moss that seems to feed on the trees. There weren’t as many oaks as at the famous plantation Oak Alley, and the rows weren’t as long, but the house that stood at the end of the drive was stately and gleaming white in the sunlight.
“Oh, Derek!” Mom cried. “It’s wonderful! It’s picture-perfect!”
The house was a tall two stories. Verandas, supported by rows of tall columns, wrapped around both the lower and the upper story. Steps from the curving drive led to the center of the lower veranda. Beyond, deep in shadow, was a massivewooden front door. On either side and on the second story, sheer curtains hung at windows that were also shaded by the wide verandas. There were patches here and there where brick showed through worn spots on the columns.
“A little plaster, a new coat of paint,” Dad said. He sounded excited.
“Oh, Derek!” Mom cried again. “I’ll open the gate. I can’t wait to see all of the house!”
I patted the spot where the bag of gris-gris lay under my shirt. Under my trembling fingers I could feel the pounding of my heart. Whatever made me think that
I
could face the evil that haunted Graymoss?
CHAPTER SIX
F rom around a corner of the house came a tall, lean man in overalls. Wisps of white hair stuck out from under his broad-brimmed straw hat. I guess he had heard our car. As he stood next to his pickup, he looked at us with curiosity.
“Are y’all lost?” he called.
Mom hopped from the car. “No,” she said, and walked toward him. Dad and I joined her, and she introduced us. “You must be Mr. Charles Boudreau,” she added.
He nodded. “Folks around here just call me Charlie. You can call me Charlie, too. That’s what I’m used to answerin’ to. I’m the caretaker here.”
Mom smiled like a little kid at Christmas. “I’m the new owner of Graymoss, Charlie.”
“What happened to Mrs. Langley?”
“Mrs. Langley was my grandmother. She died and left Graymoss to me,” Mom explained.
Charlie removed his hat, leaving a damp halo where his hair stuck tightly to his sweaty scalp. “I’m mighty sorry to hear she passed on,” he said. “I only met Mrs. Langley once, but she sent checks regular, right on the dot.”
“I’ll keep the checks coming,” Mom said. “Even after we move into Graymoss, we’ll still need your help.”
“Move in?” Charlie stared in surprise. “You surely ain’t planin’ to live in the house, are you?”
Dad spoke up. “Why not? It seems to be in fair condition. It shouldn’t be too hard to make it livable.”
He turned to get a closer look at the house. The deep veranda, dim and cool in the morning’s heat, beckoned invitingly. I suppose Dad felt it, too. All the veranda needed was a porch swing and a table that would hold lemonade glasses and a stack of good books.
Turning back to Charlie, Dad asked, “Are you concerned about repairs that might be needed on the house?”
Charlie clapped his hat back on his head. “Some repairs are probable, but I’m not talkin’ about repairs alone. The inside kitchen’s impossible. You wouldn’t want to try cookin’ in it. There’s no gas in the house, and no electricity, and no indoor plumbin’. There’s a four-hole privy out back—at least what remains of it. I wouldn’t try to use it, if I was you.”
“Yuck!” I blurted out. “No real bathrooms? We can’t stay here tonight!”
Mom looked surprised. “We have no plans to spend the night. We’ll be driving back to Metairie.”
“If the structure’s sound, indoor plumbing can be added,” Dad said to Charlie. “Also electricity.”
Charlie slowly shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t think y’all are gonna want to do that on account of nobody can set foot in the house after it starts turnin’ dark.”
Mom sighed. “I suppose you’re referring to those silly stories about haunts roaming through the rooms.”
“You’re the first person I’ve met who called the
“Oh, Derek!” Mom cried. “It’s wonderful! It’s picture-perfect!”
The house was a tall two stories. Verandas, supported by rows of tall columns, wrapped around both the lower and the upper story. Steps from the curving drive led to the center of the lower veranda. Beyond, deep in shadow, was a massivewooden front door. On either side and on the second story, sheer curtains hung at windows that were also shaded by the wide verandas. There were patches here and there where brick showed through worn spots on the columns.
“A little plaster, a new coat of paint,” Dad said. He sounded excited.
“Oh, Derek!” Mom cried again. “I’ll open the gate. I can’t wait to see all of the house!”
I patted the spot where the bag of gris-gris lay under my shirt. Under my trembling fingers I could feel the pounding of my heart. Whatever made me think that
I
could face the evil that haunted Graymoss?
CHAPTER SIX
F rom around a corner of the house came a tall, lean man in overalls. Wisps of white hair stuck out from under his broad-brimmed straw hat. I guess he had heard our car. As he stood next to his pickup, he looked at us with curiosity.
“Are y’all lost?” he called.
Mom hopped from the car. “No,” she said, and walked toward him. Dad and I joined her, and she introduced us. “You must be Mr. Charles Boudreau,” she added.
He nodded. “Folks around here just call me Charlie. You can call me Charlie, too. That’s what I’m used to answerin’ to. I’m the caretaker here.”
Mom smiled like a little kid at Christmas. “I’m the new owner of Graymoss, Charlie.”
“What happened to Mrs. Langley?”
“Mrs. Langley was my grandmother. She died and left Graymoss to me,” Mom explained.
Charlie removed his hat, leaving a damp halo where his hair stuck tightly to his sweaty scalp. “I’m mighty sorry to hear she passed on,” he said. “I only met Mrs. Langley once, but she sent checks regular, right on the dot.”
“I’ll keep the checks coming,” Mom said. “Even after we move into Graymoss, we’ll still need your help.”
“Move in?” Charlie stared in surprise. “You surely ain’t planin’ to live in the house, are you?”
Dad spoke up. “Why not? It seems to be in fair condition. It shouldn’t be too hard to make it livable.”
He turned to get a closer look at the house. The deep veranda, dim and cool in the morning’s heat, beckoned invitingly. I suppose Dad felt it, too. All the veranda needed was a porch swing and a table that would hold lemonade glasses and a stack of good books.
Turning back to Charlie, Dad asked, “Are you concerned about repairs that might be needed on the house?”
Charlie clapped his hat back on his head. “Some repairs are probable, but I’m not talkin’ about repairs alone. The inside kitchen’s impossible. You wouldn’t want to try cookin’ in it. There’s no gas in the house, and no electricity, and no indoor plumbin’. There’s a four-hole privy out back—at least what remains of it. I wouldn’t try to use it, if I was you.”
“Yuck!” I blurted out. “No real bathrooms? We can’t stay here tonight!”
Mom looked surprised. “We have no plans to spend the night. We’ll be driving back to Metairie.”
“If the structure’s sound, indoor plumbing can be added,” Dad said to Charlie. “Also electricity.”
Charlie slowly shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t think y’all are gonna want to do that on account of nobody can set foot in the house after it starts turnin’ dark.”
Mom sighed. “I suppose you’re referring to those silly stories about haunts roaming through the rooms.”
“You’re the first person I’ve met who called the
Similar Books
