Ghosts in the House

By J. Dixon Boye

Jack Duncan, a poor copyboy for the Cleveland Tribune, has just learned he is the sole heir of a Southern Plantation just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. It has sat vacant since his Uncle died in 1959. He travels to Georgia to discover his heritage, and initially plans to dispose of the place, but after his arrival, he discovers there are secrets to his ancestry and this house that will change him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463410186

J. Dixon Boye

J. Dixon Boye, AKA Jim Hocum is a Registered Nurse that lives in Greenville, North Carolina. He enjoys reading a wide variety of novels, but recently has felt compelled to writing mystery novels. His love of history comes alive in his writing, which is evident in this book referencing the Civil War and the Underground Railroad. He sticks to his strong value system in his writing by keeping the books clean, making them appropriate for any age. This is his first book, but there are more to come in the future. He lives with his wife of fifteen years, and their two children. Their hobbies include traveling, drama, music, and the love of the outdoors.

Book preview

Chapter One

Jack Duncan sat at his desk in the far corner of the busy newsroom wondering if his life was ever going to turn around. He had worked here at the Cleveland Tribune as a copy boy/ runner for the past four years. His boss, Mr. Ramey had hinted on several different occasions about giving Jack a shot at becoming an investigator, or even a photographer, but it seemed like he did that just to appease Jack and had no real intentions of ever advancing him. Maybe it was because he was only twenty four. He did not know for sure though. That was just a guess. Jack felt like if he were ever given just one chance, he could prove to Mr. Ramey that he had what it took to become a real reporter. He had a very inquisitive mind and the determination to get to the bottom of something once his inquisitiveness had been aroused. If he could have gotten Mr. Ramey to see that and give him his shot, he knew he would have made his mother proud of him. It was too late for that now though. She had died of ovarian cancer the year before. Now there was no family in his life; any brothers or sisters, aunts or uncles, not even his father. Jack never knew his father. His mother had said that his dad had run off right after she told him that they were going to have a baby and she had never heard from him since. That had been twenty four years ago. His dad had never even tried to contact them or anything, and Jack’s mom never talked about him. It had just been the two of them and now even that stable part of his life was gone.

His mother had tried to raise him the best that she could, but when you are a single mother without a higher education, the lower paying jobs are all that you could hope for. She had actually worked two jobs for about as long as Jack could remember. The dayshift job was as a cleaning lady at the Howard Johnson just down the road from where they lived. She would work there, five days a week from six in the morning until two in the afternoon, then come home and try to get a little rest before Jack came home. She would then get ready for her second job, which was as a waitress at a Shoney’s Inn about ten minutes from their house. She worked there from four until midnight. Most nights she did pretty well with regards to tips, sometimes bringing home fifty dollars or so, but other times, almost nothing. The two of them did manage to get by though. They were helped out from time to time by one of the local churches that were trying to help the poor and the needy. Jack did not feel poor, whatever that meant. Most of the time there was food on the table, even if some of it did come from Styrofoam Shoney’s containers. His mom usually told him that, they were just going to throw this out anyway. She would bring home chicken, green beans, corn, mac and cheese, and various other entrees’, along with various puddings, slices of cake or pies, and different kinds of fruit.

Occasionally, they would find a bag of potatoes or other canned foodstuff in a paper sack on the porch with just a simple note in it that said, God Bless. Jack especially liked when he found apples or oranges, which was usually around Christmas time. In those small brown bags, there would almost always be a bar of chocolate candy, which was a real treat, considering that they could not afford such things. Occasionally they would find an envelope taped to the door with some money inside. Nothing huge, just ten or twenty dollars, but every little bit helped. Somehow, his mother always found a way for there to be a present or two under their small tree with his name on it. It would not usually be a toy, but sometimes it might be. Most often though, it was a new pair of shoes, or a warm coat, wrapped in used newspapers. When he would ask her where her new coat was, she would just simply smile, rub her threadbare coat and tell him that she did not need one, that the one that she had was good enough for a while longer.

