Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (19 page)

“I remember my past, accept the consequences and live in the
present.” Jeff does not want to acknowledge Sarah’s last statement. “Now what
of the future?
”

“You are experiencing a
spiritual awakening, but the Devil is once again around you.”

“Casey Lee Jones?”

“Yes, but this is not clear
cut. As you know in Christian theology the original sin was committed by
consuming the fruit from the tree of knowledge. God wished to restrict what the
Devil would freely give, and you’re being offered that same choice. Ignorance
in the garden or the knowledge you seek.”

“So who’s the good guy and
who’s the bad guy?”

“That depends on what you’re
looking for?”

“I wish to gain true
understanding and knowledge.”

“Then only the Devil may
give you what you seek.” What Sarah sees warrants both concern and a warning.
“Beware too much rope and you may hang, and that’s if the apple isn’t already
poisoned.”

***

The late afternoon sky is
clear, and old highways stretch through empty barren lands. A windshield full
of dust. A large black SUV passes the skeleton of a scarecrow. These
stripped-back plains of Kansas are populated by dead towns, where dried timber
pays homage to empty post offices and grocery stores. Past residents swirl
around as dust. Old steel tracks laid to the north corrode in fields partnered
with red oxide railroad freight cars.

Riding shotgun up front is
Sarah. It makes a nice change for Eve to sit in the back beside Jeff and for
them to be chauffeured. Marcus interrupts daydreams; fleeting thoughts and past
memories.

“It’s not far now.”

“Why are there so many ghost
towns?” Jeff’s not seen so many derelict buildings before.

“Back in the day small
communities were only several miles apart; this was the distance a farmer could
comfortably travel with a horse and wagon for the day’s business. Then the
railroads came; they did two things, created large cities and killed small
settlements. In 1886 any persons known or unknown in Kansas could, by asking
for a charter, and by paying one dollar, build anywhere and any amount of
railroad they wished within the state.”

“He’s not just a pretty
face, is he?” Sarah speaks with pride for her man.

“He’s not.” Jeff concedes;
Marcus does appear to be a very different man, than the one he remembers all
those years ago.

Marcus eases off the gas,
leaves the highway and heads off-road.

“Don’t worry, we’re on an
old cart track. We heard a rumor of a ghost town out here; dig deep enough and
it’s in the records. Everything is as it was; we move nothing and touch
nothing. People usually can’t resist making off with an artefact, and slipping
away with a piece of history, so we’ve told no one.”

The trailing cloud of dust
is no longer visible from the highway. Mile after mile of rock, mountains and a
riverbed crossing; harsh terrain. The formation of rock ahead opens out onto
the plain and the nearby river. At first sight they see an old tired wagon,
along with a street of ghostly and dark timber-built buildings. Jeff and Eve
both feel the romance of nineteenth century Western towns.

“What do you think?” Marcus
can see the enchantment it has on both of them.

“I didn’t expect this.”
Jeff’s astonished at how well the buildings have stood the test of time.

“Wow.” Eve loves it. “It
looks spooky.”

The vehicle draws up beside
and into the shade of the nearby tree.

“Welcome to Black Top City.”
Marcus has meticulously researched the location, its past, and most importantly
any surviving records of the settlers that once lived here. “Named after the
ridge, it was established by Patrick O’Donnell and his son. They sold plots
here in 1872, with the promise that a railroad connection would also be built.”

“That sounds ominous?”

“It was never built.” Marcus
smiles to himself at the audacity of the con men. “They said that the mountains
were rich and full of gold deposits.”

“Don’t tell me.” Jeff can
guess. “There was no gold?”

“None, but to be fair it
wasn’t an outright swindle. They got their information from Native Americans,
who informed them that tin mines and valuable deposits were to be found along
Black Top ridge. As unscrupulous swindlers, the O’Donnell’s sold prospectors
secret metallurgical techniques to extract gold from shale. Anyone who dared
suggest there wasn’t any gold was quickly silenced.”

