up eating, pushing his plate away to devote his attention to Sirona. I look around and everyone appears clueless but I think I know what Sirona has done.
“You called upon the dead to help.”
Sirona looks at me and nods. “It was temporary. I was hoping those horrible people who took over the springs from the Germans would be scared off and leave the place alone, but only a few of the staff members got frightened and left.”
Frederick turns in his seat to look at Sirona head on. “Wait, you’re telling me you called the town’s dead to haunt Fontus Springs?”
“It was temporary,” Sirona insists.
“How on earth?”
“I can’t explain it. It’s power that belongs to me that I’m not allowed to share.” Sirona looks down at her feet. “I shouldn’t be among you now, shouldn’t allow you to see me, but I made a mistake and I’m not sure how to fix it.”
“You called upon too many, is that it?” I ask.
Sirona looks at me and nods. “What they did at Easter, it’s more than you can imagine. It’s not only polluting our sacred spring but the lake as well.” Her gaze follows those around the table. “It’s poisoning your drinking water.”
We all take in this last piece of information, Elijah gazing into his coffee cup, and Frederick shaking his head in disgust.
I’m still thinking about those ghosts. Now, it’s my turn to stand and pace. “You asked the town’s dead to scare Matt Wilson and the people who work for him, right? And more appeared than you imagined and now they’re walking all over town at dusk?”
Sirona nods solemnly. “I can’t make them go away. That’s why Elijah and I approached you. We thought you could help.”
It’s one thing to face a ghost, find out why they’re haunting this plane and help them move to the other side. Quite another to send a whole town packing, dead people who were on the other side to begin with.
“Honestly, Sirona,” I begin, “I haven’t a clue how to fix this.”
We all begin discussing one idea after another, none of which makes sense considering what we’re dealing with, but we act like they might, throwing intellectual thoughts right and left. While we’re being theorists, TB rises and starts riffling through my purse. Usually, I hate when people do this; a woman’s purse is her castle. Today, I’m curious as to what he’s about, unless it’s to find chapstick, and then I’ll be pissed.
He pulls out Dr. Masaru Emoto’s book and it’s as if that proverbial lightbulb goes off again. Another Biblical passage enters my mind, the one about the meek inheriting the earth. TB looks my way and I smile, which gives him courage to enter the conversation.
“I think I know a way,” he says.
Everyone pauses to gaze at my simple-minded husband, a man I never give enough credit for finding answers. TB sends me a look, waiting for my approval or dismissal. I smile and nod, all the encouragement he needs.
“But we need more people,” he adds.
Elijah spent most of the day calling residents to meet in the back of the Hi Ho after work and by five-thirty almost two dozen people stand around asking questions while that skinny teenager pours them all coffee. More residents drift in by the minute and I wonder how we will all fit into the restaurant, but Elijah assures me we can easily bleed into the bait shop.
TB saunters over to my side and whispers, “What’s up with the nutria?”
I look down and see the smiling mammal on his coffee cup.
“It’s supposed to be a beaver, but the artist left off the tail.”
TB scratches his head. “I don’t get it.”
He may understand the secrets of the universe but an artwork mistake not so much, so I leave it at that.
“Do you want to explain to everyone what you said at Elijah’s?” I ask him.
TB shakes his head. “You do it. You’re good at these things.”
We wait another thirty minutes until Elijah feels that everyone who said they were coming is there. Those who were sitting rise and make room for more people to file into the restaurant area, and once we have the crowd organized and within hearing distance of me, we start.
“Some of you have met Ms. Valentine, and some of you may know why we asked her to come to Lake Lorelei,” Elijah announce
s.
There’s a titter through the crowd, and I sense a few people think my ghost-hunting skills lack merit, or refuse to believe in the apparitions haunting the town, mainly those men who have never spotted one. Overall, however, the crowd appears curious and I feel the warmth of their gazes upon me.
“She knows about our problem and she has an idea on how to fix it.”
Where’s Sirona? I wonder. As Elijah introduces me and asks me to speak, I gaze around to spot my illusive goddess but she’s nowhere to be found. Does she not want to be recognized? In all our preparation, we failed to ascertain that little fact.
