Ghost Night
Praise for the novels of Heather Graham
“An incredible storyteller.”
—Los Angeles Daily News
“Graham wields a deftly sexy and convincing pen.”
—Publishers Weekly
“If you like mixing a bit of the creepy
with a dash of sinister and spine-chilling reading
with your romance, be sure to read
Heather Graham’s latest…Graham does
a great job of blending just a bit of paranormal
with real, human evil.”
—Miami Herald on Unhallowed Ground
“Eerie and atmospheric, this is not late-night
reading for the squeamish or sensitive.”
—RT Book Reviews on Unhallowed Ground
“The paranormal elements are integral to the
unrelentingly suspenseful plot, the characters are
likable, the romance convincing, and, in the wake of
Hurricane Katrina, Graham’s atmospheric depiction
of a lost city is especially poignant.”
—Booklist on Ghost Walk
“Graham’s rich, balanced thriller
sizzles with equal parts suspense, romance
and the paranormal—all of it nail-biting.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Vision
“Heather Graham will keep you in suspense
until the very end.”
—Literary Times
“Mystery, sex, paranormal events.
What’s not to love?”
—Kirkus on The Death Dealer
Ghost Night
Heather Graham
www.mirabooks.co.uk
For Scott Perry, Josh Perry,
Frasier Nivens, Sheila Clover-English,
Victoria Fraasa, Brian O’Lyaryz
and the great and fun folks
with whom I’ve been on some strange
and entertaining filming expeditions.
Also by Heather Graham
NIGHT OF THE WOLVES
HOME IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS
UNHALLOWED GROUND
DUST TO DUST
NIGHTWALKER
DEADLY GIFT
DEADLY HARVEST
DEADLY NIGHT
THE DEATH DEALER
THE LAST NOEL
THE SÉANCE
BLOOD RED
THE DEAD ROOM
KISS OF DARKNESS
THE VISION
THE ISLAND
GHOST WALK
KILLING KELLY
THE PRESENCE
DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR
PICTURE ME DEAD
HAUNTED
HURRICANE BAY
A SEASON OF MIRACLES
NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
EYES OF FIRE
SLOW BURN
NIGHT HEAT
The Bone Island Trilogy
GHOST SHADOW
GHOST NIGHT
GHOST MOON (September 2010)
Key West History Time Line
1513—Ponce de Leon is thought to be the first European to discover Florida for Spain. His sailors, watching as they pass the southern islands (the Keys), decide that the mangrove roots look like tortured souls and call them “Los Martires,” or the Martyrs.
Circa 1600—Key West begins to appear on European maps and charts. The first explorers came upon the bones of deceased native tribes, and thus the island was called the Island of Bones, or Cayo Hueso.
The Golden Age of Piracy begins as New World ships carry vast treasures through dangerous waters.
1763—The Treaty of Paris gives Florida and Key West to the British and Cuba to the Spanish. The Spanish and Native Americans are forced to leave the Keys and move to Havana. The Spanish, however, claim that the Keys are not part of mainland Florida and are really North Havana. The English say the Keys are a part of Florida. In reality, the dispute is merely a war of words. Hardy souls of many nationalities fish, cut timber, hunt turtles—and avoid pirates—with little restraint from any government.
1783—The Treaty of Paris ends the American Revolution and returns Florida to Spain.
1815—Spain deeds the island of Key West to a loyal Spaniard, Juan Pablo Salas of St. Augustine, Florida.
1819–1922—Florida is ceded to the United States. Salas sells the island to John Simonton for $2,000. Simonton divides the island into four parts, three going to businessmen Whitehead, Fleming and Greene. Cayo Hueso becomes more generally known as Key West.
1822—Simonton convinces the U.S. Navy to come to Key West—the deepwater harbor, which had kept pirates, wreckers and others busy while the land was scarcely developed, would be an incredible asset to the United States. Lieutenant Matthew C. Perry arrives to assess the situation. Perry reports favorably on the strategic military importance but warns the government that the area is filled with unsavory characters—such as pirates.
