Cades Cove 01 - Cades Cove: A Novel of Terror (53 page)

At the time, she mentioned a ghostly encounter, and not him. A ghost from her childhood, it involved her great uncle—David’s great, great uncle—Zachariah Hobbs. He realized from what the mysterious entity foretold to his aunt as a child, about Zachariah’s impending death, that the very same entity came back sixty years later to wage war with David and his family. He only hoped Aunt Ruth didn’t notice how the encounter she described chilled him—other than spraying his iced tea through his nose when she related the entity’s promise of revenge upon ‘Uncle Zach’ for his part in her murder.

“
I just hope Ruth has a good time while she’s here with us,” said Miriam, letting out a slow deep breath before looking out her window at the swirling snow again. “I want it to be so…so
special
.”

“
Everything will be fine, babe,” he assured her, reaching over to gently pat her thigh just above the knee. “Auntie’s going to have a great time. A really
great
time—I promise!”

If they started his aunt’s visit on the right foot, he reasoned it could buy him some time to figure out what to do about the situation at home. She nodded her head and began to relax, until Christopher spoke up behind them.

“
Where’s Auntie Ruth going to sleep?” he asked.

They both whirled their heads in his direction, fearful of what he might’ve overheard. He had his headphones pulled down and the PSP resting in his lap, turned off.

“
Is she going to sleep on the sofa in the living room, or in one of the guestrooms upstairs?”

“
Honey, she’ll be staying in the guestroom next to your bedroom and Jill’s,” said Miriam. “I’ve already prepared the room for her since she told me at Thanksgiving that she wanted the one closest to you kids.”

Christopher nodded, thoughtful, casting a cautious glance toward Jillian, who sat in the seat to his left. She, like Tyler sprawled out in the bench seat behind her, jammed to the music in her Ipod. Christopher leaned closer to his mom.

“
I’m glad Auntie Ruth won’t be sleeping on the sofa, Mommy.” The look on his face confirmed his relief. “I don’t think the old tree man would like it if someone slept in the living room.” He lowered his tone to emphasize his seriousness.

“
Old tree man? What are you talking about, Chris?” asked David, playful, though the solemn look on his youngest son’s face worried him a little.

“
The man in our house,” replied Christopher. As if realizing he might be in trouble for not sharing this information sooner, he began to fidget, casting his eyes downward to avoid his mother’s stunned look and his father’s probing gaze in the rearview mirror.

“
What
man in our house??”

Miriam’s alarm drew a curious look from Jillian, who might’ve removed her headphones if not for her dad’s mouthed assurance that everything was okay. She looked over at Christopher and then searched her mom’s face for confirmation of what her dad said. Miriam forced a warm smile and repeated David’s assurance, and Jillian again grooved to the Beyonce tune in her Ipod.

“
Can you describe the man you’re talking about, son?” David posed the question tenderly, keeping his eyes on the road while studying his son through the mirror.

“
Yes,” said Christopher, hesitating until he received another assuring look from his mom. “He’s a thin, really old man, and a lot taller than you, Daddy. He has lots of deep lines in his face and body that look like the bark on scary trees in Halloween pictures. He’s got no clothes. His hair is gray and real long, with black feathers stuck in it. His fingernails and toenails are real, real long, too, with the tips curled in. Oh, and his eyes are yellow, like the Patterson’s tiger cat Sonya…. I’ve only seen him a few times.”

“
Where did you see him, honey?” asked Miriam, her voice soothing, though David could tell she barely restrained her fear.

“
Only in the living room,” said Christopher. “Most of the time he just sits in the sofa staring straight ahead, like he’s daydreaming. But, the other night I watched him follow Daddy from the kitchen over to the fireplace. The night you made me sit at the table until I finished my peas and cauliflower, Mommy.”

The minivan had just reached the entrance to the short-term parking area nearest the baggage claim where Ruth’s flight was scheduled to arrive. Anxious to ask more questions, David focused instead on finding a parking space.

