Shades of Terror

By Catherine Buggay-Thomas

Sarah Hewett, a young girl, grows up under very strange circumstances. These circumstances are never questioned because as a child she considers this to be the normal way of life. Later in life, as a young adult, Sarah begins to question many aspects of her life. She discovers bizarre facts about her parents and her ancestry. The male members of the Hewett family had been the leaders in a small town in Georgia for centuries past. This new found information leads her on a journey across the country. Sarah traces her history to the far away origination of her ancestral past. The horror of her findings leads her to the Deep South, and to a place that has remained undiscovered and untouched for hundreds of years. The shocking findings leave Sarah teetering on the verge of insanity. What she finds is both terrifying, and dangerous. An accidental occurrence leads Sarah to stumble upon the horrendous and repulsive facts and obsessive actions of her ancestors. The small town is fearful of the Hewett name even to this day and the Hewett properties are thought to be haunted. She finds herself lost and trapped in a place where no one has any idea where she is. Her findings will forever be remembered and documented as the most horrendous aspects of the Hewett reign of terror on a small southern community. This reign of terror and control can be dated back for hundreds and hundreds of years. Sarah is one of the last surviving Hewetts, a name that represents terror, great fear, dominating control and greed to a small Georgia community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483620831

Catherine Buggay-Thomas

My husband Brian and I live in Georgia. This is my fi rst book and I am currently working on my second. It’s our dream to one day travel the National Parks and enjoy nature. How exciting it would be to enjoy the pleasures of writing in the surroundings of a National Park. I enjoyed writing this book so much. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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Copyright © 2013 by Catherine Thomas.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 07/15/2013

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CONTENTS

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

DEDICATED TO MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND

BRIAN THOMAS

MY TWO BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTERS AND

SONS-IN LAW

BRIAN AND JENNIFER BORDERS

MARCUS AND LAUREN RAKESTRAW

AND

ALL EIGHT OF MY GRANDCHILDREN

T he clouds were gloomy, the skies were gray, and the southern air was suffocating; heavy with humidity. This was not quite how Sarah Hewett had imagined her very first venture out on her own.

She was totally alone; leaving everything she had ever known far behind. This gave her that jumpy feeling as if she had consumed too much caffeine. Just the thoughts of leaving brought a shiver of both terror and excitement racing along the course of her spine. She was now very far away from everything that had ever felt familiar or safe to her. This long drive from Ohio to Georgia was Sarah’s very first leap far out into the world all alone, and quite a leap it was! Her entire life had consisted of home, school, and the public library. This journey was the very first time she had ever dared strike away from the safety and familiarity of her lifelong surroundings.

The date was June 17th 2012. This day was one that Sarah had always imagined, and a day that she would never forget. The day after tomorrow would be her 25th birthday! Sarah felt free for the first time in her entire life. She felt as if she had finally become an adult. An adult that was fully capable of making her own choices and her own decisions.

As she drove down the highway in her impeccably clean Lexus, she felt wonderful! Almost as if the world belonged to her. Then almost immediately another feeling began to overcome her. She felt terrified, overwhelmed, and very intimidated. Sarah’s heart pounded and her chest tightened. She shivered as she felt a chilling cold sweat cover her brow. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears and the familiar feelings of weakness and panic welled up inside of her.

Over the past few months Sarah had begun having panic attacks. The feeling of an oncoming panic attack was terrifying. She had learned to recognize and somewhat control the symptoms of an oncoming attack. The anxiety began to engulf her but she shook her head rapidly as if trying to shake it off and return to a feeling of normalcy. She tried to think peaceful and calming thoughts until the feeling subsided.

The doctor had given her medication to help control it, and for the most part it helped. She had also learned to steady her nerves with breathing techniques. Sarah inhaled deeply and slowly through her nose, then exhaled completely through her mouth. Today was different though; today, she was escaping the trauma she had endured over the past few months. This very trauma had started the panic attacks. Sarah had no idea what she would find upon reaching her destination.

Quite often Sarah had wondered how it was possible for one’s thoughts and feelings to go from one extreme to the other in an instant. She took a few deep breaths, exhaled slowly and deliberately, smoothed her hair, and checked her lip gloss in the rear view mirror. She smiled as she grasped the steering wheel with clammy shaking hands. Grasping the wheel and pressing the accelerator she continued on her journey.

While driving along the highway, Sarah’s thoughts twisted into a form of hypnosis. Time, thoughts, and miles raced away together in a tangled game that included both fevered panic and a tingling thrill of anticipation. Her eyes were glued to the highway and her mind was going as fast as the engine toward the unknown.

