Part 2 of My Ghosts Column in Progress-Index Live Today

Part 2 of my column on the ghosts of Petersburg and the Tri-Cities, "The Civil War Still Haunts the Region," continues today in Petersburg, Virginia's Progress-Index newspaper. http://bit.ly/2f5z9hU 

Supernatural Friday: What Happens in Chester, Vanishes-from Spectre Nightmares and Vistiations

I will be at Suffolk Mystery Authors Festival in Sufolk, Virginia, next Saturday, August 13th.  And my collection of horror and dark fantasy stories, Spectre Nightmares and Visitations is one of the books I will have for sale and will sign at the New Author’s Expo at the festival, from 10 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.  The all day festival is free and open to the public.

I'm sharing one of the stories from the book, teasing you with "What Happens in Chester, Vanishes." You'll need to purchase the book from me at the festival (click the link above to be taken to their website to get the address and more information), or if you can't be there, then from online at GenreConnections.com or AMAZON to read the rest of the stories included in it.

Book Blurb:

Many things scare us. But the most fearful things are those that infect our nightmares and visitations. Monsters from the closet or from another planet. Ghosts that haunt more than a house. Werewolves are not the only shapeshifters to beware of. Children can be taken from more than the human kind of monsters. Even normal things can be the start of a heart-pounding terror. Prepare to step beyond the door into Spectre Nightmares and Visitations.

Just tell yourself that they're only stories.

Enjoy the story:        

"What Happens in Chester, Vanishes"

Okay, that’s weird.

The people that had just been walking and driving their cars in Chester Village Green a few minutes ago had vanished. The beautiful Chester Library and the other buildings stood there silent and empty of life.

Of all the strange things that happened in my life, this one beat them all.

My cell phone! Of course.

I took it out and tried to make a call to my mother in Powathan. It didn't work. And I charged it up fully last night. Now it lay in my hand like a broken toy. Whatever infected Chester had done something to it, too. Upset, I stuck it back in her purse. 

The silence felt so . . . unnerving. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Not even a breeze. Nothing, except the noise my car made, loud in the unnatural stillness.

I felt pain from my arms and my hands. With a quick glance, I saw I was gripping the steering wheel so tight that the veins on the top of them popped up. Shoot, my skin gleamed ghost white. Another quick glance in the rear view mirror and I saw how pale my face was, too.

I decided to park the car. So many spaces to choose from, which one should I choose? A giggle rose up hysterically as I drew my car into one and turned the engine off. I couldn’t stop it.

“Oh, God, oh God, oh God,” I began to giggle, tears in my eyes.

The giggling passed, I let go of the steering wheel and just sat there staring out through the car window and unsure what to do next. 

Do I get out? Was it safe to do so? Maybe I was asleep and this was all a nightmare.

No, I remembered waking up this morning and having a cup of coffee and some yogurt. I pinched myself just to be sure.

“Ouch!”

Guess this is not a dream, Marisa.

"What happened here?" I said, letting the sound of my own voice give me comfort. "Is everyone else gone in the rest of Chester? Does that include the rest of Richmond, or even Virginia itself? Is everyone on vacation, or something?"

Like someone would answer me.

It looked like I wouldn’t have to worry about being late for work at the library today. Most likely my supervisor didn’t make it to work today either. Apparently, no patrons neither. 

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car, leaving it unlock if I needed to get back in, and walked slowly up to the front glass doors. I found the doors opened easily and entered.

Okay, does that appear good or not? Why are you even entering the building, you idiot?

I swept my gaze around and found an empty circulation desk, a couple of books on it, one flipped open, along with another one lying under the scanner the library used to check books out. Another glance to my left caught other books lying on the floors or on tables, as if whoever had them had just dropped them, leaving them there like unwanted children. The silence bothered me. I began to imagine that the books were watching at me from their bookcases. Like they were saying, 'How dare you being the only human here?" 

Nothing more for me here, I bolted out of the place and ignoring my car, ran down Center Street to Route 10. Same thing there, too. Chester had become a large-economy size version of one of those collectible heirloom villages sold in gift shops, only minus the people, animals and vehicles. 

