The Spirits of Brady Hall

by M. L. Bullock

  The Spirits of Brady Hall

  Gulf Coast Paranormal Series

  Book Fourteen

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2020 Monica L. Bullock

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Victoria Busby for more reasons than I can name here.

  Chapter One—Bonita

  Jezebel Kent was going to be furious when she finds out I’m in the running for realtor of the year. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t normally the kind of person that enjoyed making others unhappy, but Jezebel didn’t hide her dislike for me. She spent the last year discouraging me, as a matter of fact. I got the feeling that her attitude had a lot to do with our age difference. Maybe it was my faith. Or, maybe she just didn’t like my accent--Jezebel was a transplant from California. Apparently, she’d been something of a realtor rock star over there. Pretty and perky with a cute bob, Jezebel had a stunning appearance, but her heart was pure black.

  Black as the ace of spades.

  I had it on good authority that she hadn’t even ranked in the top three for this year's annual Notable Realtor competition. Poor, Jezebel. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at my own evil thoughts. I couldn’t help but picture myself standing at the podium and accepting the plaque and the hefty bonus check while Jezebel’s eyes bored into my soul from across the room. I chuckled at the scene. Such ridiculousness. Of course, it wasn’t yet written in stone that I would win the coveted title, but just knowing my name was on the list made me feel good. I’d really taken a chance going to real estate school at this stage in my life, but as it turned out the risk had been a good one. I loved it, of course, but I wasn’t as prosperous as I needed to be and my divorce had hit my finances like a freight train.

  And the hits kept on coming. But I wasn’t going to think about that right now. I had this small victory and that was all that mattered.

  “Not yet, Bonita,” I reminded myself no to gloat as I hummed. Yes, everything was in place for tonight’s showing. The Chevas chair and that blue glass retro lamp really worked well together. The whole place looked crisp and modern, with a hat tip to the history of the house. You know, if I had the money to buy this place I sure would. If I closed my eyes and got really still I could almost feel the crowds of people, giddy with excitement, pouring in here to see the latest play. It must have been such an exciting—a palace of splendor. A very small palace of splendor. I could almost see the flickering gas lamps, crystal chandeliers, floral wallpaper, and clean white molding.

  Ah, yes. It had been and still was a beautiful place.

  That’s odd. I got the straight-up, deja vu chills. Like I’d been here before; as if I’d actually come to see a play or a performance. I hadn’t been alone though. No, I’d been with someone. I paused in mid broom sweep hoping to recall some forgotten memory, but nothing came to mind.

  Why should it? No, I just felt nostalgic is all. I shrugged it off. Even if I could buy this place I wouldn’t be able to keep it up. I didn’t have a nest egg anymore. I certainly didn’t have a wealthy partner who covered all my expenses and paid the bills. Not like Jezebel.

  There you go again, Bonita. Focusing on the negative.

  I put the broom back in the kitchen and checked my watch. Oh, I’d better get busy. Open house starts soon. I had better things to think about than a spoiled young woman who disliked me. I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t tried to befriend her. Heck, I’d even proposed teaming up on a few projects, but she wasn’t interested in sharing the glory--with anyone on anything.

  So be it. Fine with me. Good luck moving that house on Bellini Lane. I had a buyer in mind, but I wasn’t going to help Jezebel out. I mean, why should I? She’d made it perfectly clear that she worked alone. Again I scolded myself for fixating on my rival, but to be fair, it was for good reason. There was nothing more frustrating than talking to someone who constantly wanted to one-up you. If you had a headache, she had a migraine. If you sold a wooded lot, she sold a duplex. It was exhausting really and I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life. But I swear if I win that award…

  Focus, Bonita. You have an Open House today and this isn’t the time to plan your acceptance speech. I laughed at that idea. Did you give an acceptance speech at such an event? I had never been to one of those banquets before--I’d only been in real estate for two years. I never had the desire to go to and rub elbows with my salty peers, but this year would be something special. I’d worked hard and I was pretty proud of myself. Enough with the sweeping. This floor was spotless. I mean, I could eat off the darn thing. Oh, that needs a bit of dusting.

  Tick, tick.

  I paused as I smoothed the linen over the small round table. That was the second time I heard that noise. I’d ignored it the first time but for some reason, the sound gave me the heebie-jeebies. I was probably being paranoid, but what could it be? Could that be the pipes? I sure hope not. Nothing about bad pipes came up in the house inspection. I hadn’t turned the heating or air on so it could not be the central system, could it?

  Nope. Nothing else.

  With a shrug of indifference, I went about my business and placed a pretty oval-shaped, silver tray on the welcome table and covered it with a white doily. I carefully arranged the treats on the tray and though I hadn’t actually baked these cookies, they smelled amazing and I was sure they would tempt somebody to hang around and chat.

  That’s what I wanted...to start a conversation. I was a good conversationalist if I do say so myself, especially when it came to houses. And it was hard to walk away from any conversation when someone has offered you cookies. Yep, I was pretty sure I’d be able to move Brady Hall in quick order. All of this downtown area had sprung to life in the past ten years, no doubt a credit to the new mayor and some savvy business owners. Maybe people just had a hankering for seeing their city improve? I couldn’t be sure but I was definitely the beneficiary of such improvements. Commerce sprung to life in downtown Mobile and now this forgotten historical treasure was on the market. Hopefully for the last time.