1823—Captain David Porter is appointed commodore of the West Indies Anti-Pirate Squadron. He takes over ruthlessly, basically putting Key West under martial law. People do not like him. However, starting in 1823, he does begin to put a halt to piracy in the area.
The United States of America is in full control of Key West, which is part of the U.S. Territory of Florida, and colonizing begins in earnest by Americans, though, as always, those Americans come from many places.
Circa 1828—Wrecking becomes an important service in Key West, and much of the island becomes involved in the activity. It’s such big business that over the next twenty years, the island becomes one of the richest per capita areas in the United States. In the minds of some, a new kind of piracy has replaced the old. Although wrecking and salvage are licensed and legal, many a ship is lured to its doom by less than scrupulous businessmen.
1845—Florida becomes a state. Construction begins on a fort to protect Key West.
1846—Construction of Fort Jefferson begins in the Dry Tortugas.
1850—The fort on the island of Key West is named after President Zachary Taylor.
New lighthouses bring about the end of the golden age of wrecking.
1861—January 10, Florida secedes from the Union. Fort Zachary Taylor is staunchly held in Union hands and helps defeat the Confederate Navy and control the movement of blockade-runners during the war. Key West remains a divided city throughout the Great Conflict. Construction begins on the East and West Martello Towers, which will serve as supply depots. The salt ponds of Key West supply both sides.
1865—The War of Northern Aggression comes to an end with the surrender of Lee at Appomattox Courthouse. Salvage of blockade runners comes to an end.
Dr. Samuel Mudd, deemed guilty of conspiracy for setting John Wilkes Booth’s broken leg after Lincoln’s assassination, is incarcerated at Fort Jefferson, the Dry Tortugas.
As salt and salvage industries come to an end, cigar making becomes a major business. The Keys are filled with Cuban cigar makers following Cuba’s war of independence, but the cigar makers eventually move to Ybor City. Sponging is also big business for a period, but the sponge divers head for waters near Tampa as disease riddles Key West’s beds and the remote location make industry difficult.
1890—The building that will become known as “the little White House” is built for use as an officer’s quarters at the naval station. President Truman will spend at least 175 days here, and it will be visited by Eisenhower, Kennedy and many other dignitaries.
1898—The USS Maine explodes in Havana Harbor, precipitating the Spanish-American War. Her loss is heavily felt in Key West, as she had been sent from Key West to Havana.
Circa 1900—Robert Eugene Otto is born. At the age of four, he receives the doll he will call Robert, and a legend is born, as well.
1912—Henry Flagler brings the Overseas Railroad to Key West, connecting the islands to the mainland for the first time.
1917—On April 6, the United States enters World War I. Key West maintains a military presence.
1919—Treaty of Versailles ends World War I.
1920s—Prohibition gives Key West a new industry—bootlegging.
1927—Pan American Airways is founded in Key West to fly visitors back and forth to Havana.
Carl Tanzler, Count von Cosel, arrives in Key West and takes a job at the Marine Hospital as a radiologist.
1928—Ernest Hemingway comes to Key West. It’s rumored that while waiting for a roadster from the factory, he writes A Farewell to Arms.
1931—Hemingway and his wife, Pauline, are gifted with the house on Whitehead Street. Polydactyl cats descend from his pet, Snowball.
Death of Elena Milagro de Hoyos.
1933—Tanzler removes Elena’s body from the cemetery.
1935—The Labor Day Hurricane wipes out the Overseas Railroad and kills hundreds of people. The railroad will not be rebuilt. The Great Depression comes to Key West, as well, and the island, once the richest in the country, struggles with severe unemployment.
1938—An Overseas Highway is completed, U.S. 1, connecting Key West and the Keys to the mainland.
1940—Hemingway and Pauline divorce; Key West loses her great writer, except as a visitor.
Tanzler is found living with Elena’s corpse. Her second viewing at the Dean-Lopez Funeral Home draws thousands of visitors.
1941—December 7, “a date that will live in infamy,” occurs, and the U.S. enters World War II.
Tennessee Williams first comes to Key West.
1945—World War II ends with the Armistice of August 14 (Europe) and the Surrender of Japan, September 2.
Key West struggles to regain a livable economy.
