The Haunting of Belle's Isle

My house isn’t haunted. It’s not possible that it’s haunted, and you know why? Because GHOSTS don’t exists! Or at least that’s what I thought before I met the Winchester brothers who flipped my world up-side down and turned inside out….

It was quiet outside, dark and gloomy like it usually was, maybe it was the

weeping willows that draped themselves around the house and river, and the towering oaks that stood straight and tall like soldiers, or maybe the clouds that drifted over the moon, blacking out it’s silvery rays. Whatever it was, it reminded me of my first night in this new place, alone and still a little wounded from my recent break-up with Zeke Hardish. It was a miracle that I had found this little plantation, tucked deep in the Bayou and wrapped in the solitude of the swamps, the complete isolation of the place made it easier to lick my wounds in peace

Looking out the window I could still remember the stone cold shock at seeing this place, a monstrous stone and brick house with dark green ivy that snaked up the front and curved around the sides. I loved it on sight, the smell of fresh earth and grass, the warmth of the sun splitting through the trees and dancing on my pale skin, the sounds of birds and the gentle sway of trees. I could almost catch the smell of water and mud on the breeze, not an unpleasant smell, at least not to me. My heart practically burst in my chest, it was old fashioned with solid white columns that ran up the front all the way to the top where a simple round window that looked out onto the Bayou. My heart still does a little jump when I see it and a voice in my head says Mine, this is mine, it was the inside that really got me though. Soft blue faded couches and velvet draperies that reached from the top of the bay windows to the bottom where they just brushed the navy carpet.

The first time I stepped into the room, everything was slightly dusty, the dark cherry wood was covered in a thin layer of dust and grime, the chairs and sofas were dirty from lack of cleaning. Now they stood proud, gleaming with polish and cleaner, smelling of lilacs and lavender, and giving the dark parlor and cheery note. It was the first night I had seen her, the ghost that didn’t exist. I remember it because it had seemed so real to me, this apparition, her long brown hair was dark and flowing over her slim shoulders that were draped with a voluminous white nightgown. Her skin was tight across her drawn face, white with dark, almost black circles beneath her pale eyes. Her mouth opened and formed around words but no sound came from her dark mouth, almost blue mouth. Fear paralyzed me first, it was the first emotion to hit my already fried system from the long drive from New York to Georgia, then anger.

How dare someone do this to me? This is my house, MY HOUSE. A prank and I just moved in. As soon as this thought hit me the white mirage began to shimmer and disappear, fading along the sunlight, just an apparition. Now I wait for her each night, a shimmery fear like the ghost that blended with a honest

anger. Three months have passed and I’ve only seen her once, which strengthened my resolve towards the fact that it was a prank for new people in town, or a mirage induced by lack of sleep and stress. Tonight was my last night waiting until midnight for the flickering phantom, waiting for the tall, striking woman to make her appearance. Nothing as of yet.

“Damn spirits, never very good at keeping time.” I say smugly to myself.

An hour to midnight and the cup of warm Lap Seng tea was calming to my nerves that were shot from dealing with my publisher, a complete idiot I might add, I take a sip and feel the heat trail down my throat and into my stomach, the smoky, deeply exotic taste still lingering on my tongue. It’s my favorite kind of tea for these kind of deep dark nights were heavy black clouds drift in the sky.

“Mark my words, Ramsey, it’s going to be rain.” I say to my cat, who is curled at my feet as I sit in one of the deep chairs. “I can smell it.”

Coming home in my crappy little Volvo I smelled the sweet musk of the sky, and the damp earth, even the crocodiles could tell for they had snuck beneath the shade of the willows to save themselves from the hot sun and thick humidity that stuck like wool to my skin. It was only a matter of time. I tucked a lock of my thick, frizzy red hair that I had liberally streaked with blonde behind my ear and leaned back into the chair. Ramsey meowed in agreement with me, and tucked his head back into his paws, I wished I could have that kind of contentment, to be able to tuck my head away and just sleep. There are others things that my cat has though that I would die to have, for one I would like to have the sleek, smooth grace and body that cats have, maybe not the hair but definitely the body. I would like to have a slimmer body, one that didn’t bust of the camisole that came out in a two piece of pajamas, a body that didn’t look disgusting in a pair of jeans.

