The Haunting of Roan Mountain Read online

  The Haunting of Roan Mountain

  The Paranormal Archaeologist: Book 2

  S. A. Jacobs

  Copyright © 2019 S.A. Jacobs

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Thank you for supporting my work.

  Published by Six-String Books, LLC.

  Created with Vellum

  To my daughter Abby.

  May you always continue reading... Even if you don't agree with a character’s choice in clothing.

  Prologue

  April 22, 1905 - Cloudland Hotel

  Robert Mason retired to the sitting room in the hotel after hearing Samuel’s grand plan. He walked into the quiet room and over to the dark mahogany end table where there was a crystal decanter filled with whiskey. He turned over one of the glasses on the table and pulled the stopper from the decanter.

  The reflection of flames from the fireplace danced on the sharp edges of the crystal as Robert slowly poured the amber liquid. He returned the stopper to the decanter and sighed deeply as he picked up the glass. He gently swirled the whiskey and walked across the room to the window. At first, all he could see was the reflection from the fireplace and the lamps in the room. He unbuttoned his jacket and rested his arm on the top rail of the lower window sash.

  Now, close enough to see beyond the room’s reflection, he gazed at the mountain outside. It was a peaceful night. The stars shone brightly and extended to the very edge of the horizon where they met the rolling peak of the neighboring mountaintop. He stood stoically for a few minutes and took a deep breath followed by another large swallow of whiskey. As the fiery liquid ran down his throat, a sound drew his attention away from the window.

  Across the room, the doorknob began to turn. His eyes bore down on the door with great intensity. It swung open and three men walked in, all dressed as finely as Robert was. It was his brethren—John, William, and George. The three of them were discussing the meeting they’d just had with their leader, Samuel. Robert was genuinely uninterested and turned back to the window.

  “Robert, what do you think of Samuel’s plan?” George asked, heavily slurring his words.

  Robert didn’t move. He continued swirling his glass of whiskey, his eyes intently focused out the window.

  “Samuel is too full of himself to recognize what a damn fool he really is,” Robert said in a stern voice.

  The room fell quiet. The only sound was the ticking of a large clock in the corner.

  “He still makes a point though,” William said tentatively. “Surely you can agree that a paper map is not the safest course of action.”

  Robert took another sip of his whiskey. “You are indeed correct, William. A map will never preserve what we have hidden. Samuel’s flaw is his hubris. His wife should not hold the key. As much as he believes he has full control over her, he does not.”

  He turned around to address the room.

  “Surely you understand the purpose of these maps is to secure the future of our society beyond our years. If we were only planning for the foreseeable future, no map would be necessary as we know where we have hidden our hoards. However, we know not when that time will come. So, we are securing our future beyond our years. As well as we have hidden everything, you must all acknowledge that our treasure also needs to be protected.”

  “We know that. Why else would we have Sentinels stationed across the country protecting it?” George retorted. “You are as crazy as Samuel!”

  “You idiot! Yes, they are hidden and yes, they are protected. They are protected by Sentinels today, but what about tomorrow? What about one hundred years from now when we are all dead and gone? We are the architects of the future of the Sovereign Lords. We secure the future of this leadership. How can we guarantee that the Sentinels of generations to come will provide the protection we require? My portion of our hoard is right there, nearly visible from this window. Yes, someone looking for it would need my instruction, but what is to stop someone from happening upon it? Say twenty years from now someone wants to build another hotel, like this one, on that very spot. It will be found. I fear the Sentinels cannot be our only protection for the long-term future.”

  “You’re correct,” William said. “We do architect the future of the Sovereign Lords. We direct every action anyone within the KGC takes, including the Sentinels. So, we can ensure the ongoing protection of our hoard.”

  “We can suggest it. We can even demand it. But can we really ensure it for generations to come? No matter what you, I, or even Samuel want for the future, we are not completely in control of it. There is risk. That is a risk I am not comfortable with.”

  “What are you suggesting?” John asked.

  “We all need to take our own steps to secure our maps and instructions. Samuel has chosen his path… no matter how misguided I think it is. I have my own approach to securing my map and my instructions. I urge you all to do the same.” Robert swallowed the remainder of his whiskey and turned back to the window. “For protection, we need something we can count on no matter what happens...a different kind of Sentinel required to keep everything guarded long after we are gone.”

  Part I

  1

  I tossed my backpack on the ground and took a seat in the wooden rocking chair. I welcomed the fact that the Seattle-Tacoma Airport had these instead of the usual airport seating. Sadly, that rocking chair was the closest thing to home I’d experienced in weeks. Had it been two weeks prior, I would’ve gladly welcomed the moment of respite. That day though, I was waiting to go home. There was one flight standing between me and getting there, a flight which was delayed again for the fourth time.

  I had just finished up a long stretch of recordings for the second season of Paranormal Archaeology. The show was a success. I had money and was doing what I’d always dreamt of...at least in theory. In reality, I just wanted to be home so I could live my life. The last shoot of the season had featured the haunted Cadillac Hotel of Seattle. As great as it was to have the production wrapped up, the fact that it was one in the morning and my flight was still not even close to boarding drove me crazy.

