In the Dead of Night (51 page)

It was while thinking about this stuff, with that night’s finished demo playing in the background that I thought I heard something that sounded like audio interference. I grimaced, thinking that we had picked up on a local radio station’s wayward frequency while recording our tune, and that it had left a permanent imprint on my zip drive.

“Shit!”

But as I tried to scan to the spot where I heard it, I realized in horror the sound was coming from inside my car, at the base of the passenger seat. I couldn’t see anything, but the noise that sounded like a cat howling in pain became clearer…and as it did, it grew louder....

“Moon river, wider than a mile…I'm crossing you in style some day-hehehehehe!!”

“Get out of my car you frigging bitch!”

It would figure that the spirit who had pursued me since her life ended would make such an ornery entrance into the first real bliss I had felt since the most recent murder spree began. And she struck at about the same spot as last time…right after I passed the Cool Springs Mall off of I-65 as I moved through Franklin. Since this was where she first tried to run me down in her SUV last summer, maybe her ghost was more lucid in this particular spot.

“Oh, don’t you wish that was true, Cracker Jack!”

Her hollow voice sounded rougher…as if she had spent a long night on the short end of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“I don’t even know if you’re real, since apparently your camera image is only temporary—sort of like your mischief on earth,” I retorted, much more angry than afraid at this point…and likely foolhardy.

“Oh, I’m real all right,” she replied, and I swear to God I suddenly could see her outline sitting next to me in the passenger seat. It was frigging horrifying to see her opaque image as she regarded me. Shivers raced up and down my spine, and my horror intensified as her frigid coolness turned my breaths into short mists as she drew closer. “Maybe I didn’t like how I looked in the picture, and I discovered a way to make it disappear…. Maybe I can affect things in ways you can scarcely imagine, Jimmy Boy!”

The words were spat as pure hatred into my right ear, and I felt her icy touch upon my fingers as I gripped the steering wheel. Suddenly, the wheel moved to the left, and I struggled to keep the car on the road. In terror, I realized she could very well be telling me the truth. If so, I might be only thirty seconds away from joining her in the afterlife—especially if she forced my car into the concrete median that was just a foot away.

“Maybe? Hmmmm…not yet!” she taunted.

The strange hold on the steering wheel eased up. I dared not look at where she sat, despite the reddish tint of her hair that I saw out of the corner of my right eye. I gasped when I realized she was materializing. She chuckled and resumed her terrible rendition of
Moon River
.

“
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker….Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way-y-y!! Yeah, baby…I sure the hell am, Jimmy!!!”

What could I do to stop this latest round of harassment from beyond the grave?

Absolutely nothing. Nothing but pray.

Fervent prayers for the Lord’s mercy and protection that continued long after Angie’s wraith took her leave of my presence. Even then, the scent of her earthly perfume lingered in the passenger seat. As far as I was concerned, my nemesis was still there…invisible and watching me in silent amusement.

Even when I climbed under the covers and inched as close as possible to my beloved wife in our warm bed, I still sensed her presence. Maybe not inside our home, but somewhere near…keeping an eye on me and surely planning her next surprise visit.

Chapter Eleven

“Do you really believe it’s possible for a spirit to be in two separate places simultaneously?”

It might sound like a silly question, and especially so since it had nothing to do with our current situation, or even what I experienced last night. My wife and I were discussing the legendary Bell Witch of Tennessee that once frightened General Andrew Jackson badly enough for him to make the statement that he would “rather face the entire British Army than spend another night with the Bell Witch.”

“Well, in most cases I’d have to say ‘no’,” she said, pausing to look out the driver’s side window at the fading pink and dark sky toward the west. Leaving work at four o’clock wasn’t soon enough to allow us the benefit of sunlight for our trip to Adams, Tennessee. “But, the spirit that haunted John Bell and his family was different from any other ghost I’ve ever heard or read about. It traveled from here to Europe to deliver a message from Lucy Bell to her family in the early 1800s, and then came back to the states, the absence from the Bell’s home lasting a few days. Not to mention the Bell Witch traveled to the West Indies and brought back fruit that it seemingly dropped out of thin air into Lucy’s lap. The spirit was in constant contact with Lucy in those days, and was gone for just a few hours before it returned.”

“That ain’t the same deal as being in two places at the same time, though,” I said, feeling a little trepidation in stating the obvious.

“I was going to get to that, smart ass,” she said, but at least she chuckled.

We had enjoyed a marvelous day together at work, when at first it didn’t seem possible. Shit was still going on outside the relative seclusion of our home, but at the bookstore that Thursday I felt detached from the drama that had erupted within NVP’s ranks following Fiona’s announcement to the group that next Monday’s PTW show had been canceled and the remaining shows were on hold indefinitely. The store’s staff had a fabulous time decorating an artificial tree that afternoon and listening to Christmas carols. The customers loved it too—especially since we also had cookies along with hot cider and chocolate on hand.

Granted, we were supposed to get the store’s decorating done the Monday following Thanksgiving. But without Fiona around to enforce it, nothing had been started. Becky had mentioned it a few times to me, but then no one knew where exactly the tree and lights were stored. Pretty lame, huh? Yeah…I admit that if it had been the latest Seagull acoustic guitar series we were looking for, I would’ve either known exactly where that shit was kept or made it my personal mission to find out—I guaran-damn-tee it. It provided more incentive for me to procure a second set of wheels in January, so I could seek employment at our local Guitar Center after the holidays. Not that I’m ungrateful for having a job in a difficult economy, and especially after I left a nice paying job on a whim this past summer…but still.