Before the start of every school year, he and his mother would walk down to the Salvation Army store where she would pick out some new clothes for herself and Jack. He was almost always so amazed that the stuff was so cheap. Of course, at that time, he did not realize just what the Salvation Army was. It was not until much later in life that he came to realize that it was a second hand store and that the clothes that he received and thought were so nice were ones that someone else had discarded as junk. His mother never let on though that things were tough. She always tried to instill in him that he was a wonderful blessing from God and that they should be grateful for all their blessings. No matter how tough things became, she would always greet him with a huge smile and a kiss on the cheek when he came home from school. She wanted to know about his day, and how things went. She wanted to know what new thing he had learned that day, and she always encouraged him to study hard and get a good education. He guessed that is where he got his inquisitive nature from, his thirst for knowledge.

Sitting at his desk now, with the tears rolling down his face, Jack could hardly believe that it had been over a year already since she had died. She had not been sick long. At first, she did not even realize that anything was wrong. She had started to lose a little weight and he noticed that she seemed a little more tired than usual, but just figured that it was because she had been working two jobs for so long that the strain was starting to catch up with her. Jack did notice that her appetite had seemed diminished, but whenever he asked her about it, she would just say that she was tired and needed some rest.

When his mother began developing black circles under her eyes, vomiting, abdominal pain, and started stumbling more frequently, Jack insisted that she get checked out. She had told him that they did not have the money and that she was just tired, but he would not let up on her, so one day the two of them walked down to the free clinic on the corner, where she was checked out. They worked her in, drew some blood and took some X-rays, before directing them to return to the lobby to wait.

Jack could still remember the look on her face and hear the words of the doctor when he told them that his mother had ovarian cancer. It was as if someone had slapped both of them in the face. At first his mother just sat and starred, but finally, in a small whisper, with tears streaming down her face, she had asked him how long she had. He tried to reassure her that no one knew for sure, but that his best guess would be less than six months, because it was so advanced. She had lasted three.

Jack had been there for her every day, just like she had always been for him. He attended to her every need. He stroked her head with cool wash clothes, fixed her soups whenever she asked for it, and even helped her wash up a little. He quit the job at the car wash that he had had since graduating from high school so that he could be there for her all the time, just in case she needed anything. He had never liked that job anyway, washing cars in the hot sun all day or in the freezing cold. He would keep the part time job that he had at the newspaper office. He liked that job better anyway.

People from the local church would stop by to ask if there was anything that they could do, but Jack just thanked them and told them no, that they were doing fine. He never understood why they stopped by. It was not like he and his mother went to that church anyway. They had gone there once or twice when they were having a special play or a dinner or something, but that was the extent of it. He was not rude however. His mother had taught him better than that. He just smiled, thanked them and told them that they were doing fine. Later on, he would find a bag of groceries sitting outside their door, sometimes with a few dollars in it and sometimes not. He suspected it was from the church, but his mind was on his mother, not on church.

The last month had been the hardest for Jack. His mother was so weak that she hardly even spoke. She still tried to smile at him and he smiled back. He could see the worry behind her eyes and he was sure that she could see his, even though he tried to hide it. The nice Doctor at the clinic had made arrangements for a nurse to come in three times a week to check up on his mother, so she was relatively pain free. Jack had told him that they could not afford the nurse, but he had just smiled and told Jack not to worry about it, that it was already taken care of. The nurse would come on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, check her vital signs, medication and ask if there was anything that they needed. Jack would politely tell her, no, but thank you. It would only be later, after his mother had died that he would realize just how much he appreciated that nurse, the Doctor too. Someday, he told himself he would get around to telling them how much that meant to him and find some way to pay them back for all the kindness that they had showed.

