End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1)
End of the Road
Book One
Ghost Stories Trilogy
By E.J. Fechenda
Copyright © 2016 E.J. Fechenda
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover image by: Jessica Ouellette with Table 6 Designs
A whisper of a disembodied voice;
a whiff of random cigarette smoke or hint of perfume;
an echo of footsteps…
To the spirits who walk among us, who let us know we’re never truly alone, thank you for the inspiration.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Part I
The Ghosts
Chapter One
Lawrence Sheldon Cranston
b.1899 – d.1935
I stood at the end of the walkway a broken man. Our once lush, manicured lawn had long faded to brown. We were unable to afford the water to maintain it and in Phoenix, that required a lot of the precious resource. The shirt underneath my speckled gray suit jacket was soaked and the pungent odor of sweat wafted up, but dead grass and body odor were the least of my worries. Helen stepped out onto our porch, wiping her hands on the floral skirt of her housedress. With a heavy sigh, I walked up to meet her.
“How did it go?” she asked.
I looked at her, noticing the fine lines around her eyes and mouth were deeper since our troubles began.
“Where are the kids?”
“They’re downstairs playing in the basement trying to stay cool.”
I nodded and turned to face the street. “Please sit with me.”
Helen moved beside me with a fluid grace indicative of her childhood ballet lessons. We sat next to each other on the porch steps. I took a few moments to survey our palm tree lined street, our house was one of the few not for sale or under foreclosure. We had avoided losing our house so far, but couldn’t any longer.
Helen began before I could. “What did Mr. Keeley say?”
“He can’t afford me anymore either. He offered a horse to pay off the debt he owes.”
“A horse? That won’t feed our children or keep a roof over our heads!” Helen’s hazel eyes welled up with tears and the defeat I felt was clearly etched on her face.
“I know. He suggested I sell it.”
“Right, buyers will be lining up.”
With a sweep of her arm, she gestured at the vacant homes surrounding us before she leaned against me and sobbed. I put my arm around her slim waist and held her close.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
I imagined countless couples were having the same conversation at this very moment. Millions already had after Wall Street bottomed out on Black Tuesday. Here it was, four years later, and the country was practically bankrupt with no end in sight. Even my parents were struggling and couldn’t help us. With our families in Boston, we were basically stranded.
“I’m going back downtown tomorrow. The Civilian Conservation Corps is seeking men to help build the Walnut Canyon Visitors Center in Flagstaff.”
“Construction, Lawrence? But you’re an accountant. Besides, I thought it’s only for men ages eighteen to twenty-five.”
“It’s a job, Helen, an income we desperately need. I’ll talk to them.” I didn’t tell her just how badly we needed money. She thought we were only a month behind on our mortgage, but it was worse than that.
She wiped the tears off her cheeks and flashed a weak smile. “We’ll get through this, right?”
“Yes, my dear. This too shall pass.” I gave her a light squeeze before standing up, “What’s on the menu for lunch?”
“You’re in for a treat - BLT’s. There’s enough bacon left over from breakfast. Now, if Mr. Keeley could pay us with a pig like Hal Green did, that would be preferable.”
“He’s getting by the best he can, just like us.” I kissed the top of her forehead and tasted the salt from evaporated sweat. It was mid-June and temperatures already topped one hundred degrees. The summers always reminded me of how glad I was that we had the foresight to have our home built with a basement. Most home designs in Phoenix didn’t come with one and I honestly didn’t know how people managed to stay cool. A few of our neighbors had been envious of our ability to retreat downstairs and escape the brutal heat.
We walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, our footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Our home seemed larger since most of the furniture had been parsed out for far less than it was worth. Groceries, utilities and the mortgage payment were more important. A small settee, hutch and a steamer trunk, which had been passed dow
n to Helen after her mother died, were the only furnishings left in the living room. The dining room was empty.
“Helen, before Sara comes upstairs,” I guided my wife into the living room by her elbow. “You know her friend Lindsay Shepherd who lives on East Vernon Street?”
“Yes.”
“I walked by her house this morning and her family was loading up their car. There’s a foreclosure sign on the lawn.”
