I was born in New
Orleans. To me, the supernatural is
entirely normal. I have been known to
attend Mass in the morning and make a mojo bag for luck at the casino in the
afternoon. As I have written in past
blogs, I ghost hunt for a hobby. I have
been in more cemeteries than a country undertaker – except I go at night –
usually. However the longer I ghost hunted
the more I discovered that the time of day really had no bearing on what I
could capture through the camera lens.
It was in broad open daylight when I caught a full body apparition at
the battlefield at Vicksburg, MS.
One of my favorite places to go spelunking
for spirits is the grand old plantations of Louisiana and Mississippi. In
Burning Love and its sequel, Forget Me Never, I have included a few tales of
the paranormal hauntings in these houses that have stood since pre-civil war
days.
I was privileged to stay at the Myrtles
plantation in St. Francisville Louisiana.
The Myrtles is reputed to be one of the most haunted places in the
country. The spirit of a mulatto servant
who was killed by the other slaves for poisoning the lady of the house and her
children by baking a cake laced with oleander leaves is the main spirit in
residence. The slave woman had been a
trusted servant but was caught eavesdropping.
She had her ear cut off for her sin and had been banished to the field
where before she had been a house slave, considerably easier work. To get back in good graces, she intended to
make the family sick and then nurse them back to health. But her plan backfired when she used a bit
too much oleander and they all died.
Over the years, she has been photographed
by one of the outbuildings – just standing and looking down at the ground. The children have been photographed on the
roof and many guests of the B&B have reported seeing or hearing the
children, sometimes even feel them bouncing on the bed where they are trying to
sleep.
Well I have to tell you, when I visited
there – even though I took picture after picture – I got nothing. Maybe a few orbs, but even those were
iffy. I did hear a few footsteps during
the night, but that could have been another guest, most probably. So, I was a bit disappointed. But then I traveled to the Linden Plantation
in Natchez, MS and it was a completely different story. It has reported hauntings, but not the
incredible story of the Myrtles. In
fact, I don’t remember what the reported hauntings were supposed to be. But I will never forget what happened to me.
I enjoyed the ambiance – the history – the
food. But, who was I kidding? I was there to ghost hunt. So when night fell, I took photos, filmed in
night vision and used my digital recorder to try and preserve the whispering
voices of the dead. Picture me – I
tromped around in the dark in my nightclothes, roaming around the grounds just
randomly taking pictures. I worked my
way to the front door which is beautiful, an arched double door that served as
the model for Gone With The Wind’s Tara.
There was a huge camellia bush in full bloom and truthfully – I wasn’t
looking closely at what was in the viewfinder – I just snapped picture after
picture. I was anxious to get up to the
comfort of my room to gaze at them on my computer where I could enlarge them and
see what I had captured. It always made
me feel like a child hunting Easter Eggs – except I was hunting ghosts.
After making a complete circuit and taking
hundreds of shots, I went back upstairs.
There were a few orbs – there always are – and some of them are dust and
some of them aren’t. If they give off
their own light they are real. There are
some other characteristics real orbs have but I won’t bore you here. I have a theory about orbs – what they are –
I think they are spirits, but why they look the way they do – I can’t
explain.
As I was going through the photos, I came
upon one that took my breath away. Next
to that beautiful front door stood a man – a see-through, opalescent colored
man. I could see his features, his lamb
chop side burns and his high collar. I
stared and stared and then I went to the next photo that I had taken only
seconds later. It showed the body of the
man and it was folding up into one of those balls of light, leaving wispy
trails – it was utterly magnificent. And
served as proof – to me – that these orbs that I just nonchalantly passed over
were spirits in their traveling mode. I
don’t understand it, nobody does – and we won’t until we are an orb or spirit
ourselves. Frankly, I’m sorta looking
forward to it. I have no desire to sit
on a cloud and play a harp for eternity (or roast), I would rather whisk around
as an orb and appear to people in their camera lenses and say BOO!
All commenters on this page
will be entered into drawings for books to be given away.
Please visit me anytime – I
enjoy hearing from you.
Here’s an excerpt from
Forget Me Never –
. “Harley, this is Savannah. Do you think I could come over tonight? I really need to talk to somebody.”
“Of course
you can, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Ever
since she had been called to investigate the haunting at Willowbend Plantation,
she and Harley had been fast friends.