She drove faster; racing away from her entire life as she had ever known it. Pressing onward, her mind could only focus on the ten hour drive ahead of her, and the terrifying changes that had transpired in her life behind her. This was a definitely a drive towards the unknown and unexpected. She would not allow herself to think past the point of arriving at her destination. As each mile passed, however, her imagination constantly attempted to race ahead of her and the Lexus.

Attempting to think positive thoughts, Sarah tried to imagine her destination. Her mind could almost see the beautiful crepe myrtle trees in full bloom. With her mind’s eye and her keen sense of color, she imagined mixing all of these different shade variations with paint and brush in hand. Ever so carefully, she would apply each delicate color and feature to her canvas. Each shade bloomed in her mind. The colors ranged from the purest of white, to the palest of pink, to the deepest of fuchsia. Each color carefully mixed in her mind more beautiful than the last.

Sarah imagined the intoxicating fragrance of the rampant and uncontrollable purple wisteria vines. They twisted and wound their way in mystery between the giant oak and pine trees. The wisteria appeared to engulf entire forests in various shades of white, pink, and purple. The magnificent blooms hung down in clumps; imitating the appearance of grape clusters hanging from the vines. Once again, in her mind, she carefully chose and mixed various shades of paint to create each color. This was one of her favorite past times. Many hours had been spent carefully mixing the exact amount of paint to produce the perfectly desired color. Sarah had spent so much time doing this that she actually enjoyed doing it both on a painter’s palate and in her mind.

As she continued along on her journey, her mind turned to mixing the shades necessary for painting beautiful green fields of swaying grasses and colorful wildflowers, flowing in the breeze. Each color she delicately mixed in every glorious shade imaginable. Later, her palate turned to babbling brooks with moss covered rocks and swaying willow trees.

The imaginary palates presented themselves in her mind as beautiful shades and variations of every color combination conceivable. Sarah inhaled deeply, as if experiencing all of the crisp clean aromas. She felt a yearning desire for these beautiful forests and fields, babbling brooks, cool clean air and a baby blue sky filled with beautiful white billowing clouds.

Sarah drove many miles as her mind carefully chose and mixed colors to perfection. Anticipation and a mild fear of the unknown would continually ebb and flow; interrupting her thoughts as she drove onward towards this fresh, new, colorful chapter in her life. She shivered with an odd feeling of delight.

The past few months had been very dark at times. Sarah had learned many new things about life in a very short period of time. She yearned for change. Then it dawned on her just how much she had already changed. She imagined herself now as a beautiful fluttering butterfly; painted yellow and orange and trimmed in black. She smiled and drove along with her thoughts racing; abandoning her past; painting and embracing her future. Totally unaware of what that future may hold, Sarah shivered again. This time from head to toe.

PART ONE

S arah shared a home with her parents, Edward and Allison Hewett, although she always felt as if she lived alone. Their house was a very large and old homestead on the outskirts of town. She had once overheard her father’s telephone conversation with one of his many clients, discussing their house. He had stated that their house was one of the original houses built by the first settlers in this area. The house had been known as a mansion of the utmost grandeur in those days. She would later in life research this in the county records room that adjoined the public library, and discover her father’s facts to be accurate. She would further discover their house had been constructed in 1826. It had been purchased by her father in 1988, the year she was born.

The house was quite lovely, with many rooms. Every square inch of the house and all of its expensive contents were extremely clean. Within each room there were huge fireplaces surrounded by gorgeous antique mantles. Every room had highly polished hardwood floors with somewhat worn, but highly colorful, antique area rugs. Exquisite antique crystal chandeliers hung from each high ceiling. In the central portion of the house there were two highly polished spiral wooden staircases that lead to the second and third floors. Huge windows towered from ceiling to floor, dressed in thick elegant drapery that gathered on the hard wood flooring. The furnishings were quite elegant and over-sized; each piece adorned with hand crocheted doilies, antique crystal figurines and silver tea services.

Throughout the entire house you could hear the constant ticking of the huge antique grandfather clock in the formal living room. As a general rule, this was the only audible sound in the house most of the time. The house was always as quiet as a mouse, with the exception of the ticking… . the never ending ticking.