  A month later, I would be going into post-production with the show where I was scheduled to spend two months going through the hundreds of hours’ worth of video. We would isolate the small moments that most felt like there was a ghost present and then build a story around them. Until then, I got a well-deserved break. A break I needed more than anything.

  Before long, I started to doze off. With my eyes closed, it was so easy to feel as though I was sitting in the rocking chair on my own front porch. I could hear the birds chirping. I could feel the warm Tennessee sun on my face. That was also the precise moment that someone felt the need to vacuum the terminal’s carpet. Frustrated with this interruption, I grabbed my backpack and headed to the only store still open in the terminal.

  I brought an overpriced bag of Cheez-Its to the counter and started fishing cash out of my front pocket.

  “Excuse me, are you David Spur?” the cashier said.

  I looked up to see the young woman standing at the cash register, staring at me with wide eyes.

  “The one and only,” I said trying to harness my perpetually happy, fan-friendly voice.

  “Oh my God! I cannot believe it’s you!” she said. “You need to talk to my brother! He has this house, and there is some absolutely crazy stuff happening there. It might be on an Indian burial ground or something. I’m telling you, the stuff he talks about makes the places
on your show look like nothin’. If you want, I can call him now.”

  Here we go again, I thought. Nothing was a magnet for people with ghost stories like being the face of a paranormal investigation show. Everywhere I went, someone would approach me with a brother, an uncle, a best friend’s uncle’s sister’s boyfriend who knows this guy who has a haunted house. Apparently, everyone assumed we were looking for locations despite the fact that we had at least four seasons worth of locations already being researched.

  “Oh wow, that is really interesting, and I would love to speak with him,” I said, trying to sound interested. “It’s just that, well, the production company has to go through everything I look into first. I kinda signed my rights away with them. So, unfortunately, my hands are kinda tied on this. But tell your brother to go to the website and submit a request. I’m sure I will be talking to him soon once that happens.”

  I hated bullshitting people, but I didn’t really have a choice anymore. I couldn’t be honest with them because that would be the fan who posts something on Twitter, and the next thing you know my whole show would be canceled. Of course, sometimes I thought that the show being canceled might not be such a bad thing at all.

  By the time I got back to my choice of rocking chairs in the terminal, I was even more frustrated. No longer hungry, I put the Cheez-Its in my bag. I grabbed my ear buds and turned up some classic jam-band music to relax me. I pulled my University of Tennessee cap down, partially covering my eyes, and said goodbye to the world around me.

  I was accustomed to being exhausted. Before TV, when I would work my cases, the emotional level was so intense that it often took me a week of seclusion to recover. Now, life was just as draining, but on a completely different level. It was more mechanical. The crazy hours, endless nights in a hotel, and the constant need to keep up my appearance all took their toll.

  As the music took over, I thought back to the girl at the shop. I was simply too beat and too tired to really even entertain a conversation with her. That fact annoyed me. I loved the paranormal world. I loved the history. I loved the way everything was intertwined. The show was none of that. On the last recording alone, we spent days filming one of the most haunted locations in Seattle, but the TV approach wasn’t real. We were not there to help someone. We were not there to really understand everything that had happened. Sure, there were some shadows there, and it certainly was haunted, but everything we did was just so removed from my normal approach.

  I began to realize how much I missed my pre-TV life. There was something fulfilling about working with real people, helping them understand and appreciate the history and helping them to eventually put their hauntings at bay. If I wasn’t so tired, I might have gotten up and gone back to talk to her further.

  After an hour of shallow sleep, my phone jolted me awake with an alert that my plane was finally going to board. It was time to stop thinking about that crap. I was finally going home! It was time to recapture my life.

  Ten hours later, I was nearing my home. Fortunately, I’d been able to sleep through the entire flight. Though I was still exhausted, I was awake enough to drive. With every passing mile, I felt more alive. As I navigated my old pick-up through the mountain hollers, I had to keep reminding myself that I hadn’t driven in a month and should proceed with a bit of caution. It was hard. I was finally home, and navigating these backroads was the surest sign of my arrival.

  As I headed into Erwin, I decided I might as well stop by the post office and pick up the mail that must have piled up in my absence. Besides, there wasn’t a better place to get a dose of local gossip. It would be great to just get some confirmation that this place was indeed still home. I walked inside and spotted Sue Ellen wearing her readers behind the counter. It wasn’t until I was about five feet away that she recognized me.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in. If I didn’t know better, I would say David is back.” She looked at me with some reservation.

  “Hi Sue Ellen. What did I miss?” I asked.

  “Why, look at you, Mr. Hollywood. What happened to your hair, dear? You look like a damn fool walking in here like that.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and looked down at my Italian dress shoes against the white industrial tile floor. The show’s production company had convinced me to change my look a bit. I had gone on a massive diet and training plan. They’d purchased my clothes without my input. My hair—which I’d never paid any attention to—was now dyed and styled.

