“This is the last guest room,” Rebecca said, opening the door wide. She turned on the light, and I found myself looking at an imposing bed that had a small wooden half canopy protruding from the very high headboard, a detail that made it look like a throne. A vintage quilt covered the mattress, along with needlepoint throw pillows which made the bed only slightly less intimidating.
I spotted another set of silver picture frames on the dresser, ones I immediately recognized from our store. The pictures were old tintypes of a man and woman, authentic and completely unremarkable, yet instinctively, I wanted to draw back from the frames in unaccountable sadness.
“What happens in this room?” I asked.
“It’s odd,” Rebecca said. “The last room gives guests the willies, although no one has reported being hurt – thank heavens! But in this room, it’s almost as if something gradually drains the happiness out of the guests who stay here. Guests have cut their trip short, saying that they just didn’t feel like vacationing anymore. One woman told me that she broke down sobbing for no reason. My cleaning lady says the same thing.”
“So the problems have been witnessed by people other than just guests?” I asked. It had occurred to me that an unscrupulous guest might be tempted to concoct a story to get a discount or a refund.
Rebecca nodded. “Since the problems began, I’ve had to replace the cleaning position twice. The woman I have now, Cecilia, wears several charms around her neck, but then again, she’s Gullah, and says her people have ways of making peace with the spirits.” She drew a deep breath. “Sometimes when she’s cleaning, I hear her chanting to herself, but honestly, I don’t care what she does as long as she doesn’t quit!”
The Gullah people were descended from runaway or freed slaves who settled in isolated areas along South Carolina’s coast, the area most people call the Lowcountry. Gullah folks are known for their distinctive language, a combination of African and Caribbean languages borrowed from the cultures of the original settlers. One of their old traditions involves ‘root work’, a powerful form of folk magic and healing. The magic is real, and root workers deserve the high degree of respect – and awe – they are accorded. If you’re wise, you take root work very seriously.
I looked around the hallway as Rebecca closed the bedroom door and followed her back downstairs.
The parlor had a magnificent Victorian single-end sofa, with a curving back that was higher on one side than the other, and rich red velvet upholstery edged in dark wood. Fringed lampshades glowed on the table lamps with their elaborate molded bronze stands. Rebecca laughed as she showed me how the big armoire hid a large screen TV and stereo system. A pair of comfortable chairs sat near the fireplace with an end table between them, inviting me to curl up and read.
“It’s lovely,” I said sincerely. “Any incidents in here?”
Rebecca grimaced. “Now, we seem to have incidents everywhere. At first, it was just in the bedrooms.
Then, guests and staffers started experiencing strange things down here as well. And last week, we had a couple of unusual things go on in the garden.”
“Like?”
She sighed. “There was damage to one of the flower beds, but everyone denied doing it, and frankly, I can’t really imagine one of our guests tearing out the geraniums.”
I couldn’t either. “How about your room? Do you have any antiques I should look at up there?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Everything in my room is modern – I brought it from my old house and I’ve had it for years. I put all the good pieces where guests could use and enjoy them.” She looked sheepish.
“As much as I love the antiques, having only modern furniture in my room is a nice break, and it helps me feel like I’ve left work, if that makes sense.”
I nodded. “It does. Any disturbances up there?”
Rebecca hesitated, and I figured she was deciding just how much to trust me. “Not at first,” she said quietly. “But then ‘he’ started showing up.” She had gone quiet and pale. “He?” I asked gently.
She nodded, and exhaled in a rush, as if summoning her courage. “I see a shadow of a man, but it’s too dark to be a regular shadow.” Her eyes pleaded with me for understanding. “Imagine if you cut a silhouette out of black construction paper. No light goes through it. Sometimes, I see him on the stairs.
Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and see the shadow slide out the door, like he’s been watching me.”
“Has your shadow man actually tried to harm anyone?”
“No, but I’m afraid it’s heading that way. A few days ago, I fell on the steps. Only I didn’t trip. I definitely felt someone push me from behind, but there was no one here. One of my guests took an evening walk in the garden, and she said a vicious black dog growled at her. It chased her into the house, but of course, when we went searching for it, the gates were closed and there was no dog.”
“Have you had any reports of strangers, loitering near the place?”
Rebecca frowned. “The day I fell, I happened to look out the front window and I saw a man in black clothing with a broad-brimmed hat near the gate. It stuck in my mind because his clothing seemed odd for the season. I saw him again, the day the shadow dog chased my guest.”
She paused. “At first, I thought he might be new in the neighborhood. But I saw him just a few moments before you arrived, and I tried to catch up with him, but by the time I reached the sidewalk, he was gone.”
That definitely did not bode well, I thought. Shadow men, and now the man with the hat. Not to mention the fact that the incidents seemed to be getting more dangerous. Someone was going to get hurt. Maybe that was the point.
I followed Rebecca into the dining room, and gasped. Dominating the room was a massive mahogany table and an ornate sideboard that gave the bedroom sets real competition when it came to carved ornamentation. The table would easily seat sixteen, and the chairs had leather upholstery and graceful, curved backs.
A huge, heavy server table sat up against one wall. No doubt many a Thanksgiving turkey and sides of sweet potatoes and okra had once waited their turn from that fine piece of furniture. But it was the equally massive sideboard and matching china cupboard that were the stars of the room.
The china cupboard stood at least seven feet tall, with a fan-shaped, intricately carved wooden frill at the top that probably added another foot or so to the height. The back of the cabinet was mirrored, with glass shelves to set off treasured china and decorative objects to their best advantage. The sideboard was probably four feet long and over five feet high, with a wide counter for holding tureens and platters.
The tea set from Trifles and Folly sat on the broad counter, ready for use. The sideboard had a mirrored back above the counter, with carved wooden pillars at each end and another delicate but big wooden frill at the top. Drawers below would have held linens, flatware and other necessities, making it a very solid piece.
“It’s absolutely magnificent,” I whispered.
Rebecca grinned. “We’ve got some nice furniture in the house, but this is the showstopper,” she acknowledged. “My father’s great, great-grandfather was a sea captain, and he did well for himself.
When he brought his bride to their new home, he wanted to make sure its furnishings made a statement to the neighbors that Captain Harrison and his wife were people of quality.”
“I imagine this did the trick,” I said. Part of me longed to run my fingers over the beautiful carvings, but I held back, unsure what kind of psychic image I might receive.
Rebecca nodded. “By all accounts, the captain and his wife were very happy for many years.”
“Until?” Something in her voice told me that the Harrisons’s happiness did not last forever.