Teenage Fantasies and Small-Town Ghosts - a short story

While attending college in Louisiana, my friend Larry and I decided to hitchhike to the small Webster Parish town of Cotton Valley. Larry’s grandparents lived in the former oil and gas boomtown and had invited us down for the weekend. The trip there was non-eventful, the trip home a story all its own. I’ll save that account for another time and tell you about our encounter with a ghost in the Cotton Valley cemetery instead.

Teenage Fantasies and Small-Town Ghosts

My buddy Larry had a twin sister named Leeann, who was also visiting her grandparents for the weekend. Her girlfriend Cindy had a car, and don’t ask me why we hitchhiked to Cotton Valley instead of riding with them, though I’m sure it had something to do with sibling rivalry.

Larry’s grandparents, I’ll call them the Bloomers, had a sizeable wood-framed house with many rooms that they had once rented to itinerant oil field workers. By the sixties, Cotton Valley had a population of less than two thousand. Still an oil town, it was no longer a boomtown. All of the Bloomer’s extra rooms were empty, and Larry and I had our pick of the lot.

Like her brother Larry, Leeann was tall and dark. That’s where their appearances diverged. Leeann looked like a young starlet and had a body like Jayne Mansfield. Tiny Cindy was as pretty as Leeann but was blond, svelte, and had a profound and lusty voice that belied her size.

I was in my teens, and the girls could have both been homely as sin, and I would still have had visions of a potential weekend liaison. Leeann and Larry, as I mentioned, had unresolved family differences, and my daydreams were squelched shortly after the girls arrived. I got my first clue when she and Cindy took rooms as far away as possible from us on the other side of the large house.

Friday night and most of Saturday passed without Larry and me seeing much of Cindy and Leeann as they were off in the car and we were on foot. At the time, Cotton Valley had neither a movie house nor any other form of recreation, and Larry and I soon grew bored. I managed to stem my boredom by keeping a running journal written in ink on a sheet of paper that I kept in my shirt pocket.

The seclusion Larry and I felt had also worked on Leeann and Cindy because shortly after a sit-down dinner with the grandparents, they asked us to go for a spin with them in the car. We quickly agreed.

We drove away from the grandparent’s house after dinner, Larry and I in the back seat of Cindy’s Fairlane. As I glanced over the bench at the half-hidden riches beneath Leeann’s plunging blouse and Cindy’s short skirt hiked high on her tanned thighs, my daydreams quickly re-emerged. They needn’t have.

We soon stopped at a house on the far edge of town and picked up Jim. Cindy and Jim, we learned, had met the prior semester at college. After flunking out, he’d moved back to Cotton Valley to work in the oil patch.

Cindy’s beau was a handsome fellow with a lifeguard’s tan. When Leeann climbed into the backseat with Larry and me and told me to push over to the middle of the bench seat, all my sexual fantasies flew out the car’s open window, and I could tell by her frown that I should keep my hands to myself. I thought so when she crossed her legs and pointed them away from me toward the door. I knew when she wrapped her arms tightly around her ample bosom.

It was just beginning to grow dark as we drove away from Jim’s house. A; good thing as I had trouble keeping my gaze away from Leeann’s ample body. Miniskirts were the vogue then, and the short garment barely qualified her as fully clothed. Feeling Larry’s cold stare over my shoulder, I somehow wrested my gaze from her gorgeous legs and luscious breasts, except for an occasional stolen glance.

There isn’t, as mentioned, much to do in Cotton Valley, and we were soon headed out of town on a stretch of lonely blacktop. By now, it was pitch dark, except for the stars and light of a full yellow moon. Jim and Cindy had a bit of a tiff earlier in the day. We didn’t know it then, but their relationship was near an end. Luckily for the rest of us, they remained cordial the remainder of the evening, and Jim covered up their quarrel skillfully by becoming our local tour guide.