1947—It is believed that Tennessee Williams wrote his first draft of A Streetcar Named Desire while staying at La Concha Hotel on Duval Street.
1962—The Cuban Missile Crisis occurs. President John F. Kennedy warns the United States that Cuba is only ninety miles away.
1979—The first Fantasy Fest is celebrated.
1980—The Mariel Boatlift brings tens of thousands of Cuban refugees to Key West.
1982—The Conch Republic is born. In an effort to control illegal immigration and drugs, the United States sets up a blockade in Florida City, at the northern end of U.S. 1. Traffic is at a stop for seventeen miles, and the mayor of Key West retaliates on April 23, seceding from the U.S. Key West Mayor Dennis Wardlow declares war, surrenders and demands foreign aid. As the U.S. has never responded, under international law, the Conch Republic still exists. Its foreign policy is stated as, “The Mitigation of World Tension through the Exercise of Humor.” Even though the U.S. never officially recognizes the action, it has the desired effect; the paralyzing blockade is lifted.
1985—Jimmy Buffet opens his first Margaritaville restaurant in Key West.
Fort Zachary Taylor becomes a Florida State Park (and a wonderful place for reenactments, picnics and beach bumming).
Treasure Hunter Mel Fisher at long last finds the Atocha.
1999—First Pirates in Paradise is celebrated.
2000–Present—Key West remains a unique paradise itself, garish, loud, charming, filled with history, water sports, family activities and down-and-dirty bars. “The Gibraltar of the East,” she offers diving, shipwrecks and the spirit of adventure that makes her a fabulous destination, for a day, or forever.
Prologue
South Bimini
September
The sound of the bloodcurdling scream was as startling as the roar of thunder on a cloudless day.
Vanessa Loren immediately felt chilled to the bone, a sense of foreboding and fear as deep-seated as any natural instinct seeming to settle into her, blood, body and soul.
So jarring! It brought casual conversation to a halt, brought those seated to their feet, brought fear to all eyes. It was the sound of the scream, the very heartfelt terror within it, which had been lacking during the day’s work.
The ocean breeze had been beautiful throughout the afternoon and evening; it seemed almost as if the hand of God was reaching down to gently wave off the last dead heat of the day, leaving a balmy temperature behind as the sun sank in the western horizon with an astonishing palette of crimson, magenta, mauve and gold.
The film crew had set up camp on the edge of the sparse pine forest, just yards away from the lulling sound of the ocean. The Bahamian guides who had brought them and worked with them had been courteous, fun and knowledgeable, and there was little not to like about the project, especially as night fell and the last of the blazing, then pastel, shades faded into the sea, and it and the horizon seemed to stretch as one, the sky meeting the ocean in a blur.
A bonfire burned with various shades from brilliant to pale in the darkness, and the crew gathered around as it grew dark. South Bimini was sparsely inhabited, offering a small but popular fisherman’s restaurant and little more, unlike the more tourist-friendly North Bimini, where numerous shops, bars and restaurants lined what was known as The King’s Highway in Alice Town.
They had taken it a step further than South Bimini, choosing to film on one of the several little uninhabited islands jutting out to the southwest. One with a name that had greatly appealed to Jay.
Haunt Island.
A long time ago, there had been a pirate massacre here. Over the years, truth and legend had merged, and it was this very story that Vanessa had used in her script for the low-budget horror film they were shooting.
So infamous years ago, Haunt Island was currently just a place where boaters came now and then. An island filled with scrub and pines, a single dock and an abundance of beach. Out here, tourism wasn’t plentiful—the terrain remained wild and natural, beloved by naturalists and campers.
There had been more people in their group, but now they were down to ten. There were Georgia Dare and Travis Glenn, the two actors playing the characters who remained alive in the script; Jay Allen, director; Barry Melkie, sound; Zoe Cally, props, costumes and makeup; Carlos Roca, lighting; Bill Hinton, and Jake Magnoli, the two young production assistants/lighting/sound/gophers/wherever needed guys; their Bahamian escort and guide, Lew Sanderson; and Vanessa herself, writer and backup with the cameras and underwater footage.
