HAUNTING ANNABELLE: A SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SARAH'S JOURNEY 28 June 1862

"Don't go out there again tonight," Sarah pleaded.

She knew it drew close to midnight and heard Thomas vainly try to get dressed in the dark. His clumsy thumps had betrayed his intention and woke her from a troubled sleep. She struck a match and lit a candle next to their bed. The feeble light revealed her look of concern and his guilt.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "This don't concern you."

She stood up, and the flame flickered in her wake.

"How dare you say it doesn't concern me," she whispered. "Ishmael's father getting beaten and lynched concerns me."

"Hush," he said as he walked to her and placed a gentle hand to her face. "Ain't nobody gonna get lynched."

She brushed his hand away.

"They know that you're all up to something," she said.

"What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed. "Who knows?"

She sat on the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her.

 "I overheard Mr. Will talking to Mr. Leigh," she said. "Somehow they know about the meetings."

 "What have you told them?" He grabbed her shoulders.

Sarah wrenched free of his grasp and stood up to face him. Her watering eyes flashed anger.

 "I've told them nothing," she said. "You all have been stupidly following whatever that witch wants you to do. It was only a matter of time before something drifted to Will."

Ishmael stirred in his sleep and rolled over to face the wall. They both looked at their son as his shoulders rose and fell with innocent sleep. She reached for her husband's hand.

 "For Ishmael," she said. "Stay home tonight."

 "They will be outside waiting for me," he said, looking down at his feet.

A far off scream pierced the night. It rose to a high-pitched wail that abruptly ended as if cut off. Ishmael sat up in his bed.

"Mama?" He rubbed his eyes.

She rushed over to him as Thomas dashed over and blew out the candle.

"Shh, baby," She stroked her son's hair. "It's just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

They heard a loud curse and what sounded like a distant shot. Thomas moved towards the door and she jumped up to grab his arm.

 "Don't you dare go out there," she said.

 "I've got to," he began.

 "You've got to stay here and protect your family," she interrupted.

Another person shouted. This time, the cry came much closer. A pitiful wail followed. Thomas backed away from the door and pushed Sarah down to the bed with Ishmael. He slid the table against the door and backed away.

They heard more shouts and screams. Sounds of desperate running surrounded the cabin and went in all directions. He sat on the bed and put his arms around his family. Sarah felt their terrified trembling match hers.

One voice boomed out among the others. It sounded like it came from just outside their door.

 "Every one come out and see what happens to dogs that bite their master's hand!"

They recognized the voice of the foreman. His shadow snuck in through the gap under the door. Sarah held her breath as she watched the shape of his boots hesitate at their threshold. The latch on the door moved and a glare of torchlight flickered around the seams. Like nails on a slate board, the table scraped forward an inch as the door slowly opened.

 "We got one of the sonsabitches!"

The door latch went slack, and they watched the shadow of the boots turn.

 "Hot damn," said William.

A ring of light around the door faded as he hurried away to answer the call. Shouts of anger and confusion were getting closer. A voice close by began to wail. They heard an audible thump, and the cry died.

 "Sit back down," Sarah whispered.

Thomas silently rose and moved to peer through the crack in the door. She could see a line of light painted down the side of his face. His visible eye appeared wide with terror.

 "They've got Missy's boy," he said without taking his eye from the crack.

She rose and joined him at the crack. A body lay on the ground in front of the shacks. Circling the unmoving man were several men holding sputtering torches. She could make out the face of William and his son. However, there stood three others that she had never seen. A large-brimmed hat partially obscured one of their faces. Another man had a shaved head with large sideburns that framed a small, cruel grin. She gasped when recognized the third man. She recognized the local pastor.

 "I think they killed him," Thomas whispered.

"Get up boy!"William kicked the body.

Missy's son curled up into a ball and tried to cover his head.

 "Stand 'em up," William instructed.

Both the bald man and the one with the hat grabbed Caleb by his arms and hauled him to his feet. Dirt covered the right side of the boy's sweating face and tears flooded his pleading eyes. Like a trapped animal, he looked from face to face as if hoping he would find mercy in one of them.

 "Strip that shirt off him," said William.

The pastor pulled out a long Bowie knife and Caleb's knees buckled at the sight.

 "Hold him up," the pastor said.

He stepped behind Caleb. Grabbing the man's ragged collar, he sliced the back of the shirt with one swift movement. A thin line of blood appeared where the blade had grazed Caleb's shoulder. The men tightened their grip and lifted the boy to a straighter position as the foreman moved behind him.

 "Let this be a lesson to y'all," the foreman called out to the shacks.

He turned and unbuckled his wide leather belt. Wrapping the belt once on his hand, the brass buckle hung towards the ground and glittered in the light of the flames. He leaned back and brought his arm up in a long arc. As it descended, the belt picked up speed until the metal smacked against Caleb's back with a sharp thud.

The boy screamed.

William raised his hand again and brought the leather and brass down upon the slave's back. The thin cut grew wider, and the buckle shone with blood.

Sarah pushed the door shut.

She grabbed Thomas' hand and pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

 "Never tell Ishmael what you just saw," she said.

She let go of his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Ishmael's head faced the wall. Sarah placed her hand on his shoulder while she tried to think of a story to explain away all that had just transpired. He gave a slight snort at her touch and her heart caught when she realized that he had fallen asleep.

She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving while knowing the sleep of innocence could not last much longer.

****Thanks for reading. This was a tough chapter to write. However, any story involving the slavery trade will need to be brutal and not hide the truth. Please take the time to vote for this chapter. It would mean a lot to me. I'll post another chapter on Tuesday.****