“Oh no!” Helen gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s awful! Sara will be devastated. Lindsay was her only friend left in the neighborhood.”
“I know we agreed not to tell the children about our troubles, but I think we need to be honest with them. We could very easily be the Shepherds and I don’t want them to be caught off guard.”
“Yes, that would be worse and they’re not blind, they have to be aware that something is going on. Not all of our furniture can be sent out for refinishing.”
I admired Helen’s ability to find humor even in a dire situation. “Mae West doesn’t have anything on you.” I kissed her forehead again before we walked into the kitchen. With the dining room empty, we ate at an unfinished wood table, large enough for the four of us. Our days of hosting dinner parties had been over for a while.
“I have an idea,” Helen said. “Can you call Teddy and Sara upstairs? I’ll make the sandwiches.”
Within seconds of calling their names a stampede of little feet bounded up the basement steps.
“Daddy, you’re home early!” Sara exclaimed and hugged me. Her blonde curls crushed against my chest and I was quick to return the hug.
“Yes and he has the rest of the day off,” Helen said.
“Really?” Teddy flashed a gap toothed grin.
“Yes. So, we’re going to have a picnic lunch at the park!”
Teddy and Sara bounced around with excitement. Helen wrapped sandwiches in waxed paper and stuffed them in a cloth bag along with four oranges from the tree in our backyard. Our subdivision was built on land that used to be an orange grove. Each parcel came with a citrus tree. This source of free fruit had never been more appreciated.
The kids skipped ahead. Teddy had his baseball bat slung over his shoulder with his glove perched on the end like it was gripping the smooth wood. Sara cradled her Raggedy Anne doll under one arm. Helen and I meandered along behind, holding hands. Her suggestion had lifted the melancholy of the morning.
Unfortunately, the levity didn’t last.
Chapter Two
The park was a small square of dying grass a few blocks over from our street. There were a couple of benches and several shade trees, which made for a great picnic location. Usually we ran into one or two families there. This time the park was empty. One of the benches was missing, the glass globe on one of the street lamps was broken and the trees had been picked clean, including the usual scattering of rotten fruit on the ground.
A general sense of unease enveloped me upon seeing our beloved park so barren. Most of the surrounding homes appeared to be deserted. Either abandoned or reclaimed by the banks. There were some homes where the construction had come to a halt leaving behind half-built structures; skeletal remains of what was once a booming industry.
Helen spread a quilt out on the ground, careful to avoid any red ant hills. She laid out our simple lunch fare and the children dove in. Helen kneeled with her dress tucked underneath her knees and I sat down next to her. There was a light breeze that made the heat more bearable.
I was on the second half of my sandwich when Teddy declared he was still hungry. Helen handed him her remaining half. I stared down at mine, feeling guilty. She lightly touched my hand and I looked up at her. “It’s okay,” she mouthed. I vowed then and there to make everything up to her. I would do my damndest to get on the Civilian Conservation Corps.
After lunch Sara asked to see if Lindsay could play. Helen and I regarded each other. She nodded for me to proceed.
“Honey, I walked by Lindsay’s house this morning and they were packing up their car.”
“They’re moving?” Her eyes, the same hazel as Helen’s, squinted in confusion.
“Yes. So, I don’t think this is a good time to go over there.”
“Not even to say goodbye?”
“Your mother and I wanted to talk to you both about what is happening around us.”
When the stock market first crashed and the financial fallout followed, we had told them what was happening in the country, even if parts weren’t comprehended by their young minds. We knew they talked about it with their friends too, especially as families started to move away. Helen and I hadn’t gone into too much detail though because we didn’t want them to worry. We still wanted them to have a childhood, but the time for honesty had come.
“Are we going to move too, father?” Teddy asked.
“We might have to. I’m going to go see about a job tomorrow.”
“I can get a job. I can help!” he offered, sitting up straight to appear taller.
“You have job already.”
“I do?” His blue eyes lit up with surprise.
“Yes, you’re a student, a big brother and a son. That’s a lot of responsibility for an eight year old.” I tousled his brown hair and said, “Now let’s play ball!”
