In the Dead of Night (24 page)

Fiona and Tom reflected quietly for a moment, while the rest of us waited for their decision. Really, it was more Fiona’s judgment that we all awaited, since Tom looked like he could take or leave this particular investigation. Unless a locale had a lot of provable activity, he’d just as soon skip an investigation like this for the more notable haunts. Our only snob, he’s not much of a trailblazer.

“Why not?” Fiona finally announced.

Maybe she wanted to ensure Angie remained a fully committed member of the group, since this was the first project she’d completely scouted and followed through with on her own. Or, maybe my wife felt intrigued by the possibilities of investigating haunts populated by restless Union soldiers as opposed to the more common Confederate dead who seem to haunt Middle-Tennessee in abundance.

“So we’re all set to check out this Montebe-e-l-l-l-o-o-w Manor, huh?
Booyakasha!!”

Here’s hoping Justin’s enthusiasm pulls Tom and Tony’s vote. I’m pretty sure Jackie will go along with Fiona, and you know I won’t be rockin’ the boat.

“Oh, what the hell,” Tom murmured. “It’s not like we’ve got anything else pressing.”

“So it’s a done deal?”

Jackie’s tone indicated urgency, to seal the deal and move on to other pressing business. Like the frigging awesome television project.

“Yes, it’s done,” said Tom, who glanced at Tony, who also gave an affirmative nod.

“So, let’s move on to what you’ve got to share with us tonight, Tom,” said Fiona, her tone sounding relieved. I suddenly realized she expected a bit of a battle over Angie’s proposed Sunday project. Glad it didn’t come to that.

“Actually, I’d rather save that for last,” he said, and his tone clearly indicated he had a new agenda based in part on our recent coercion to get him to go along with us. So now it’s his turn to run the show? There are politics in everything, I guess. “Tell us about the upcoming TV show, Jackie.”

“Well, okay,” she said, after glancing at Fiona, who nodded her approval to go on. It’s becoming the guys against the girls tonight. “But there isn’t that much to share, since most everything I shared with y’all last night.”

That proved to be the most honest assessment of the evening. Yes, the deal is on the table at the local TBC affiliate, and the weekly series would start filming in September, with the pilot airtime frame set for October. It will be a talk show format with special guests each week from both local and regional ghost hunter groups, with an occasional guest segment from the members of TAPS and other well known paranormal investigators.

Sweet. We already knew all this. But here’s what we didn’t know.

A small crew of cameramen planned to follow us around tomorrow night at Twin Forks to get a feel for what we do. Everyone’s excited about this, even image-conscious me. And of course, Angie, who’s not so keen on having her face plastered anywhere despite her obvious photogenic qualities. She’s okay hanging out behind the action, and I wouldn’t mind hanging back as well. Except for one thing: part of TBC’s attraction to us has to do with me. Me and Justin, to be specific.

It seems that part of our recorded humorous banter from when we visited the Carnton, and a few nights before that at the Thompson estate ended up on the ‘decision making’ guy’s desk at the local TV station. A general manager, I suppose? I guess it doesn’t matter. What
does
matter is he loved what he heard. Apparently in his mind it goes back to the basic principle of Effective Reality TV 101, where the external entertaining themes have as much to do with a show’s success as the subject matter itself. Sometimes more.

Jackie had told Fiona earlier that other PR groups were considered before us, but none had the ‘it’ factor, until the guy heard about Nash-Vegas Paranormal. That piqued his initial interest, and after an impressive interview with Jackie, the audio antics sold him on our group’s viability.

So, stay tuned….

Finally, we got to Tom’s presentation, which started just after eight o’clock. That gave him roughly an hour to work with, since Ed’s curfew mandated we had to be back by ten o’clock. It would be less restrictive tomorrow, when we all had to be back in our little safe havens by eleven. The only further exception to the eleven o’clock rule is for me Wednesday night, when I needed to return home by midnight from Madison, after my band’s rehearsal ends. I can’t say for sure exactly ‘when’ that’ll happen, just as long as me and the Camaro are back in Nan’s carport before we become a mouse and pumpkin.

