The Haunting of Roan Mountain

by S A Jacobs

  16

  The next morning, I awoke feeling happy and content. The sun was streaming through the window and warmed me in a way that felt different. I felt as though I was in the right place in my life.

  Melanie had gone to work already, leaving me feeling less than motivated to get out of bed and face the day, especially feeling as content as I did. I eventually reached for my phone on the nightstand. There was an email from an unknown address.

  David, It’s Paul.

  Okay, so this Derek Soto. Let’s just say that everything I dug up before seemed to only scratch the surface. The reports are all similar to the ones about Jamie Barnes, almost identical really. The same people signing the reports, the same story, the same missing time frame. And get this: Derek’s autopsy made no mention of his liver, either.

  Look, I’m happy to pull some of this stuff for you, but I gotta say you might wanna be careful with it. People don’t like someone who is digging up dirt. Just be careful. I pulled some other reports you might find interesting. For now, this is all I got. If you need me, talk to Jim. He will be able to get in touch with me.

  I scanned through the list of attached PDFs until one caught my eye. It was titled “SpurRoger03172002”

  I opened it, and saw it was all the reports associated with my dad’s death. For the next hour, I read every page of it. The story was drastically different than the one Gordon told me. For one thing, it was not a case of him going silent and Gordon looking for him. According to the report, a witness found him just off the current Appalachian Trail, not the closed trail. Additionally, the witness was Leonard Gale, the same ghost witness who’d appeared in the Barnes’ report.

  The phone slipped from my shaking hand down onto the bed. I clenched my fist tightly and took a deep breath. I had to stop myself from reaching for the phone. I wanted to call Gordon. I wanted him to answer to me. Paul's words echoed in my head. I knew I couldn’t.

  I closed my eyes and flashed back to my dad’s funeral. The line of rangers carrying the casket from the hearse to the grave site. I remember standing in front of the freshly dug hole, watching them lay my father to rest. Gordon stood behind me, with his hands firm on my shoulders. Most of the timeframe around my dad’s death was a blur, but I could see that moment with Gordon behind me with absolute clarity.

  I picked up my phone and went through the reports again. I was looking for something. I reviewed the autopsy report. Just like the others, there was no information about his liver. As I stared at the page, Gordon’s voice echoed in my head:

  “When they did the autopsy, they said something about liver failure. Something he had probably been living with for a while.”

  The only thing that made my father’s autopsy report different from any of the others was that it was signed by the Carter County Medical Examiner, Claire Burton. My dad’s autopsy was done locally while everyone else’s body was shipped off.

  I did a quick Google search for Claire and found that she retired a few years ago and resided in Erwin. Unfortunately, there was no updated information or an address. The name wasn’t familiar to me, but I knew someone who would be familiar with it.

  “Hi Sue Ellen!” I said as I stepped into the Post Office.

  “Well if it isn’t Mr. Hollywood,” she said, looking up from a stack of papers behind the counter. “Rumor is you ended up getting in touch with Mel.”

  “I can’t hide anything from you.”

  “From what I hear, you two have really hit it off. You know, that’s a smart match. You two should’ve found each other years ago if you ask me. But something tells me you didn’t come here looking for love advice or your mail.”

  “Guess I can’t fool you. I was hoping you could help me out with something.”

  “You know, you should be coming in here a little more often before you just start asking for things.”

  “I know. I’ve just been kinda busy…”

  “Kinda busy with Mel,” she sarcastically interrupted. “What do you need, Hollywood?”

  “I’m trying to find someone, but I can’t seem to find her address anywhere. A Claire Burton.”

  “Williams.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Claire Williams. She hasn’t gone by Burton since she married John. They live up on Bailey Hollow. Moved up there a few years back.”

  “Ah, so that’s why I couldn’t find her. I was using her maiden name.”

  “What are you looking for? She doesn’t seem the type of person that you’d be looking up.”

  “I found my dad’s autopsy report. She signed it. I’m just trying to understand what happened to him.”

  “Well, you don’t have to look too far for her. Her and her friends usually spend all morning hanging out at that coffee shop a few doors down.”

  “You want me to go in there and just yell for her? I’ve never even met her. Hell, I don’t even have a clue what she looks like.”

  “Is that shyness I’m hearing from you, Hollywood?” she asked, shaking her head. “Don’t worry dear, I will help you out. I was just about to go on break anyway.”

  Sue Ellen stepped into the coffee shop like a celebrity. There were “Heys” and hugs at every step. Just before reaching the counter, she stopped to get the attention of a woman.

  “Claire Williams, what a coincidence. How is everything?”

  Claire stood up to give Sue Ellen the obligatory hug. She was older but carried herself with a demeanor of strength. I watched her and Sue Ellen engage in the typical small talk for a moment before Sue Ellen grabbed my shoulder and pulled me next to her.

  “Isn’t it the damndest thing? David here was just asking me where he might be able to find someone to help him understand this old medical report he has. You wouldn’t mind Claire, would you?”

  Claire smiled and gestured towards me.