I pitched to Teddy and he took a swing every time. Every once in a while he’d make contact and I’d put on a big show out of missing the catch, running with my arms pumping in an exaggerated fashion to retrieve it, which caused him to bend over laughing. We were getting ready to finish our game when Teddy whacked the ball, the crack from the bat echoed off of the houses around us and I didn’t have to fake missing the catch that time. I told Teddy to head back to the picnic area before following the ball as it rolled lazily down the street where it was stopped by a man. My eyes went from his scuffed and worn boots and took in the rags he was clothed in. The vagrant picked up the ball and smiled. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were a pale, watery blue against tanned, weather beaten skin.
“Looking for this?”
“Yes, thank you.” I reached out, but the man held onto the ball, his mouth twisted up in a smirk revealing tobacco stained teeth.
“That’s a mighty nice watch,” he said, eyeing up my wrist.
I understood his intentions immediately. This was my grandfather’s watch, a wedding present from my father. Helen and I had sworn that family heirlooms would be the very last thing we’d sell. If this is what he was after, I was willing to bet I wanted it more. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hid my wrist from his view.
“Thank you. Can I have the ball please? My son and I are playing.”
“Trade ya, for the watch.”
“Ha! No deal sir. You can keep it.” I turned and started to walk away, but was suddenly yanked back. The man had grabbed my shirt and pulled me against him. Wrapping an arm around my torso and squeezing like a boa constrictor, he then pressed a knife to my throat with his free hand. The metal blade was cool and the tip pinched, threatened to break the surface of my skin.
“I’ve killed for less,” he breathed in my ear. I’d taken my glasses off to play with Teddy, but in the distance I could make out the blurry shape of Helen. She was starting to approach.
“Okay, you can have it.” I gave in, desperate to keep my family out of harm’s way. I extended my arm and the man snatched the watch. Pressure from the blade lifted and he shoved me forward.
“Here, catch!” The man bent down and picked the baseball up from where he had dropped it then he tossed it at me. “I trade fair,” he said and spat tobacco juice onto the street before walking away.
On unsteady legs, I ran back to my family and urged them to get their stuff together.
“What happened?” Helen asked. “Who were you talking to?”
“There are too many strangers around. Let’s go.”
Sensing the urgency in my tone, Helen shook the blanket and rolled it, not bothering to take the time to fold it neatly. She grabbed Sara
’s hand despite a whine of protest.
“Can we stop at Lindsay’s? I want to say goodbye.” Sara peered up at me with sad eyes. I surveyed the neighborhood, but didn’t see the transient anywhere.
Licking my dry lips, I nodded once. “Okay, but we have to be fast.”
The next block over was East Vernon Street and we walked quickly, practically dragging the children behind us. I panted from the exertion in the prickly heat. Sara broke free of Helen’s grasp and ran ahead to Lindsay’s. We caught up to her a few seconds later where we found her sitting on the front steps.
“They’re already gone,” she said, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
The front door was ajar and I peered inside. A few scraps of paper and some gray tufts of dust were all that remained behind.
“I’m sorry sweetheart,” I said and sat down next to her.
Sobbing, she leaned against me and I couldn’t find any words to comfort her, just held her close like I’d done with Helen earlier that morning.
Chapter Three
The next morning I walked a half mile to the light rail line. Thank God this existed as we hadn’t been able to afford gas for our Model T in weeks. I left before the sun was up, so I wouldn’t overheat, and also to be one of the first to sign up for the C.C.C. Others had the same idea for there were at least twenty men already waiting for the doors to open. John Keeley, one of my former clients, stood in line along with several other people I recognized. Many who were considered upper middle class like me were now desperate for labor of any kind. The experience was humbling.
“Lawrence,” Keeley said with a dip of his head.
“John.” I nodded in return. “I might take you up on the offer of that horse.”
“I’m sorry I can’t pay you. I’ll bring the mare by this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” My stomach knotted with worry when I realized this meant another mouth to feed and hoped it was easy to find a buyer. John turned back to face the doors. I lifted my jacket sleeve to check the time and then remembered I no longer had a watch; only tan lines to remind me of what I once had. Dropping my arm to my side, I waited.