As I looked straight across the street at the Chester Fire Department, I saw that the bay doors stood wide open, bereft of the fire engines. All the buildings suddenly became ominous, like they waited to pounce on any unwary fools. 

Fools like me.

I made for the nearby shopping center. It was foolish of me to even have checked it out. Nothing there like everywhere else, not even breeze-tossed scraps of papers flittering across the empty parking lot. 

Deciding to be prudent, I headed back to where my car was parked. But like everything else in the madness it had vanished.

Maybe aliens came and took everyone away, like that episode in Twilight Zone.

Yeah, if it were that simple an explanation. 

I trudged like a drunken sailor back up Center Street to Route 10. 

I prayed. Whatever happened to Chester, please take me too. Being alone the rest of my life like this is something I don’t want to do. 

I looked up at the cloud-filled sky above. "Look, I admit that I prayed last night before turning in that I'd like to be alone, with no one to bother me and all, but I was in a blue funk after a day of full of crazy patrons and a smart-mouthed supervisor." I began to cry. "I would love to hear Mrs. Tilt right now yelling at me in her usual nasty way. At least it would be another human being."

Wait. Was that a sound? 

It came again. It came from Route 10. Like someone talking.

I ran on shaky legs and hoped that meant there another human besides me was in this god forsaken place. I dropped to my knees on the street when I found nothing but an empty street. I didn’t even notice the pain from my scraped knees. My mind had snapped at that moment.

I yelled, "Stop it, please stop it! If you're going to torture me, then just go ahead and kill me right now.”

I saw it then. Large and bright yellow, its siren screamed in protest as it barreled toward me. Instead of excitement, I found I didn’t care that this might mean I wasn’t alone anymore. 

I jumped up and opened my arms, welcoming my death. Within a second it slammed into me. Pain lanced through me, as the bones in my body smashed, flesh tore and my brain splattered within my skull.

****

"I didn't see her until too late," cried the young firefighter. "Suddenly there she was, like a ghost appearing out of thin air. The woman stood there like a deer caught in our headlights. The worse part is I swear she held her arms open like a woman welcoming her lover back." Tears welled up in his blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He looked up from his kneeling position by the body at the chief who had been with him in the engine. They had been returning to the station. "I'll remember hitting her for the rest of my life."

Chief Thomas frowned as he realized the silence all around them. "Hey, where's everyone else?"

The other frowned, confused. "What?" He got to his feet and looked around. There was only him and Chief Thomas and the fire engine. No vehicles, no people gawking at the accident. Even the station was quiet like a tomb. The broken body of the woman had vanished, her smeared blood that had painted the cement gone. "Oh God, what's going on?"

Childish laughter filled the silence. Looking up, both men saw a gigantic child's face peering down at them. Another larger face of a woman appeared next to the child's.

"Dinner time, dear," said the woman’s face. "Then you can come back and play with your town. And please flush that nasty bloody body down the toilet, then wash your hands. Didn't Daddy tell you not to kill your playthings, or he won't get you any more toys from another dimension?"

Halloween is Coming: Petersburg May Be More Haunted than Williamsburg!

   (The photos are copyrighted and included in my ghost book, Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-CitiesArea, so please share the link and not them, Thank you.)

When one thinks of the most haunted spot in Virginia, they think Williamsburg. Well, after researching and writing books for each area, I am here to say, I think Petersburg has gotten Williamsburg beat!

But Williamsburg has Jamestowne, which began in the 1600s and before that the Powhatan Indians. Well, the Powhatan natives scattered as far as Chester and the Tri-Cities area and there is the second English settlement, the Citie of Henricus Sir Thomas Dale started after Jamestown and Fort Henry (became Petersburg later) was established by Abraham Wood in 1645 that later in 1675 Peter Jones took over and established his own trading post.  So, the area was as long living as Williamsburg.

Plantations in the area were built as early as 1600s and 1700s, like Weston Plantation in Hopewell.  The death of Powhatan and the ascension of Opechancanough as paramount chief brought about the 1622 Massacre that hit parts of the area, even the Falling Creek Ironworks March 22, 1622, killing all but two children.  In Petersburg, their wooden buildings burned down in a great fire July 16, 1815. More than 350 buildings were destroyed with an estimated $3,000,000 in damage. After that, they rebuilt, using brick.