  “Uh yeah,” I said, doing my best to sound casual. “I was looking into this autopsy report and not being a doctor, I’m afraid I don’t understand everything.”

  “Autopsy report? From around here?”

  “I’m afraid so. My father’s. It’s quite a few years old. If you don’t mind, I can pull up a copy of it on my phone. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “You two get acquainted,” Sue Ellen said. “I will grab your coffee, David. Black, right?”

  I feverishly flipped through my emails, looking for the autopsy report.

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” Claire said. “I seem to recognize you from somewhere but can’t place it.”

  “He grew up here, but lately he spends his time in Hollywood working on his TV show,” Sue Ellen yelled from the counter.

  “Oh, that’s it! Is that really you on that ghost show?”

  “It certainly is. Here, this is the report.” I handed her the phone.

  “Please sit down for a moment while I take a look at this.” She gestured to the open seat across from her.

  Within moments of looking at the phone, her facial expression changed. Her eyes widened and her lips lost their natural inviting smile.

  “David, you realize this is my report, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

  “My report. I was the medical examiner who performed the autopsy and wrote this report.”

  “Oh really? I thought the name on the report was Burton.” I played dumb.

  “My maiden name.” She continued to scan the document on the phone. I could see her eyes shift as she read the text until they stopped, frozen for second. She immediately set the phone down and looked over her shoulders.

  “Come with me.” She grabbed my arm as she stood up. “Ladies, I will be right back.”

  She handed me my phone and walked out the door of the coffee shop with me trailing behind. Once outside, she again looked around and then turned to me. Her face was stern.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I… I was looking into my father's death. It happened when I was young, and I never really knew what happened.�
��

  She took a deep breath. Her green eyes were penetrating. “Does anyone know you have this? You realize this document was never supposed to be available.”

  “No, no one knows I have it.”

  She stood there briefly staring me down as if she was trying to decide whether to trust me.

  “I’ll tell you about this report, but not here. Not where people can see us. Listen, my husband is away for a couple days. Let me give you my address and you can meet me there tonight at seven. Don’t tell anyone you’re going there. If you want to know about this report, that is the only way I will speak to it.”

  “I’m a little confused here. What’s the big deal?”

  She raised her hand as if to silence me and again turned her head to see if anyone was watching. “Not here. I understand, you go on your show and have free reign to dig up whatever you need. That isn’t how it works here. You don’t want to go digging where you don’t belong. The fact that you even have that report is enough to scare me. I cannot believe you acquired it without someone knowing. I can’t be seen speaking to you about it. Please, I will talk, just do what I ask.”

  Without another word, she turned and walked back into the coffee shop.

  I stood there stunned and confused. Apparently, I should have taken Paul a bit more seriously in regards to his conspiracy stories. It was beginning to be too much. I was a paranormal investigator, not a private eye. Sure, I’d dealt with conspiracies before, especially around the KGC, but those were over a century old. This was way above my pay grade for sure.

  Sue Ellen walked out of the shop and handed me a cup of coffee and a napkin with an address written on it.

  “I trust you got what you were looking for?”

  “Kinda, she is gonna look into it and let me know.”

  “You know, when she walked in, she didn’t strike me as someone who’d be inviting you over. She looked upset. Is there something I need to know about all this?”

  “What? No. I don’t know… she basically told me she doesn’t want to go through this in public and would prefer it if I came to her house where she could speak freely.”

  “If you say so. But believe me, if I get word that you are spending too much time with her, Mel will be the first to know.”

  Deciding I needed to hold off on the autopsy report until I spoke to Claire, I started to think about another concern of mine. Zeke.

  It had been nearly three days since I’d watched Zeke drive off to look for his dog. He was on that trail. I could feel it. Not the way I felt supernatural occurrences. It was more of a gut feeling. Either way, I was concerned about him. Listening to my thoughts, I began to drive to Zeke’s house.

  As I passed Melanie’s cabin, relief washed over me. Zeke’s car was parked right outside his front door. I pulled in and parked. I sat looking out my windshield for a moment. From this perspective something was different. It took me a little bit to realize it, but his car was parked in front of his door, pretty typical for most people. But I had never seen his car there before. Normally he always parked on the far side of the house. That feeling in my gut rose again. Something was wrong, and I knew I needed to find out what.

  I walked up to the porch and saw the front door was open, and only the flimsy screen door was closed.

  “Zeke? You in there?”

  Nothing.

  I rapped my knuckles on the edge of the screen door. The wood wobbled in response, and the knock echoed throughout the house. There was no answer.

  “Zeke, it’s David. Get out here and give me a beer!”

  The silence continued. I paced around his porch until I got to his cooler and opened it up to take a look. Zeke had come across as the guy who always had an icy cold beer waiting in his cooler. Yet, when I opened it up, only a few cans of Yuengling sat there floating in warm water. The cooler hadn’t been touched since the last time I’d seen Zeke.

  Against my better judgement, I found myself opening the screen door and stepping inside. The cabin was an exact copy of Melanie’s except his was filled with clutter. I cautiously padded further inside.

  “Zeke? It’s David. Come on out.”