“Scum.” Jeff can’t stand
lowlifes.

“They were.” To save time
Marcus falls short of reciting the catalogue of atrocities they’d actually
committed. “With no railroad and no gold, prospectors moved on. The town would
have dissolved except for prohibition. Bootlegging and narcotic operations
provided the money, and the town grew into Black Top City. This was run by one
of the meanest outlaws of the day: Sonny Malloy.”

“He sounds a character.”
Eve’s fascinated by the complexity of dark individuals.

“He was a ruthless bastard
by all accounts. Old picks and shovels aren’t the only things left behind here.
Legend has it that Malloy would befriend the competition, wine and dine their
friends and family, and all would stay at the hotel and die that same night.
His men would take them out and bury them round these parts.”

“All of these old towns have
legends associated with them.” Jeff’s dismissive. “There’s no proof any of this
actually happened though, is there?”

“There is.” Marcus has to
convince Jeff that the past is the past. “We discovered a ground floor room in
the hotel that has a rotating bed. Anyone sleeping would have been dropped into
the cellar and the pit below. This has a series of wood spikes that still stand
to this day; the victims would have been impaled. Rumor has it that they were
then fed to the pigs.”

“That’s gross.” Eve shudders
at the thought.

“He must have enjoyed eating
his pigs.” Jeff torments Eve by licking his lips.

“Oh stop it.”
 

“This is the real deal.”
Marcus can’t help but laugh at Jeff’s humor. “We are on a ghost hunt. Forget
what you think you know. Camera crews, lighting and technology all encroach
onto the paranormal, and that’s for entertainment purposes only.”

“Hopefully we’ll get to see
Malloy.” Sarah’s hope is to contact the outlaw.
 

“Is he still here?” Eve
tingles with anticipation.

“Tell them.”

“The tree beside us was his
hanging tree.” Marcus leans forward as Jeff and Eve stare at the tree, he opens
up the glove box and pulls out a photograph, and passes it to Jeff. “This was
taken in 1889 by one of our earliest photographic pioneers. He documented the
civil war, and he photographed Malloy as they hung him.” The photograph in
Jeff’s hand shows a makeshift platform by the tree. Malloy stands on the
platform along with two hangmen, whilst further along the branch ropes dig in
tight around the bark, and six men dangle like fruit in the midday sun. “Malloy
was forced to watch his men hang first.”

“Got what he deserved.” Jeff
has no sympathy.

“Before he dropped, his last
words cursed this town, and all who lived or stepped foot here.” Marcus passes
Jeff one last photograph. “See for yourself what they did to him.”

Two men kneel beside
Malloy’s dead body which is now laid out in the dirt at the base of the
platform. They wear the contemporary hats and jackets of the day, even the
decency of a pocket watch is seen in the photograph. One has his hand on
Malloy’s leg, whilst the other pulls Malloy’s shoulder back. Both men look into
the camera, proud of the kill.

“Where’s his head?” Jeff
frowns.

“Beside the body, face
down.”

“What’s it doing there?”

“An inexperienced hanging
posse with a long rope. Malloy was grossly overweight and was decapitated the
moment he dropped.”

“Ouch!” Eve winces at the
thought.

Marcus starts the engine,
leaving behind the tree that once suckled on Malloy’s blood. Driving slowly
along the strip the tires dig into soil that was the domain of men, horses and
carts. Jeff and Eve are mesmerized by the old timber buildings standing
shoulder to shoulder. Hand painted signs once proudly displayed as works of art
by store owners are now weathered relics. The architecture was borrowed from
New Orleans double-gallery houses, framed and supported using timber columns.
The architectural flair of French and Spanish prospectors surrounds them. They
pass the infamous large hotel before drawing to a halt outside the saloon.

“The only thing missing is
the people.” Eve’s contemplative with her statement.

“Some are still here.”
Marcus looks at their apprehensive faces and laughs. “Come on, I’ll show you
round.”