  “Yeah, well, I’m home now for awhile,” I said. “This will disappear soon enough.”

  “Good thing if you ask me. Bad enough they’re fixin’ to put in one of those Starbucks over across the tracks but then to have you running around looking like Hollywood is too much.” She turned and yelled across the room. “Greg, can you fetch David’s mail, hon?” Then she turned back to me. “I don’t suppose you have talked to Mel, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t talked to too many folks. I…hell, I haven’t heard from her since she married Austin years back.”

  “Oh dear, what a mess that turned out to be.” She shook her head sadly. “I always knew that boy was up to no good. He had that poor girl move away, and then he left her. Damn shame, him leaving her after uprooting her from her family. She was back here not long ago, living with her mom up on Banner Hill. Last I heard she was getting back on her feet and moving over to Roan somewhere, but she came here 'bout a week ago asking about you.”

  “She was asking about me?” I raised my eyebrow.

  “Yes. Seems she was looking for you and didn’t know if you had up and moved away or if you were coming back here. I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it dear, but you probably should give her a call when you get a chance.”

  “I will definitely look her up,” I replied, not knowing if I would or not.

  Greg stepped out of the back room and handed me a large plastic bin full of mail. I got a stern warning from Sue Ellen to return the bin and to look like my old self when I did. I loaded the mail in my truck and headed home.

  After a couple of miles, I pulled up to my house. I lived in a small brick ranch on the end of a one lane road surrounded by woods. Everything looked to be just as I’d left it. It felt so good to be home. I unlocked the door and wheeled my suitcase inside, leaving it in the middle of the family room. The house smelled a bit musty from being empty. I went through the house, opening the windows to get some fresh air flowing. With no motivation left, I lay down on the couch.

  I lay there enjoying the moment. There was something truly intoxicating about being home and being alone in my house. My eyes wandered to the framed newspaper hanging on the wall. It featured the front-page article about my work with Murderous Mary. I thought about how hard I had worked to be successful outside this town. But now, I wondered why. The TV show was what I’d wanted at the time, but the reasons felt so distant.

  As my thoughts drifted, a single word appeared in my mind: Melanie. There had been a time when Melanie and I were inseparable. It was impossible for me to not smile while I thought back to those school days. That was so long ago and so much changed since then. The more I thought, the more those images became cloudy. I wondered if Melanie had been a catalyst for my wanting to get away from here in the first place.

  It seemed a bit ironic that she’d gotten divorced and still didn’t look me up until I was on TV and appeared to be very successful. I probably looked like the perfect mark for her. Someone who wouldn’t question her motives, blinded by the fact that she was paying attention to me. I wanted so badly to push all thoughts of her out of my head. The couch I had longed for became terribly uncomfortable. I changed positions over and over trying to get comfortable.

  I eventually decided I might as well drive back to town and pick up some groceries. If there was anything left in the house, it wouldn’t be edible anymore. Either way, I just needed to distract myself from thoughts of Melanie. My first day home shouldn’t have been filled with thoughts of what might have been and what
never was.

  The next day, I headed out to the office, the small building I’d leased out to run my investigations from years ago. Despite not actively working in that capacity after starting with the show, I kept the lease…just in case. As I unlocked the glass front door and walked in, it was clear that in my absence Linda had taken over decorating duties. The previously dingy, fluorescent-lit conference room now looked like a Hookah lounge. The beige walls and ceiling were covered with brightly colored fabrics. A set of lamps in the corners had replaced the fluorescents. It wasn’t really my look, but it certainly looked better.

  Linda had been an associate of mine since the beginning. She wasn’t exactly a co-worker or a friend. She possessed a talent set that complemented mine, and we just naturally worked together on cases. When I got the office, I set her up with a space of her own. It seemed logical. When I started the TV thing, I let her have the run of the office so she could continue with her work.

  I sighed deeply and rolled my eyes in playful amusement before heading to my office on the far side of the building. Surely my office would still be safe. I opened the door, turned on the lights and set down my box of mail in the corner. The room was small and plain. Stained beige walls surrounded the small window high above the desk. The metal desk with its worn, fake-wood top, was just as I’d left it, cluttered with stacks of papers and books. My giant CRT computer monitor, yellowed with age, blended perfectly with the desk.

  Before settling in, there was one more thing I needed to do. After all, I had been gone for a while, and I needed to reassure myself that it was still there. I opened the closet and stooped down to reach the safe on the floor. I quickly dialed in the combination and opened it.

  There, right on top, was my Grimoire, safe and sound. The Grimoire, “Münchner Handbuch der Nekromantie,” was my most sacred possession. It had been gifted to me by my best friend Jim after I helped him with some nasty spirits. In monetary terms, the book was simply priceless. Most believed it didn’t even exist. When Jim found the book, I’d quickly realized that the spells inside were simply too powerful to be available to the public. That was why it resided in my safe and not a museum. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have it as a retirement plan in case my television career didn’t work out.