Agnes had always known that Clara was a champion storyteller. Not that she was prone to exaggeration, but she had a way with words. This should be a good ghost story.
“You see, this house is very old, dating back to before the Civil War. It was built by General Beauregard Compton, particularly for his wife Lenora. So, the story goes that the General was killed in battle and Lenora withdrew from everybody, even her servants. Being so far from town and any other plantation (because this was what it was at one time, a tobacco plantation) she quit having any visitors and lived mostly in the upstairs rooms. She was attended by a loyal grounds keeper and his wife, her cook and all-around housekeeper. “
Clara paused and sipped her tea, looking thoughtfully out of the window.
“Well?” Agnes asked. “When are we getting to the ghostly part? Did Lenora die here?”
“Yes, but before she did, she started imagining things, seeing things that weren’t there, and all that. During a dark and stormy night, a stranger came to the house. There were people during and after the war who were looking to take advantage of others. So, this stranger got into the house and started creeping up the stairs but Lenora heard him.”
As she paused, Agnes grew uncomfortable. Was that thunder she heard in the distance? A shiver ran down her back.
“I believe I need another cup of tea,” Clara said. “It’s kind of chilly in here.”
With an effort, Agnes brought myself back to the present time. “So do I.” She went to the stove and turned on a burner. “We need some light too. Looks like we have a storm coming.”
Settled back into our chairs, the two friends drank their tea and listened to thunder rattling the windows. “Well?” Agnes prodded her storyteller. “Don’t stop there. The intruder was on the stairs. And?”
“Lenora heard him,” Clara repeated, “and, being a nervous person, she grabbed her husband’s old gun and opened the bedroom door. Lightning flashes showed a man, just a shadow, really, at the top of the stairs. Lenora didn’t ask who he was or what he wanted, she just pulled the trigger on that old gun and blasted him back down the stairs.”
Agnes gulped. “The very stairs in this house?”
Clara nodded.
“And, he was dead?”
“As a doornail.”
“Then what?”
“Lenora’s two friends, the cook and her husband, came running, horrified to see what had happened. This was evidently a Yankee soldier, in his blue uniform. Maybe he was returning from a battle somewhere or perhaps he was a deserter. Lenora’s mind snapped. She couldn’t deal with what she had done and her servants knew that if the sheriff found out, she’d be in trouble, so they took him out and buried him, cleaned up the blood, and didn’t mention what had happened to anybody.”
It truly was getting cold in this kitchen. Agnes decided to try lighting that old fireplace; that is, when she could move again. “And, it’s his ghost that haunts the place?”
“Well…” Clara began, but at that moment, the kitchen light flickered and went out. Clara, Candy, Maybelle, and Agnes sat in semi-darkness.
(To be continued after Thanksgiving. If you’d like to read more cozy mysteries, by Blanche Day Manos, they are on Amazon. Click here Amazon.com : books, blanche day manos:)
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