 
They step out onto soil which is smooth and
windswept, like a beach once the tide is out, except for the fresh tire tracks.

“Now all we have to do is
wait till sunset.”

The label reads
'Black Top City Pure Rye Whiskey'; the bottle stands where it was left on the
ivory piano keys. The surrounding wood has decayed to a crumbly dark cracked
appearance, along with a white musty residue. Timber steps lead up to the
gallery and the rooms that once housed whores. The walnut bar still stands with
ornately carved arches containing mirror fragments. This was once a standing
saloon with an old brass rail that ran along the front of the counter. It’s
dark and gloomy. The timber floor now resembles hard-packed dirt, a brass
cuspidor is as black as the residue of dried tobacco spit that still resides
within. Rusty oil lamps hang from the ceiling. Small bowls containing the ashes
of burnt herbs go unnoticed. It was Native Americans who performed the ritual
of the sacred smoke bowl cleansing when the town was abandoned, smoke attaching
itself to and removing negative spirits and energies. Marcus and Sarah have set
up cameras around the saloon; their attention is focused on the digital screen
in front of them.

“What are you looking for?”
Jeff frowns. He’s curious, what’s Marcus up to?

“Anomalies. I’ll use the
analogy of radio and television signals. You don’t see or feel them, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s because we vibrate
at a different frequency, and only perceive that which our senses can
recognize; what they permit us to see. The frequency we live in is a mere drop
in a vast ocean of infinite waves. Science has established that energy
condensed to a slow vibration is matter, or that matter accelerated is energy.
Thus energy and matter, including ourselves, cannot be destroyed, only
transformed.”

“I understand the science,
but if you forgive me saying so, your discourse does invite controversy.”

“I don’t mind at all. Life
is but a dream, my friend, and this equipment permits us to glimpse into the
imagination of our consciousness.”

“What are we looking for?”
All Jeff can see is a monochrome image of the saloon and nothing else.

“Think of this as the modern
equivalent of a tuning dial for a radio, but instead of radio waves we scan for
energy waves. Then we see if the past has left any imprints.”

“And has it?”

“There’s nothing yet. If we
locate the energy we can fine tune it, much like a TV set. Then it’s a simple
matter of retrieving any data that’s been left behind.”

“How can matter have a
memory?” Jeff knows this theory has been discredited before, and is testing
Marcus.

“It just does. Think of it
this way; the human brain is seventy five percent water; we essentially have a
water memory. In fact many scientists believe water itself can contain imprints
of energies it’s been exposed to. Science is opening up new frontiers all the
time. I don’t understand the physics, nor do I need to, I just know it works.”

“Okay, you’ve made your
point.” Jeff’s not convinced. “What can we expect to see?”

“It depends on what’s here.”

“Well, can you see
anything?”

“Look closely at the
screen.” Marcus, with his finger, indicates the area he would like them to
focus on. “What do you see?”

“The bar.” Jeff’s manner is
blasé.
 
“There’s nothing to see here.”

“Look closer.” Marcus
ignores Jeff’s flippant attitude. “Can you see anything, Eve?”

“I think I see… are those
transparent shadows?”

“Where?” Jeff looks over
Eve’s shoulder.

“Here.”

“Is that not simply a
reflection?” Jeff dismisses Eve’s statement.

“No it’s not a reflection,
and yes, you’re correct Eve. Although this isn’t a specific individual, but the
energy of many people in the same space over a long period of time. Sometimes
we may pick up on this imprint, a sensing that the energy has shifted in a
room. We may experience anxiety and unease, goose bumps and chills.” Marcus
gestures towards the bar. “Walk over and see if you can feel anything.”

At the bar neither of them
wish to place their hands on the thick layer of dust that covers the top. On
screen they can be seen mingling with a faint misty energy which passes around
them, energy that was left behind by the living over one hundred years ago.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I’m not sure.” In this
situation Jeff knows that the mind can play tricks.

