Follow Me Home

PROLOGUE

It moved in the dark of night, a shadow twisting around slivers of moonlight. Careful it was to avoid the wide-open spaces, preferring instead the places that clung to its lanky form, hiding it away from the forces that sought to extinguish the fuel that drove it forward.

Across borders and oceans it slunk, feeding off the fear and hate and wickedness of the living, luring lost souls with a flash of light in an otherwise black night. Hope was its illusion, temptation its catch, vengeance its promise.

For in that flash of light they waited, impatient for their rightful soul, vicious in their bids for ownership. But wait they did, across those borders and oceans, captured in a vessel of deception that moved by moonlight until, finally, it found a resting place, one of old ways and a history deeply rooted in dark energy.

In the beginning, feeding was plentiful, back in the days when evil was misunderstood. Later, in the years that would follow, superstition would be its downfall, trapping it with them. Together they would wait, teased by the promise of passing souls, some that lingered, some that hurried by. Together they would deceive, for the chance to claim a new host.

Alone it would lure in the one who dared to enter without the light.

CHAPTER 1

The sun was just starting to set when Tessa Taylor stepped off the train, grateful to be on solid ground as her shaky legs stumbled on the platform. Behind her, another passenger grumbled, all but shoving her aside as he descended the three metal stairs to the concrete.

Take the train, you said, Tessa muttered to her best friend, who had just stepped down. It’ll be fun, you said.

Picking up both their bags, Kerry Langley only rolled her dark green eyes and gestured with her head to a bench at the entrance to the station. Go sit over there, you big baby. Ben and I will get the rest.

Tessa did as she was told, stumbling across the tracks and over to the bench, taking a seat and dropping her head between her knees. Her hair, all thick black curls streaked with red underneath, fell around her shoulders. She’d never been known for having a strong stomach. Hell, even turning around too fast had made her nauseated before. The constant jostling of the train had been bad enough, but it was the final lurch when they came to a stop that really did her in.

You gonna make it?

Taking in a deep breath to steady her stomach, Tessa looked up into her fiancé’s bright blue eyes. They twinkled with amusement, though she could see the concern etched in the lines around them.

Ben Cates was her opposite in every way. At twenty-seven, he stood tall and broad at six-foot-one with close-cropped blond hair, striking blue eyes, and a sharp face that made his handsome features stand out even more. He typically wore what she considered preppy clothes that made him look wealthier than he was, though she’d seen him throw a right hook more often than once against someone who had insulted him, or his girl. Appearances could be deceiving.

Tessa often felt slight next to him, with her slender five-foot-one frame, dark hair that fell to her waist, chocolate-brown eyes, and face that was far too delicate-looking for her liking. As a teenager she’d attempted to combat the softness with dark makeup, but now, at twenty-five, went a little lighter, especially ever since Ben’s parents had taken to labeling her that goth girl.

I’m fine, she finally answered, forcing herself to stand and adjust the bag on her shoulder. Let’s make Savannah regret ever letting us past the city line.

*

Their first stop was the restaurant and inn, where they dropped off their bags and took a few minutes to explore. Rumor had it this particular inn was one of the most haunted places in the city, and Tessa could certainly see why. The hallways were narrow, the walls cracked in some places, each step creating a creak that echoed in the otherwise quiet air. The lights were dim, accented by the orange glow from streetlamps outside, casting long shadows that reached for them as they passed.

The room was nice enough, with a queen-sized bed so high she’d need a stepstool just to get in, a brick fireplace in the corner, and three antique high-backed chairs placed around a dresser and desk. A mirror faded with age rested atop the dresser.

Tessa stopped in front of it, taking in her pale face that made her look as crappy as she felt. With a sigh, she wiped at her face and hair in a vain attempt to look somewhat human again. A small laugh escaped when she saw the flat-screen TV in the mirror over her shoulder.

History meets the Twenty-First Century, she said to Ben, who was digging through the suitcase. He glanced over at the TV, then back at Tessa. A wry grin crossed his face as he approached her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Something needs to scare the ghosts away, he whispered in her ear. I hear ghosts don’t like cartoons.

Tessa swatted his hands. I already told you we are not watching cartoons this weekend.

Hey, a guy can try, can’t he?

They washed up quickly and prepared for the evening. Tessa whistled when Kerry stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of skinny jeans with a rope belt, strappy white sandals, and a tight white shirt ripped in all the right places. A gray bucket-style hat topped off the look. In opposition, Tessa wore a long-sleeved black shirt that matched her black knee-high boots and slouchy crochet hat that did absolutely nothing except make her look somewhat stylish.

Always the attention seeker, Kerry struck a pose. "What do you think? Will the ghosts find me absolutely to die for?" She cracked up at her own joke.

