Red House (7 page)

I didn’t stay long as there were plenty of other rooms in the big house to examine. Everywhere I went was the same–red energy, splashes of ectoplasm, cold heavy air and a strong sensation of being watched.

The upstairs guest rooms were dark and cool. Peach fuzz hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood at attention and my breath fogged in the air. A closed door at the end of the hallway pulsed with swaths of red.

That door had a bull’s-eye on it, metaphysically speaking. Whatever was behind it would not be waiting to offer me tea.

The door flew open, releasing a tidal wave of frenzied energy. At least two separate ghosts rushed past and through me, pouring ice in my veins and knocking me to the floor. Struggling to my feet, grabbing at the chair rail on the wall for support, I tried to shake off the cold invasive feeling of ghost. As I took a step toward the stairs, a disembodied force yanked me backward, flinging me into a small room. The door slammed shut as I slumped into a corner wedged between two storage racks. The room looked to be a supply closet.

I had what I needed in the pockets of my cargo pants but I’d neglected to bring any kind of container. I needed something fireproof, and I needed it fast.

Rummaging through the stuff, I discarded towels and sheets, cleaning supplies, toilet paper. I hit paydirt by climbing to check out the top of one of the storage racks. It held a box full of small wicker baskets full of little custom toiletries with the Maple Hill logo. Not fireproof but hopefully I could make it long enough to get out of the house. I grabbed a basket and dumped the contents, reaching into my pockets for supplies.

Crouching on the floor, I laid out the basket and snack baggies. I used a hand towel as a base in the basket, then started spreading the baggie contents. Salt as a general protective element, along with angelica root and a couple of other herbs to give it added power.

The door clattered open and my breath fogged, announcing the arrival of one of the unwanted guests. A force grabbed my ponytail and dragged me away from the basket, throwing me against the storage racks so hard one of them tipped over and crashed into the opposite wall. A cascade of towels and mini toiletries fell on me. Pain bloomed across the back of my head, down my neck and shoulders. I would have bruises later, probably a wicked headache.

I tried to stand and was immediately knocked flat on the floor, agony radiating through my back. A cold weight pressed against me. Kicking and squirming, I struggled to fight it off and get out from under it, using the leg of the fallen storage rack to pull myself a few inches across the floor. Red filled my vision, swirls and streaks of it all over the tiny room and a large mass of it less than a foot above me. I reached through the mess of fallen supplies for the basket, hoping the herbs hadn’t been knocked out.

Pressure on my windpipe cut off my breath. I kicked uselessly, fingers grasping the edge of the basket. I got it close enough to see it out of the corner of my eye. My lungs were beginning to burn from lack of air. I focused my will on the basket, visualizing flame erupting from the herbs until the fire popped to life.

The weight on my throat eased. I let the fire burn long enough to build up a decent amount of smoke to cover my retreat, then quashed the flames with a push of magic. Careening through the house and out the door at a dead run, I nearly collided with Julia as she paced in the yard.

“Are you all right?” The front door slammed of its own accord, making her jump.

Rubbing my throat, I said, “Don’t you worry, I’ve got this under control.”

She gave me a blistering look. Sheepish and coughing, I shrugged. “I will get this under control. It’s just gonna be a little harder than I thought.”

Julia stared at the door balefully. “Let’s go to my daughter’s house.” She gestured at the cars. “You can follow me back and I’ll make us a bite to eat.” I nodded. “Then we can start drinking. Does that sound amenable to you?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

As we left I decided I didn’t want Julia going inside her house until this job was done. How I would get this job done, I didn’t yet know.

* * * *

We sat in a bright, airy kitchen that was such a relief after the oppressive darkness of Maple Hill. Julia’s hands shook as she added generous shots of whiskey to our coffee. We’d already had sandwiches, or tried to as neither of us had much appetite.

“You sure you’re all right, dear? I know a doctor or two that might be persuaded to make a house call.” Her smile was genuine but didn’t quite make it to her eyes.

“I’m fine, thanks.” My right elbow rested on an icepack while I awkwardly held another to my left shoulder. I was fine, all right, if battered and bruised and aching all over counted as fine. I took a drink of my coffee, appreciating the warm bite of the whiskey.

“I need to know about the house. It’s history, any stories of strange occurrences in the past. Usually there’s some sort of trigger for this kind of thing. If I can figure out what the trigger was, that might help me figure out how to get rid of the ghosts.”

She took a seat and a sip of coffee, adding more whiskey. “Maple Hill has been in my family since they built it in the eighteen fifties. I guess the most enduring stories about it are about the original family, especially the mistress of the house.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Well, her name was Susan McCrickard. She was born Susan Danvers in South Carolina, I think in the late eighteen twenties, early thirties. I’d have to get out the genealogy files to check for certain. She married John McCrickard and he brought her to Tennessee. He farmed and raised horses. They built the house and raised a family in it.”

“Was he gone during the war?”

“Yes. Most all the men were. She kept the household running and the children cared for with three servants. Well, they were slaves, of course.”

Julia paused for more coffee. The icepacks were simultaneously too cold and too soggy so I took them to the sink.

“The story everyone talked about was a skirmish that took place mostly in the woods behind the house. The woods that used to be behind the house. You have to go back quite a ways these days to get to woodlands. It was November of 1864, around the time of the Battle of Franklin. Susan, the children, the house slaves–they spent the whole night hunkered down in one room while the fighting took place. They could hear the gunfire and the screams. Smell the heavy gun smoke, even. It took weeks to get the smell out of the house.”

“Did she write about it?”

