The Haunting of Shandy Bay Part I
My name is Henry James and I’m a writer for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Conclusion
A lot of things.
I consider myself quasi-religious at best, but sometimes God finds a way to get up in your grill and dare you not to believe a miracle staring you in the face.
No I ain’t going to pound the pulpit folks.
I’m just sayin’.
A lot has happened in a short span of time. Things which made me question this old life of mine and how I live it.
Over the course of several months I’ve spoken with a convicted murderer who used a demonic creature to kill someone, met a lady who was convinced her husband was an invisible monster, been involved in a car crash, seen ghosts, and watched a tree absorb the spirits of children.
Damn, I was spent. I needed a break.
That’s why I’m in my car heading toward the coast. It’s been a long time since I visited Galveston. Although I was BOI (Born On the Island) I can’t speak much about the city. My parents left town months after I was born so it’s not like I remember much.
Actually I don’t remember anything. The city wasn’t the appealing part anyway.
I was thinking about hanging out on a beach for a couple of days; taking in a little sun, salt water and ocean breeze. Problem is, I figured I’d stick out like a sore thumb in a long sleeve shirt, boots and blue jeans. Unfortunately, Sunny Alexander had been right. I don’t own a pair of shorts, much less a pair of swim trunks.
No, I’m not about to hunt down a nude beach. People would either die of horror or laughter. One of the two.
Maybe both.
Twenty miles north of Galveston I changed course. It’s a given when the wind shifts you’ve got to go with it. I’d never heard of Shandy Bay, but the name kind of sounded mystical and sensuous. A sleepy little haven where someone could stay a while and recharge the soul.
Shandy Bay’s a tiny beach town, well off the beaten path. Not necessarily a big deal for me. It’s not like I haven’t seen my share of small towns. I’m used to dilapidated buildings in serious need of repair, animals taking afternoon naps in the middle of streets, and intersections managed by a single street light which no longer functions.
Shandy Bay was way different. The only word I can think of to describe it is, precise.
Yeah, precise.
In the middle of town sat a large fountain gushing an orchestrated spray of water into the air. Well maintained shops ringed a large square of cobblestone streets, their front windows festooned with colorful wares and bright neon signs. A tourist town for sure.
Problem was, there weren’t any tourists.
Strange.
It was damn near the end of June, supposedly the height of the season and yet no tourists? Okay, I gave Shandy Bay the benefit of a doubt. Maybe it was an off day. Or maybe this tiny little beach town wasn’t a main attraction for folks.
If that was the case, how in the hell were they keeping everything so well maintained? The streets were clean, the buildings looked as if they’d been newly erected and it seemed as if every single shop was opened for business.
Maintenance and daily operation like this took a lot of money.
No tourists, no money.
Again, strange, but the strangest thing I saw in town was something I’d seen before. Something I’d ridden in before. I guided my car into a space next to it, got out then leaned against the hood and crossed one boot over the other to wait it out.
The Browning ball cap I wore kept my pate from frying like an egg on a concrete pavement in the noon sun, and I’d only broken a sweat when she walked out of one of the shops holding a bag of goodies. When she saw me she stopped, slid her sun glasses to the top of her head, and glared at me.
“What the hell are you doing here James?”
I tilted my head and grinned at her, “I don’t know Sunny. I was about to ask you the same damn thing.”
“Not here.”
I watched her slide her sunglasses back in place then pass by as if I was total stranger. As she opened her car door and threw the bag into the passengers seat I heard her say, “you want to get off my car mister?”
Oh, so it’s like that is it?
“Sorry ma’am. I thought you was somebody else.”
I waited until she pulled out and drove away, then backed out and followed. What are the odds? I figure I know Sunny pretty damned well by now. Chances are she didn’t pick Shandy Bay for the scenery.
Here we go. The game’s afoot.
I caught up with her about two miles away along a coastal road. When she pulled into a rather decent looking motel I followed then found a parking spot on the opposite side of the atrium. I was thinking the cost of a couple of nights here would probably stretch the hell out of my expense report. But I guessed if Rick approved hers he’d probably do the same for me.
That is, if he didn’t kill us both for staying in the same motel during the same time period. Rick has this thing about me and Sunny teaming up to work on a single story.
And now here she was, somehow showing up in the same town I did.
Kismet meet Karma.
I knocked on her apartment door. She opened it, grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me into the room. Just as quick, she slammed the door then whirled around and stared at me, both hands on her hips, an exasperated look twisting her normally coy, and always enchanting, features.
“Henry, why is it you stick your nose in everything I try to do?”
“Whoa there Shaundrika. I didn’t even know I was coming to Shandy Bay until I veered off a road outside of Galveston. I was just looking for a little solitude. Ya know, a place to kind of get my thoughts back together.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
“Because?”
“Local gossip has it Shandy Bay is haunted.”
“The whole damned town?”
Sunny slapped her palms against the side of her jeans then crossed the room to a desk chair and plopped in it.
“I swear to God Henry. Do you ever research anything before you just jump in the middle of it?”
“You know me better than that.”
“Listen, Shandy Bay the city got its name because of the bay Henry. The name of the bay is the same. Local gossip has the bay is haunted. People who’ve gone there turn up missing. Strange things have been seen and heard. None of the locals go anywhere near the place even during the day.”
“Sounds like my cup of tea. So why are you here? I would think a haunting wouldn’t quite be your jam.”
“Did you just say jam?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re too damn old to try and be hip Henry. Stick with what you know Grandpa.”
“Bite me Alexander. Seriously why are you here?”
“A little tip from a source of mine.”
“Oh, so you and Manny went out to dinner again?”
Sunny smiled at me.
“Well, well, well. You finally figured it out didn’t you old man?”
“You call me old man one more time and I’ll bend you over my knee and bust your ass.”
For some reason, we both started laughing. As Sunny wiped tears from her eyes she said, “something’s going on here Henry. Manny has his suspicions, but I think someone created this haunted thing as a cover.”
“A cover for what?”
“No clue. Look, how both of us managed to converge on this story I have no idea, but I think we need to start poking around.”
“We? Remember how pissed off Rick was when we worked the Jericho Brown story together without his permission?”
Sunny flipped her hand dismissively, “Paleeeze. All Rick cares about is a good story. We give him a good story, he gnaws on our butts in public to prove his worth to the magazine then we’re back on the road. Are you in this or not?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“A simple yes would have sufficed Henry.”
READ ON THE HAUNTING OF SHANDY BAY PART II
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