Copyright c 2008 Ross H. Carnes, Jr. SAMPLE CHAPTER ONE
Built before the Civil War, east of
Austin, Texas and strung along the Colorado River like the beads on a necklace,
were many large plantations; some established on cotton, some on corn, tobacco
and even pecans. Remnants of those old estates survive today; one in particular
is near the little community of Hornsby Bend. At the end of a long driveway,
lined with huge oak trees, a great, oversized, antebellum home now stands
proudly as a “bed and breakfast”. It is known as * A black shinny BMW sped down the avenue
of oaks and then parked in one of the spaces reserved for guests. A young
blonde-haired man in a red sport shirt got out on the driver’s side and opened
the passenger door for a slim, but shapely brunette woman. She wore white shorts,
a pink, tight fitting knit blouse, and in her bare arms, carried a tiny Yorkshire
Terrier. The couple stepped quickly onto the porch,
dodging a basketball that bounced past, barely missing them. It was thrown by a
twelve year old girl, who then yelled, “Watch out Ricky, you stupid half wit… Now
throw it back.” “Shut up, Mariah,” the boy said, and obstinately
threw the ball against the wall. It
returned to him, and he laughed mockingly at her. The terrier in the woman’s arms barked
ferociously, jumped down and ran toward the boy. Ricky threw the ball at the
irritating little dog, and knocked it off its feet. It whimpered pitifully, but
then began barking, and yipping more threats. The furious woman bent down to
pick up the dog, and shouted, “You brats leave my dog alone!” At that instant, Rickey threw the ball at
the woman before she could stand upright.
It bounced off her head, leaving a dazed expression on her face as she
plopped “ker-plunk”, back on her bottom. The woman’s companion stood over her, red
faced with rage, “You brats had better leave, before I put you over my knee,
and give you what you deserve.” Reaching up to her husband, the woman
said, “Just help me up, John. We can report them to the management at the front
desk.” “Yeah John, help her up… She’s too
helpless to get up by herself,” Mariah jeered, holding the ball that she had
caught. “Here, Ricky, hit her again with it,” she said, and threw the ball to
the boy. The couple managed to stand, and then
urgently searched for the front door. A foot materialized from behind a chair
and tripped John; he fell through the screen door, ripping a large hole in it. “Way to go Andrew,” Ricky shouted. The frazzled couple made their way inside,
and called for the clerk. A small-framed, elderly man stood up and leaned over
the desk, “Yes. May I hep y’all?” he asked. “What are you going to do about those
awful children on your front porch?” John shouted angrily. He examined a rip in
his shirt sleeve. The clerk calmly asked, “What chill-ren?
We have no guests with chill-ren.” “Just step outside and see,” John said. They all went out to the porch, but no
children were to be seen. “I don’t know of any chill-ren even living anywhere
near here,” the clerk said. “Are ya sure y’all saw some kids?” “We know what we saw, sir. How could we
have failed to see those assaulting little criminals?” John wanted to know. Well, let’s us get y’all settled in, and
maybe y’all will feel better after ya get some rest,” the clerk said. “My name’s
Rube Simps and I can see to it that y’all get anythin’ y’all need... Y’all have
a reservation?” “Certainly we do,” John stated coldly.