  I proceeded to the hallway. The bathroom was a mess and empty. The door to the bedroom in the back of the house appeared closed. I hesitated for a second before approaching it. As I got closer, I realized it was slightly ajar.

  “Zeke?” I said as I lightly pushed the door open.

  He wasn’t there. The bedroom looked like a dirty dorm room, clothes thrown everywhere. Clearly, he wasn’t the type to make his bed. The clutter and the mess made it impossible to discern if he had just been there five minutes ago or if he had been gone for days.

  I made my way back to the living room. In the corner of the room was a massive desk. On the desk were two of the largest computer screens I’d ever seen. I sat down before them and grabbed the mouse. There was a moment of hesitation, feeling like I was invading his privacy. I quickly realized I had already broken into his house. At that point I was already in too deep to care.

  As the mouse moved, the two monitors lit up. There were so many windows that popped up: messenger, email, and multiple browsers. The email window caught my attention. A full screen of bolded unread emails filled the screen. I scrolled down until I got to the messages that had been read. A shiver ran up my spine as I realized that not one email of his had been read since the time I last saw him. His instant messenger showed me the same thing. Wherever he was, he was off the grid and not in contact with anyone.

  I started clicking through the various open tabs on his web browsers. The most recent were maps and aerial photos of the area. Then, I found tab after tab open to treasure hunting forums. All of them displayed threads related to the KGC and their missing treasure. I started to look at the room from a different perspective. Books littered the coffee table and desk. All history books. The top one, filled with yellow Post-its marking the pages, was an old book dedicated to the legend of the KGC treasure.

  With my curiosity piqued, I started to look through the house even more. I went up to the loft and found two flight cases. Opening them revealed metal detectors. These were not the ones that kids got for Christmas. Zeke’s were serious tools. He was most certainly a treasure hunter. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d moved to the area to find treasure. I made my way to the kitchen. The dirty plates in the sink were certainly not fresh. I decided it was time for me to go.

  As I stepped out of the kitchen towards the door, something caught my eye. On the counter was a set of keys. They were for his car no doubt but covered in mud as if they had just been pulled out of the ground. Next to them was a business card. I turned the card over to reveal it was a ranger card. Gordon’s ranger card.

  That unsettled me. Gordon’s card lying next to dirty keys. Yet, it was pristine. Even if I’d pulled the dirty keys out of my pocket and dropped them on the counter, my fingers would have enough dirt on them to leave a smudge on the card. Something was off about that. I looked at the sink for any sign that dirt had been washed off someone's hands. When I found none, I returned to the bathroom and did the same thing. While everything was a mess, there was no sign of dirt.

  I ran outside to Zeke’s car and started inspecting the ground around it. There was only one set of footprints leading to the house from the car. It was a boot, exactly like I had always remembered my dad wearing. Exactly like the boots I’d seen Gordon wear that day on the trail.

  17

  I returned home barely able to contain my rage. I was infuriated with Gordon. I still didn’t understand how everything fit together or if it even did. It was clear that deaths and disappearances were connected to Gordon, but were they also connected to Spearfinger and Robert Mason? That was the question I could not answer. I decided to spend some time focusing on Spearfinger, or at least her legend.

  I pored through countless information sources on the web, but the story they told was all basically the same. I decided I needed to find the source material for a
ll the stories. After some work, I was able to find an old report from the turn of the twentieth century documenting Cherokee legends. It appeared to be the report every other story was drawn from.

  Spearfinger, who reportedly haunted an area of the forest, was made of stone with a finger as sharp as a razor. She was drawn to villagers. When the opportunity arose, she would lure her victims close before using her finger to murder them. She was also known as a shapeshifter who would often take the shape of her victims and then be able to lure more victims to her. The villagers who hunted her were always unsuccessful; their arrows would simply bounce off of her stone skin.

  As the story goes, the villagers eventually created a plan to defeat her. They dug a large pit and covered it with brush. They lit a fire, hoping the smoke would draw her near. It did, and soon Spearfinger was trapped in the pit they created. However, they were unable to vanquish her. A titmouse had directed a hunter to aim for her heart. That proved unsuccessful, forever giving the titmouse a reputation for being a liar. It wasn’t until a chickadee landed on her sharpened finger that the hunters realized her hand was in fact her weak spot. Taking aim, the hunter fired again, and an arrow pierced her hand, which contained her heart. She turned to stone, never to return again.

  To me, it all sounded like a fairy tale complete with talking birds. The ghost stories I remembered as a kid made Spearfinger sound more real. There was one detail though, which made the story hit home. She fed only upon the livers of her victims. She would remove the organ with her finger and subsequently dine on it. Her victims often showed no wound from the encounter, but they would die shortly afterwards.

  Was my dad really one of her victims? As much as I wanted to deny it, the connection was crystal clear. The only things that didn’t fit was her location and the fact that she’d been vanquished, supposedly never to return. There was even mention of where the stone believed to be her remains was located. It was almost 100 miles away from Roan Mountain. I didn’t really know how a demon of stone could cross that distance, although I had experienced plenty of unbelievable feats.