“Ciara, let’s go.” Shaking –
literally shaking with nerves, Savannah loaded the black lab in the car and
drove the few miles to Breaux Bridge.
Almost afraid to consider what was going on, she made her mind think of
other things.
Both
her cottage and Harley’s refurbished plantation home set on the banks of the
Teche. And today, she needed to sit by
its soothing waters more than ever.
Harley’s home was called Willowbend.
It was a showplace – and very haunted.
The spirits that resided there were left over from pre-civil war
times. A slave mistress and her children
had been murdered for no reason other than being who they were. What fascinated Savannah was that it was an
intelligent haunting; the spirits actually communicated with those who
attempted to reach them. Some hauntings
were just stains on a location left over from some traumatic event that forever
warped the very essence of a place. She
had been lucky enough to see a residual haunting, as it was called. When she had been trying to run from Patrick’s
memory, she had taken a trip to the East Coast and found herself drawn to go to
Gettysburg. There, on a misty spring
morning, she had witnessed something few ever have. She had been alone – with no camera – so it
wasn’t something she could even tout as proof, but she had seen it and it had
changed her life forever. Back in those
days, grieving for Patrick had stolen her ability to sleep. So, she had been at the park early, before
any of the normal tourist traffic had begun to flow. Meandering through the park, she had stopped
at the wheat field. The Wheatfield. This one little spot of ground had seen one
of the bloodiest battles of the war.
Gettysburg itself was a cataclysmic event where fifty thousand died in
three days and the wheatfield had been changed from a plot of golden grain to a
tangled bloodsoaked piece of ground that would forever bear the mark of death
and agony and grief at the extinguishment of so many young lives who would
never know what it was like to breathe or love or live again. She had been standing beside her car,
drinking a cup of coffee when off to her right a shout had echoed out of the
silence. From out of the woods a group
of soldiers on horses had emerged. She
could see the insects that took flight out of the grass from the stomping of
the horse hoofs. Savannah could hear
their voices as they made conversation, she could see their dusty uniforms of
grey. One had even looked over at her
and she had half expected him to lift his hand in salute. At first she had thought to be seeing
re-enactors, it happened fairly often on special days she had been told. Lifting her hand in greeting, she presumed
she was speaking to a business executive or a lawyer or a mechanic who laid
aside his everyday life to take part in a time of immersion in a day and way of
life that was long gone. Until they
disappeared – right in front of her eyes.
One moment they were there, she could hear the horses snorting and see
the wheat part as they rode through it – and the next moment they were
gone. Completely. She hadn’t run or fainted or screamed in
terror. Savannah had felt a peace and
assurance that death was not the end, that those who lived and loved and died
survived somewhere just beyond where our eyes could see. God, she longed to find that place. And that was the reason she so desperately
sought answers in the hunt for sprits.
Because she was hunting one in particular. Savannah was always trying to contact
Patrick. She just wanted to tell him
that she loved him – one more time.
As she
parked, she saw Beau and Harley walking hand and hand toward her from down near
the bayou. Getting out to join them, she
brought in her totebag that contained her laptop and the Frank’s box. Ciara stayed close. If it was up to the dog, they would never
leave the safety of the house.
“Savannah, it’s good to see you!”
Savannah
had to smile. They looked so happy
together. She knew they had gone through
a tough time. Harley had been the target
of a madman and Beau had moved heaven and earth to protect her. Now she had semi-retired from her EOD firm
and was serving as a consultant only – this made Beau a happy man.
Beau
whistled for Ciara and the dog ran to him.
Animals loved Beau. “I’m glad you
both are outside. Let’s sit down by the
water, if you don’t mind.” They stopped
where they were and let her catch up so they could head back to a bench under a
big oak near the edge of the bayou. The
dog dashed down to the edge of the water and began barking. “Good Lord, is that an alligator? Come back here, Girl!”
“Ciara!”
Beau called, also. “It’s just Amos
Moses. He’s as gentle as a lamb and
doesn’t have a tooth in his head, but he might slap at her with his tale if she
makes him mad.”
“Good
gracious, Beau. I never know what to
expect from you.”
“You’re
right. Believe me,” Harley agreed. “I’m never surprised at what creature Beau
brings home. We have baby possums in the
garage!”
“A
gator got their mama; I couldn’t leave the little mites to starve.” Beau explained as Harley winked at him. Clearly he could do no wrong in her eyes.
“Savannah-Banana,
I’ve been needing to talk to you.”