“The name is John Watson, this is my wife Lara; we drove up from Houston for the weekend.” “Come own in here and we’ll git y’all
check tin. I’ll have Gillard git yer bags and tote em up to yer room.” Rube
said as he opened the screen door frame (noticing for the first time that the
remnants of the screen were hanging loosely). “Oh me, looks like the dawgs been
tryin’ ta git in the house agin.” He raised a cupped hand to his mouth and
shouted, “Gillard! Gillard git down here!” From the garage on the west side of the
house, a young man’s voice could be heard, “Coming gran’pa!” Gil was eighteen years old, and the last
male heir to the Simps’ family estate. His father had been killed in an
accident called “friendly fire”, while he served at the Army base in Killeen, “Mr. an’ Mrs. Watson here, are waitin’ to
be shone to their room. Ya wanna git their bags?” Rube asked his grandson. Gil went to the BMW with John and waited
as he unlocked the trunk. John took the opportunity to ask, “Have you noticed
any kids around here this morning, Gillard?” “I would appreciate it if you would call
me Gil, sir. My gran’pa is the only one who calls me Gillard, and I can’t get
him to stop.” “Oh, sorry. Sure, okay… Gil.” “No sir. We don’t have any kids as guests
today.” Gil said as he carried the three bags up to the porch. He stared at the
tattered screen door. “Uh oh, more work for me tonight,” he said, as he shook
his head and held the door open for John. “Those pesky dogs!” Gil motioned
toward the stairs, “This way folks.” From the foyer the double staircase led
to a seating area, and then split in two directions before it reached the
second floor. The stairs were covered in a rich maroon colored carpet that
complimented the cherry wood banisters and full length, burgundy velvet drapes.
A larger than life size portrait of Gil’s great, great, grandfather covered the
wall above two leather upholstered love seats that offered a rest before
continuing on up the stairs. Gil put the heavy piece of luggage down, and
rearranged the other two bags over his shoulders. “You okay with that bag, son?” John
asked. “Oh sure, just need a little breather,”
Gil replied. “This is a beautiful place,” Lara said.
“Do you live here?” “Yes mam. That is a portrait of my great,
great, gran’pa Webster Simps. He was a General in the Confederate Army back
when this was his plantation.” “How colorful… and how proud you must be.
You have quite a heritage, young man,” Lara said, genuinely moved. A few more stairs and they stood before
the door of the first guest room. The hall continued on toward the back of the
house. “”This is your room,” Gil said, gesturing with a nod. “Would you mind
opening it, sir?” John looked surprised, “What, no key?” “No sir, but if you require privacy,
there is a latch on the inside of the door,” Gil reassured. “Also on the night
table by the bed, you will find a call button for any emergency, any time of
the day or night.” “How thoughtful, “Lara said. “Just in case,” Gil added, smiling, “You never know.” He put the bags on the luggage stand and opened the closet. Then with an air of expertise, he opened the French doors to the bedroom, gesturing to the adjoining study, and then to the bathroom. He turned to leave and John handed him a tip. Gil slipped it into his pocket smoothly and professionally, “Thank you, sir… mam... If you all would like to join us for dinner; it is served at seven… If you need anything at all, please call me… Enjoy your evening.” * The dinning room was along the south side
of the house, only fifteen feet wide, but almost forty feet long; running the
entire length of the back porch with French doors and a wall of windows. The
sunset cast a golden light into the room and washed over the great, hand carved
oak table that amply could seat eighteen. The table’s two gigantic supporting
pedestals had roaring lions carved on their four corners and the same lion
motif was repeated on the chair backs. Full length maroon drapes and a huge
crystal chandelier completed the formal atmosphere. The table was set with less
formality; the menu this evening started with a small dinner salad, and then
fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a side of steamed snap beans; a
very simple meal with local color, served on antique china. Jon and Lara were right on time; walking
into the room as the grandfather clock chimed the hour from the foyer. Their
hostess, Ophelia Simps greeted them as well as the other guests, and introduced
everyone as they entered; two elderly couples from As the meal came to an end, Ophelia
announced that desert would be served on the porch, through the French doors. A
table had already been set with dishes, spoons, and a large apple cobbler,
beside a churn of homemade ice cream. An urn of coffee and one of tea with
condiments, set on a separate end table. The last of the sunlight was quickly
fading; everyone had divided into small groups and when all were seated
comfortably, the conversations mingled into a soft murmur. Lara waved to get Ophelia’s attention and
