image in the window…damn, it really did look like a face. But I sincerely hoped it wasn’t. It looked an awful lot like Johnny... his face, full of anguish and acute sorrow.
I shuddered.
For the first time ever, the smothered chop steak didn’t quite hit the spot. I couldn’t quit thinking about the photo and how Johnny and Brenda looked when I last saw them…weeping bullet wounds and intense terror, while the blood-halo around Candi’s surprised expression spread across the kitchen floor.
***
The Carnton Plantation is probably Middle Tennessee’s biggest Civil War tourist attraction. One of its esteemed owners, Carrie McGavock, played a gallant role in the historic Battle of Franklin. Credited with offering her home up as a military hospital, she later took it upon herself to recover hundreds of individual soldiers who were buried in mass trenches on her property. Successful in identifying many of these fallen heroes of the Confederacy, they are interred within the graveyard she created for them, sectioned by the southern regiments they represented going into the battle.
This brings us to our nefarious ambitions tonight.
Well, maybe that’s a bit strong. More accurately…we are gathered in the graveyard afterhours. After dark. After the Plantation tourist center has closed up and the Carnton’s employees have gone home for the day.
We’re trespassing. Violators of Franklin’s penal code.
But I like to think of us as violators with a noble cause. Ambitious seekers of paranormal truths and century-old secrets only revealed in the dead of night.
Our plan tonight is this: First, sneak into the graveyard. Then, after spending an hour or so exploring and gathering evidence in video, audio, and from our own sensory perceptions—both physical and extrasensory, we will move on to exploring the grounds surrounding the house.
The first phase can merit a stern warning, if we’re caught. But the second phase of tonight’s agenda is actually the one that could get us arrested by Franklin’s finest, and our asses thrown in jail for the entire weekend. Yeah, that’s made me think twice on more than one occasion when we’ve done this before. But when Fiona runs an investigation, everyone better get used to the fact she likes living on the edge. Even more than her rock n’ roll husband does.
So, we are here. Seven figures clad in dark clothing, carrying cameras, voice recorders, EMF detectors, and flashlights. After traveling in two SUVs—Tom’s and Jackie’s—we parked a quarter of a mile from the graveyard. Sprawling mansions border what’s left of the battlefield and plantation.
“Man, did y’all feel the temperature drop just now?” whispered Justin, shortly after we crept inside the wrought-iron gate that marks the graveyard’s main entrance. “Last I checked it was still your typical humid July night back there in the parking lot.”
He pointed back to the small parking lot that separated the graveyard from the entrance road that leads to the plantation house.
“Yeah, I’d say it’s a noticeable drop,” I agreed.
I looked over at Tom and Tony, and they nodded while testing the settings for the infrared camera and a new digital EVP recorder Tony picked up that morning before work, using the proceeds from his latest bonus check from our employer. Mine has been set aside for the kids, and Fiona and I plan to spend some of that cash tomorrow afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese’s and a matinee movie.
“It could just be the fact we stepped under a few tall trees that have prevented the sun’s rays from warming the ground, as well as the very air around us,” offered Angie from behind me.
She and Jackie flanked Fiona, who now giggled.
“Or it could be that even the spirits quiver before your powerful presence and fearsome strength, Muscle Mutt!”
Just teasing, of course, but even in darkness I could’ve sworn she glowered at me, as a warm tingling sensation suddenly traveled up my
I shuddered.
For the first time ever, the smothered chop steak didn’t quite hit the spot. I couldn’t quit thinking about the photo and how Johnny and Brenda looked when I last saw them…weeping bullet wounds and intense terror, while the blood-halo around Candi’s surprised expression spread across the kitchen floor.
***
The Carnton Plantation is probably Middle Tennessee’s biggest Civil War tourist attraction. One of its esteemed owners, Carrie McGavock, played a gallant role in the historic Battle of Franklin. Credited with offering her home up as a military hospital, she later took it upon herself to recover hundreds of individual soldiers who were buried in mass trenches on her property. Successful in identifying many of these fallen heroes of the Confederacy, they are interred within the graveyard she created for them, sectioned by the southern regiments they represented going into the battle.
This brings us to our nefarious ambitions tonight.
Well, maybe that’s a bit strong. More accurately…we are gathered in the graveyard afterhours. After dark. After the Plantation tourist center has closed up and the Carnton’s employees have gone home for the day.
We’re trespassing. Violators of Franklin’s penal code.
But I like to think of us as violators with a noble cause. Ambitious seekers of paranormal truths and century-old secrets only revealed in the dead of night.
Our plan tonight is this: First, sneak into the graveyard. Then, after spending an hour or so exploring and gathering evidence in video, audio, and from our own sensory perceptions—both physical and extrasensory, we will move on to exploring the grounds surrounding the house.
The first phase can merit a stern warning, if we’re caught. But the second phase of tonight’s agenda is actually the one that could get us arrested by Franklin’s finest, and our asses thrown in jail for the entire weekend. Yeah, that’s made me think twice on more than one occasion when we’ve done this before. But when Fiona runs an investigation, everyone better get used to the fact she likes living on the edge. Even more than her rock n’ roll husband does.
So, we are here. Seven figures clad in dark clothing, carrying cameras, voice recorders, EMF detectors, and flashlights. After traveling in two SUVs—Tom’s and Jackie’s—we parked a quarter of a mile from the graveyard. Sprawling mansions border what’s left of the battlefield and plantation.
“Man, did y’all feel the temperature drop just now?” whispered Justin, shortly after we crept inside the wrought-iron gate that marks the graveyard’s main entrance. “Last I checked it was still your typical humid July night back there in the parking lot.”
He pointed back to the small parking lot that separated the graveyard from the entrance road that leads to the plantation house.
“Yeah, I’d say it’s a noticeable drop,” I agreed.
I looked over at Tom and Tony, and they nodded while testing the settings for the infrared camera and a new digital EVP recorder Tony picked up that morning before work, using the proceeds from his latest bonus check from our employer. Mine has been set aside for the kids, and Fiona and I plan to spend some of that cash tomorrow afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese’s and a matinee movie.
“It could just be the fact we stepped under a few tall trees that have prevented the sun’s rays from warming the ground, as well as the very air around us,” offered Angie from behind me.
She and Jackie flanked Fiona, who now giggled.
“Or it could be that even the spirits quiver before your powerful presence and fearsome strength, Muscle Mutt!”
Just teasing, of course, but even in darkness I could’ve sworn she glowered at me, as a warm tingling sensation suddenly traveled up my
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