In the Dead of Night (40 page)

Yeah, I had the straws ready and waiting, too. Pulled them out of a bale that was sitting near the porch. I figured five straws would be sufficient, and I held them out for everyone to see. It produced a priceless moment of surprise for most everyone, and a look of ‘almost’ admiration from Mr. Ed.

“So that means, Fiona, Jackie, Michelle, and Sally can go ahead and get outfitted, and then y’all can figure out whose going to get the other four vests,” said Ed, moving over to pick up the first one for Fiona. I swear I felt her bristle…. Might this be the final straw for him, as far as her longstanding patience with his not-so-subtle overtures toward her were concerned? One could always hope. “But, I suggest we get moving, since the Franklin officers are only on loan to you all until eight o’clock.”

In the moment of truth, Ricky became a man again, and after we determined that our camera guys were as indispensable as the oldest member in our group, Tom, it came down to Justin, Ricky, and Tony drawing straws to see who got to avoid sharing unprotected status with me. Maybe it was a misplaced notion to atone for his moment of weakness, but Ricky suddenly pulled out of the running for safety and volunteered to join me without the contest. That left Justin and Tony.

Count on the two most superstitious dudes I know to turn this into a duel. Both took their time to study the contours of my fist in hopes of drawing the larger straw. Ironically, they both picked the shortest two straws, and then spent another two minutes debating if the one was actually a millimeter shorter than the other, in hopes of forcing a rematch. Thankfully, Jackie stepped in and grabbed both straws and soon made her announcement.

“Justin gets the vest…sorry, Tony.”

This could have turned even more comical, as Tony eyed Justin with the ire of a little boy who had just been hoodwinked out of a Tootsie Pop.

“We need to get going,” Ed advised, tapping on his wristwatch. “Jackie? Fiona?... Would you ladies mind riding with me, so we can discuss the security details for your Carnton visit?”

No stiffness from my wife this time, probably because it was the both of them and not a solo excursion with Dick Tracy. Justin snapped up the opportunity to ride with me in Fiona’s place, and soon the rest of our gang followed Detective Silver’s gray Impala as it journeyed up the road to where the Carnton Plantation awaited us.

***

By the time we arrived it was approaching 5:30 p.m., with a few minutes to spare. Jerry and Jason Thomas were waiting for us in the parking lot across from the antebellum estate and near the gift shop/tourist center. They hail from the same town as Michelle and my band’s new bassist, Melvin Schoels, whom I haven’t introduced to you yet. Let it suffice for now that he is the guy we hired to replace me, since I was elected to replace Chris as the new front man for Quagmire.

Yeah, there’s an entire shit storm that I’ll eventually need to catch everybody up on that happened soon after our last published adventure. What looked like the doorstep to the elusive big time turned into something akin to the La Brea Tar Pits in L.A. But, rather than go through it all now, just know that the band isn’t giving up. Far from it.

“What a couple of good ole boys!” said Justin, disgustedly.

He grimaced as we watched the Thomas brothers approach Ed’s sedan. Each held a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A two-man ghost hunting team barely in their twenties, our Pulaski boys brought very little experience to the table.  However, as green and wet behind the ears as they were, the two had braved some of the more fearsome haunts in the Mid to Deep South. And, it was their amazing photographs, video footage, and EVPs that swayed the judges awarding tonight’s tickets to hand them the privilege of joining us at the crown jewel of our tour.

Man that sounds so pretentious saying that. I mean, the part about a privilege joining us…although touring the Carnton on the anniversary of the famous battle that ravaged this property one hundred and forty-eight years ago, and where four dead Confederate generals lay upon the back porch, is indeed a privilege.

But I’m getting away from our story.

“They’re just fun-loving kids, Justin,” I countered, as I parked the Camaro next to Detective Silver’s ride. “That quality might make for some good TV.”