At
Beau’s use of the absurd nick-name, Savannah’s heart almost stopped. This was what Patrick had called her. Fighting for control she forced herself not
to react. She didn’t want to make him
feel bad. “What about?” She sat her bag
down, wishing she could lay her burdens down just as easy.
“Indy
and I got called over to De Quincy to look at a Civil War Cannon. I was skeptical but I went. Original cannons in decent condition are hard
to find. When I got over there, he had
it in a barn down in the woods.” Beau
laughed a little, “I don’t mind telling you that the place gave me the
willies.”
Savannah
was intrigued. She knew Beau and what he
did for a living. He not only owned a
top-notch weapons business, but he wrangled alligators on the side. If something gave him the willies, then it
had to be harrowing indeed. “I can’t
imagine what would unnerve you. Tell me,”
she urged.
Beau
squatted down in front of the girls and seemed to enjoy regaling them with the
tale. “The barn was at least a mile down
in the pine forest and even in the broad daylight, it was dark and
overcast. There was an ominous feeling
in the air; honestly, I’ve never experienced this before. The spooks in our house seem friendly enough,
but whatever is down in that thicket is another story.” Savannah wanted to tell him to get on with
the tale, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“The cannon was real and worth about a quarter of a million
dollars. After we had inspected it, he
looked at me funny and asked me if I believed in ghosts. I said that I wasn’t a skeptic, but I was
cautious. So, he grabbed a sharpshooter
and led me and Indy down an overgrown path.
We came to this clearing and there was a small mound that looked like it
could have been an Indian burial place, but it was miniature.” He whistled and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t like to mess with stuff like
this. He told me that there was a legend
of lost gold, a mine that the Indians had found and some of them had been
killed over. And by dern if he didn’t
say – ‘watch this’ and he rammed that sharpshooter down in the dirt. About forty-five seconds later a big black
horse comes huffing out of the woods and just charged us, raring up, hoofs
flashing. I’m not going to lie to you; I
didn’t linger there to greet him. After
we high-tailed it, it hit me that I hadn’t heard any hoof beats. It had been dead, eerie quiet.” Beau seemed to pause for effect. “When we caught up with Glen, I asked him
what the hell had happened. And he said
that anytime you stuck a shovel in that ground, that horse would show up. What do you think about that?”
Savannah
looked at Harley who was smiling indulgently at her man. Both of these people were exceptionally brave
and that they were asking her advice sort of humbled her. They didn’t realize it but she wasn’t nearly
as confident as she let on. “I’ll tell
you what I think, based on folklore and legend.
Buried treasure requires a sacrifice to protect it. Pirates would kill one of their men and bury
the treasure under his body. The ghost
of the murdered man would protect the gold.
Animal sacrifices to protect treasure were common place. So – I can’t be sure – but maybe that horse
was killed to guard whatever treasure was buried there. Once I heard about some loggers who were trying
to cut down a big oak and every time they would set the saw to it a bobcat in
chains would come fighting out of the tree, snarling and biting so fiercely
that they would back off. Supposedly
there was gold buried in the hollow trunk.”
“Dang,
that gives me cold chills,” Harley rubbed her arms.
“Do
you think Glen would let us visit the spot and do an investigation?”
“After
I tell him I found a buyer for that artillery of his, I’m sure he’d let us do
whatever we want,” Beau rubbed Ciara’s head as the dog lounged in the grass at
his side. “I wish you’d look at Harley’s
hand, she keeps shifting it around trying to let the sun reflect off that big
rock she’s trying to get you to notice.”
“Beau!”
Harley protested.
“Congratulations!”
Savannah threw her arms around her friend’s neck. “You’re engaged!”
“Yes,
we are,” Harley held the ring out for inspection.
“It’s
beautiful,” as Savannah held her friend’s hand to get a closer look, she
couldn’t help but gaze at her own engagement ring. She still wore it. She never intended to take it off. “I’m so happy for the two of you. Have you set a date?”
“Not
yet,” Beau explained. “We’re going to
Texas to Aron McCoy’s wedding to Libby Fontaine. I plan on talking to his brother Joseph while
I’m there. Joseph is going to be my best
man and I want all of the McCoys here if they can make it. While we’re over there, we’re going to look
at the calendar and see what we can come up with.”
“I
don’t care when it is, just so it’s soon,” Harley sighed with happiness. “I want you to be happy, too, Savannah.”