If they weren’t already dead before, they’d keel over at your lame jokes, Ben deadpanned from the door. Come on, let’s go.

CHAPTER 2

In true tourist fashion, Kerry had booked them a spot with a popular Savannah ghost tour. She’d always been the horror fan of the trio, dragging them to scary movies and insisting on going to every haunted house in the city at Halloween. Cheap thrills and obnoxious screams were her specialty.

After a dinner of fried foods that blew any chance of a diet they may have been considering, the three made the short walk from the restaurant to Colonial Park Cemetery. They walked silently along the sidewalk that was lined with tipped iron bars, peering in through the breaks to see crumbling headstones shadowed by the few orange lights glinting beneath the cloud-covered sky.

It was nearing eleven when they came to a stop in front of the gates, nary a sound to be heard save for the shuffling of shoes on concrete. The archway rose high above them, topped with an angel blackened against the sky, enclosed by a gateway chained shut with a thick gold lock.

To keep us out, or the ghosts in? Tessa wondered.

A small group had already formed by the gates, nine adults sitting on the stone steps leading to the cemetery, or with their faces pressed against the metal, staring in at the tombstones as though willing a spirit to appear.

After a few minutes of waiting, a man dressed in black from head to toe appeared from around the corner. His clothes were old-fashioned, though Tessa couldn’t have said from what time period. He wore a loose, long-sleeved black shirt that reminded her of a pirate, topped with a black vest made of the same material as his pants. Bulky boots, folded over at the top, adorned his feet, while a fancy hat that completed the probably-pirate style finished off the look at the other end.

When he waved his hands in greeting, she saw light glinting off the many rings he wore, an array of jewels and metal bands. He wore equally sparkling earrings and two necklaces that draped down across his chest. And when he spoke, it was with what she guessed was an Irish accent.

Greetings, my brave lads and lasses. My name is Augustus Jones, and I will be your guide for the evening. I welcome you to the night’s tour. Let us hope you survive it. His grin was friendly, eliciting a few chuckles from the group. Quickly he read off their names, and after ensuring everyone had arrived, began his tour.

We will begin with the Colonial Park Cemetery, our start and end point for tonight’s ghost tour. He led them around the corner, speaking of voodoo rituals that were known to take place. Not really interested in talk of sacrificed goats, Tessa attempted to listen while observing the town at night. She liked the feel of the city so close to midnight, quiet yet bustling with late-night activity; a sleepy town filled with history.

Gross, she heard Kerry mutter. Tessa looked over to see her friend staring at her feet.

What?

Weren’t you listening? Kerry chastised. He just said that back in the day, they tried to cure yellow fever by burning tar. They thought the smoke would cure the disease. Can you imagine, a whole city filled with burning tar? Nasty. And they ran out of room to bury the bodies, so they just built trenches and buried them. And we’re standing on one.

Tessa peered down at her own feet. They were standing on a giant concrete slab. Patches of weeds sprouted up from cracks and holes in the cement.

Years ago this was a basketball court for the locals, Augustus continued. Children playing games on top of bones. Paints a pretty picture, doesn’t it? Tessa looked around, seeing just an old, crappy patch of half concrete, half weeds. Next to her was a gigantic oak tree that shadowed most of the square. The guide saw her looking, and smiled. That tree has been here for hundreds of years. It has seen the best and worst this city has to offer, and now draws its very lifeblood from the corpses of the diseased.

Fighting a shudder, Tessa placed her hand on the tree, imagining the roots burrowing into the bones of the bodies buried beneath them, sucking out blood and marrow. The picture was disrupted when Augustus laughed to himself and gestured for them to follow. With a final look up at the thick branches, Tessa made to follow, her hand dragging across the bark and catching on something sharp.

Shit, she muttered, yanking her arm back and peering through the dark at the wound. It was a shallow enough cut, strangely deep for a piece of bark, but not enough to need much care other than pulling an old napkin from her bag and using it to apply pressure.

Annoyed that she’d managed to injure herself in such a stupid way, Tessa trailed behind the others. They walked down a couple more streets, Tessa trying to pay more attention. The idea of walking on bones made her a bit uncomfortable, though she had to admit it was interesting. When they finally came to a stop in Calhoun Square, she made it a point to pay more attention.

And here we have one of Savannah’s most notorious houses. So notorious, even, that no one has lived there for at least fifty years. They approached an old three-story home that had long since been loved by caring owners. Weeds claimed the front yard, or what parts of it weren’t covered with almost knee-high brown grass. Vines crept across the yard, though they stopped at the cracked front steps, which spiraled up to a small landing darkened by a thick wooden door. Three windows, accented by open black shutters, decorated each floor. Two windows were blocked by white curtains, but the third was unfiltered, although the night made it impossible to see inside.