During the War Between the States, there was the nine-month ling Siege of Petersburg, plus a battle raged on outside the city (in what is now Petersburg National Battlefield-the Eastern Front and in Dinwiddie County, the Petersburg National Civil War Battlefield—Five Forks (plus Battle at Sutherland Station and Dinwiddie Courthouse). 

Slavery happened here. A slave auction was held right in the old Town Petersburg! Petersburg’s first enslaved African- Americans were brought here in 1732 to work in John Bolling’s tobacco warehouses. Bolling owned haunted Centre Hill Mansion. It was subdivided and named Wittontown in 1750, but was renamed Pocahontas when it became a town in 1752. This town became the oldest free black community in the United States, settling Pocahontas Island—and it is still there today. Pocahontas Island is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Edgar Allan Poe and Virginia Clemm had their honeymoon here--staying at Hiram Haines Coffee and Ale House. Haines was friend and colleague of Poe and invited them. No one can pinpoint when Poe and Haines became friends, but Haines’s wife was the daughter of a wealthy Richmond merchant, and she had known Poe as a child.

The Revolutionary War is connected to Petersburg. My husband and I attended a 233^rd anniversary of the reenactment of the 1781 Battle of Petersburg at Battersea April 19-20, 2014. It did not happen at Battersea, but nearby. You can read about it in the chapter for Battersea in my ghost book, Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area.

Someone once told me that he’d heard a ghost story for every building in old Town Petersburg, along with many spots on the streets, too. Add to that, other parts of Petersburg, Dinwiddie, Sutherland, Prince George County, Colonial Heights, Hopewell, and add in nearby Chester, Enon and Ettrick-Matoaca, so much has added to a very paranormal section of Virginia.  

At this time of the year, with the leaves on trees and some bushes changing colors, the air generally more cooler, pumpkins on doorsteps, some already carved with faces on their flesh, and Halloween decorations on homes and in store windows and inside them, too, it is not hard to believe ghosts are watching you as you walk the streets of Petersburg, or tour Weston Plantation house or stalk the battlefields. It may not be as full of opulence as Williamsburg or hold ghost tour upon tours that fill the streets (after all, Williamsburg has more practice at accepting their spirits and using them to attract the history and paranormal buffs), but Petersburg with its gently tattered costume has a more haunted past that still persists, no, demands, to be seen and heard.   

 

So take their ghost tour in the city, check out the ghost tour at Blandford Cemetery Halloween night, or join the ghost tours held at Pamplin Park for their Voices from the Shadows. You just might catch glimpse of a gentile lady in hooped skirts or see a Civil War soldier, even a black one, at a restaurant as you eat a meal. Snap a few photos at night of Centre Hill Mansion or the buildings in town, or Colonial Height’s Violet Bank Museum from the street. Drive the streets of Screamerville in Enon after the trick-or-treaters are all inside and with your window rolled down, you just might hear someone screaming. It might be someone living, but again, it might not, And maybe, just maybe, with the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead thinnest on Halloween, you might be fortunate to see why Petersburg and the Tri-Cities are more haunted than Williamsburg can ever attain to be.

Enjoy an excerpt from the Peter Jones Trading Post sub chapter in Old Towne Petersburg’s Other Haunted Places chapter of my book,  Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia,and the Tri-Cities Area.

The Investigation

The night of the investigation at The Bistro at Market and Grove on July 12, 2014, across the street, Carol Smith, Julia Ogle, Leonard Price, and I met in the parking lot. A full moon hovered in the sky above.

Since we weren’t supposed to go into the Bistro restaurant until 10 p.m., we gathered our equipment and made our way over to Peter Jones Trading Post. Our recorders already on, I turned on my ghost box and began asking questions to see if any spirits still lingered. Carol and the other two used their flashlights to read the posted signs for tourists about the ruin’s history.

I asked, “Is there any spirit still here?”

A male voice came across the scanning waves. “Jacob.”

I said, “Is Peter Jones still here?”

Peter Jones did not reply, so I said, “Jacob? Can you talk to me?”