“How
about we invite Indy over for supper one night and you join us? He sure would like to spend some time with
you.” She couldn’t get mad at her
friend. Beau was content in Harley’s
love and wanted everybody to be as happy as he was.
“No, I
appreciate what you want to do for me.
But there are a couple of things you don’t know. I’m pregnant for one.” Savannah dropped her bombshell.
“I
knew it!” squealed Harley. “I just knew
it!”
“That
don’t count,” Beau grumbled. “You’re
psychic. You always know stuff before I
do.”
“Now
who is deserving of congratulations,” Harley was just about to cry with
joy. “Can I ask who the father is?” Both of them looked at her steadily.
“It’s
Patrick’s” Savannah pronounced the truth, waiting to see the same looks of
disappointment that she had seen on friend’s faces. “I had to go to court to be allowed to use
his sperm deposit. Since we weren’t
married, I had to get a special ruling.
Thank goodness Patrick had left a will with his friend Revel Lee. Without proof of our bond, I would never have
gained the rights to use his sperm.”
“Well,
I think it’s wonderful.” Harley spoke
right up. “Now, you’ll always have
Patrick with you.”
“Congratulations,
Savannah.” Beau got up and hugged her.
“I’m so happy for you. This area
is getting a little heavy on the estrogen for me, I think I’ll leave you two
alone.” He leaned over to kiss his
fiancé. “Remember, I’m going in to the
office this afternoon for a bit. You two
girls have fun. I won’t be too late, I
promise.”
“Bye,
Darling.” She returned his kiss.
“Bye,
Beau. And thanks.” Beau kissed Savannah on the forehead.
“If
you two go anywhere, make sure and call me.
Okay?”
“Worrier,”
Harley fussed, but Savannah could tell she was glad he cared.
“Tell
me about the baby. I know you have to be
over the moon about it.” Harley turned
sideways on the bench and took Savannah’s hands in her own.
Savannah
sighed and took a deep breath. “I am
very happy about it. I already love the
baby so much. But – you know -,” she
looked up into Harley’s face, “I expected the excitement over the baby to quell
some of the grief and loneliness I feel over Patrick. It didn’t.”
Unbidden, tears began to flow.
Pulling one hand from Harley’s she laid it over her own stomach. “All I can think about is how much I wish I
could see his face when I tell him I’m pregnant. And how much this baby is going to miss never
knowing his daddy.” Breaking down into
sobs, Savannah laid her head in Harley’s lap and cried. Harley and Beau had found out about her past
and Carville after Patrick’s funeral and they had never let it make a bit of
difference in the world.
Harley
soothed Savannah’s hair. “Oh,
Sweetie. I think those are absolutely
normal feelings. It’ll get better, with
time, I promise.”
Savannah
sat up. “That’s not all. I have to show you something.” Digging in her bag, she took out her
laptop. “Does your wi-fi reach out this
far?”
“I
have no idea,” Harley admitted, but she scooted over nearer to Savannah to see
what she was doing. “
“This
is the reason I came over. I need help
processing this.” She was able to get
online and pull up her email. “Look,”
she handed Harley the laptop.
Harley
read and blinked and reread. “My
God! Savannah! What does this mean?” Harley ran her fingers over the email as if
she were trying to absorb the information through her fingers.
“I
don’t know. I don’t know what to
think. Is it a hoax? It’s his account, it’s not a different one, I
checked.”
“How
is this possible?” Harley breathed in wonder.
“I
thought about the possibility of it being one of those services you sign up for
and leave messages to your friends and family to be sent after death, but I
don’t think this is the case. It doesn’t
sound like a goodbye message and Patrick wouldn’t leave me something like this
to just torture me.”
“What
are the other possibilities?” Harley spoke slowly and carefully.
“Considering
what I do – the ghost hunting – you know I have to consider that this is
something paranormal. In fact, it wasn’t
long ago that I read two news articles about this very thing. A woman received an email from her husband
and it turned out to be one of those programs that I told you about a second
ago. Actually, I think it’s a silly
idea. But the other article was even
wilder. It was about a family who began
to receive emails from their father and he told them that he was in the attic
and it needed cleaning.” Savannah
couldn’t help but hiccup a laugh. “I
thought that was sort of funny.”
“Have
you considered. . . .” Harley let her
voice trail off.