The exterior was equally as exceptional with massive porches that surrounded the entire house. Here and there along the porches were groups of rocking chairs, gliders, seats and tables; positioned perfectly for lovely everyday conversation over tall glasses of lemonade. Huge exquisite green ferns hung from the eaves and rested on various stands. The ferns swayed and whispered with the breeze. Pots of beautifully arranged fresh cut flowers in every imaginable color were neatly placed on every table. The floors of the porches were polished to perfection, as were the railings and intricately hand-carved columns that supported the roof. Rarely did anyone ever enjoy the beauty, comfort, and serenity of these porches. Sarah’s father was a man of presentation. Everything had to be exceptional, expensive, and exquisitely presentable at all times, throughout all seasons.

The grounds were always immaculate and manicured to perfection as well. Every specimen of shrubbery was pruned with tedious attention to the finest detail. Each sidewalk was carefully edged and the lawn was a lush vision of bright beautiful green. Wonderfully magnificent flower beds adorned the entire property. Flowers of every imaginable color, shape, and size were planted and tended to by the gardener; maintained with the utmost tender loving care.

Huge ancient and majestic oak trees continued their many years of growth in grandeur around the lawn. Sarah would often wonder what all of these trees had lived through and witnessed in their hundreds of years of continuous growth. Each of these lovely trees was surrounded by thick beds of many various types of ground cover that were also meticulously manicured into a perfect circle.

Sarah had always enjoyed walking these grounds and observing all of the many colors. They always brought to mind the many possibilities available with simply mixing the correct amounts of various colors of paint in order to achieve their exact hues. Color, painting, and the arts and been her passion for as long as she could remember. To an outsider looking in, everything appeared perfect. They appeared to be a highly successful and happy family living in a beautiful and magnificent home. Her family presented the picture of perfection in all aspects. Edward Hewett would not allow, nor tolerate, any other perception. One would think that this was a house full of love and laughter. The sad truth was Sarah had never felt love or heard laughter in this house in her entire life.

Edward Hewett insisted, with a vengeance, that everything both inside and outside of the house be cleaned and maintained on a weekly basis from top to bottom. For these services he paid various service providers quite a large sum of money. Anything neglected was grounds for immediate termination. Imperfection was not tolerated. The entire house was literally scrubbed and disinfected from top-to-bottom every single Friday by a crew of women known as The Maid Brigade. Many times Sarah had witnessed her father pounding his fist on the counter as he fired a maid for the slightest oversight.

Some maids had been fired for not cleaning to his satisfaction, or had been terminated for the occasional broken dish. Still others were terminated for random unacceptable and, more than likely unintentional infractions, that didn’t meet his expectations of perfection. These women cleaned, scrubbed, polished, and sanitized with all of the vigor of a full hospital cleaning staff. They also washed, dried, ironed, and put away all of the laundry as well.

Her father’s suits were taken to the dry cleaning service every Friday and returned the following Friday by The Maid Brigade. The suits would be returned freshly cleaned and hanging in protective plastic liners. These duties were all performed in silence by the maids as if their very lives depended on every single aspect of their jobs. Their very existence seemed to hang in the balance of every surface in this house being as sanitary as a hospital. Very few rooms in the house were ever used, yet each room was meticulously scrubbed, polished, and sanitized every single week. The maids were not permitted to speak at all, only to work in silence, and working with the intent concentration of one terribly in fear of being terminated if the slightest speck was overlooked.

Each and every Friday, the supervising maid known as Maryanne, would take the checks payable to the maid service and the dry cleaning service from the kitchen counter, and slip these into her apron pocket. After completely surveying the area one final time for anything at all possibly overlooked, she would gather Mr. Hewett’s dirty suits and shirts from the previous week to take to the dry cleaners. She would shoot a timid quick little smile at Sarah, wink at her and leave with a small wave of goodbye to the little girl. Sarah knew her name was Maryanne only because she wore a pin on her apron that proudly displayed her name as, Maryanne; Attending Supervisor; The Maid Brigade, Incorporated.

The Maid Brigade had been cleaning the house every Friday for as long as Sarah could remember. Maryanne must have been considered a wonderful employee because she had never once suffered the wrath of her father. Edward had also, at some point in time, appointed her to be the person that attended to his dry cleaning needs. Maryanne had never uttered a single word. There had only been the shy little smile and the timid wave goodbye.

