Widely Scattered Ghosts

By Malcolm R. Campbell

A readers' advisory for this collection of nine stories forecasts widely scattered ghosts with a chance of rain. Caution is urged at the following uncertain places: an abandoned mental hospital, the woods behind a pleasant subdivision, a small fishing village, a mountain lake, a long-closed theater undergoing restoration, a feared bridge over a swampy river, a historic district street at dusk, the bedroom of a girl who waited until the last minute to write her book report from an allegedly dead author, and the woods near a conjure woman's house.

In effect from the words "light of the harvest moon was brilliant" until the last phrase "forever rest in peace," this advisory includes—but may not be limited to—the Florida Panhandle, northwest Montana, central Illinois, and eastern Missouri.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas-Jacob Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386053576

Book preview

Widely Scattered Ghosts

Collected Stories

by

Malcolm R. Campbell

Copyright 2018 Malcolm R. Campbell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief quotations in a review.

These stories are works of fiction. While some of the place names may be real, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Thomas-Jacob Publishing, LLC

[e-mail]

USA

For my two inquisitive granddaughters, Freya and Beatrice

Contents

Moonlight and Ghosts

Map Maker

Sweetbay Magnolia

High Country Painter

The Opera House Ghosts

Cora’s Crossing

The Lady of the Blue Hour

Patience, I Presume

Haints in the Woods

Acknowledgements

About the Author

More Works by Malcolm R. Campbell

Moonlight and Ghosts

THE LIGHT OF the harvest moon was brilliant all over the Florida Panhandle. It released the shadows from Tallahassee’s hills, found the sandy roads and sawtooth palmetto sheltering blackwater rivers flowing through pine forests and swamps toward the gulf and, farther westward along the barrier islands, that far-reaching light favored the foam on the waves following the incoming tide. Neither lack of diligence nor resolve caused that September 1985 moon to remain blind to the grounds of the old hospital between the rust-stained walls and the barbed wire fence, for the trash trees and wild azalea were unrestrained, swings and slides stood dour and suffocated in the thicket-choked playground, humus and the detritus of long-neglect filled the cracked therapy wading pool, and fallen gutters, and shingles and broken window panes covered the deeply buried dead that had been left behind.

Can you see anything? asked Alice as they slipped through a ragged gap in the fence.

Your blonde hair, he said.

She hooked her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and stayed close.

If you can see it, the police can see it, she whispered. Your intuition brought us here, but I’ll be the one picked up for trespassing. Is the building haunted like they say?

Yes, but not like they say.

What do they say?

The ghost hunters have Hollywooded up their stories about the Starshine Hospital and Developmental Center, he said. Careful—these briars aren’t friendly.

Can ghosts and cops smell blood?

Yes.

We’re in the heart of darkness. Once we’re lost for all eternity, the thorns in my arms won’t matter. We’re en route somewhere specific, right?

My feet know the way.

He led her out of the tangle of thorns and, freed of camouflage, the pale walls of the five-story building rose up into the moonlight just short of the stars. The driveway leading to the former emergency room entrance must have been hit by bombs. Beer cans, broken glass, and unidentifiable trash were strewn up and down the cracked sidewalks and beneath the porte-cochere. A ripped sign over the chained doors said ‘EMERG’.

This might be a good time to run like hell, said Alice.

No ghosts so far, said Randy. He turned his flashlight on and off quickly. The sidewalk is relatively clear. Let’s use the south entrance.

You once told me glowing stories about your unit here, said Alice. Why did you leave?

I wasn’t strong enough to stay.

Explain.

The state chose to spend money on everyone but those labeled as retarded, the term used before ‘developmentally disabled’ became a better designation. When the legislature cut our funding, Starshine began to die. Programs were scaled back, salaries were reevaluated, things broke and weren’t fixed, the food didn’t taste as good, the staff didn’t care as much, best practices were replaced by neglect, stories of abuse and mismanagement began to circulate, and the community saw every staff member as part of a problem it had paid us to keep out of sight and out of mind. So, when my salary fell into the gutter and collection agencies began hounding me, I left and found something else.

That makes sense.

To me, yes. I had trouble explaining my going away to Brenda, Carol, Mable, Martha, Annie, Linda, Jane and Susan.

Look, the door is open, said Alice. No wonder they have trouble with vandalism.

The south door was once painted white. Now it was a multicolor maze of overlapping and badly spelled graffiti viewpoints about sex, drugs, cops, and ghosts.

Welcome to Starshine, he said.

Thank you, she said warmly and with an equal amount of syrupy sarcasm.

You go first so I can follow your blonde hair.

I think not.

When he pushed the door shut, its scraping, squalling protest was loud enough to wake the dead. The erratic draft in the stairwell gave him the impression the building itself was gasping for breath. He didn’t hear any of the screams, cries, and rattling chains the ghost hunters promised to thrill seekers exploring the old hospital, but the wind carried muffled whispers similar to those he’d been hearing in his dreams. Do you smell urine? she asked.

We’re probably standing in it.

They turned on their flashlights simultaneously. The floor was littered with plaster, but dry as a bone. Wires dangled out of holes in the wall where lighting fixtures once lit up the stairs with 250-watt bulbs and then 100-watt bulbs. They were down to 60-watts when he left.

A clumsy sign made out of red and purple construction paper at the bottom of the stairs displayed the creativity and dark humor of a visitor:

1st Floor – Gates of hell and Misinformation

2nd Floor – Thorazine and Haldol

3rd Floor – Damned and Misbegotten

4th Floor – Lobotomies and Electroshock

5th Floor – Cafeteria and Jumping Off Place

Where to?