“That
he’s still alive? God, yes. But I’m afraid to hope.” Then, as if remembering who she was talking
to - -“Do you feel anything? Like Beau
said, you’re psychic. Tell me,
please.”
Harley
hung her head and pursed her mouth as if deep in thought. “I can’t be sure, Savannah. This isn’t the way I’m used to working.
There’s nothing here for me to touch, but a machine. But I will tell you this. I sense that it’s not a trick. This email originated from Patrick – one way
or the other. And I feel like it’s
recent. I don’t know if he’s dead or
alive – but he is trying to communicate with you.”
“Wow,”
Savannah let a harsh breath. “I was
hoping you’d say that. My instincts told
me the same thing, but I’m not sensitive like you. And wishful thinking will only take me so
far.”
“Jesus,
Savannah, I am so sorry that this has all happened to you. Beau and I will support you. I want you to know that. You are not alone. If you ever need to talk – or if we can do
anything for you – all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank
you, Harley. I appreciate that, so
much.”
“What
will you do? Do you have any plans to
check this email out?”
Savannah
got up and walked closer to the water.
Bayou Teche moved slowly. Its waters
were deep, dark and full of secrets.
“Believe me; I’ve racked my brain to come up with some way to solve this
mystery. Contacting someone in Congress
or the military is an option, but I don’t really know where to start.”
“Is
there anyone who would have had knowledge of Patrick’s last mission? Anyone you trust? It’s been three years, maybe the information
isn’t as classified as it once was. What
about the freedom of information act?
Would that apply?” Harley was
talking fast and Savannah was listening.
“All
good ideas, thank you. I’ll get in touch
with Revel tomorrow. He’ll know how to contact Jayco and Hawke. If anyone knows anything – it’s them.” Whirling around to face her friend, she
confessed. “I should have talked to them
long ago, but it just hurt so badly.”
Seeing
that her friend needed a break, Harley rose. “Are you ready for that coffee,
now?”
“I
sure am.” The two women walked arm in
arm to the kitchen door. Big pots of
mums made bright spots of color on the patio.
“Have you had any more excitement with your resident ghosts?” Sometimes it bothered Savannah to speak so
lightly of the dead. She had heard other
ghost hunters refer to them in such generic and impersonal terms. What she always wanted to remember was that
they were all real people who had been important to someone at some time. Each of them deserved respect. Since losing Patrick, everything had changed
for Savannah, even how she viewed death and dying.
“Actually,
I have.”
Harley
opened the screen door and allowed Savannah to enter first. The aroma of homemade banana bread and
freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
“Heck, it smells good in here.”
She didn’t even wait to be invited.
Savannah walked right up to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “I want a big slice of that yummy
concoction. Beau must love your
cooking. So what’s been going on?”
“It’s
been fun spoiling Beau.” Harley sliced
them both thick pieces and laid out some creamy butter to spread over
them. “Nothing scary has happened. In fact, Beau is convinced that the spirits
were trying to warn us that Fox Crocker was hanging around the house. He thinks that was the whole reason the
vanity chair moved and we picked up that voice telling me that I was in
danger. We believe the spirits of
Willowbend are nice. After what happened
yesterday, we’re convinced they are.”
Savannah’s
mood brightened a bit. “Tell me. I can’t wait to hear this.”
“It
was silly, really. Beau and I locked
ourselves out of the house. We had gone
into town for dinner and he left his set of house keys in his other pants and I
had decided not to carry a purse. The
security alarm was set and every window in the place was locked. Usually, I can crawl through the bathroom
window; I keep it cracked for that express purpose. All my life I have been notorious for locking
myself out. We literally checked every
window that we could reach. Beau was about
to break a window, which would have set off the alarm. It was going to be a hassle. While he was debating the best way to go
about it, I stood at the front door and appealed to my spectral roommates to
let us in. Now, we had checked that door
at least three times – you know how it is – you just keep wishing it would
open. I leaned my face against the glass
and said, ‘Come on guys, let us in. I
know you can do it. I’ll bake more
chocolate chip cookies!’ and I swear to God, I tried the door knob one more
time and – it opened.”
Savannah
laughed at Harley’s incredulity. “Ask
and ye shall receive. Did you pee your
pants?”
“No,
but I sure did look around really good when I walked in. I kept expecting one of them to tap me on the
shoulder.” Harley stopped smiling and
grew serious. “Savannah, I know you have
been longing to receive a word from Patrick.