He answered, “Jacob.” Two other, different male voices followed his.

“Phillip.” “Harry.”

I pressed, “Peter? Is Peter here?”

Nothing from Peter Jones came across the box.

We wandered down the street, ending up by a stone bench with bars crossing the front. I dropped all but my ghost box on the bench.

“Jacob? Jacob, are you one of the Confederates or Federal soldiers held prisoner here during the Civil War?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us anything you want us to tell us. Are you a Confederate soldier? A Union soldier?”

The box stopped scanning. Occasionally, I found spirits could turn off the ghost box, whether due to not wanting to talk to us or some other reason. Sometime, I wondered if they were maybe drawing the power from the batteries and electronics.

Julia asked: “Who was here during the War? Confederate? Federal?”

A man with a deeper voice than the others said, “Both.”

“Was Jacob one of the Federals or a Confederate?”

“Yes.” That did not answer my question, just that he was a soldier.

Then the same man’s deep voice came across the box, saying, “You must…”

I questioned, “You must what? We must go?”

I heard the man say, “Yes.”

I asked if we could take picture and then we would leave them alone. I searched in my pink bag for the camera in its soft case, but it was not inside. It had to be still in my car, so I told my friends that I was heading back to the parking lot to fetch it. Carol’s equipment was still in her vehicle, so we all left the structure. (We had a freaky paranormal experience in the parking lot that you can read about in The Bistro at Market and Grove chapter.)

What is left of the building can be found at the corner of Old and Market

Streets in what might be called a small park setting. It doesn’t cost to visit

and who knows, maybe the phantom of Peter Jones or some Civil War prisoners might talk to you. You never know.

 Book Blurb for Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area:

Travel to Petersburg, Virginia, and the surrounding areas of Colonial Heights, Hopewell, Prince George, Dinwiddie, and nearby Ettrick-Matoaca, Enon, and Chester to discover what spirits, monsters, UFOs, and legends await the unwary. Why are the Union and Confederate spirits still fighting the Civil War in the battlefields? Who is the lady in blue who haunts Weston Plantation House? Learn what the phantoms at Peter Jones Trading Post will do to keep from being photographed. Drink tea with runaway slaves still hiding on the top floor above the Blue Willow Tea Room. Are Edgar Allan Poe and his bride still on their honeymoon at Hiram Haines Coffee and Ale House? Why does the Goatman stalk young lovers? Meet the ghosts of Violet Bank Museum that greet guests at the house. Hauntingly active as they share space with the living, the dead refuse to give up their undead residency.

Supernatural Friday: Deleted Fort Wead Civil War Park Chapter from Upcoming Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area

Sometimes sentences or paragraphs do not make it into a book of fiction or nonfiction. Sometimes it is a whole chapter. This is a chapter I researched investigated in person and wrote, but it ended up being taken out of my upcoming release, Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area from the manuscript by me when I edited it, along of another chapter during editorial edits. The other chapter was due to other reasons, but this one I felt just had me puzzling how I got phantoms of Union soldiers to talk to me when no died in battle at this fort, even though I thought of logical reasons. So with the book coming out August 28th, I am releasing this chapter for you to read for Supernatural Friday, along with the photos I was going to add to it.  And please, since these are my photos and my words, they sort of copyrighted to me, so just share the link to friends and family if you want them to read it. They can visit my blog anytime to enjoy it. Thank you.

                                                                    

                                                            Fort Wead Civil War Park

                                             The lawn

                                             Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return

                                             Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,

                                             The sad intangible who grieve and yearn.

                                                                                             ~T. S. Eliot

Bill drove me to Chesterfield County’s Fort Wead Civil War Park on Wednesday, June 4, 2014. It was in a nice suburban neighborhood. Most of the residents were at work or out somewhere, maybe even some just staying inside, but the area was quiet.

This park was one of few Civil War sites that the County has saved and made into a park for the public. Sadly, one site that can never be a park due to it being a shopping center is the Chester YMCA and even a cemetery, is where the Battle of Chester Station happened. This is not far from the intersection of Jefferson Davis and Route 10. I imagine the ghosts of those who died in this battle wandering through the YMCA, Chick-Fil-A across the street and nearby stores, confused by everything.