With the curiosity that abounds in all small children, Sarah had wandered about the entire house alone. She playfully inspected every room and found every place imaginable to hide. She knew every square inch of the house. Sometimes she would hide just for the sake of being totally alone; intrigued with the fact that no one in the entire world would know where to find her. She would sit and think about this in closets, under beds, behind drapes, and many other places throughout the house. Deep down inside, Sarah knew that nobody really cared where she was. She also realized that this was just child’s play; a way to pass the time. A lonely child can become quite inventive and creative in their minds to fill their time. Mostly this made her feel safe and free, yet there were occasions when this made her feel sad and terribly alone in the world.

Sarah would spend hours drawing pictures and coloring them with crayons, chalk, or water colors. She also experimented with paints, easels, canvases, and brushes. If Sarah found one of her works of art exceptional, she would sign her name on the back of the picture and roll it up into a scroll to keep. As time passed she taught herself many things about drawing, painting, colors, and shading. She had also spent many hours as a child observing the pictures found in the books from her father’s massive library.

Surprisingly, even at a tender young age, she had managed to locate many books depicting superior masters of the arts and photos of their miraculous works. She spent many hours trying to duplicate these works. With each passing year, Sarah’s talents began to develop, emerge and improve. She was her only friend and her only playmate. She had always managed to occupy and entertain herself with play and artwork. For as long as Sarah could remember, her passion had been in the world of artwork and in colors. Her love of art had begun with crayons and coloring books and had evolved as she grew up to include many other art supplies. Her favorite eventually became oil painting.

She had the presence of two parents, although rarely a word was spoken. Within these walls, Sarah was content. A contentment found in books and in her art. Content because a child simply does not know the difference. This was the life and childhood of a little girl named Sarah Hewett. Then, the time came for a big change to occur in her life. It was time for Sarah to begin school. She was absolutely terrified!

During those early years, Sarah would dress herself. Each day would begin with twisting and pinning her long blonde hair into a bun just as her mother had instructed her to do, and just like her mother had always pinned her own hair. Her mother had demonstrated this to her and instructed her that there were never to be any exceptions. Mother rarely spoke at all, but when she did, Sarah knew that she had better pay close attention and ask no questions whatsoever. The clothes in Sarah’s closet changed; they were replaced with various wool skirts, blouses, vests, jackets, and shoes. New tights in shades of gray and black replaced her socks. All of this was accepted without hesitation or question as Sarah’s new wardrobe for school.

Her mother performed very minimal responsibilities of being a wife and mother; the household responsibilities were, for the most part, handled by her father. At 7 a.m. her mother would rise, twist her hair and pin it into a bun, pull on her robe, and begin her day. As she sipped scotch on the rocks and smoked cigarettes, she would begin preparing the evening meal with all of the enthusiasm of a short order cook. She placed a couple of telephone calls each Thursday morning to order groceries, referring to a list; and a call to the local liquor store to order 14 bottles of scotch and two cartons of cigarettes from memory. A bottle of scotch each per day for both herself and Edward for the week and two cartons of cigarettes for herself. She would then jot both of the totals down on a sheet of paper for Edward to find when he arrived home that evening.

Each day Sarah would twist her hair up and pin it into a tight bun, dress and walk to the door ready for school. Her mother would never even look up. She would just hand her a brown paper bag containing a peanut butter sandwich, an apple and one nickel for a carton of milk. Neither of them ever said a single word.

Occasionally Sarah would find a new blouse, sweater, skirt, or pair of shoes in her closet. Obviously her mother had purchased these items from one of the many mail order catalogs piled up in the den. She never questioned the selections. The items just became another part of her daily wardrobe. She had never once been shopping, never picked out her own clothes, shoes, or food. This was her normal life accepted without question or without thought. As a young child, Sarah was rather content; this was her normal way of life. This way of life was all that she had ever known. School would prove to be quite a challenge for this quiet, withdrawn and ill dressed little girl. Life was going to change dramatically.

Once her mother had completed her few responsibilities, she returned to her solitude in the den; pouring scotch over ice and sipping it throughout the day. While she was awake, she would sometimes flip through catalogs and occasionally call and place an order, but normally, she would just watch soap operas, game shows and old movies. Her mother was definitely a woman of few words. She sometimes uttered verbal noises when she heard the door open as Sarah returned home from school or the library. Occasionally these words were understandable, but not often, usually she didn’t speak at all, and this is what Sarah preferred. She had yet to master the language of scotch and never intended to do so. If she was very quiet, she could slip in the door, close it, and softly tread upstairs without her mother ever noticing her.

There had been several occasions when Sarah had come home to find her mother passed out with a cigarette burning between her fingers and a pile of ashes on the floor. Sarah would carefully remove the cigarette and snuff it out in the overflowing ash tray. Her mother’s fingers and finger nails were stained that yellowish-brown color of nicotine.