“
Why didn’t you tell us about this earlier, like that night?” Miriam kneaded her knuckles, but her tone remained calm.

“
I wanted to,” he told her, after another hesitation. “The man looked like he might hurt Daddy.”

David shot a concerned look at Miriam, who gasped, but muted her reaction when Christopher gazed down at his lap again.

“
Then he looked at me and smiled a little, and acted like he wanted to tell Daddy he was sorry, right before he disappeared. Didn’t you see him? You looked right at him, Daddy. More than once that night….”

His voice trailed off and his eyes turned misty. Miriam reached back to give him a hug. When he started bawling in her arms, Jillian and Tyler turned off their IPods. David assured them everything would be all right. If only he believed it.... Instead, he pictured the chilled presence in the living room, leering at him as some grotesque ancient man.

How in the hell is this even possible...another haunting just two months after the first one??

It wasn’t going to be easy to keep this shit away from Auntie’s awareness.

“
Merry friggin’ Christmas, everyone,” he muttered, cynical, after pulling into a vacant parking spot not far from where Aunt Ruth’s luggage would be waiting.

Also available on Amazon Kindle:

DEADLY NIGHT

A Novel of Suspense

by

Aiden James

(read on for an excerpt)

Chapter One

I’d never seen a fresh corpse before. At least not human.

Blood dripped below her face, spreading across the chipped linoleum kitchen floor of our host, Johnny Rush. Candi Starr stared back at me, a red grotesque halo framing her tussled golden hair, still wrapped in foil strips. Her stone gaze facing us all as we stood in shocked silence.

Her head barely attached at the neck, a deep jagged wound traversed from ear to ear beneath her chin. Sprawled upon the floor, the expression in Candi’s lifeless steel blue eyes was one of sudden surprise.

Johnny sat at the kitchen table, across from Brenda Wright. Rope-bound to a pair of high back vinyl chairs, one olive green, and the other merlot. Both wore matching black t-shirts and jeans. Intense terror visible in their eyes, both mouths lay open, slack-jawed, and emotionless in contradiction. Their single fatal shots to the forehead announced assassination. Not intended victims, but here just the same. In all likelihood the pair not only witnessed the murder of their famous companion, but also had plenty of time to anticipate their own demise.

So...correction: I’d never seen
three
dead human beings before.

When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from the scene, my attention was drawn to Fiona. The loveliest, smartest and bravest woman I’ve ever known didn’t seem so at the moment. Being grilled by a pair of cops in the dining room, one dressed in uniform and the other plainclothes. Her gorgeous hazel eyes which often morphed to amber and pure gold depending on her attire and mood were now swollen. Red puffiness from a deluge of tears. Her grief genuine, as these were real friends, she struggled to answer their questions—despite the pained looks each man wore, nodding quietly in response to her clipped answers.

What questions did they ask? I could only imagine, but I managed to hear a few. Basic things like ‘how long have you known the victims?’ and ‘can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge, one bad enough to do something like this?’ No doubt they also want to know what she and the rest of us are doing here, anyway.

Meanwhile, two forensic techs just brushed past me and the others on their way to begin the painstaking task of moving from the stiffening corpses in the kitchen to the living room to look for more evidence. It makes me feel awkward, standing here near the entrance to the living room. I fidget, unsure of what to do…or where to go, half horror movie, half feeling five years old and told to stand in the corner.

The plainclothes cop keeps eyeing the rest of us. He glares a bit while the other continues questioning Fiona. I’m sure my face is turning red, thinking of what I’m about to have to explain.

My name is Jimmy Alea, and I’m a paranormal investigator. Spook chaser, ghost hunter, or a supernatural whack-job, whatever euphemism makes normal folks feel any better. Hell, that’s what my pop thinks back in Denver, my hometown. I came to Nashville, or as we serious musicians like to refer to it—‘Nash-Vegas’, nine years ago. But like 99.99% of the more than 80,000 music hopefuls who call this place home, I haven’t made it yet. Maybe I never will, but I try not to think about that.