“I think I do.” Eve has
goose bumps and chills.

“Really?” Jeff’s eyebrows
raise in astonishment.

“Yes really!” Jeff’s closed
mind and manners are beginning to grate on Eve. “Wave your hand around in front
of you.” Jeff copies the motion of her hand “Can’t you feel it?”

“I’m not sure. We may be
feeling what we expect to feel.”
 

“Just this once have an open
mind.” She strokes the side of his arm in a bid to bring him round to her way
of thinking.

“I have.” Deep down he knows
this is a lie.

“How are you two love birds
doing?” Sarah notes Eve’s attentive nature.

“Eve believes she can feel
energy.”

“Great.” This excites Sarah
and Marcus. “What do you feel?”

“The air feels static-y.”
She waves her hand slowly in the air. “There’s energy on my hand when I move it
around, it’s a tingling sensation.”

“Your energy field is
interacting with a much older and fainter one around you.” Marcus notes that
Eve’s far more perceptive than Jeff. “It’s a start, but it’s merely an
impression. We’re going to relocate and search for stronger activity. Give us a
hand with the equipment Jeff.”

“Sure, where to?”

“The hotel.”

Once the cameras are set up,
the hotel has an altogether different vibe, dark and heavy. Jeff for once
acknowledges that his senses have kicked in.

“There’s a change in the
air?”

“Coming from you Jeff.”
Marcus smiles. “That’s progress.” Then turns to Sarah. “We’ll leave this camera
set up here in the lobby.”

“Sure.”

“Let’s take the stairs. They
look solid enough but watch your footing. I’ll take the lead.” With authority
Marcus organizes them into single file. The camera records their every step up
the creaking stairs. Four flashlight beams cut through the blanket of darkness
that envelopes them. The handrail and spindles remain in fair condition, and
the wall to their side is patchy with an eerie patina of textures. Crumbling
plaster has exposed the wood slats. The walls buckle; the thick dust covering
the floor could be mistaken for dirty snow, the only footprints being the ones
they leave behind. Moving from the open space of the staircase and into the
corridor, some doors still hang whilst others hold on to the one remaining
hinge. It’s so very dark in here. Then Marcus signals for them all to stop.

“Listen.”

In the silence they hear
what can only be described as faint inaudible voices further down the corridor.

“We’re alone out here aren’t
we?” Jeff’s concern is for the safety of the group.

“Yes, there’s no one out
here but us.”

“So who’s talking?”

“It’s not the living.”
Marcus smiles at Jeff’s apprehension, and Eve’s face is a picture. “It’s
nothing to be concerned about. It’s just an echo of the past, a residual
energy, a mere moment in time. We’ll follow the voices and locate the energy
signal.”

The darkness of the corridor
closes in on them, the voices grow louder as they walk closer. Marcus whispers
and points out a doorway to the rest of the party.

“In here.”

As soon as they enter, the
voices fall silent. Four flashlight beams scan the room; there’s no one here.
An old iron bed is illuminated, still standing alongside an upturned chamber
pot. The ceiling looks ready to collapse. Eve catches sight of herself in a
mirror so thick with dust that she doesn’t recognize the form as herself: at
first glance she jumps out of her skin with a shriek. Marcus can’t help but
find the situation amusing. Jeff and Sarah reassure Eve.

“Jeff, come here and look at
this.” Marcus holds the device up. “Can you see the energy signal?”

“Yes.”

“Watch, this is where we
work our magic.”

Marcus holds the screen over
the crumbling wall. It now displays the wall as it was when the energy for
whatever reason was created and stored. As plain as day French block paper is
seen where only plaster remains. The flowers are monochrome but a vibrant blue
pattern is clearly visible around them.

“How the hell are you doing
that?” Jeff can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Clever, isn’t it?”

“But how?” He rubs his
forehead. “How’s it doing that?”

“This is a small energy
signal. When we find a large one, then we’ll really have something to show
you.”