From the street in Calhoun Square, Tessa attempted to peer in, but could see only an eerie, gaping blackness that sent chills up her spine. When the guide’s flashlight swept over the house, she realized that what she thought was the first floor was actually a basement of sorts, and the first floor was far above her head. She could barely see the second story, shadowed as it was by the trees and clouds, but what she could see made her so uncomfortable that she averted her eyes and focused instead on their guide.

In 1868, this house behind me was built for General Ben Wilson, a Civil War veteran. Not long after moving in, his wife died of yellow fever, leaving behind the general and their young daughter. He was a strict father, and disapproved of his daughter’s friends, but she didn’t listen to his demands that she stay home.

Augustus turned slightly and pointed the flashlight at the third window on the first floor. It is said that one day, angry that his daughter had again slipped out of the house to play with her friends, General Wilson tied her to a chair in the living room, in front of that window, so she could watch the other kids but not play with them. Some say he later removed the ropes after neighbors complained that it was unfair to the child, but forced her to stay in the chair nonetheless.

Kerry glanced over at Tessa. A grimace was set in her expression, matching the discomfort on her fiancé’s face. But still they listened as their guide continued.

A few days later, the general’s daughter died, likely of dehydration and heat stroke. General Wilson would later pass away in his home, of natural causes. But that’s not the end of this house’s gruesome history.

Tessa clutched Ben’s hand, more than a little freaked out. She wasn’t normally one for scary things, shying away from horror movies and preferring not to read news stories about serial killers and kidnappings. Above all else, she avoided stories of children being abused. Yet she couldn’t help but be fascinated by this home’s history.

In 1959, he continued, a Florida family came to visit their family who now lived in this house, a couple with four daughters. It’s not known what happened that fateful night, but what is known is that the adults went out for the evening, and when they returned, three of the girls were found dead, their bodies laid out in the shape of a triangle on the floor. The fourth was still alive. No one ever solved the murder.

He continued, Many mysterious things have gone unsolved in this house. Workers have claimed to enter the house when it’s dark, and reach out to turn on the lights, only to find a hand already on the light switch. A shudder worked its way up Tessa’s spine. Others have heard pounding, giggling, have seen a little girl looking out the living room window. So many people have been frightened away by the house’s negative energy that it remains empty, perhaps waiting for its next victim. Those who have dared to enter the house still insist they suffer from the most wicked of things.

What kind of things? one of the tour-goers asked from the back of the crowd.

Their host’s eyes flashed with a mischievous gleam as he replied, The worst kinds of things. Nightmares that felt so real, they woke up with marks upon their skin. Thoughts so dark, they began to fear their own minds. And soon, driven mad by the delusions, they committed unspeakable acts, often to the ones they loved most.

Next to Tessa, Kerry sucked in a breath. How awful, she whispered.

Now, he continued with a grand sweep of his arm, "the home remains a relic of Savannah, a place where none dare enter but many dare upon, wondering about the lives lost, the minds rendered insane, no one truly sure just what kind of evil lurks within the walls.

Of course, Augustus continued, the slightest of smirks spread across his face, some say these stories are simply that—stories—and that this house is just a house that people like to tell tall tales about. Anyone care to test that theory?

The collective eyed the house, no one making a move. Tessa could see the discomfort spread across everyone’s faces. Moving on, then, their guide said with a chuckle.

As the group started to move on, Kerry hung back, taking hold of Tessa’s arm. Hey. I have an idea.

That’s never a good thing, Tessa mused, glancing at the group. Ben was engrossed in the host’s words, not even noticing his fiancée was no longer at his side.

I’m serious! Kerry’s eyes shifted to the house they had just passed. Without the guide’s flashlight, it was but a black shadow against an even blacker sky, an ominous sight. Let’s go inside.

Tessa stared at her best friend of fifteen years like she’d just lost her damn mind—and, clearly, she had. "Uh, right. Let’s go in the house where little girls were tied to chairs and murdered in triangles and ghost hands remain on light switches. That sounds like fun."

Oh, come on, Tess. We go in, have a few scares, and have an awesome story to tell everyone when we get back to Florida.

Hesitation rooted her feet firmly in place. Tessa stared at the house, torn. She hated dark places, the secrets they held, the dangers they possessed. At home, she wouldn’t even let Ben turn off the light without ensuring the nightlight in the corner was on. Of course, she had good reason to fear the dark … but those were times she’d rather not think about.

Fine, she finally conceded, deciding that now was as good a time as any to stop letting the dark control her fears. She risked a glance at the group to see they had turned the corner up ahead. Five minutes and that’s it, Kerry.

They approached the house hand in hand, terror already seizing them as they crept up the front steps, the stone steps unmoving against their feet. Tessa pulled out her cell and turned on her flashlight app, noting the time at 11:35. The white light barely lit the path, but it was better than nothing.