Page 7 of Stronger Than Blood
I leaned back in the swing, letting my head fall forward. The darkness had almost gotten me admitted to the state hospital when I was a teenager, if it wasn’t for Granny and Joann, my cousin… well, Granny’s niece. Anyway, family was family in these parts, and it didn’t matter how far down the line it went.
Joann had talked Granny into getting me therapy after I’d arrived back in Granny’s life and acted more like a church mouse than a teenage boy. The dreams had started shortly after moving in and scared the hell out of both of us. Then, I began having waking dreams, and they were so much worse. The blood and the terror of that first dream that came during the day still plagued me.
When I accidentally told the therapist I was feeling the ghost, she immediately called in Granny and asked if she could put me in the state hospital for observation.
Granny had just laughed. “Lady, if you put every Southerner in the loony bin for seeing or feeling ghosts, there wouldn’t be noneof us left!” she’d said, and that had been the end of my therapy sessions with that woman.
That day, Granny had taken me to Piston Creek where the Methodist Church had hired a young apprentice minister whose degree was in social work before he went to divinity school. Anyway, his take was that I wasn’t nuts but rather facing a demon. “And no wonder, after what happened there when he was just a kid,” he’d said after Granny had explained I was having spells.
The young man had turned to me and smiled. “You've got to tell the devil to get out and leave you alone. The Bible tells us we have the power to rebuke and cast out demons.”
After that, I tried, and it did get better. I was never sure if it was because of the Bible or just because I was facing my fears. In fact, up until now, I figured that’s what it’d been—me facing the demons inside me. Unfortunately, I hadn’t faced the fear, not… not entirely. Like today I mostly just avoided it.
I knew I wasn’t going back inside with him there, at least not today, and because I didn’t want my grandmother to come home to a ton of work from today’s garden harvest, I threw the baskets of peas and beans into the back of my truck, thanking the good Lord that it wasn’t the time of year for everything else to be ready for harvesting. I’d shell and snap this batch before taking a nap and getting ready for my night shift at the store bakery.
I’d volunteered to take the night shifts mainly because it allowed me to help my grandmother during the day, but also ’cause I liked doing all the baking when it was just me or me and one other person at night.
I looked warily over at the house and shuddered when the curtain flickered in the front room. I really needed to figure out how to get an exorcist over here. That son of a bitch had spent enough time creating trouble in our lives. Now, if I could just find one that wasn’t full of crap.
I drove to my tiny apartment, thankful the hateful spirit never bothered Granny Ida.
I took the produce up the two flights of steps and plopped it down on my sixties Formica-top dining table. The apartment had been the one I’d moved into when my first relationship turned to crap, and since it was just me, and I was always concerned Granny might need something, I stayed and saved my money, instead of moving to something decent.
I scrubbed my hands and face, deciding to get the produce dealt with before I showered and turned on the television like we’d done when I’d been living with Granny during the summers. “TV during the day is fine as long as your hands are busy,” she’d told me early on. It was funny, but I still lived by that philosophy today.
It only took a moment to process, wash, and put all the vegetables in my refrigerator. I sighed as I thought about the extra thirty minutes I’d have to carve out of my sleep today to get everything back to Granny’s house. She’d have a fit if I left it until tomorrow.
I understood why she’d wanted to get them canned fast, at least the green beans. If she didn’t get them in the jars, they’d wilt and wouldn’t be worth eating. If I didn’t have to work tonight, I’d can them myself, even if I was dealing with a tiny stove and no counter space.
I shrugged off those thoughts and climbed into the shower. Normally, I’d shower after I woke up before work, but I wouldn’t get into bed covered in dirt. Oh well, I’d wear a hat to work tonight ’cause I would for sure wake up with some wacky bedhead after sleeping with wet hair.
As the shower washed off the dirt, I thought of the evil entity and groaned. “There’s got to be a solution. I just wish I could figure it out.”
By the time I was done, as usual, no solution had come to mind, and I forced myself to forget it as I dried off, then climbed into bed—nothing I could do about it now, anyway.
Chapter five
Rory
Idecided to start my journey at the cemetery. My grandparents had sold their land between Brentwood and Franklyn, which is why I had time to explore my more unusual senses with Madam Bellamy. When Grandpa passed in 2015, his house reverted to the neighborhood contractor who’d purchased the farm and turned it into a subdivision. I didn’t mind, ’cause the old house was run down and didn’t appeal to me anyway. Besides, the money they got for the farm, which I later inherited, was more than enough to keep me going for the foreseeable future.
The problem was that I didn’t know where my past was. Madam Bellamy had been insistent that I go home. Where was home? A bunch of new homes that all looked alike? Even the old house had been torn down, and in its place was some suburbanite clone of the neighbors’.
I found my grandparents’ grave and put the flowers down that I’d purchased from Dollar General on the way here. Grandma would’ve been mad. She always said flowers were the worst waste of money ever, but I didn’t know what else to bring. It’snot like they’d be eating chocolates or anything, although my grandma had always loved those chocolate-covered cherries you could buy in the box.
I had spent extra money on the large stone and paid the yearly fee to keep things tidy. So, I was glad to see the graveyard crews were keeping the area looking good. There weren’t even any grass clippings on the stone.
I leaned back against it and looked out over the cemetery. I knew my people were buried all over these parts. The cemetery was established in the 1860s, and they’d bought their plot the year the Civil Rights Act passed. My grandpa liked to brag that they were the first Black folks to own a plot in that cemetery. Add to the fact that he and Grandma were a biracial couple, they really were trailblazers.
I was proud of their heritage. Proud of my parents, too, since they’d been a biracial couple as well. They’d all fought valiantly for their rights. I, however, had no one left. I didn’t even have neighbors I could talk to.
I stood up, and a funny feeling fell over me. It was as if a haze covered my vision sending goose bumps over my skin. A gentle breeze passed over me and I heard, “there,” whispered on the wind. I quickly glanced toward my right where a new grave still had the tent over it.
I recognized the older woman who was standing, running her hand over the new stone.
I wasn’t sure who or what had told me to look her way, but I figured it was in my best interest to listen so I shook off the weird feeling I always got when the paranormal happened around me and walked toward the tent.
“Mrs. Cox?” I asked as I walked over.