A few minutes before his mother died, she had motioned for him that she wanted something to write with, so he excused himself from her bedside where he had been every moment for the past couple of weeks, and went to find a pencil and a piece of paper. When he returned to her bedside, his mother had her eyes closed. At first he thought that she had already passed away, but as he approached, she weakly opened her eyes. He gently placed the pencil in her small, cold hand and the paper on her lap. She was so weak that she had trouble holding the pencil. It kept slipping from her grasp and he started to remove it and the paper, but she almost imperceptibly shook her head no, so he, not knowing what else to do, sat and gently stroked her hair. Without even seemingly looking at the paper, she began to barely move the pencil. She made what looked like scratches for the longest time before the pencil slipped out of her hand and rolled to the blanket that was covering her. Jack gently removed the paper from her lap and retrieved the pencil before placing them on the small nightstand beside of her bed.

When Jack turned back to see if she needed anything else, she had closed her eyes for the last time and had breathed her last. There was an incredible look of peace on her face that he had not noticed in a long while. As the tears streamed down his face and chin, he leaned over and gently kissed the top of her head. I love you mother was all that he could manage before he broke down and great sobs escaped his throat. He laid his head on the bed right beside of her and wept for what seemed like hours. His mother, his whole world and the best friend that he had ever known was gone in an instant.

After what seemed like hours, Jack remembered the paper that his mother had scribbled on. Wiping the tears from his red, swollen eyes, he gingerly reached for the paper, not sure that he would even be able to read it, in part because of where he had been crying and also because of where she had not seemed to even put enough pressure on the paper to make a mark. The scribbles were extremely faint and he needed more light to even begin to make out what she had written so after kissing her head another time, he carried the paper over toward the window. He could not believe that she had written as much as she had, but as he began to read, he knew that she had meant everything that she had written;

"My son, my beloved Jack, I love you with all of my heart. I have loved you from the moment that you were first born and I have loved you every day of your life. I know that this is going to be hard on you, but I want you to know that I know that you will be alright. I am so proud of the man that you have become and I am going to miss seeing the great man that you are going to be. You would make any mother proud.

Never be afraid to spread your wings and follow your dreams because it is there that you learn to fly. Never forget where you come from, but never lose the hunger to learn. Live life to the fullest and make every day special, because there are so few of them.

Do not waste time crying for me. Miss me, remember me, love me and hold me in your heart forever. I love you, my son, Mom."

Jack could contain the tears no longer and as the torrent ran down his face, he sagged to the floor and held his mother’s letter to his chest. He would miss her, more than he would ever be able to admit, and yes, he would cry for her from time to time. He figured that he would cry more for the fact of his loss than for hers, but he could not help it. She had been more than just his mother; she had been his best friend, his shoulder to cry on when he needed to. She had been his inspiration for working so hard in school. He would go on. He would make his life great, for her memory. He would hold her close, and he would never forget.

That had been over a year ago, but the memory was as fresh today as it had been the day that she had died. Sitting here at his desk, with the tears rolling down his face, he guessed that if anyone saw him he would look pretty ridiculous, but he did not care. Other people’s opinion of him did not matter a whole lot. It had been a tough year. Mr. Ramey had let him take off for a couple of weeks after his mother had died. The nurse who had made the visits every other day checked on him often, just to see how he was doing, she had said, and there seemed to be someone from that small church dropping by at least once a week. He sort of wished that they would just leave him alone, but on the other hand, he was grateful that someone seemed to care about him. Other than his mother, and his best friend, Bob Thompson, no one ever seemed to have.

Bob and he had met in the first grade and had went to school together and now, both worked here at the paper for Mr. Ramey. Bob was also a runner, or a copyboy, as Mr. Ramey liked to call them. Mostly they carried articles from the reporters to Tina Carlson, Mr. Ramey’s secretary, and messages back to the reporters. However, they also helped load the trucks at five in the morning with stacks and stacks of papers headed to gas stations, paper machines and restaurants. They brought coffee, pens, fresh bundles of paper and whatever else was needed to the star reporters so that the news could get out as quickly as possible.

Sitting here at his desk, if you could call it that, was not the norm for Jack. It wasn’t his desk really. It was just the small desk where the communal coffeepot was kept and since getting coffee was one of his jobs, he considered it his desk. Bob worked in the copy room and while they usually ate lunch together, during the day, they saw little of each other.