Standing there, Sarah would stare down at her mother with an overwhelmingly sad feeling of disappointment and disgust. She would imagine her mother suddenly sitting up in a drunken stupor making every effort to appear sober, and saying something like, Hello sweetheart, allow me to introduce you to my dearest and only friends! This is my darling friend, Nicotine, and this is my oldest and dearest friend, Alcohol. While passed out on the couch, her mother’s hair would fall out of the pins that held her bun in place and drape all around her. You could tell, in her earlier years, that her hair had been a beautiful blonde. Now, it was almost completely gray. It still had hints of a few yellowish golden strands begging to maintain their fading color.

The couch, coffee table, and surrounding area were a filthy mess of dirty dishes, overflowing ashtrays, clothing, blankets, and magazines. Sarah’s mother was surrounded by all of these items and this disgusting mess would remain untouched until Friday when The Maid Brigade made their appearance.

On cleaning day, Sarah’s mother would bathe while the maids cleaned the house and did the laundry. This was the one and only day each week that Sarah remembered seeing her mother somewhat sober, clean and coherent. Sarah would look at her mother and wish that she would appear that way more often. Unfortunately, the reality was that she could only hope her mother wouldn’t eventually burn the house down while passed out drunk with a lit cigarette.

The years passed, yet every Friday, when Sarah returned from school she would have the opportunity to smile and wave goodbye to Maryanne. Routinely, her mother would insist that Sarah bring her a clean glass of ice and a clean ashtray. She would pour scotch on the rocks which rattled in her fresh clean glass and snuff out the first cigarette in the clean ashtray. On Fridays, Sarah would study her mother’s face; she could see that she may have once been a beautiful woman. Fine lines now mapped their way along her brow, cheeks and around her eyes. Tiny wrinkles surrounded her lips from drawing in smoke from her ever present cigarettes for so many years. Her skin was without color; her eyes drained of all emotion. Sarah often wondered what could possibly have happened in her mother’s life to make her sink to the bottom of a bottle of scotch and bring her to this place in her mind.

Sarah would go to her room. Once alone again, her mother would drink herself into a state of unconscious oblivion until the next Friday. She did nothing and she saw no one. She simply existed in the den, on the couch, with a bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes. How is it possible to sum up someone’s life in one sentence? Sara felt a rush of pity and sadness for her mother. These feelings would one day change because Sarah was not yet old enough to understand. With age comes knowledge. With knowledge comes wisdom.

Being an attorney, by the time her father returned home from his law office every evening, Sarah’s mother would be completely passed out on the couch. Edward never bothered to wake her or bothered to speak to her. He would walk directly to his study. The study was his space within the house. There, he would drop his brief case, books, and mounds of paperwork that he would shortly return to. His robe always hung on a coat rack in his study. Edward would remove his suit, carefully drape it over the overstuffed visitor’s chair, and wrap his robe around his huge mid section. He would then go into the kitchen to warm his dinner that was always in the microwave. On the kitchen counter would be a fresh bottle of scotch waiting for him. The bottle contained one of the finest scotches money could buy. Edward would return to his study with dinner, a glass of ice, and a bottle of scotch every night.

Later, he would return to the kitchen for pie, cake, donuts, and any other sweets he could find. Sweets were ordered in large quantities from the grocery delivery service. Sarah’s father constantly added various items to the next grocery list that would be ordered the following week. Sarah never dared add anything to this list.

Edward Hewett would eat, drink, and work until the wee hours of the morning, passing out with his head on his desk. The next morning he would shower and put on a fresh suit. He would then collect his briefcase and his paperwork and exit the garage door to return to his office. There was only one deviation from his daily routine; that is, every Friday morning he would leave a stack of checks on the kitchen counter, payable to the various service providers for the household expenses.

There were always checks for the package store, the grocery delivery service, the maid service, the dry cleaning service, the gardener, and one blank check. Sarah assumed this was more than likely an allowance for her mother’s mail order shopping habit. No one ever communicated in this house. We all lived together, yet we all lived alone. Each person lived in their own world under the same roof.

Edward Hewett was a very large man with a bright red face and brilliant green eyes. He was bald but had a tuft of white hair on each side of his head. The top of his head was just as bright red as his face. His tie appeared to be strangling him. The buttons on his shirts looked as if they were going to explode at any second, revealing his undershirt, stretched tightly over his large round mid section. He