Hell, I bet that’s what our producers thought when they learned of the judges’ decision. Fraternal twins that again can’t be any older than twenty-two years, Jerry and Jason each carry million dollar smiles to go with dimpled handsomeness, chipped ice blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair. They remind me of a young Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland from The Police, circa 1980. At least that’s the date of the album I have in my cherished collection of the old 70’s and 80’s bands that later influenced my sound before I moved to Nashville at the tender age of twenty-one back in 1999.

At least these boys are more fun than their fellow ‘Pulaskian’ who recently joined our band. Melvin could use a massive dose of their lightheartedness. Good thing he’s one hell of a musician.

“These suckers give me the frigging creeps,” said Justin. He stepped out of the car and peered in at me from the passenger side. “They might look like pretty boys to you, but I’m tellin’ you, man…there’s something about them that feels wrong to me.”

“Well, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion, bro,” I said, and then exited my car. Everyone was moving to where the Franklin Cops waited to join us, near the path that would take us to the house. The cops scanned the area beyond us in the parking lot, as if expecting the trouble mentioned by Ed to suddenly show up. “Just don’t cause a scene, man.”

“And, don’t you act retarded and ignore the warning signs when they happen,” he advised, forcing a wan smile. “I’ve got your back, Jimmy—always, dude. You had better have mine.”

“Always, Justin—if things ever do go south with these guys, you know better than to question whether or not I’ve got your back,” I assured him, offering a reassuring smile to him. “Let’s go say hello.”

I wasn’t sure what caused him to feel uneasy. Maybe it was the combination of rampant death surrounding our Civil War ghost tour and Ed’s suggestion that a possible hit man was waiting somewhere along the wooded ridges less than a mile from the plantation. Regardless, I didn’t see the malice he spoke of in our two guests’ demeanor.

“Hey, Jimmy…it’s good to finally meet you in person!” enthused the taller of the two kids. He stepped over to me with his right hand extended, ready to shake after transferring the beer he had been holding to his cigarette bearing left one. “I’m Jerry, and this is Jason.”

He motioned to his brother, whose slender build was the only definitive way to distinguish between the two. They seemed much more identical twins than fraternal. Jason stepped up to greet me while Jerry offered a warm smile and handshake to Justin. Jason soon followed the same gesture, and then they stepped over to Ricky, Tom, Tony, and even offered the same greeting to Mr. Ed. Our babysitting dick seemed earnestly pleased to make their acquaintance, as well.

While the twosome moved on to Fiona and the other ladies in our group, I happened to notice the rebel flag and gun rack on the back of their truck—complete with a pair of twelve gauge shotguns. The twins’ bio said they were avid hunters, but I wondered if the cops or Detective Silver would give them the third degree to make sure they were licensed to carry weapons into Franklin, since they were Giles County residents as opposed to Williamson County, where we presently stood.

“See that shit?” whispered Justin, nodding to the truck and wearing a grin that could just as easily count as a grimace to those who know him well enough. “That’s what
I’m
talking about…they may be smiling and all cordial and shit. But, that truck screams ‘find me a nice black boy to string up!’”

I almost shushed him when Jason glanced back at us, still smiling warmly. No malice evident yet…and from Fiona’s warm exchange with Jerry, I knew there wouldn’t be anything like that. Definitely not on this night. In my mind, the Thomas brothers’ only sin was having a big red GMC equipped with stereotypical redneck appointments. No one would ever mistake the pair as peddling toys and t-shirts for Disney, although their handsomeness and toothy smiles could get them a video spot on CMT.

“Lighten up, man!” I whispered back, but with enough force to make my point. “We’re talking shotguns—not military grade rifles and pistols. And the flag you detest today is the same damned flag you have on your bedroom wall.”

“They’re from Pulaski, man.... Perhaps you’ve heard of the place, since Bedford Forrest founded the Ku Klux Klan there,” Justin continued, sarcastically. But, at least he allowed his smile to widen to where it appeared welcoming to anyone unaware of his repertoire of facial expressions.