Julia nodded. “She wrote letters to her husband. At first she tried to send them to him but when he was able to come home on leave once, she found out he rarely got them. She kept on writing the letters but saved them instead. He read every one of them when the war ended and he came home for good.”

“Do you still have them? If you could look them over with me, we might find some clues to help us.”

“They’re all in Knoxville. Mother donated them to the University of Tennessee years ago. We had a bad kitchen fire one year and for a while Mother was deathly afraid that things like those letters and old family pictures and bibles might be lost.” She laughed gently. “You wouldn’t believe how many safety deposit boxes that woman had. Of course this was years before you could archive things digitally, in your own home, even. Mother would have loved that.”

I went back to her original story. “Is there anything about the skirmish that might have to do with what’s happening now?”

“That’s what I was beginning to wonder, especially once you asked me about the history of the house. Nothing like what’s happening now has ever happened at any other time I’ve lived there, and there are no stories about anything this bad. But there have always been stories that Susan’s ghost or spirit or whatever word you want to use, still protects the property. And I can tell you exactly where the stories come from.”

I nodded encouragement.

“The skirmish was very bloody. Men from both sides were killed or wounded. By dawn it was over and there were bodies all over the grounds. Susan and the slaves worked with a surgeon to help as many as they could. They basically used the house as a hospital. The children were kept upstairs, the oldest little girl in charge of them. They were terrified. They could hear the men screaming. There were amputations going on in the parlor, where those children played and practiced their piano lessons. I’m sure the screaming and the smells must have been horrifying. In fact, if you lift up the area rug in that room you can still see the bloodstains in the hardwood floor. Can you imagine what it must have been like for those little children?”

I weighed adding another shot of whiskey to my coffee against my ability to drive home and decided against it. “I know it’s got me disturbed.”

“Be thankful it’s me telling this and not my grandfather. Now he could tell a tale. He’d get in trouble for it, too. I’ll never forget the time he told all us grandchildren and some of our friends the story and later got an earful from all our mothers. He claimed he was improving our vocabularies by teaching us words like viscera and gangrene.”

I had to laugh at that.

Julia continued her story. “Anyway, they helped as many as they could. The ones they couldn’t save, the ones that were already dead, were buried in a clearing in the woods. Grandpa told us they buried the amputated limbs there too.”

I grimaced.

“It didn’t take long for everyone to clear out, until there were just a few soldiers left. All except for one were too injured to be any trouble. That one made up for the rest.”

“We’re about to get to it, aren’t we?”

Julia nodded. “Yes. Apparently this one particular soldier was not as injured as he led everyone to believe. The exact details are not known. Susan didn’t go into much detail when she wrote about it in her letters to John. The story that was passed down in the family is that this soldier killed the others and then he went after one of the female slaves. Her name was Ester and she was more or less Susan’s right hand in running the house. I was an adult before I was told that he tried to rape Ester. Susan stopped the attack, with a gun. She killed him, supposedly shot him in the head. They buried him with the rest in the clearing.”

She leaned across the table. “Here’s where it gets into the kind of thing you’re probably looking for. There were stories that his ghost haunted the house, tormenting any woman in the house. There were also stories that Susan and Ester took care of the matter.” She gave me a significant look.

“Are you telling me they used some form of witchcraft to bring the ghost under control?”

“I don’t know what you’d call what they did, and I certainly don’t have any more detail than that. But there was always talk that Ester knew a lot of folk medicine.”

“If she knew folk medicine there’s a good chance she knew some folk magic too.”

“I suppose she may have shared that knowledge with Susan. What I don’t understand is, why now? After all this time, why would this soldier’s ghost suddenly begin to act out?”

“That is a good question,” I agreed. “Has anything happened in the house or on the property that was out of the ordinary? Any deaths, even if they were natural causes?”

“No, nothing like that. No flooding either, being on a hill. Some tree limbs down but that was it. We had some evacuees but nothing happened I would call out of the ordinary while they were in the house.”

“As near as you can pinpoint, when did the haunting start?”

She thought for a moment. “Sometime in May, I guess. Middle of the month, perhaps. I really can’t say for sure. At first things seemed very…explainable.”

After the flood. Maybe there was something to the strange spirit activity in Nashville. “I want to do some more research, Julia. I need to be able to be in that house at least somewhat safe from attack in order to do anything, so I’m going to work on that. I’ll call you later today, tomorrow at the latest, and we’ll talk about what to do next. Okay?”

She began to clear away the dishes. “You need any more information about the house, just let me know. If I don’t have it there are people I can call.” A soft chuckle escaped. “I should really introduce you to my granddaughter. I daresay she knows more than I do about all the old ghost stories about the house. She even did a project on it for school.”

I’d gotten information from worse sources, and it might be a good opportunity to sound the girl out and see if she was aware of having any magical ability. We said our goodbyes and I left, wishing I felt more confident, but right then all I could feel were bruises.

Chapter 6

Sitting in the parking lot of a fast food place, I made a few phone calls until I tracked down the person I wanted to consult. Lorraine Thibodaux was a witch and root worker who’d been forced from her native New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina. With her home in the Ninth Ward destroyed she had nothing to return to so she’d elected to stay in the city she’d evacuated to, Nashville. She now ran a small practice out of her apartment and what with both of us being practitioners, we knew each other and were on friendly terms. I set up an appointment with her the next morning, hoping she could help me out with supplies and ideas.

After that I stared out the window for a while at nothing, sore and more than a little depressed. The best course of action would be to go home, soak my beat up body in a hot bath, and start going through both mine and Rozella’s spell books for anything that might help with Maple Hill.