“I prefer we begin with our findings from our aborted trip to the Carnton,” he said, his disdain seeping through. I believe he’d still be fuming if not for the productive visit to Bethpage, and the odd tragedy that followed at the Thompson mansion. “Do y’all remember how excited Tony and I were about ‘something’ we caught on video?”

“Yeah, I’m sure we all do, Thomas,” said Angie, with her own disdain. “If we had hung out there any longer, all our asses would’ve spent the weekend in jail!”

Okay, it sounds like she’s got her own axe to grind…careful, children.

“That’s part of the allure, right?” I asked, my tone impish, though I made sure my expression remained serious. When both Angie and Tom glared at me suspiciously, I looked over at Fiona, whose expression told me at least she got my jest. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained…so, let’s see what you’ve got there, Tommy boy!”

Don’t know why I said that last part. It just slipped out, and my immediate worry was Tom might mistake it as flirtatious. Thankfully, he thought I made fun of him—which was true. He’s too damned serious about everything.

“For the sake of time, I’m going to let that slide, Jimmy ‘boy’,” he replied, and then motioned to that great big LCD screen of his. “Roll em’, Tony”

“Okay…this segment picks up when Tom and I reached the far end of the graveyard,” said Tony. “You’ll hear Tom call me over to him, and that’s when the stuff started happening.”

“Like the phantoms wanted an attentive audience…here they come!” Tom advised. His demeanor had returned to the childlike excitement we usually see from him at moments like this.

The familiar color spectrum from the infrared appeared on the screen. For a moment, all I could see was the yellow-green glare and the faint outlines of the wrought iron fence and a tall grave marker. Just beyond the back gate, moving toward the plantation house in the background were three shadows. At first, I figured they were caused by some other light source, since the house is surrounded by security lights and encircled by a six-foot tall wooden fence. A real eyesore in the daytime and quite different from the original owner’s intent, where rolling fields and the nearby woodlands once framed the elegant mansion in
“Gone With The Wind”
majesty.

But once Tom adjusted the range and focus of his infrared device, the shadows became much more defined. Everyone gasped in surprise.

“Oh my God, those are soldiers!”

Normally, Jackie would look over at Fiona, or lately Tom, to gain support for her observations. No need this time. Although the reddish images were a little faint at various points of the video stream, we could see the long coats with definable stripes on the shoulders. Probably hand sewn by loved ones, since the Battle of Franklin took place long after the Confederacy had the funds to properly outfit its army.

“They sort of look like kids,” mused Justin, softly.

Definitely the most poignant description, as it looked like one of the young soldiers led the way, while another carried the third Confederate warrior by wrapping his arm around him. None were tall, so Justin’s guess about them being youngsters seemed believable. Especially since in reality, many soldiers were no older than fourteen or fifteen, and some even younger.

Invisible from the waist down, the leader suddenly turned toward the camera, right when Tom zoomed in for better detail, as if the apparition could feel the attention. The eyes glowed for a moment, like a cat caught looking into a car’s headlights. Unfortunately, that’s the spot in the video segment where Justin made fun of General Hood, and our laughter resounded from behind Tom and Tony. The camera’s focus shifted ever so slightly while Tom looked back at us, and the image of the three soldiers had completely disappeared by the time he corrected the focus.

“Damn—it could’ve been even better,” he lamented now, regarding us all solemnly. “It could’ve been really something special…just a little more clarity and
no
one
could refute it.”

“It’s still
very
impressive!” Fiona sought to assure him, drawing everyone else’s attention. “At least as astounding as anything presented on TV—definitely as good as
any
footage I’ve seen on TAPS.”

He nodded, though frowning, while the rest of us offered our support for Fiona’s feedback.