she immediately came to her side, “Yes, Mrs. Watson?” she asked quietly. Lara pointed to the row of oak trees,
“These look like very old trees, Mrs. Simps. Do you have any idea just how old
they are?” “Yes, they are very old. The ones lining
the avenue were planted about one hundred years ago, but the ones surrounding
the house are much older. It’s said that the native Indians used these to form
a corral for their horses.” “They give so much character to your
place here. I love the way the huge limbs snake through the air in every
direction,” Lara said, but paused as she seemed to have noticed something in
the closest tree. “Do you have pets, Mrs. Simps?” Ophelia smiled, “Yes, we have a couple of
Labrador Retrievers and a few cats out in the barn.” “Oh,” Lara said, “I thought I saw several
animals in the trees just now. They reminded me of… small monkeys.” “Really?” John suddenly perked up, “Are
you sure, dear? Where were you looking?” Ophelia laughed, “I don’t think we have
monkeys… maybe some squirrels; at this time of day a few bats are out, maybe an
owl or two, but that’s about all.” Lara looked at her husband, “No, John… I
know they were there, and they were not bats or squirrels, just like I know
when I am being attacked by unruly children. Why are we doubted about what we
see here?” By his demeanor, John was obviously
becoming irritated, “Look here Mrs. Simps… Ophelia.” He stood up from his
wicker chair, “My wife and I are not the sort who experience visions or see
specters, so it is a little difficult for me to believe that you all are being
completely open in explaining things that we have seen.” Ophelia smiled and calmly said, “Please,
Mr. Watson; we have other guests. There is no need to become alarmed or to
cause others to be any less at ease. My father told me about your
unpleasantness upon your arrival this afternoon. I am at a loss to explain what
it was that you saw.” She held out a hand to Lara, “May I get you some more ice
cream, Mrs. Watson?” “Thank you, but no more for me. I think it’s time that we went to our room.” Lara said, wanting to end the confrontations. * By the time the Watsons retired to their
room, John had calmed down a bit. The charming accoutrements inspired a spirit
of congeniality, and after a warm shower he was absolutely docile, and had
forgotten the confrontation with Mrs. Simps. The day proved to have been a long
one for John; beginning at home with the fight to get through the morning
traffic, and then the three hour drive from Houston, followed by the reception on the front porch; all
combined to tie his neck and shoulder muscles into masses of painful knots. The
warmth of the shower had worked magic on him. He sank contentedly into the soft
comforter on the plush mattress, “Dear, I will let you turn out the lights and
come to bed when you like, but I am about to pass out from exhaustion,” John
whispered. Even though the windows were closed to
keep out the At
first the sound was faint; at the very edge of hearing, but it grew incessantly,
and at some point John became aware of the rhythmic thump… thump… thump. He
refused to open his eyes; maybe, he thought, the inconsiderate jerk would go
away. He whispered to himself, “I wish he would stop.” Immediately the thumping ceased. “Thank
you,” John said softly, and snuggled into his pillow. “You’re welcome,” said a voice from the
dark corner of the room. John sat up and was fully awake in a heartbeat.
He squinted to see some form or a shape to justify the voice, but the corner of
the room was too dark. Lara stirred as he asked the black air, “Who are you?” “What’s wrong, John,” Lara asked
sleepily. A child’s voice answered, “What’s wrong?
…I guess he doesn’t like basketball.” Lara whimpered. John reached for the
reading lamp and switched it on. No one else was in the room, but the voice
said, “Hey! Turn that back off.” John obediently flipped the switch off,
“Who are you,” he asked toward the dark corner, but no one answered. The bedroom door squeaked when it opened
and another disembodied voice came whispering into the room, “Ricky… are you in
here?” “Yes,” but Ricky’s voice was not a
whisper. “I got the ball, Andrew.” “Mariah!” Andrew called, “He’s in here.” From the hallway a girl’s voice answered,
“Shut up you guys! You shouldn’t be so loud while people are trying to sleep!” Lara curled up into a ball and grabbed
John’s arm so tightly, he grunted. The thump of the ball bouncing sounded again,
right beside the bed. “Andrew! …Heads up!” The sound of a ball
bouncing off of the bedside table made John duck; still he could see no one in
the room, even with the soft light coming through the windows. “Can’t you catch it, stupid?” Mariah
said. “Let me have it.” “What would you do with it?” Ricky asked. “Here watch,” Mariah said, and the
headboard vibrated as if it had been hit. John felt the ghostly ball bounce off
his head. Lara whimpered again. “Go away!” Lara shouted. In unison the ghostly voices chanted
mockingly, “Go away! Go away!” “Shut up, Ricky,” Mariah said. “You shut up, Mariah,” Ricky retorted.
