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Chapter III
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"So what did you end up finding out about the place?"
It was a question Stanley had been burning to ask since he'd first climbed into the van. He would have said something earlier, but he'd been forced to help Martin navigate the streets of the town. His cousin seemed to lack any real sense of direction, and so Stanley had been preoccupied getting them on course. Once they were on the highway, however, Martin proved that he was an apt driver, and they were now cruising smoothly through a clear August afternoon, heading in the direction of New Orleans.
Martin, staring adamantly at the road, glanced over at the passenger for a moment. "Huh? Oh yeah. Well, quite a bit, actually." He smiled, than turned his attention back to driving. "I dug around the web a little bit, and managed to piece together as much as known about the mansion."
"Good," Stanely replied. "What did you discover?"
Martin shrugged. "Where do you want me to start?"
Stanley rubbed his chin. How much had his goofy cousin found out that was actually factual? "Whatever seems relevant, I guess."
Martin smirked. "Heh. For starters, the place does have quite the history, like I've said. It seems pretty rife with all the signs of a good haunted house."
Hardly, Stanley thought to himself. Out loud, he said, "Yeah? Got a rich and gory background, this house?"
"Surprisingly, not so much," Martin replied. The light caught his glasses in such a way that it hid his eyes from view. It was a little eerie. "I've heard much worse stories centered on other haunted locations. No. It's more intriguing than anything else."
There was a long pause.
"Go on," Stanley urged, slightly astonished at his rather childlike interest.
Martin laughed suddenly. "Sorry. Just getting my thoughts together while I build some dramatic effect. At any rate, I don't know the whole story. Mostly records and things. The mansion was built in 1817 by a rich merchant and former U.S. Army colonel; guy by the name of Ron Stevens. Apparently, he got the land cheap because it was built on property directly adjacent to a cemetery."
Stanley snorted, trying to hide a chortle. "I'm not surprised."
Martin pressed on. "Anyway, the colonel lived there with his wife and his brother-in-law, George Gracey. They had a lot of wealth on hand, because the colonel was a pretty successful merchant captain and the Graceys had owned a cotton plantation prior to them living in the house. They sold the old property for a large sum and pooled their resources with Stevens to get a lot of affluence." He paused, as if thinking of what to say next. "Like I said, I'm not sure how accurate all this is, since there was not a huge amount of truly certifiable accounts or documentation about the estate's history."
Hearing this, Stanley compulsively patted the deed, which he kept in his shirt pocket, as if assuring himself it was still there. "Whatever you have to say, Martin, I'll listen. We can sort it out later when we get there."
Nodding, Martin agreed. "Good point. Now, like I was saying, there are some stories that colonel Stevens was actually a pirate. Other stories say he was a smuggler that worked closely with pirates. Either way, they agree he might have been involved in some illegal activity. Whether that's true or not, there was some really heavy stuff that went down later.
"Not long after the mansion's completion, George Gracey got married to a woman named Constance. The night after the wedding, he was murdered, supposedly by a jealous rival for this woman's affections."
"You sure it was murder?" Stanley asked. "How'd he die?"
"Someone stuck an axe in his head," Martin replied with a mock evil smirk.
Stanley whistled.
"And before you say anything," Martin stated (though Stanley really didn't have much intention of doing so), "this was actually the most accurate piece of evidence I've found of this period. It was big news, after all. There was an old newspaper clipping of the story, e-mailed to me by a friend in New Orleans when I told her about my research...She's been studying the mansion for years; got a lot of inside-information. We might want to go and talk to her at some point."
Stanley wasn't certain he wanted to meet any of Martin's friends, but if the information was on, then it might be worthwhile. He replied simply. "Sure, if she knows what she's doing."
"She sure does. She works in a curio shop."
"Impressive," Stanley offered. "But you were saying?"
Martin nodded. "Right. Anyway, from this point forward, what's known is pretty sketchy. They eventually found the guy who committed the murder, but he pleaded innocent all the way to his sentence. After that, more weird stuff happened: Colonel Stevens nearly went bankrupt, but somehow regained his fortunes. A few years later, Stevens' wife and daughter vanished without a trace, and the guy went nuts not too long after that. The house went over to Constance after the colonel died, but she sold it and left the state. No one knows why."
Stanley sighed. "Huh. More disappearances than death with this place, huh?"
"It gets better," Martin replied, and he suddenly swerved the van to the left to get into a barely-missed lane. When he was able to focus on the road again, he went on. "The next guy who owned the house was another Gracey. He was George's nephew, and he bought the place the moment he saw it. Real secretive guy, or so the stories say. He didn't socialize much. When he did, though, he had some real charming qualities about him."
"How long did he have the place before he got bumped off?" Stanley asked jokingly.