With no more activity, they
trace their steps carefully back down the staircase. They hear a noise. It
could be coming from an animal...or something wishing to make its presence
known.

“Did you hear that?” Marcus stops
and whispers to Sarah.

“Yeah.”

“It’s perfect.” He gestures
to Jeff and Eve to listen. At that moment light from another room bends the
shadows at the bottom of the staircase, then dissipates.

“Shit.” Eve’s instinct is to
run, but there’s nowhere to hide.

“Marcus?” Jeff’s becoming
increasingly uneasy.

“It’s intelligent.” Marcus
speaks more to himself than to Jeff.

“What do you mean
intelligent?”

“It’s making itself known
for a purpose, to lead us somewhere.”

“Where?”

“We’ll know when we get
there. Come on.”

To the right of the stairs
is a corridor ending with a single room. The door creaks open to reveal what
was once an office. There’s an old abandoned cylinder desk, containing
pigeonholes for documents and slots for ledgers, an overturned chair, and little
else. Marcus walks around with the device in his hand, then stops in the center
of the room.

“Jeff, come here.”

“What?”

“Look, the floor has a long
strip of energy, strong energy.”

“What does that mean?”

“That someone was murdered.”
Marcus drops to his knees and scans the length and breadth of the timbers. “Get
down here.” With everyone on their knees he continues. “I hope you’re ready for
this. Whatever you witness, remember, it’s a past moment in time; you’re in no
personal danger.”

At first only a smoky
flickering is seen on screen. Marcus moves the viewer and the image becomes
sharper.

“The flickering is
candlelight, not the equipment. We have symbolic drawings, created with what
looks like cornmeal, and pulverized herbs are scattered around.” Marcus smells
the air. “Rosemary. This has all the hallmarks of Voodoo.”

“Voodoo?” That doesn’t
compute as historically accurate for Jeff. Especially as it’s an old western
town. “Out here in the 1800s?”

“Settlers came out from New
Orleans. Voodoo has always been practiced round these parts.”

Having corrected Jeff;
Marcus edges forward. All eyes are fixed on the screen. A dirty brown upturned
broad-brimmed hat lays on the floor. Jeff and Eve are both astounded. Sarah’s
hand stretches out, pointing at the screen.

“It’s next to a canvas
sack.”

“No, those are trousers.”
Marcus moves the scanner back and forth. “Whoever it was had their hands
bound.”

 
“Look, the fingers are moving.” The screen
displays chapped hands, red with deep cracks and scaling. The fingernails are
black. Eve’s terrified. She looks over Jeff's shoulder, not wanting to get too
close. She’s all too aware that with the darkness behind no one’s watching her
back.

“This has to be one of the
miners, judging by the condition of his hands.”

“But what’s he doing tied
up?” The moment is surreal and confusing; like an onion being peeled, Jeff’s
being stripped of his academic defenses.

“I don’t know.”

Marcus moves the scanner
over the miner. The foul stench of an unwashed body permeates the air. The
miner has brown straw-like hair. A dark female hand appears on screen,
reaching, twisting hair and wrenching the man’s head back. Her other hand holds
a knife that slowly cuts his unshaven throat open. The semi-conscious miner
tries to breathe via the opening of his neck, and gargles through spurts of
blood that falls into the bowl below. Marcus recoils in horror, moving the
screen away.

“Fuck, I’ll never get used
to this shit!” Marcus shakes the horror off.

In the chaos no-one realizes
that Jeff’s risen to his feet and is staring at the man standing in the corner
of the room. He’s dressed in a black suit with white gloves; holds a cane with
a skull on top, and sports a bow tie with a top hat. Yet beneath his white
painted face is one identifying feature. His eyes belong to Casey Lee Jones. He
points to the corner of the room. Jeff is compelled to walk over, to see what
he’s being shown. As he reaches the corner, the last thing he sees before the
floor gives way is Casey’s smile widen.