  Tick. Tick.

  I put the empty cookie box in the crate and slid it under the table. What was that? Was there a wind blowing outside? Could it be a branch tapping against a window? I couldn’t have that during the showing. I had on all the lights on the bottom floor, but I suddenly wished I had a flashlight with me so I could go outside to investigate. The porch light wasn’t bright enough to shine around the sides of the house. Oh, why did it have to be so dark out?

  What was that sound? I heard it again.

  Tick.

  Just one tick this time. I glanced around the room and saw nothing and no one, but I got the feeling that the sound was coming from somewhere close by. A nearby window perhaps. Was somebody tapping on the glass? The front door wasn’t locked and the windows were a little too high off the ground to imagine a person could easily tap on the glass. I guess a really tall person could reach it, but not comfortably. But why would they? I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain a little more. I’d previously swept them back with a pair of lovely gold cords complete with shimmering tassels--just like the kind of accessories one would see in a Victorian home.

  Or in this case, a Victorian playhouse.

  Nope. Nobody there. I stood with my hand on my hip for a moment waiting to detect the noise again, but I heard nothing else. I set up the thermos of coffee along with a few pretty, yet okay to get broke, coffee cups. With a sigh of satis
faction, I studied the room again.

  Yes, everything was just like it needed to be. There were antique movie posters on the walls to remind the open house visitors that once upon a time Brady Hall had been a center for the arts. The theater hadn’t been as popular or as elaborate as the Crescent Theater on Dauphin Street, but in its day it had been a thing of beauty.

  These front rooms were still reminiscent of that time. Unfortunately, the auditorium had been gutted years ago and instead of a stage and rows of plush chairs, there was a large empty room. A very large empty room, but it would be the perfect place for a venue of some sort. I was sure of that. Brady Hall belonged to the utility company next door for over fifteen years. In fact, they’d torn down another structure to build their four-story office complex. At least Brady Hall had escaped the wrecking ball. I assumed they were responsible for taking out the auditorium. Whose idea had it been to put the two structures together? I couldn’t say, but in my opinion that had been a horrible idea. Now that the utility company had left it was my hope that Brady Hall would receive the recognition it deserved. Tri-State Realty already had an offer in the works for the adjoining building, but I petitioned them to separate the two; and much to my delight, I’d won.

  Now I had to prove my chops and sell this “white elephant” as Jezebel referred to the old building. Whatever, lady. I just knew that I would sell this house; not only that, but I’d sell it to someone who would love it.

  Tick. Tick. Tick

  I felt my stomach lurch as if I were in an elevator that had suddenly started to move.

  What a strange sensation!

  My feet began to feel cold—so cold in fact, that I rubbed my shoes furiously on the vintage rug. What in the world was going on here? Maybe it was the air conditioning that kicked on. Was it possible that one of the staging crew had flicked it on and forgot to turn it off? That had to be it. I’ll check that out. That must be it.

  Even as I thought it my feet wouldn’t move. Not at all. My brain struggled to come up with a reason for my surprising immobility. Were my shoes caught on the carpet? Why can’t I move? As I tried without success to move my feet I heard the ticking sound again.

  It wasn’t coming from the window or the door but from the mirror. The antique oval-shaped mirror I’d recovered from the storeroom. It was a massive gold mirror trimmed with an intricate design; it really was too large for the front room, but something had drawn me to it.

  Something I couldn’t explain. Even with its dull glass and dinghy frame, I just couldn’t leave it behind. As far as I was concerned, it completed the look I was going for perfectly.

  Even as I stared in disbelief at the mirror, a face stared back at me. My face and one other. It was beside me! I looked to my left, but there was no one in the room. I tried to run, but my feet were still frozen in place. I felt the stinging cold as it began to seep deeper into my skin and creep up my legs. With a scream of surprise, I watched as an inky black mist formed around my feet. It moved like a living thing, like conscious smoke, as it slithered its way up my legs.

  “Stop! Help! Somebody!” I screamed, but there was no one to hear me. My phone was in my purse which was on the Chevas chair, too far away for me to reach. I stared in shock at the mirror as the image became clearer. I detected a shadowy outline of a woman. She was about my height, but younger. Yes, I knew she was young even though her face was obscured from my view. Her hair was light blondish-brown, and it was arranged in the once-fashionable Gibson Girl style. Sprigs of curls framed her face but where there were supposed to be features- eyes, a nose, and mouth--I saw nothing. Nothing except what looked like an erasure mark. It was unsettling, to say the least.

  Horrified, I watched as hands reached up from the floor, hands in the shape of that undulating black fog. They reached for my legs and I fell to the ground. The fog traveled up my body even as I screamed with all my might. Tears came quickly as I had never been so terrified—not a day in my life. I was sure I would urinate on myself. My body would not obey me at all. Move feet! Move! Not even my screams had sound now.