“Slow down, and I’ll show you the hanging tree.” Cindy touched the brakes and pulled over as Jim pointed at a large oak tree on the side of the blacktop. A single large branch stretched across the road. Jim told us the tragic story of the rape of a white girl by a local black boy and the resultant retribution performed by an element of the town’s white population. ‘They buried his body in the cemetery up the road, and he supposedly still haunts it, especially on a full moon like tonight.”

“Have you ever seen the ghost?” Leeann asked.

There was a swagger in Jim’s voice when he said, “Lots of times. Once, it waved a knife at a friend and me.”

“Did it scare you?” Larry asked.

“No way,” Jim said

As we sat on the side of the road, listening to Jim’s story, a gentle summer breeze wafted the giant tree’s leaves and branches, causing shadows to dance across the warm blacktop. We didn't comment as Cindy applied the gas and started toward the cemetery.

As I recall the short ride to the suspected rapist’s place of internment, I realize that Jim probably had visions of mending fences with Cindy and perhaps a romantic connection induced by her anxiety at possibly seeing a ghost. When we reached the cemetery, I’m sure the visualization we soon saw caused his thoughts of romance to disappear out the open window, along with his phony boldness.

The little cemetery lay off the blacktop and had a small dirt parking lot. Cindy pulled into the lot and turned off the car’s lights. The night was moon-bright. It took only a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. A fence of wrought iron surrounded the cemetery, stretching before us like a silent metropolis of the lifeless.

“Hear it?” Jim asked. “The dead boy’s soul is calling out to us.”

I couldn’t hear anything except semis passing on a distant highway and a chorus of crickets and tree frogs. Still, Jim’s words evoked a certain anxiety. Cindy also felt it as she slid toward the car's center and closer to Jim. Leeann uncrossed her legs and grabbed my hand in a firm clasp. I couldn’t see Larry’s eyes but knew he must be frowning. We had all just noticed something that none of us could explain.

Leeann clutched my hand tighter when Cindy said, “Oh my God! What is that?”

Before us, an eerie blue light rose from the center of the little cemetery, stretching like the creepy luminescent beam of an ethereal spotlight pointing high into the sky. A slight breeze caused the shaft to fluctuate like the luminous arms of a ghostly hula dancer.

We all sat silently, waiting for the image to disappear so our minds could promptly deny what we had seen. It didn’t happen that way.

Talk of the ghost had elicited Jim’s desired effect on Cindy. By now, she was practically sitting in his lap, her arms clutched desperately around his neck. Jim didn’t seem to notice as his eyes in the reflected moonlight were big as proverbial saucers, his arms gripping Cindy as tightly as she held him.

They weren’t the only ones caught up in the spooky moment. Leeann clamped my right hand with both of her own. She couldn’t have drawn any closer without occupying the space where I sat. What Larry was thinking about the situation briefly crossed my mind.

“Let’s get out of here,” Leeann said.

Larry was having none of it. “No way, we need to find out what’s causing that light. I don’t believe for one minute it’s a ghost.”

When no one responded to his statement, Larry opened the back door and started for the cemetery gate. I was more interested in Leeann’s pressing warmth and tender softness than the ghost, but it quickly returned to my attention when the door slammed behind him. Concerned for her brother, Leeann released her grip and pushed me toward the door.

“You’re his friend. You go with him.”

When I glanced at Big Jim, his wide-open stare quickly told me he would be of no help. Leeann’s frown and folded arms had returned, so I opened the back door and followed Larry into the night.

“Larry, where are you?” I said.

“In front of you,” he said in a whisper. “The light is coming from over that rise.”

The little country cemetery was well kept, grass trimmed around the tombs. Some of the headstones were large and ornate. Most were old and crumbling, many little more than wooden crosses and rectangles of worn concrete. We needed no flashlight as there were few trees to block the stars and the bright glow of the full moon. A graveled path led up the hill toward the gleaming blue light.