“That’s the problem,” he sighed. “For us to make a strong name for ourselves, I believe we need to be
better
than TAPS.”

Not sure I agree, but without waiting he motioned to Tony to queue up the next evidence, this time captured at Marie Petersen’s place in Bethpage.

“There are a few odd things that showed up at both the Petersen and Thompson houses,” Tom advised. “Nothing as defined as our Carnton soldiers, but something pretty bizarre nonetheless.”

Hearing this actually made me more intrigued. After all, it’s not like we haven’t seen ghost soldier images before. Hell, every serious longtime investigator living in the southeastern United States has at least one shot like that in their collections, and many of those photographs are defined as clearly as the subjects in tonight’s presentation.

“Tony, Jackie, and I sifted through all of the still shots I developed from everyone’s cameras during this past week,” he continued, moving over to where Tony sat, peering over his shoulder to gauge the progress in queuing up the next video segment. “Unfortunately, nothing other than a few dust orbs showed up…except in one shot. That photograph came from your camera, Fiona, and you took it of your husband walking out of Marie’s kitchen to rejoin the rest of us, gathered in her living room.”

She nodded, as if remembering that Kodak moment. I sort of did, but couldn’t swear to it…just that Marie’s kitchen has consistently given me the creeps.

“Take a look.”

Tony signaled the segment was ready, and a moment later the screen filled with a grainy image of me. I’d just stepped past the mantel of a two-hundred-year-old stone fireplace that dominates Marie’s living room. Once Tony dialed in a cleaner version of the photo, the fireplace and mantel came into clear view—along with me, dressed in my favorite investigative garb.

The Queensryche 03’ world tour shirt among my favorites, my facial expression in the picture so plainly revealed my distaste for the Petersen’s kitchen. It might’ve even had something to do with the creepy ink-black darkness behind me, though I only recalled the brightness of the kitchen’s naked bulb at the time—bright enough to shield my eyes from its glare.

Disturbing…especially since the black shadow behind me looked a little blob-like, and not all that dissimilar to the menace that appeared in my kitchen last week. Maybe recognition was what Tom wanted to gain from this exercise, because his face lit up when he noticed the scowl I wore.

“You want to share your impressions with us, James?”

Ouch! No need to go there, bud, since I’m not the one who called you by your Christian surname. That was Angie’s doing. My only transgression was calling you ‘Tommy Boy’.

“It’s just a creepy house,” I said, glancing again at my wife, who looked concerned. “There are probably lots of dark patches throughout the place—maybe even one for every shadow person on the premises.”

I thought this would make him chuckle. It didn’t. At least Justin and Angie snickered.

“Well, not to be morbid or anything, but Tony and I discovered a similar image during our short investigation at the Thompson mansion,” he said, holding his hand up to ask Fiona to wait on voicing her concerns about bringing Charlain’s place into this discussion. “We’ll queue that one up in a moment, and then everyone can be the judge.”

I literally prayed Fiona didn’t mention the scant information I shared earlier with her about the weird mist in our home last week. She hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, from what she told me in the car this evening. But it wasn’t like I swore her to eternal secrecy either.

“So, you’re saying the
same
shadow showed up in Charlain’s house?” I snickered nervously after I said this, realizing I had to be careful to not let on that I knew
exactly
what Tom was talking about.

“Yes…I am,” he said quietly, surveying the room before returning his penetrating gaze to me.

Everyone alternated glances between him and me, until I finally looked away. I searched the room for Fiona, even though I knew full well where she sat, less than a few feet away. I’ve never had the unnerving experience of feeling this closed in before…intense claustrophobia. Utterly suffocating, man...where the room’s walls, ceiling, and floor felt like they might engulf my body and soul—just as soon as the damned thing quit spinning.

Good thing I was sitting down.

“Tony, let’s go ahead and move on to the evidence gathered from the Thompson residence,” Tom instructed, still regarding me while offering only a slight nod to his dearest partner in crime.