It was all but a wrap. The historical legend filled with real horror that was sure to be a box-office hit on a shoestring budget had been all but completed, and they’d been winding down, crawling out of their tents to enjoy the champagne, laughing and lazing against the backdrop of the sunset and the breeze.
And then the sound of the scream, so much more chilling and horrible than any sound Georgia Dare had managed to emit throughout the filming.
Until that moment, Vanessa Loren had enjoyed the project. It was simple enough—a low-budget horror flick that actually had a plot. She had written the script. In addition, she and Jay were financially committed to the project, which made them both willing to work in any capacity. She was ready to do instant rewrites as needed because of the actors and the environment, and she could film underwater shots and even pitch in as second camera for many of the land shots.
Jay, the director, was planning on making a bundle; he was counting on the success of such films as The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal State. Vanessa and Jay had known each other forever, and had both gone to film school at NYU. He’d contacted her while she was working back in Miami after she’d gotten her master’s degree at the University of Miami. He’d talked the good talk on getting together and finding a few investors to finance a really good low-budget flick.
Luckily, she had just been nicely paid for work she had done writing and filming an advertisement for dive gear. It had been one of the few projects she had worked on that hadn’t been rewritten by a dozen people before coming to fruition—and it had been a sixty-second spot.
Jay agreed with her that if they were going to do the project, an independent endeavor, it had to be done really well. However, they were also looking for commercial success. So the script was well written but also included the usual assortment of teen-slasher-flick characters—the jock who counted his conquests with scratches on his football helmet, the stoner guitar boy, the struggling hero, the popular slut coming on to the hero and the good-girl bookworm. So far, two characters had been killed in the water, two had disappeared from the boat—and two had to fight the evil, reborn pirates on land and sea and somehow survive until help could come to the patch of sand where they’d been grounded in the Atlantic.
The scream.
Vanessa had been sitting by the fire, sipping a glass of champagne and chatting with Jay, Lew and Carlos. They’d broken it open just a few minutes earlier, taking a minute to relax before they all gathered to cook dinner over the fire and the camp stoves they’d brought and finish off the rest of the champagne.
At the scream, she, like the others, stopped what she was doing. They looked at one another in the eerie light produced by the flames in the darkness, then bolted up and started running toward the sound.
Vanessa was in the lead when Georgia came tearing down the beach toward them. Vanessa caught the young woman, trying to hold her, trying to find out what had happened. “Georgia! Stop, stop!” Georgia Dare, a stunning twenty-one-year old blonde, stared at her with eyes as wide as saucers. “Georgia, it’s me, Vanessa. What’s wrong?”
“Nessa…Nessa…oh my God, oh, no, no…!”
Georgia started to scream again, trying to shake Vanessa’s hold.
“Georgia!”
By then, everyone had come, bursting out of their camp tents, forgetting whatever task they had been involved in.
The others gathered behind her while Jay came forward. “Georgia, damn it, what the hell kind of a prank is this?” he demanded. Once, Georgia had tried to pretend that a stunt knife was real and that she’d been stabbed by a woman from the Retirees by the Sea trailer park back in the Keys.
“The bones, the bodies…they are alive, they don’t like us, they’re going to kill us…they’re angry…we’ll all die!” Georgia blurted.
“Damn it, I’ve had it,” Jay said with disgust, turning away. Most of the others did the same.
Vanessa didn’t. Georgia was shaking violently. And that scream! The sound of that scream still seemed to be chilling her blood.
“They’re going to kill us all. Kill us all,” Georgia said. Her eyes fell directly on Vanessa’s then, and she was suddenly as strong as a sumo wrestler, breaking free from Vanessa’s hold and gripping her shoulders instead. “They’re real! They’re going to kill us, don’t you understand, we have to get out of here! They’re coming out of the sand. I saw them…the arms, the hands, the skulls…I saw them, coming out of the sand.”
“Georgia, Georgia, please, stop it. Hey, come on, we’re filming a horror movie, remember?” Vanessa asked gently. “The guys probably set up some of the props to scare you,” She frowned suddenly. “What were you doing alone, way down on the beach?”
“Travis and I…Travis and I…Travis is gone.”