Damned and misbegotten, he said.

Okay, she said. Do you hear water running?

Yes. It’s probably a slowly draining puddle of water on the roof or an elephant taking a leak in the stairwell on the cafeteria floor.

Great.

The resignation in her voice triggered doubts. When Alice called him at lunch and suggested they take in a movie, he should have said yes. Right now, they’d be sitting in comfy seats with popcorn and Coke watching Back to the Future instead of climbing back to the past.

They used to call these stairs a Class-5 climb up Mount Purgatory.

So far, only the memory of urine was present, and the depth of the trash and litter had decreased noticeably between the proud and the wrathful.

Here we are, he said, pulling open the stairwell door to the third floor.

The wide hallway with a green and white checkerboard floor extended due west beneath falling ceiling tiles, exposed pipes, and random splashes of moonlight.

Randy, who used to live here?

This floor was for ambulatory retarded and mentally ill residents. Since this place began as a secondary hospital, the mix of wards and private rooms was already out of date for a developmental center when the building was converted to Starshine.

He heard their old song: "We live in Starshine, Our happy Starshine, Where our rooms are filled with carefree play, And we are safe when outside skies are grey."

Do you hear singing?

I’m already spooked; don’t make it worse with jokes.

When she placed her hand on his arm, he pushed a cart out of the way and led her within the small light of their twin flashlight beams past the midway nurse’s station toward the two residential units. The doors to the larger wards were open to strewn beds and tables draped with cobwebs, pipes and electrical conduits.

The twin mahogany doors on the far side of the restrooms and showers were closed.

Though the flowing cursive letters on each door had faded, he could still read the words: "Home A – Longleaf Pine Residence and Home B – Live Oak Residence."

I like the names, she said, as they stopped in front of Home B.

"By the time I left, we referred to Home A as ‘assholes’ and Home B as ‘best.’ The assholes in charge of Home A used aversive behavior modification techniques. We found that the positive approach brought better results."

I don’t understand some people, she said.

Me, neither.

Randy knocked on the Home B door. Alice gasped and grabbed his arm.

What the hell are you doing?

These were homes. We always knocked before entering.

Warn me next time, will you? You scared the crap out of me.

The door’s locked, he said. The rest of the floor looks like it was attacked by thugs with sledgehammers. I’m surprised there’s even a door here.

Now what, my borderline intuitive?

Louder now, the breathy rendition of the old song distracted him long enough for Alice to poke him in the ribs.

I wonder. . . The words trailed off as he reached into the deep side pocket of his Army surplus jacket and extracted a ring of mismatched keys.

You forgot to turn those in, right?

The circumstances remain vague to this day, he said. The brass key slid into the lock easily. Here goes nothing. For Pete’s sake, they didn’t bother to change the lock.

The door opened easily into the gloomy entry hall that led past the dark living room on the left and moonlit kitchen and breakfast nook on the right to a rear hall with four bedrooms and a bath. There was a time when the lights were on and the rooms were filled with people and Live Oak Residence resembled a small suburban house. Now, the home was colder than a walk-in freezer and he heard, or imagined that he heard, someone calling his name.

It’s cold, but homier than I expected, said Alice.

Her flashlight brought the walnut-colored Danish modern sofas, chairs, and credenza up out of the shadows. The TV set was missing from the credenza. His light found an upright vacuum cleaner halfway down the hall, still plugged in, as though the eight residents and three staff left in a hurry, beamed out by the Health and Rehabilitative Services mother ship when it transported Starshine’s people to alien places.

Randy closed the door behind them, an old habit that allowed those inside to pretend that those outside weren’t there.

Let me show you the kitchen first, he said, turning off his flashlight.

The breakfast nook’s exterior wall was mostly made of glass. If those windows gave them a sacred access to the soul of the night, then within the widening scope of Randy’s vision, they were showered with living light that was brilliant all over the heart of Live Oak.

The light released the shadows from the dark canyons remaining after the stove and refrigerator were removed, found the dark-stained kitchen cabinets above the off-white Formica counters and, farther westward superimposed over incoming cirrus clouds, it favored the spider webs draped from the brass chandelier down over the butcher block table still set with stainless steel and Melmac ivy for eight.

The spiders are winning, said Alice.

Randy Camp came back after they took our Starshine away.

Plain-spoken old voices, twin sisters, the archetypal mommies (the psychologists said) who endlessly nattered out parental injunctions from the old scripts, yes, he now knew why they had been disturbing his dreams and his waking moments.

Hello M&M.

Randy, who or what are you talking to?

He grabbed the broom out of the kitchen closet and swept away the curtain of spider webs.

Do you see Mable and Martha now, Alice?

I’m seeing two foggy shapes near the serving dishes at the right-hand end of the table.

She’s almost as bright as a full moon, said Mable. Don’t come around by the windows. There’s a police car on the road.

What happened to you?

Pneumonia took me and diabetes took Martha.

Randy pulled out two chairs next to the counter separating the kitchen from the breakfast nook and waited for Alice to sit down. When she shook her head, he almost smiled at the contrast between the grey-haired M&M sisters in their pale floral dresses and sweaters and Alice towering over them in her tight red sweater and just-as-tight blue jeans.

Nice girls don't show off like that, said Mable.

Randy glanced at Alice.

Did you hear that?

"Are