“You both are going to wake up everyone in the house. Someone probably heard us
already.” “You shut up Ricky,” Andrew said. “All of you shut up and leave us alone,”
John screamed to the top of his voice as he turned on the light. There was dead
silence. Lara was shivering and would not loosen her grip on John’s arm.
Suddenly there came a knock on the door. “Mr. Watson?” Gil’s voice was
questioning, “Are you all right?” He knocked again. John got out of bed, dragging Lara (who
still held onto his arm) and opened the door for Gil. “You have a big problem
here mister,” John declared. Gil stared at the two shivering people; their
faces were flushed white as a sheet. He did not know what to say. John
continued, “What are you going to do about it? “I’m sorry, sir,” Gil said, “Do about
what?” “You have ghosts haunting this place,”
John said, breathing heavily, “They’re the ghosts of those damned kids we met
on the porch this afternoon.” “Mr. Watson, I have never seen any ghosts here at “Maybe you see them and you just don’t
know it. They looked pretty real this afternoon on the porch,” John said. Gil smiled and asked, “Are you all okay,
now?” “I guess we are,“ Lara weakly replied,
“They seem to be gone now.” “Just in case, would you want me to
search the suite,” Gil offered. “That would be nice,” Lara said, “It
would be nice, wouldn’t it honey?” she asked John. “Sure, sure.” Gil made a quick search through the
rooms; apologized several times and tried to assure them that there was nothing
to be concerned about. He left when they began to make some coffee at the
room’s mini bar. “Call me again if I can help,” he said,
“Good night.” They sipped on their weak coffee, reliving
the experience and trying to convince themselves that they had really been
awake. After an hour, their lack of sleep overcame their fear, and they slipped
back into bed, but they left the light on. Just as John’s eyes finally shut, a
voice again came from the corner of the room, “See… I told you to be quiet in
here!” Another voice answered, “Shut up!” Lara sat up, screaming again. * The Watson’s bags were packed and waiting
by the front door; the two sleepy people were sitting in the dinning room
before Ophelia had made the first coffee. She greeted them with a warm, “Good
morning,” and a cautious smile, but said nothing about their night’s rest. When
it was ready, she brought them some coffee and muffins. “I am so sorry that your stay here has
not been pleasant. Please accept a full refund of your money,” she said. “That’s good of you, thanks,” John
replied, taking a sip from his cup. “Are these disturbances a regular thing
here?” “I can’t say they are regular, but things
like this happen now and then,” Ophelia said, “I don’t think we have had ghosts
of children before.” John was quick to ask, “Your son said
last night that he had never seen any ghosts before.” “That’s true, Mr. Watson,” Ophelia said,
“All that kind of activity stopped at my husband’s death. Gil has seen many
unusual things here, but no ghosts yet.” “What unusual things,” John asked. Ophelia was obviously reluctant to speak
about it; taking more than the necessary time to clear the cups and saucers.
“Things, Mr. Watson… things that we here at “You may be overlooking a big
opportunity, Mrs. Simps,” John said. “I have had a lot of time for thought this
morning. Lara and I have a meeting with a client in Austin this afternoon, but afterward we would like to stay
here on our way back home. May we reserve our same room?” Lara looked at John in astonishment,
“What are you saying?” *** |