Martin shook his head. "Hmm…Six or seven years, maybe. He didn't die, though. At least, they never found him. He vanished too. Everyone assumed he died, but there was no evidence."
"Ah," Stanley said. "Anyone vanish with him?"
"His bride," Martin answered. "He apparently went out and met a nice girl. They courted for awhile, and were set to be married there at the mansion. But they both up and disappeared the day of the wedding."
Stanley nodded, smirking. "Seems to be bad luck with brides at this place, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so." Martin scratched at his chin-stubble with a free hand thoughtfully. "Classic signs of a good haunting, though. If that many unfortunate events occurred in one location, then it means something supernatural is pulling the strings."
Stanley shook his head. "Could just be coincidence."
Martin mirrored the head-shaking. "Skeptic," he muttered, but he smiled.
Not that Stanley cared what Martin thought. Ghosts didn't exist. Neither did haunted houses; just a bunch of old buildings where people let their imaginations get the better of them. He remembered watching one of those documentary shows that involved so-called "ghost hunters" trying to make contact with the other side, and they'd have cameras. They'd have what they called "proof" on tape by the end, but it was never anything truly refutable: the "ghost orb" looked like a mote of dust to Stanley, or the people would react to some scary crash or bang, but the camera never caught anything. It was all a hoax.
"Alright then, Mr. Know-It-All," said Stanley, "I get that a bunch of weird stuff happened. What did Uncle Yale tell you about the mansion?"
Martin didn't answer right away. He seemed to be engrossed in shifting the van's gears, which produced a coughing sputter from the engine. Just as Stanley was wondering if he'd struck a nerve of some sort, Martin spoke up.
"Honestly, he never talked much about it, or why he left when he was a teenager. He told me he lived there for a year or so, with his aunt. Uncle Yale seemed real guarded about that. I know the last time anyone occupied the house was in the early 1900's, and it hasn't been lived in since. Thing is, the land can't be touched by developers or the state, since its privately-owned property. So the mansion's just been sitting there, all these years, rife with supernatural activity.
"And you, cuz," finished Martin with aplomb, grinning, "are the new owner."
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Things were uneventful for a while after the conversation. Stanley, with roadmap in hand, guided his cousin along the highways of the state. Around sunset they passed the city limits of New Orleans, at which point Martin gave Stanley a piece of scratch paper with handwritten directions. They stopped briefly at a gas station to fill up and grab some snacks before they set off again, turning into the older part of town. This was the New Orleans people thought of when they pictured it in their mind's eye, with its ornate buildings and lacy-iron grillwork. Stanley thought he could hear faint jazz music in the air every once and awhile, and there was something relaxing to the sound.
They passed along the Mississippi river as twilight took hold, and followed it to the edge of town. A single riverboat stood out on the water, lights glowing against the thickening darkness. Then they were turning, leaving the waterfront behind as the van turned onto an unpaved road that led into a thick copse of trees. In the headlights glow, Stanley was able to make out a hand-painted sign, half-hidden in the foliage that stated they were on Sedgwick Park Road.
The van bounced and rattled as it went, carrying its passengers through shadowy wilderness. Staring out the window, Stanley could just see the marsh-like landscape that was visible through the trees. Fireflies flitted through the air, glowing a green-yellow that flickered in and out. Stanley had to admit to himself there was something subtly eerie about it. Even with his rational mind, he could feel a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach as they drew nearer and nearer his inherited estate.
He glanced at Martin. The driver hadn't said anything for awhile, eyes fixed intently on the road. Stanley recognized the half-smirk Martin held on his face. Martin always got that expression when he was anticipating something. Probably eager to see some spooks or goblins.
Come to thing of it, thought Stanley…
"Hey Martin, what makes you so sure ghosts exist?"
Martin spared Stanley a quick, puzzled look. Then he smiled. "I've seen 'em. You can't deny what your own eyes tell you."
Stanley scoffed. "Then how come I've never seen them?"
"Two reasons, cuz. For one, you haven't been to a lot of haunted spots, have you? You can't expect to see ghosts anywhere. They congregate in specific places."
"Such as?"
Martin pondered this a moment. "Well, spirits can show up anywhere, with the right conditions. Anywhere has the potential to be haunted, but not everywhere is. My work's taken me all over the place, so I've seen plenty of spirits firsthand."
Stanley was unconvinced. "Where?"
"My last assignment, for instance," Martin replied. "I was up in a Nevada, checking out the ghost towns in the region. I eventually stumbled upon this dusty old boomtown called Thunder Mesa, sitting in the shadow of a rocky mountain called Big Thunder. Native American legend says that the mountain is sacred and that any who disturb it will be cursed. That explains why the mining operation went bust and the place was hit by a major earthquake in 1880 that swallowed people alive. I saw a lot of restless spirits there, especially when I poked into the mine shafts a bit-"
"You could be seeing things," interrupted Stanley. "Could have been trapped gasses or cave phenomena or something."