Grace would be nice too, one thing you should know about me before this thing goes on is that I’m the clumsiest person in the world and not a size six, instead of size six like my mother would have preferred but instead a size 14. Not average, not skinny, but healthy. Suddenly I see something out of the corner of my eye, just a little flash of white, something had passed in front of the doorway.

“Son of a bitch.” I say and shoot out of my chair.

I walk to the window and look outside debating whether I should follow or let this spirit do what it supposed to.

“Gwendolyn.” A voice that kind of whispered to me and drifted in and out.

To be honest I’m afraid, what if all those years of knowing that the supernatural didn’t exist, knowing that every moment of every day was just another day at the office. Maybe that’s what I was looking for when I moved here and had heard the stories about this place, maybe I was looking for a little adventure where nothing had been before. Now I’m rationalizing following a ghost, what the hell is my damage? FOLLOW THE STUPID GHOST! My brain was screaming over and over and over again, finally I give up. Time for a little adventure.

Later that Night at Malarky’s Bar and Grill

My house is not haunted. My house is not haunted. MY HOUSE IS NOT HAUNTED! It’s not possible.

“Tequila, straight, NO ice.” I say to the bartender who’s looking at me like I just died and became a ghost, which is very probably what I look like.

“No problem, Gwen.” The bartender says to me with a semi-grin.

From somewhere down the bar I hear a man speak, someone with a smooth accent that’s very obviously not southern but more city slicker sounding, to be honest it was very hard to actually pin it. I can’t help but look, not many visitors come around here was the vibe I got when I first came here so it seemed perfectly natural for me to see what this man was doing here. The first glance was all it took to knock me off my feet, he’s the kind of guy I would have seen in the city, the bad boy I loved, the faded black leather jacket and roughed up jeans, and the kind of face that belonged to an ad for Levi’s jeans. Rugged, and mountain mannish he was gorgeous, which made him absolutely off limits to me, he was slim, sexy and muscled while I was frumpy, dumpy and lumpy, my personally three most hated dwarves.

His voice was smooth like a well made whiskey and made her tune in for another taste.

“You know the old Belle’s Isle Plantation?” he said.

Omigod. That’s my house! He’s looking for my house! You have no idea how much joy that brings me, because a hot looking muscle man was looking for my house, which also meant that he was looking for me… whoa…. He’s looking for me, why?

“Yea, Gwen Gandilini owns that place.”

That’s me! I want to scream it at the top of my lungs, also I want to keep this to myself, I’m sure that if this man looks at me he will be disgusted with what he sees. Okay, okay, that’s pretty shallow, but my mother hasn’t exactly been very supportive of my weight. Fat, she says. Healthy says my sister. And Living is what my father says. I guess wealth has it’s own benefits, I don’t have to live with them. I turn away from the smooth man and his even smoother words, I need to get home to my cats and my family who is unfortunately staying with me along with the rag tag team of people who just came to me. My maids Beth and Liza, my cook Tania, the handyman Rutger, my brother Lancelot (better if you not ask) and his wife Anita who doubles as a the dumbest person on earth but is remarkably gifted with animals such as the horses who stay in my stable and the cats who linger on my doorstep, this is my strange new family since I have come to Georgia. Three months and I have already attracted the strangest on earth, but these things happen, it just so happens that it always happened to me.

Sensing that it was time for me to go before Levi decided it was time to meet and greet Gwen and the owner of Belle’s Isle, before the bartender can point me out I leave the bar, only having taken a few sips and slapping a few bills on the bar. Still the clouds are bloated and swollen but not rain drop falls from the sky, it’s strange but I don’t question it, it’s better not to wonder about the state of mother nature. Before I can drop my head though I bump into a tall man with dark brown hair, a lock falling over his eyes, he looks momentarily surprised.

“Oh hi Calvin!” I say in a chirpy voice before I realize that I don’t know this man. “If you’re looking for directions to Belle’s Isle, it’s right down that road, but you turn left right before the huge oak tree.”

“Excuse me?” the man says to me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say in a whispery kind of a voice before strolling away.

I don’t know why I called him Calvin, it’s probably because he looks like he should be on an ad for Calvin Klein, how odd but I can’t worry about it, I just have to get away before this man questions me. I don’t know how I know, I just do, he’ll be at my house tomorrow along with the other man. I have to get back to my house, my soon to be Bed and Breakfast, I have to prepare for Calvin and Levi tomorrow.

TBC