I look up and realize Elijah has finished and everyone is waiting for me to speak. I clear my throat, pull out Emoto’s book and begin.
“Fontus Springs is sacred. I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories through the years and know that waters pouring forth from miles underground bring special healing with them.”
“Not according to the American Medical Association,” says a thick southern accent in the back.
“True,” I answer, knowing that owners of springs are not allowed to boast of their attributes. “But y’all live here and y’all know how important these waters are.”
A few nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Fixed my arthritis,” says an elderly voice to my left.
“Great for eczema,” says another.
This starts a host of exclamations, like witnesses in a church. Elijah raises a hand and brings the crowd back to order.
“Water makes up seventy-one percent of the earth,” I continue. “And our bodies are mostly water. So, if there is a vibration happening throughout the earth, one that Native Americans believed in, one that perhaps the Hilderbrands understood, then it’s likely to be felt in water most of all.”
Now, I’ve lost a few, so I hold up Emoto’s book.
“Masaru Emoto was a Japanese scientist who studied water. He believed that words and thoughts were vibrations called ‘Hado,’ which means wave. If the energy of a place was negative, people would say that its Hado was low. If a place emitted good vibes, people would say it had a powerful Hado.”
A few glazed eyes, so I open the book and show them photos of the water crystals, explaining how positive thoughts and words created beautiful water crystals in the water while negative thoughts and words created distorted ones. I pass the book to TB and he begins walking through the crowd, showing them the photos.
“Emoto believed that these vibrational waves of thought, words and consciousness can change things, even at the atomic level,” I continue. “If all energy is vibrating, then we can change anything by changing the vibration.”
Shifting of feet.
“He also believed that vibrations exist in a middle world, so to speak, and that water is the first to detect it.”
“What are you getting at?” says a woman to my right and others begin talking.
“Sounds hokey to me,” says another.
“If this is some of that hocus pocus stuff they talk about in California….”
Within seconds, I’m losing ground.
Elijah whistles. Loudly. And the crowd comes back to order. I’m amazed at how such a soft-spoken man can command attention like this, but then, he is the mayor. I quickly continue so as to not lose the group again.
“For instance, at a dam in central Japan, a Shinto priest repeated an incantation and cleaned the waters. And there was a lake in Japan that was heavily polluted. It smelled bad, had a horrible algae problem, thick reeds everywhere and the water was dirty. One day, hundreds of people came to the lake with Dr. Emoto and offered good Hado and what Emoto calls Kotodama, or the spirit of words. They asked for world peace. The lake cleared up.”
“Our lake isn’t polluted,” Southern accent says. “It’s just filled with ghosts.”
Several people laugh, but it’s a nervous one. I understand what Dr. Emoto meant when certain feelings create specific vibrations. Right now, an uneasiness and confused vibe streams through the room.
“The ghosts and the pollution of the springs are connected,” I try to explain.
Several people question this statement and the murmurs continue. I look at Elijah for help but he’s as clueless as I am to explain what Sirona has done. If only she were here.
“Matt Wilson has been dumping toxic waste at the springs,” TB says, and everyone stops talking and looks his way. “He’s been bringing in oilfield waste. There was an incident at Easter, we believe, which hurt the ground water and the lake.”
“I knew it,” says a man next to Elijah. “I kept seeing those trucks going in and out of there and knew nothing good would come of it.”
“Are you sure?” someone else asks.
Elijah relates what we discovered about Hobart, Bayou State Transport and Matt Wilson. He shares how I lost my car window, what I found in Houston, and how Old Man Frederick — he doesn’t call him that — has received constant threats over the years. He even mentions the disappearance of the lake in the 1930s and of the two men who reported that incident and were not heard from again. The crowd becomes eerily silent at that news.
“One was my father,” Elijah states. At this, questions start flying. Elijah holds up a hand. “A story for another day.”
“But, I don’t understand,” the woman to my right says. “What’s this got to do with ghosts?”