Larry and I were in ROTC, and both were experienced in night maneuvers. The ghostly light that continued to beam from the center of the cemetery didn’t frighten my large companion, and I felt more anticipation than fear. As we crested the slight rise, we both saw the origin of the eerie light.

Larry halted in his tracks and held up his hand for me to stop. Moonlight was shining directly on a large piece of blue foil once used to wrap a flower pot. The light reflected off the foil and onto the polished marble surface of a headstone. The resultant glow shone like the beam of a spotlight straight up into the sky.

The light wasn’t all we saw. In the darkness, just beyond the spot where the little hill began to drop in elevation, an almost indistinguishable shadowy figure came into view. It remained a moment in one place before continuing slowly toward us, its amorphous shape wafting in the gentle summer breeze. Larry stepped forward to investigate. A shout from behind caused us both to turn and look.

“Larry, where are you?” It was Leeann. Worried about her brother, she had followed us. We watched as she picked her way up the little hill. Just as she reached us, she froze, put her hand to her mouth, and said, “Oh my God!”

A vivid flash of summer lightning accompanied Leeann’s exclamation, followed quickly by a clap of thunder that seemed as if it were right on top of us. Leeann didn’t appear to notice. She was staring at a spot behind us, still grasping her open mouth with her left hand as she pointed straight ahead with her right. Need I add how wide her eyes had grown?

Another flash of lightning lit the sky as Larry and I turned to see what she was pointing at. A sudden summer rainstorm had moved quickly overhead, already covering the stars and moon with puffy clouds. As lightning dissipated, only gloom remained, though not until Larry and I saw a shadowy nimbus floating up the hill toward us.

Before either of us could react, Leeann grabbed me from behind and screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to squeeze my breath out. As she did, clouds began unloading with heavy drops of warm precipitation lasting for a minute. Dark clouds passed with the rain, again revealing a clear sky with stars and full moonlight. Whatever we thought we had witnessed had disappeared along with the momentary storm.

“Did you see it?” Leeann asked, her long arms still wrapped tightly around my chest.

“I saw something, though I don’t know what it was,” I said.

When Larry said, “Just a low-lying cloud,” Leeann looked incredulous.

“My ass!” she said. “It was shaped like a man coming up the hill after us. You saw it, didn’t you, Eric?”

“I saw something. We turned away when you screamed.”

“It was only a cloud,” Larry said as he led us back to the Fairlane.

Leeann had already begun disbelieving her eyes as she followed her brother down the hill. I didn’t know what to believe, though I was already missing the warmth of her breasts against my back. We had to bang on the car door for Jim and Cindy to let us in.

“Did you see it?” Cindy asked.

“Yes, just before the rain started,” Leeann said.

“What rain?” Jim asked. “It’s been clear as a bell since you left the car.”

“It sure as hell rained on us, didn’t it, Larry?”

“For a minute or so,” he said.

Cindy and Jim stared at him and then at me. “You don’t look wet. Are you guys pulling our legs?”

My shirt and pants were almost dry, and I could do little more than shrug my shoulders. When we dropped Jim off at his house, talk of the ghost had ended.

Cindy and Leeann were gone the following day before Larry and I ate breakfast. Larry didn’t want to talk about the ghost except to say it was “bullshit,” I never spoke to either Leeann or Cindy again.

The mind plays tricks, and sometimes, what you think you see is nothing more than an invention of your imagination. Still, as Larry and I waited on the edge of I-20, trying to thumb a ride, I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my scribbled journal. Out of clean clothes, I was wearing the same shirt and jeans as the previous night. Something prompted me to unfold the soggy journal and look at it, and I was shocked when I did.

Rain or sweat had caused the blue ink to bleed on the paper, rendering my scribbling indecipherable except for one word. In large blurry letters, it spelled out WRAITH.

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Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma, where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He authored the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans, the Paranormal Cowboy Series, and the Oyster Bay Mystery Series. Please check it out on his Amazon author page. You might also like checking out his Facebook page.