Getting a chance to actually sit here though was something out of the ordinary, Most of the time, it was run, run, run, from the start of his shift until the end, which was usually somewhere between three and four in the evening. Mr. Ramey was nice enough to work for, but if you were on his payroll, you had to stay busy. He would not stand for sitting around for very long at all. Jack had saw him on more than one occasion tell one of his star reporters to hit the road and go home for sitting at the desk talking on the phone and it not being for the paper. He seemed to admire hard work and dedication. He had heard Mr. Ramey on more than one occasion yell how that he had a paper route when he was just seven years old. He would state that he delivered his papers before school, did his chores, and still never missed his bus. Every day of the week and twice on Sunday, he would say. Jack didn’t know about all of that, but he did his job, worked hard and seemed to fit in. Still, he would have given anything to be able to become a reporter or even a photographer.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearing four in the afternoon, so he decided to check with Tina just to see if she had any last minute chores for him to do, and if not, he decided that he would head on home. It had been a long day and an even longer week and he was tired. He figured that some of it may have been the fact that it had been a year since his mother had died and he still missed her. He probably always would too. As he headed for Tina’s desk, he noticed that she was gathering her things as well, so he guessed that there would be nothing else required of him that day.

Tina, do you need anything else before I head home? he asked.

Oh, no, she replied. We are fine. Have a great night and I’ll see you in the morning Jack.

Yeah, you too Tina, Jack replied as he headed for the small broom closet where he hung his jacket each morning. He retrieved his jacket and headed home. He did not really want to go there, but he had little choice. On what little he made, it was not like he had a lot of options. He could not afford to move, and really would not have wanted to even if he could. This was the home that he grew up in, the place where he had become an adult, and the place where he had told his mother goodbye. There was such sadness about the place now, and yet, it held so many memories. There were the wonderful Christmases that they had shared, the birthdays, the kitchen table where he had always did his homework, and the small television where he and his mother had watched many a new year come in. It was where he and his mother had spent the last twenty three years of his life. It was just so empty now without her waiting on him. How he wanted to come home, walk through the door and see her sitting there on their old, brown couch waiting on him with the huge, warm smile that he so loved. He longed to hear her voice as she told him hello and asked him about his day and his job, which she always did regardless of how tired she happened to be, but as he slowly opened the door, only the eerier quietness awaited him. He guessed that he would get used to that emptiness one day, but right now, he hated it. It felt as if he were alone in the world. Even having a best friend like Bob could not fill in the loneliness. Bob had spent a few nights camped out on the couch after Jack’s mom had died. He said that he did it just so Jack would not feel so alone, but Jack believed that he had done it because he had been afraid that Jack would do something stupid like harm himself. He had tried to assure Bob that he was fine and that he would be alright, but it seemed to make his friend feel better about staying there for a few nights. It seemed like it made Bob feel like he was doing something important by being there for him even though he really would have rather been alone, so, for the sake of Bob’s feelings, Jack consented and let him spend a week there. Bob had asked him if he was going to be alright, and Jack assured him that he would get through the death of his mother and be fine. Looking back on the moment later, Jack realized that Bob had just been trying to help. He appreciated the gesture more than he could ever know.

As he walked into the house, that same deathly quietness that had been there for the past year greeted him again. He did not know if he would ever get used to it. It was such a lonely place now. He had grabbed the mail from the box beside the door on his way in and as he walked past the kitchen table, he dropped it there. He would get around to looking at it after he ate. He rarely received any important mail anyway. There was the usual stuff like the power bill and the trash bill. Jack did not have a car, so he did not have to worry about that bill, nor an insurance bill. No one wrote him any letters, and he never ordered any magazines, so very little mail ever was in the box. Today however, there was a large, manila envelope. He quickly glanced at the name on it and saw that it was addressed to him, but the return address was from a Sherriff’s department in a place called Mason Georgia. Strange, he thought. He did not know anyone from Georgia, and as far as he knew, he did not have any relatives that lived there either. His curiosity rose and just as he was