Martin frowned. "'Cave phenomena' doesn't usually talk back."
Stanley shook his head. Martin was touched in the head. Had to be.
Even so, the driver continued. "Then there was the time I was in California. Nice place. Lots of urban supernatural spots to investigate, too. The Whaley House in San Diego; the cruise ship Queen Mary in Long Beach; the Hollywood Tower Hotel was the best, though. That was a real hot spot for ghosts. The hotel was struck by lightning in 1939, and there's been an odd paranormal rift, so to speak, in that spot." Martin paused, chuckling. "I'll never look at elevators the same way again after that crazy trip."
"And have you gotten any definite proof from these trips?" Stanley asked this in an unintended, scathing way. He hadn't meant for it to sound like that, but somehow the talk was starting to get on his nerves.
Martin sighed. "I told you, I've talked to spirits before. I've got pictures, and even recorded some conversations with the dead. It's proof enough for the people who hand."
After a short silence, in which Martin skirted the van around a fallen log , Stanley asked, "What's the second reason?"
"Huh?"
"The second reason. You said there are two reasons I've never seen a ghost, and you named one. What's the other?"
Martin looked from the road to Stanley, then back to the road. "The second reason is that you don't allow for the possibility of ghosts. You have to have an open mind, and accept that there might be something out there." A pause. "You just can't come to terms with the unknown."
Stanley felt a little stung. "I'm just being rational, Martin. There comes a point in life where you separate what's real from what's not. There's simply no way ghosts could exist. It makes no sense."
"It's a matter of mind over matter, cuz," retorted Martin, almost whispering the words. "Fantasy and reality. 'Cause what you consider fantasy, I consider reality."
Stanley wondered, again, if he had gone overboard and offended him. Despite himself, though, he felt like he was justified. Martin was deluding himself if he thought every odd shadow or every unusual sound was some sign of an entity beyond the grave.
Martin added, "Is it really that hard to acknowledge that there's something out there we can't explain?"
Stanley didn't answer. The last bit of what his cousin has said gave him an odd feeling he couldn't place. Was it fear? He couldn't fathom it completely.
But yes, he thought, as he now stared languidly out the window at the gloomy landscape bouncing by. He didn't like what he couldn't explain. Anything that didn't make sense to him simply couldn't be. And as he thought about it – the more he thought about it – it he couldn't place exactly why he felt like that.
He finally relented. "Look Martin," he began, "I'm sorry about what I…Look out!"
At Stanley's shout, Martin turned the wheel hard to the left, and the brakes squealed aloud as the van jumped to the side of the road, where it stopped with a rattling thump. The seatbelts managed to catch both passenger and driver, but it was a jarring halt. Before Martin could recover to ask Stanley what the problem was, the older man had jumped out of the van and onto the muddy road, searching around frantically.
"Stan?" called Martin. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Stanley, heart pounding, looked up and down the dark road. All was quiet, the only sounds coming from the puttering engine of the van and the nighttime cacophony of nocturnal creatures.
Unnerved, Stanley walked back toward the van. Martin stared at him, worried. "Cuz?"
"Did you see them?" stammered Stanley.
Martin scratched his head. "Who?"
"Those people!" Stanley waved his arms in the air. "You didn't see them?"
"I dunno what you're talking about, Stan. I just hit the brakes when you shouted."
Stanley massaged his temples and waited for the adrenaline to go down. "There were three people standing on the side of the road. You really didn't see them? You nearly sideswiped one of them!"
Again, Martin shook his head. "You sure? Why would there be people out here on this stretch of road?"
"They were…" Stanley looked around again, still seeing no evidence of the three people he'd seen. More fireflies danced lazily through the trees at the side of the road. Somewhere, an owl hooted. Stanley blinked, then climbed back into the van and shut the passenger door.
Martin gave him a questioning look.
"They looked like hitchhikers," Stanley resumed.
"Huh?"
"You know…" Stanley stuck a thumb out and waved it. "They were doing that. Hitchhiking." He sighed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm seeing things."
He caught Martin's expression. His goofy cousin had sly smirk that spoke volumes.
"Or maybe…" Martin began.
"Don't even go there, Martin." He buckled himself back in. "Let's just get to the place, OK?"
Martin nodded, but that smug expression didn't leave his face as he got the van back on course.
Happy Solistice, dear readers! A fresh chapter is served at last! Here's hoping you all enjoy it. Things are starting to get eerie...And that's when the story is most fun to write for me!
Big thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far - Aquarian Wolf and Jemima947, I appreciate it. ^^
But now, ladies and gentlemen, hang tight. The real chills come later...