“Michelle was born and raised there,” I countered. “Do you picture her as a card carrying member of the Daughters of the KKK or the NRA?”

That brought a snicker in response.

“We’ll continue this discussion later, Jimmy. Here comes Fi and everyone else,” he said, allowing his smile to widen even further. “I’ll wear a really big smile for the rest of the evening…but you better have my back!”

There wasn’t opportunity for me to say anything else about this, and as the brothers smiled warmly in our direction, I found myself getting angry at Justin’s paranoia. Normally among the most levelheaded people in our group, he was blowing it that night. I worried Fiona or perhaps Jackie would notice something was off about him…but they both ushered us to join the group as we moved across the parking lot to the graveyard.

I may have mentioned before that the Carnton’s graveyard is the final resting place for nearly fifteen hundred Confederate soldiers who died during the Battle of Franklin. An interesting place, it is a locale that I detailed in
Deadly Night
. One of our best ghost photographs comes from inside the graveyard. A Franklin tourist attraction during daylight hours, I prefer its distinction as a definite hot spot for paranormal groups from across the country seeking paranormal evidence. Of course, as I also detailed in
Deadly Night
, the only way to catch that evidence is at night, after the plantation is closed. Lately, it has been a sure way to get a one-way ticket to the Franklin pokey.

So, the fact that we were able to explore it without having to dodge and hide from patrol cars and other surveillance efforts was a huge perk for us. Not to mention, with a police escort joining us, all of the attendant reenactment bullshit we’ve dealt with lately was almost nonexistent. I detected only two small encampments, and when Tom joined Justin and me at the cemetery gate he said he overheard Ed tell Jackie and my wife that the Franklin cops had already visited both groups of reenactors and warned them to steer clear of us. Sweet.

Once everyone stepped inside the gate, we wasted little time in setting up our outdoor recording gear. Then we moved through the graveyard methodically, determined to gather as many photographs and digital images as quickly as possible. The Thomas twins hung out mostly with Fiona, Jackie, and Ricky. I thought they would want to peer through Tom’s prized infrared camera, but they preferred Ricky’s Hasselblad camera due to its superb capabilities in low light. Tom seemed a bit miffed by the slight, which seemed to help Justin’s mood as I caught him and Tony snickering about it as they looked on.

Once six o’clock arrived, we felt comfortable with what we had collected from the graveyard, and prepared to move over to the mansion, where we planned to take a few outdoor photos and then head inside. It was a very rare treat, since the building is almost never opened for visitors at night. In fact, this would be our first time ever inside the house after dusk.

I was the last one to leave the graveyard. It’s often my habit to be the last one out, since sometimes I might pick up a ‘feel’ and snap a few last pictures before rejoining everyone else. Often, I’ve caught some interesting anomalies that could well be evidence of ghostly presences.

It didn’t take long to experience something that night.

Right before I followed Tony and the Franklin cop designated to pull up the rear out through the gate, I heard footsteps coming up behind me…fast. For a moment, I got excited, thinking I might capture an image of a soldier. As I mentioned, though rare, it has happened before—both to us and to others who have explored this area of the property.

But then I noticed the pace of the steps sounded more like a girl sauntering along the path, moving purposely from the rear of the graveyard to the front gate where I hesitated. The boot step was definitely light in timbre, and then all of a sudden whoever it was started running along the graveled path. It certainly wasn’t what I’d picture as the heavier battle run of a Confederate soldier—or any Union soldier either….

Oh shit!

No sooner than I uttered my own girlish yelp in surprise, I heard the same frigging chuckle from yesterday afternoon. I kept my nerve long enough to snap a couple of pictures. Then, I scurried out of the graveyard, drawing plenty of unwanted attention from my peers as I inadvertently slammed the gate shut before running to catch up with everyone else.

But I believe anybody present that night would’ve done the same damned thing. Especially, when the laughter and footsteps soon resumed their pursuit of me.

***

“You’re sure you didn’t hear any of what went on back there?”