Once again, I’m stymied. Dr. Emoto’s theory is hard enough to explain, but a water goddess who calls to the dead? The crowd titters again, and this time I’m not sure Elijah will be able to control them. I look at TB and he’s just as concerned, especially as the crowd noise rises and questions are asked everywhere.
“I did it.”
I close my eyes and thank the heavens, for Sirona’s voice rises above them all and a silence falls upon the room. She doesn’t arrive with the magical aura of before, considering she’s entering a double wide at the back of a bait shop, but her presence stuns the crowd regardless, that lyrical voice and glow making everyone ponder who this majestic woman might be. Her star remains on her forehead but this time she has a golden snake coiled about her lower arm.
“I called those ghosts,” Sirona says. “I wanted to scare off the men polluting my waters and I went too far. It’s my fault they are here, but I believe that Viola can help us make things right again.”
“Who are you?” whispers the woman at my elbow.
Sirona inhales and lets out a heavy breath. “I’m a naiad, a spirit or water nymph, if you will, chosen to watch over Fontus Springs.”
I’m expecting some laughter or huffs, but the crowd remains silent, watching this goddess in awe. Maybe it’s that snake on her arm or the crystal on her forehead that’s silenced this group. Still, ghosts, Emoto, and now a naiad is a lot for this small central Louisiana town to absorb. I look over at TB who appears equally stunned at this reaction.
“In the early days,” Sirona continues, “the Fons Perennis or the eternal spring came forth in this area, bringing life-giving water. I was assigned to watch over the spring.”
“I’ve heard you,” the skinny teenager says and I notice she has tears in her eyes. “You speak to me.”
Several people murmur in agreement.
“I’ve seen you in the woods,” a man utters, and I notice that he, too, has moist eyes.
“I hear you at night,” says the woman to my right. “Your singing lulled me to sleep after my husband died.”
I finally understand. This woman, the subject of myths and legends, has been real to these residents for years, only no one was able to speak of it without being chastised or labeled crazy. As I gaze around the room, people stand smiling, enchanted, some even crying openly, and Sirona absorbs their love and gratitude openly.
“I love you all,” she says softly, and I swear I can hear harps playing.
After minutes of Sirona greeting people and spreading that brilliant aura, she turns to me.
“We need to do what Ms. Valentine suggests. And we need to do
it tonight at sunset.”
I don’t have to convince any of these people to follow me now. They are all on board, even those men who insisted the ghosts were the subjects of women’s imagination. I motion for us to head out to the lake’s shore and everyone follows behind, a circle of energy surrounding Sirona. TB rushes to my side but I can tell he is as enchanted as the rest of them.
“Go hang with Sirona,” I tell him.
“Are you sure?”
I smile. “I’ve got this.”
He moves to leave, but I grab his sleeve. “Bring back some of that magic with you, though.”
We make our way to the Fontus Springs property, through thick woods of pine and live oak trees. Old Man Frederick leads us to a hole in the fence, one no doubt he created. We’re trespassing because this land, once a part of the Fontus Springs resort, belongs to the Parker family, but none of us pause in our actions. We arrive at the tiny stream composed of spring water, the one that trickles from the capped spring and rolls down the hill to the lake’s edge.
“Now what?” Elijah asks me quietly, and I look to find him by my side.
I start to suggest holding hands and silently freak out because I really don’t know what to say next. Dr. Emoto offered prayers and declaration for world peace but I haven’t that wisdom to impart. Thankfully, I see Sirona moving forward and raising her hands to the heavens, speaking words in that language I heard at Elijah’s cottage.
I take Elijah’s hand and he offers his to the woman to his left and the crowd immediately gets the message. In no time at all, we are all holding hands in a circle around the stream of spring water, and looking to Sirona for guidance. The distant lake glistens in the setting sun.
“What the hell is going on here?” a voice calls out from behind.
I turn to find Matt Wilson and three men coming through the woods. One man has a rifle and the other two shovels resting over their shoulders.
“This is private property,” Matt says when he gets closer. “You have no business here.”
Ghost Town Page 23