Travis Glenn was the male lead, an exceptionally beautiful if not terribly bright young man.
“Okay, where is Travis?”
“Gone. Gone. The pirate took him.”
“The pirate?”
Georgia shook her head. “Maybe he wasn’t a pirate. I didn’t see him very clearly. But he was evil—he was like an evil shadow, skulking in the darkness. Travis was yelling, and he went after the shadow. He was mad. He thought you all were playing tricks. And then this monster came out of the sand, but he wasn’t right, he seemed to jerk around, like his bones were put back together wrong. And he took Travis and I started screaming and ran.”
Jay came back, hands on his lean hips, chest glistening in the darkness. “Slap her! Nessa, don’t look so damned concerned. She’s jerking us around and it isn’t funny. Damn you, Georgia. Look, I realize this isn’t anything major-budget, but the crew has worked hard and everyone is tired—and you’re acting like a complete bitch! It’s just not the time for practical jokes. Slap her, knock her out of it, Vanessa!”
Vanessa glared at him and shook her head. Georgia wasn’t that good an actress. She had disagreed with casting the young woman, but she had looked phenomenal on film.
“Let’s go down to the beach and see what scared her,” Vanessa suggested. She looked back at Lew, a big, broad-shouldered Bahamian man who had been one of their guides. “Do you think there’s anything down at the beach, Lew?”
“Sand,” he told her.
“Let’s go see.”
Georgia jerked away from her, shaking her head vehemently. “No, no, no! I am not going back there. I am not going back!”
Carlos Roca, their lighting engineer, came toward them. He’d been close to both actors, and Georgia liked him. Vanessa did, too. He was a nice guy—eventempered and capable. He took Georgia’s hands. “Hey, hey. I’ll stay here with you, and we’ll sit by the fire with the others while Lew, Jay and Vanessa go check it all out. How’s that?”
Georgia looked up at him. Huge tears formed in her eyes and she nodded. “Travis is dead,” she told him. “Travis is dead.”
Jay looked at Zoe, who worked with the props, makeup and buckets of stage blood they’d been using. He glared sternly at her, then turned to Bill and Jake, the young production assistants, earning credit from the U of Miami. “Hey, you guys didn’t rig anything, did you—any practical jokes?”
Zoe looked at him with incredulous disdain. “No. No, we did not.”
Jay looked from face to face and was obviously satisfied with the chorus of denials.
“All right, we’ll check it out,” Jay said.
“Yes, yes. Come on, let’s do this,” Lew said with his pleasant and easy Bahamian accent. “We’ll find Travis and see what’s going on. Miss Georgia, you’re going to be just fine, honey.”
But Georgia shook her head. “Travis is dead,” she repeated.
“I’ll light some torches from the fire,” Lew offered.
“I don’t believe we’re doing this,” Jay said, tired and irritated as they started down the beach. “I made a mistake in casting, that’s for sure. We’re filming a legend, a horror flick, for God’s sake. She’s letting it all get to her. This is crazy.”
Lew chuckled softly. “Ah, yes, well, that’s the way it is with American slasher flicks, eh? Two young people drink and wander off into the woods or the pines to make love, and then the monster comes upon them. They are mistaken. This is Bimini. There are no monsters.”
Vanessa stopped. They had come to the edge of the beach. A pine forest came almost flush with the water after a rise in the landscape.
“Nothing,” Jay said. “There’s nothing out here at all.”
Vanessa raised her torch to look around. She froze suddenly. There was nothing there now, but just feet from her, the sand looked as if it had been raked, and it was damp as well, as if someone had dumped buckets of water twenty feet inland from the shore.
“Look,” she said.
“Someone was playing a joke on her—on her and Travis, maybe,” Jay said. He swore. “We’ve got one more day of filming to tie up loose ends, and I guess it’s natural that someone just feels the need to play practical jokes.”
“But where is Travis?” Vanessa asked.
Lew was hunkered down by the disturbed sand. “Interesting,” he said.
“What?” Jay asked.
“It does look like something burst outward from the sand—more than it looks as if someone were digging in it,” Lew said. “As if it erupted, and was then smoothed over.”