“The accounts of the spirit showing up at two different places at the same time didn’t start until the 1980s, when the Bell descendants that had moved across the country would see her ‘familiar’ show up,” she explained. “A mangy black dog would appear at their doorstep or in the backyard when a birth or death was about to happen. No one in the extended family would talk to each other about this strange phenomenon until blogging became popular six or seven years ago. According to several blogs I visited last year, the spirit in this form was seen in two places at the same time, and in opposite ends of the country. One Virginia Beach family member witnessed the same thing his younger sister beheld in L.A.”

“Are you serious?”

“No, I’m not. I’m Nick Rhodes trying to yank your chain—yes,
of course,
I’m serious, Jimmy!”

“Hey, I am with you on this,” I said, holding my hands up in mock protest. I added a smile that I’m sure she couldn’t detect in the growing dimness inside the Camaro. “I remember hearing something about this on TAPS’ website, in one of the chat rooms…geez, I think it was like three or four years ago.”

“I remember those chat rooms,” she said, right before she exited from I-24 heading to Clarksville. The place we were headed was just a mile or two to the north, on the outskirts of Adams.

“Do Susan and Frank know about the Bell Witch?”

“How can they not, when they spend most of their time these days in a town where the ‘Welcome to Adams’ sign bears the depiction of a witch riding atop a broomstick?”

True. No joke, that’s exactly what the sign looks like. The residents—including the handful from the Bell descendants who still live here—take a certain amount of pride in their resident ghost. It certainly brings in a ton of cash around Halloween.

“I guess that’s a silly question,” I admitted, chuckling at an earlier admonition by her to think before I speak the first frigging thought that pops into my mind. “She and Frank don’t think their haunting events are related to her…or do they?”

“To the witch?”

“Yeah.”

“No…at least I don’t think so,” said Fiona. “There’s the house up ahead.... It always takes my breath away when I see it. Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”

“I guess so.”

Seriously, any house that is haunted isn’t likely to appeal to me much. Not even a showcase pad that’s lit up with the finest array of spotlights to show off manicured lawns and gardens. I’ll take a simple place that’s comfortable, with just enough living space that can be easily managed, and comes ghost-free. I’m not interested in ever living in a Victorian era mansion that boasts five to six thousand square feet, such as the one we pulled up to right then. And I sure as hell have no desire to live in one that is certifiably home to residents from the afterlife.

The immense house belongs to the former managers of several major acts in the Country Music biz. The McGrath’s began as part time booking agents in the early 1980s and turned that venture into a multi-million dollar success when they sold it in 2009. One of two homes they presently own, this one sits on nearly fifty acres of rolling hills that are mostly covered with undisturbed timber, along with two barns and a two-acre corral for a dozen horses. As Fiona pointed out, the place is laid out nice. Lots of upgrades were added during a substantial restoration that was completed back in 2001, and at that time a spacious guest cabin was added on the other side of the swimming pool out back. They should’ve stopped there.

Sad but true, folks with lots of time and money on their hands can’t resist the urge to keep going. And, when Susan and Frank decided to clear two more acres to add a gazebo and clubhouse near where an old Civil War era graveyard stood, life became a lot more exciting for the retired couple.
Terrifyingly exciting, I should say.

Fiona parked our car behind Susan’s baby blue Z4, and before we had gathered our cameras, EMF detectors, and voice recorders, our hostess greeted us from the front porch.

“Hi Fiona! It’s good to see you again, Jimmy!”

“Hey, Susan…hey, Frank,” I said, following my wife who had run up the stairs to greet Susan. They shared a warm hug while Frank met me at the top of the stairs.”

“It’s good to see you, Jim,” he said, offering his powerful grip to my hand.

Mr. McGrath possesses one of the strongest handshakes I’ve ever experienced, even more so than Melvin’s ironclad grip. As for calling me, Jim? I’ve never bothered to correct him, since he reminds me so much of my dad, when he was alive. His regal hairline and thick gray hair are partly responsible for that association, although I believe it has more to do with the way his light blue eyes twinkle when he greets me. It always has a way of lifting my spirit. We see the McGrath’s every few months—usually at their condo in Green Hills—since Fiona became Susan’s spiritual/tarot adviser several years ago.

Although Fiona has been to their Adams estate quite a few times, this was only my second visit. The last time was at a music industry party held here a few years ago. That was a great time, although I found myself looking out toward the woods once the party moved on into the evening hours. The woods were frigging creepy back then…and wouldn’t you know that’s where the clubhouse and gazebo now sit? Not to mention next to the aforementioned graveyard, as well.

Oh, joy.

Susan gave me a hug and then ushered us inside their fabulous home. Yes, gorgeous is a word to describe the decorative millwork, crown moldings, marble fireplaces—I could go on and on, as the list of first class appointments that were original to the house or have been added since its birth in 1849 is quite long. An immense Christmas tree stood in the foyer, and was already overflowing with smartly wrapped presents beneath the lower branches. They’ve got a huge family, I should add, with five kids and quadruple that amount of grandkids. And, in the holiday spirit, Frank offered us some hot cocoa laced with peppermint Schnapps.

This being the initial impression to greet us was very cool…. But, speaking of coolness, I felt a powerful presence the moment we stepped inside. Fiona’s nervous look told me that she felt it, too. And seeing her nervousness had an effect on Mr. and Mrs. McGrath’s countenance, as well. Everyone’s smiles began to look painful.

I tried not to snicker from the random thought of Eddie Murphy and his famous Amityville Horror routine….

‘Nice place you’ve got here, Frank and Susan.’

‘GET OUT!!!’

‘Too bad we can’t stay!’

Of course, Fiona shot me an imploring glance to behave myself. Probably an excellent idea to fully heed her warning, since the investigation portion of tonight’s agenda was going to be handled mostly by me. Fiona planned to do her readings for both Frank and Susan to start the evening’s agenda. Afterward, she would join me in investigating the paranormal hotspots inside the house, which were mainly upstairs and in one of the parlors that now served as a living room.