I remember what you told me the day we met – how that his voice was the
one voice you listened for – but it never came.
Now that you may have heard from him, how do you feel about it?”
Sipping
her coffee, Savannah sought how to answer.
“I feel absolutely torn. If I had
heard from him via EVP on my digital recorder, I would have been ecstatic. Let me explain something to you. When one begins to ghost hunt, at first the
results you get will be very limited.
It’s like someone who opens a store.
Publicity about your business has to get around. The longer you ghost hunt, the more attention
you gain from the spirit world. It’s
like the word gets around beyond the pale.
I went on a ghost hunting trip in Kansas. There was a cemetery there that I just had to
visit. A preacher’s daughter had been
killed in a car wreck and her ultra-religious father was convinced that she had
missed heaven. He didn’t live long; I
suppose he died of grief.” Savannah
could understand how that would happen.
There had been days when she had thought death would be very preferable
over facing another day alone. “Several
trustworthy witnesses have heard him crying, “Doreen is lost! She’s lost!”
One group who reported the haunting was a surveying crew and the other
was all the attendees at a funeral. So,
I just had to go.”
Harley
was getting into the tale. “Did you hear
the voice? I have to admit, that would
creep me out. At least my little
spectral family seems to be happy.”
“No, I
didn’t hear anything. I saw no orbs, no
apparition – nothing. However, it got
interesting that night.” Savannah got
amused when Harley actually wiggled in her seat as if settling in for a good
story. “I was staying in a motel a short
distance away and was anxious to get into the cool and out of the heat. For a few hours, I just did some research on
the laptop and ordered a hamburger from room service. When I finally lay down to sleep, I was a bit
restless. I turned out the lights and TV
and shut my eyes to try and settle my brain.
After only a few moments in bed, out of nowhere, something or someone
slapped the crap out of my foot. It
wasn’t a vicious slap, it was more like a – ‘Hey you! Look at me! slap.’ Of course my first instinct was to think that
someone was in the room. So I jumped up
and looked under the bed, in the closet and in the bathroom. There was no one there.”
“Did
you run screaming out into the night with just your pajamas on? That’s what I would have done.” Harley’s eyes were big.
“No, I
didn’t run. Actually, I sat down and
talked to myself and to the spirit.
After all, I hunt ghosts. Why
should I be surprised when I actually find one?” That was one thing that always confused
Savannah. She loved to watch the
paranormal documentaries but was always frustrated with the investigators when
they were shocked to actually find some type of evidence.
“Did
you find out anything about who whacked you on the foot?”
“No, I
didn’t.” Savannah admitted. “Early that morning I got a phone call that I
had permission to have Patrick’s sperm implanted, so I left. One thing did surprise me though.”
“What
was that?”
“When
I was packing the car to leave, I noticed that my motel was right next to a
funeral home.” At Harley’s confused
expression, Savannah went on to explain.
“My whole point is that ghost hunters attract spirits who want to
communicate.”
“So,
what about Patrick?”
Savannah
sighed. “I suppose I said all of that to
say that it’s possible the email is supernatural in origin and that Patrick
isn’t alive. As much as I pray I’m
wrong, I can’t forget that they sent him home in a casket.”
“It
was a closed casket,” Harley interjected.
“Yes,
it was,” Savannah admitted. “But if
Patrick were alive, he’d move heaven and earth to come back to me.”
“I
still think you ought to check this out.”
Savannah
laughed, “You don’t have to convince me.
I’m still totally, completely, irrevocably in love with him. Of course, I’ll check it out. Monday will see me turning over every rock to
see if I can unearth any news of him anywhere.
But tonight, I want you to help me eliminate the possibility that I can
contact him with this new gizmo I have.”
“Of
course. You know I’ll do whatever you
need me to.” There was so much concern
on Harley’s face that Savannah almost broke down – again.
“All
right,” Savannah threw up her hands in surrender, “I’ll admit it. I’m scared to death. I want Patrick to be alive so much that I’m
going crazy trying to make sure I don’t get my hopes up too high. Harley, I don’t think I can stand to lose him
twice.”
With
that Harley rose and put her arms around Savannah. “I know, Honey. I know.”
They finished their coffee and cake, Harley called Beau and they
gathered flashlights before they set off for the cemetery. Night was falling
fast. “Tell me about your new toy.”
“It’s
the newest thing in ghost hunting.