Yeah, the cop will probably pass judgment just the same. I can already picture him saying something smartass like, “Did Casper call and tell you there are three brand new ones?”, and then laugh at his own lame joke. But this is what I do. I don’t try to see dead people. Rather, I attempt to catch evidence of their spiritual essence, whether ethereal or physically tangible. It’s somewhat like TAPS and the other ‘hauntings’ shit on TV.

But that ain’t the story here…not exactly. Me and my gang were just stopping by to drop something off at Johnny’s. A little something to welcome him and Brenda to their new digs. Fiona planned a quick psychic reading for Candi before she set off on her first international tour. Afterward, the plan was to investigate another home where supposedly a lot of weird shit’s happening. A ‘paranormal event’ is what we call this sort of thing. Apparently stuff’s been going on for several years in that particular locale along the Cumberland, but getting worse…more aggressive lately.

It’s probably best to stop thinking about the cop and my imagined exchange, and instead focus again on Fiona. She’s still talking to both him and the uniform right now. Wish I could take her and wrap my arms around her, to somehow ease her profound pain. She is my wife, and I always feel the need to protect her. I won’t be able to erase this from her memory and I can’t make the cops shut up.

The uniformed cop is really trying to flirt with her. Granted, Fiona’s a tall, gorgeous blond with a smile that lights up any room, and a statuesque build that spells trouble for any male with a pulse. She’s the only thing that’s ever distracted me long enough to make me reconsider my life’s direction. Fiona literally saved me from the destructive course I once was on. I truly pity the dudes who wish they’re me.

But right now I could use a new diversion—anything to take my attention away from the bodies and some dude smiling at my wife at such an inappropriate time. There’s a female uniform staring at me from near Johnny’s bedroom. I’ve often wondered about homicide cops and how they deal with it. As I look at her again she’s now smiling. Maybe for some cops...the aggressive ones...it’s a type of foreplay. Kind of like people who go home with a complete stranger and screw their brains out.

As she looks at me her smile is getting wider. I’m pretty sure I know what she sees.... My wife, among others, tells me it’s a six foot two, one-ninety pound man, with very little body fat. Hard and lean, with chiseled features inherited from a handsome Cuban/Italian line, I possess an easy smile, and piercing blue eyes that become deep cobalt pools if I’m pissed. And, I’m lucky to have a full head of dark wavy hair hanging down to my shoulders.

Nobody will ever find me wearing a suit—not unless somebody’s getting married or buried. T-shirts, jeans, and boots—I’m either biker or cowboy, depending on my mood and the weather. Thank God the dudes I roll with share my taste in threads, and my daytime employer can hang with the way I am too. As long as I occasionally wear a polo shirt and slacks. It sucks, but I’ve gotta have something steady to pay the bills.

Fiona’s now motioning to me, and to be polite the two cops nodded. I wonder if they’ve heard of her, since she’s helped Metro’s finest solve nearly a dozen crimes over the past few years. Clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient. They are valued commodities among a few detectives these days, though most won’t admit it. Regardless, I can tell these guys don’t think much of the thirtyish biker-looking dude and his cronies blocking the doorway to the living room. At least they like her…certainly looks like her tear-streaked face hasn’t diminished her charm. Not in the least.

“
Do you want me to call ahead to Charlain and tell her we’re going to be late?” said Jackie Holland to Fiona from behind me. “Or, should we try and reschedule?”

One of Fiona’s best friends since childhood, Jackie’s usual gruffness was muted. They grew up together in east Nashville. Her dark brown hair is almost kinky, but it fits well with her eyes. Almond shaped and light blue in color. And her athletic build is heavier than Fiona’s.

A little on the short side, Jackie makes up for it with her commanding, almost abrasive presence. A no-nonsense girl with a dry sense of humor, she has a keen passion about all things paranormal. In fact, she’s the reason Fiona became interested in exploring haunted locales back when they were in high school.