Fort Wead was named after Col. Frederick Wead, of the 98^th New York, (comma) killed in action at Cold Harbor. The Fort was constructed in June of 1864 at the rear of Union Lines to prevent Confederate forces from advancing in the event the main lines were captured. It was never used.  The fort had emplacements for six 32-pounder cannons within a small earthwork. A bombproof magazine was dug into the ground inside the earthworks and protected by a log and earth cover. All of the guns faced west, two in the corners and four along the parapet. Access to the fort came from an east side sally port, and it had a draw bridge over the surrounding moat.

I took my EMF meter, recorder, ghost box, and slung my camera around my neck as I walked up the wooden trail into the park.

I took pictures first, then I proceeded with an EVP session. I began by asking questions like “What year is this?” and “Are there spirits with me?” I got nothing, but when I listened later at home, I heard some other voices. I said, “I want you to understand that you cannot follow me home. Is that clear?” A man’s voice replied, “Sure.”

I turned on my ghost box, set it to AM, and from there to scanning.

I asked, “Are there any Civil War spirits with me?”

A man said, “Yes.”

What is your name?”

No one answered me. Then a male voice uttered, ‘Dead.”

“Did you just say dead?”

“Yes.”

I thought, Creepy.

“Are you Union Soldiers?”

“Yes.”

At that point, my box dropped out of scanning and went to a radio station. I switched the scanning back on.

I said, “Don’t use my ghost box for energy. Use me instead.

A man said, “Lady…”

I asked “What year did you die?”

“18…”

I said, “This is 2014.”

A male voice said, “Sure.” Like he knew that.

“What rank were you?”

“Private.”

“Did you have a girlfriend or a wife when you were alive?”

“Yes.”

“What was her name?”

I heard, “Cher—” Static made it hard to hear the rest.

 “North or South.”

Several male voices replied, “North.” I am not sure if they meant their loved ones or themselves.

I asked if they were standing near me. No one said one word. “Are you standing in front of me by the first sign?” Nothing. I pointed to my side and said, “Are you standing next to me or around me?”

A male voice said, “Ghost.”

That was interesting. I said, “How did you die? By cannon fire?”

Silence.

“Gun fire?”

“Yep.”

 “I hope you died quickly and not of gangrene.”

“No.”

“No, he did not die quickly, or no, he did not die of gangrene?

 “Did you leave family behind? What state are you from?”

One man said, “Massachusetts.” I assume it was still the same spirit as he said, ‘Philip.”

 “Do you miss your home?”

 “Right.”

 “What is your last name?”

 “Huh?”

 “My last name is Kinney, what’s yours?”

I heard a couple of names. “Franks, Porter…”

 “I heard Porter. What was your first name?”

 “Bill.”

I stuck out my hand and shook it in the air. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bill Porter. Are you a Union soldier?”

 “Yep.”

 “No Confederates here? No Rebels?”

 “Yep.”

I held out my hand. “Touch my hand.”

A male voice: “Hold.”

I said, “I am going to shut off the ghost box and leave. Goodbye and thank you.”

 I left the recorder on, hoping to catch an EVP or two. Later at home, I heard something that sounded like gunfire. I also heard movement in the gravel, which wasn’t me as I had remained still.

Now since this fort had never been used, who were the Federal soldiers that communicated to me? Of course, I knew that the Civil War hospital at the Civil War Point of Rocks Park was not far, and there were nearby battles in nearby Chester. City Point where Grant and the Northern Army took over was also nearby. I imagine hapless phantoms wandering the area, maybe trying to get home, but maybe ending up to haunt Fort Wead and the nearby suburban neighborhood.

I left the park, an itch at the back of my neck as if many eyes honed in on me as I joined Bill in the car. The feeling left as we drove off, so I assumed they stayed there.

Fort Wead is located at 1107 Greyledge Blvd, Chester, Virginia 23831. It is a nice park. Not big, just right, for one to daydream a battle going on there. Just don’t be surprised if the daydream becomes reality, and you hear actual gunfire. It’s just the phantom soldiers still fighting.