As we walked, Lee told us that his momma, Eunice Wilder, had been chosen by the Daughters of Savannah Civic Society to oversee the preservation of the Jim Williams collection and historic Mercer House, which was set to become a museum—Jim’s dying wish.
As we got closer to the house—and closer to our souls possibly becoming ethereal nourishment for the bevvy of ghosts within—my nerves began blazing off like fireworks. My palms were greased with sweat, and I was breathing hard like I’d been smoking my whole young life.
We stood in Monterey Square, looking up at the big old house towering over us like a monument. I kept thinking about Jim Williams’s spirit knocking around those empty, echoing halls full of secrets and stories.
I didn’t care how fancy a house was. If it was haunted to the gills, I’d rather sleep in a cardboard box in an alley.
Not like our living situation was anything better than a cardboard box these days, though.
“Magnolia,” Lee whispered, inching closer toward me, “I promise you right now that I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re going to go in there and see if the spirit of Jim Williams is haunting the place, and then we’ll get the hell out of there and get some pralines down at the river. Okay?”?
Of course, anything sounded like butter coming out of Lee Wilder’s mouth, so I just nodded in agreement.
When Jim Williams died after his sprawling trials, Eunice Wilder had taken over business at his house and, as a prominent antiquarian in Savannah, a lot of Jim’s former clients. These days, she was tasked with getting the house ready to become a museum on the first floor, and the second floor was being prepped for the remaining members of the Williams family to move into.
Eunice, however, needed to be better at the business of not leaving her keys out in the open so that her idiot son didn’t go finding them and using them to commit felony acts of paranormal stupidity.
We cut through the courtyard and tiptoed up the back stairs onto the big porch that hugged the back of the Mercer House.
“Did you know,” Lee hissed, practically spitting in my face, “there was a family living here like a hundred years ago, and one of their maids’ kids fell off the roof and impaled himself right there on that fence?”?
I could feel the bile rising in my throat and my little pulse hammering in between my ears.
“You’re full of shit, Lee,” Charlie said, inching up from our little huddle to peek in the window. “It’s pitch black in there. How are we supposed to see?”?
Lee pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his navy-blue Savannah Academy hoodie and handed it to Charlie. “Always got to be prepared, brother.”?
I rolled my eyes.
Lee used his mother’s key to crack open the tall, sturdy doors and pushed us inside. I flattened myself up against a wall, thwacking the back of my head against an oversized picture frame. “This is the stupidest thing we have ever done, Charlie Pruitt!” I was steaming and hissing through my teeth.?
“Relax, Maggie,” Lee said, grabbing my hand, as if my heart wasn’t already racing out of control. “Good Lord, you’re sweaty.” He wiped my hand on his jeans, then closed his fingers around mine again.
Charlie led the way, flicking on the flashlight, turning his head back and forth dramatically, like he was in an espionage movie. He tripped over his loose shoelace and gasped for air like the ghosts were squeezing his neck like a lemon. I flung my hand over my mouth to shove down the howl trying to escape my throat.?
Lee gave my hand a few squeezes, practically dragging me down the hallway. “Jim Williams was the biggest collector of antiques and fine art in all of Savannah. He threw the most wild parties around Christmas time. I heard my parents would always come home trippin’ over themselves trying to get in the house after one of his galas.”
I poked my head around a corner into what I assumed was once a grand dining room—and possibly my death at a very young and tragic age. There were painter’s drapes covering most of the furniture and ladders lining the walls. I figured it must have been part of the restoration Eunice Wilder was part of.
We reached the front of the house and turned a corner into a formal sitting area. A low rumbling sound filled the room—a humming that buzzed in my ears and vibrated through to my bones. My whole body shook with fear. Lee gripped my hand, but I could feel him quivering, too.?
“W-what’s that noise?” Charlie finally said, stammering over his words like the big baby I knew he was. I moved in closer to Lee, and Charlie waved the flashlight around the room, landing on different varieties of beheaded and stuffed wild game.?
“Stop, it’s like a strobe light, and it’s making me sick,” I said, trying to let my eyes focus on the room around me.?
The noise grew louder as we made our way through the sitting rooms toward the back of the house. Just as we reached what Lee said used to be Jim’s smoking room—where we’d first entered—a painter’s tarp suddenly rose up with a howl and flung its ghostly form straight at Charlie’s head.
“It’s the ghost of Jim Williams’s lover! Get out!” Charlie screamed before creaming into me, arms flailing, knocking me back into a couch and running off with the flashlight. The whole room was plunged into darkness, and I froze with fear, trying to stay as quiet as possible to not upset the spirits, or to let Lee know that I was an absolute chicken on the verge of tears.
I felt movement around me and stayed very, very still, until it made contact with me. I fought back the urge to shriek and throw punches into the air, but judging by the size of the entity, I wasn’t in much danger.?
The mischievous ghost, now purring loudly and licking my knuckles, settled onto my lap. After turning in a few circles, she curled up into a ball, using me as her mattress.
“It’s a… cat,” I stammered when I was finally able to get my breathing back on some sort of normal pattern.?
“Maggie, are you okay?” Lee’s voice sounded like it was coming from the floor.
“I’m fine. Where are you?” The cat, annoyed by my talking, shoved its head under my hand, demanding to be petted.