  The black mass quickly swirled over my body. It covered my abdomen and arms until it finally crept up my neck. It was going to kill me! I was sure of that! It would cover my face and smother me! I cried even harder. I remembered the face in the mirror and quickly turned my head, surprised I could move it at all. I had to get another look at the apparition. It would be impossible to see myself as I was on the ground. She wasn’t there! The face was gone but I lay frozen under the control of the black mist.

  Suddenly, the face returned. Only she wasn’t in the mirror, but right in front of me! I lay flat on my back, immobile as she hovered over me, her face inches from mine. Her golden-brown hair was perfectly arranged and her black clothing, a long flowing dress with tattered sleeves, melded with the black mist. Were they one and the same? I couldn’t reason this out. What was happening?

  One thing I was certain of...today I would die. I believed that with all my heart.

  Horrified, I stared up into the blurry face. Oh, but it wasn’t an erasure mark now. Her eyes were very clear to me. They were like two black holes, two empty caverns of agony and hatred. And her mouth…oh it was so much worse!

  Like some sort of screeching portal, it began to open. Wide. And wider still. Would she swallow me? Shred me to pieces with her jagged teeth?

  “NOOOO!” I managed to scream as I jerked my head away as forcefully as I could. Somehow I was able to move again and began to wriggle myself from her grasp.

  The apparition screamed back from her cavernous mouth, “GET OUT!” And as her fetid breath assaulted my nose, her teeth snapped near my lips and just as quickly as she’d come, she vanished.

  I felt the terror oozing from my body. I was finally able to urinate.

  Chapter Two—Sierra

  To get a read on the building I arrived early to the appointment. I had never been to Brady Hall prior to this case but I’d easily gathered a few historical facts. Built in the 1880s, and later remodeled in 1907, Brady Hall began as a college for affluent young women. A complete rarity for this part of the state, at least in that time period. However, funding for the school failed early on and the building stood empty until a savvy businessman named Adeo Monterro purchased the property and invested a small sum in renovations around the turn of the twentieth century. It had been an intelligent move on his part.

  The lecture hall became a venue for musical plays or theatre as it was called. In the beginning, Brady Hall only featured Monterro’s works, but after a time he realized he needed the help of a more talented playwright. He conveniently met and married his wife Elizabeth Shay, a literary genius who penned a number of plays including Love’s Blue Horizon and an Ode to Rebecca. There were rumors that Ode to Rebecca had been based on a true story, but I couldn’t find so much as a copy of that play and knew nothing else about it. Apparently, the play had some shocking scenes. I’d found some mention of those shocking scenes in reviews featured in the Mobile Journal. But the people loved the play, despite its “savagery.”

  Strange the things that people like.

  I hadn’t exhausted all my research avenues yet though. My phone dinged and I checked it one last time before leaving my vehicle. My mother-in-law had sent me a picture of Emily who was smiling with a mouthful of mashed carrots and sporting her shiny new white tooth. Her happy smile brought a twinge of sadness to me. How was it that my daughter was old enough to have teeth coming in? When had time started to move so quickly? I sent a smiley face back and turned the phone on silent. At least Mrs. McBride and I had come to a kind of peaceful truce. We never talked openly about the paranormal anymore, not since the gathering shadows on her property had been banished to the neighbor’s yard. She and I were friends now though and I didn’t want to upset the apple cart with her. She loved Emily so much and was the best grandmother ever. Far better than my own mother who rarely called and even less regularly paid visits.

  Enough of the sentimentality.
Focus on the task at hand. You’ll be with Emily this afternoon.

  I slid the paperwork back into my tote. This was certainly going to be an interesting case. Midas and Cassidy were still in Gulf Shores playing in the sand and enjoying a little time away. Cassidy’s art show was going well, according to her pictures on Instagram. Cassidy had fully recovered from her surgery but Midas continued to be ridiculously protective of her. I reminded him that Cassidy was tough--as tough as nails. If he continued to treat her like she was a porcelain doll then he would be doing her a great disservice. Not to mention he would probably tick her off to no end. Cassidy had proven to be a valuable member of our investigative team and a good friend to me. I sent him a text to let him know that I had arrived and he responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

  Oh, ye of little words.

  I shook my head and reached for my bag and keys. Two years ago I would never have predicted such a day--investigating without Midas Demopolis. As I clutched at my bag of investigative tools I reminded myself to shut down my abilities.

  Being a medium came with its challenges. Such as being “open” to the paranormal without even knowing it. Since the baby’s arrival this had happened more times than I could have guessed. I can't say why, but having a baby had made me more open to the spiritual world around me. That wasn’t always a good thing. The last thing I wanted to do was attract a bunch of unruly ghosts to me, especially at my residence.

  Joshua knew nothing about my post-baby struggles, but once in a while, things happened around our home. Like waking up in the morning to find a pile of ice on the floor in front of the freezer door. Luckily, it must have happened right before we woke up because none of the ice had melted.

  I accused him of leaving the freezer going—he, in turn, accused me. We finally agreed that it was a freezer malfunction, but it happened two more times after that. And once more even after the repairman came out to assess the situation.