Created by Frank Sumption, it’s called a Frank’s Box or a ghost
box. By using white noise and radio
waves, it actually gives the spirits a voice.
You can ask questions and the device scans the band. The entities can manipulate the audio
remnants to create words and even entire sentences.”
“My
Lord! I can’t wait to see what tonight
brings! I just wish we had brought my
large, macho, hunky husband along.”
“We’ll
be okay.” They parked underneath a
weeping willow and walked carefully to the ornate wrought iron gates. Saint Michael’s in St Martinville was a
typical South Louisiana cemetery – spooky at night. Ciara set out through the maze of mausoleums
as if on a scavenger hunt for squirrel and mice. Not once had she ever shown any interest
where Patrick was laid to rest. Savannah
had often wondered about that. Down
through the ages, there were true accounts of dogs who had guarded the graves
of their masters for years. Yet, Ciara
stared down the driveway for hours a day just like she expected him to drive
back up at any moment.
Savannah
could have made the trek in the black dark.
She had walked it often enough.
“This
is beautiful, Savannah. I love the bench
and the flowers. How did you get these
Forget Me Not’s to bloom so late in the year?”
“I
grow them from seed in the green house and I keep new plants coming in all
during the year. There are only a few
months in the dead of winter that we don’t have green plants.” For just a moment she stood there and stared
at the ornate sarcophagus with the carved lettering that broke her heart every
time she saw it.
Patrick
Heath O’Rourke
Beloved
Fiancé and Grandson
You
Will Never Be Forgotten
Paddy
was with him now; the old man had died in his sleep a few months after she had
lost Patrick.
Savannah
sank to the bench and Harley joined her.
“How are we going to do this?” she whispered.
“You
can talk in your normal voice,” Savannah teased.
“Yea,
but – uh – they are listening to us.
Aren’t they?”
“I
hope so. To tell you the truth, I’m
nervous.”
“Why
are you nervous?” Harley rubbed
Savannah’s shoulder.
“I’ve
done this before, but so much hinges on what happens tonight.” She was so close to crying. Desperately, Savannah tried to hold it
together. “Before, I just wanted to hear
his voice. I wanted to know he still
existed somewhere. Now, I’m hoping I
won’t hear his voice, because I hope he’s still alive out there.”
Harley
looked around nervously. “It’s getting
dark, Savannah. Don’t you think we ought
to get started?”
“Yea,
okay.” She turned on the Frank’s box and
walked to the edge of Patrick’s grave.
Ciara wandered up and flopped down at her feet, hassling happily. “Patrick, Darling, I love you. Did you send me an email? Are you here?”
Static
from the box caused them to both jump.
Then silence. They waited a few
more minutes until, finally – a one word response broke through the silence
like an explosion. “Stephanie!”
Stephanie?
“Dang!” Harley grabbed her arm. “I almost jumped out
of my skin!” Her friend bent over at the
waist and tried to breathe. “Who’s
Stephanie? Should you be jealous?”
Before
she could react or comment, a whole phrase sounded out, one that shook Savannah
to her very core. “There is no Patrick
here.”
“O, my
God, Savannah!” Harley clutched her
arm. “I didn’t know if this would work
or not, but I’m convinced now. What does
it mean?”
“I
don’t know,” tears were welling in Savannah’s eyes. “Let’s get out of here. I’m not in the right frame of mind to
continue this.” But before she left,
Savannah didn’t ignore her protocol.
“Thank you for telling me. If
your name is Stephanie, it’s nice to meet you.
I will come back and talk to you again, I promise.” Turning off the box, she put it back in her
bag.
Harley
handed her a flashlight. For just a
moment they stood and looked at Patrick’s grave. “What about Patrick? Does this mean he’s alive?”
Savannah
had to give Harley credit, she didn’t hold back. She forced Savannah to think. “Maybe – I’ve also considered that his spirit
stayed where he died. There’s so much we
don’t know about life after death and what’s possible. Actually, it’s just a guessing game. Let’s go.”
Carefully
they made their way through the cemetery, letting the narrow beams of light
illuminate the way. Abruptly Harley
stopped walking, “Damn, look at that.” She aimed her light at the name plate on
a grave just two down from Patrick’s.
The name on it read Stephanie Corley and she had only been dead for a
few months.
Savannah
walked up and placed her hand on the side of the mausoleum. “Stephanie, I’ll be back and if there’s a
message you need to give someone, I’ll help you, I promise.”
