HAUNTING ANNABELLE: A SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: SARAH'S JOURNEY 14 APRIL 1865

Sarah heard a blue jay scream.

One of the noisiest birds down South, the jay will scream loudest when its nest is in danger. They will fight to the death to protect their young.

"Ishmael?" She stood up. "Boys?"

A fine spring morning had been a good excuse to get away from the main house and do some weeding in the nearby garden. Both of the boys were finished with their lessons for the week and were eager to play in the morning sun. They had commandeered a bare patch of soil at the corner of the garden and built a small fort for Samuel's tin soldiers.

She brushed the dirt off of her knees and walked over to the far corner where she had left the boys. A warm spring had meant they could plant the corn early this year. Already, the green stalks grew three feet tall and provided a good forest for the tin soldiers.

"Are you boys doing all right?" Sarah asked.

The tin soldiers stood in two long rows facing each other. Twigs had been fashioned into mighty cannons and were positioned on four-inch-tall mounds of fresh sod overlooking the miniature battlefield.

The boys were not there.

Ten-year-old boys have the energy and attention span of a puppy. They can be in the middle of a heated tin soldier battle and be suddenly distracted by a butterfly or an errant toad. With Samuel's dog, Bounder, at their side, there was no telling what trail of mischief they may have taken. Bounder, named for its habit of bursting through the bushes in pursuit of all forms of varmints, was the source of many of the boy's misadventures. The last one had involved an elderly polecat and repeated scrubbing for all three of the rascals.

"Ishmael!" She called to the woods.

Her gaze fell upon the corner post of the split-rail fence. It had been knocked over and had gouged a fresh gash in the ground. Glancing down at the soil beneath her feet, she saw small foot prints leading off in that direction. Sarah looked up again and gasped as she realized where the boys were going. That way led to the dock at the edge of the swamp.

She raced down the path to the dock. Her Stride did not break until she rounded past the leaning oak tree that marked the start of the muddy bank. Neither of the boys were there. She looked to the dark green water. It appeared undisturbed. There were no fading toffee-colored swirls just under the surface to show any creature's passing.

She saw footprints.

Still freshly pressed into the mud, two sets of small feet had recently passed along the shore. Dancing among the prints were the clear markings of dog paws. All of them led off downstream, away from the dock and main house. That way led towards a jutting finger of marshy sand that stuck out into the swamp like an accusing finger. Only one thing lay in that direction.

"The graveyard," Sarah said and began to run again.

The wrought-iron gate was open when she arrived. No Leigh lay buried in the small, overgrown plot. The area reserved for them was untouched. At the far right of the graveyard stood a few simple wooden crosses that marked the remains of those who had labored to build the Annabelle Plantation. Five of the crosses marked the ashes and bones of those who had tried to destroy the plantation. A sixth cross marked where Sarah's husband used to rest. A small white picket fence separated the plot from the rest of the graveyard.

She followed the tracks of the boys to the back of the cemetery. They led past the tilted and unreadable gravestones of the previous owners of the land. A corner section of the ironwork had come loose and lay flat on the ground. Sarah recognized a piece of cloth that had torn loose from Ishmael's shirt. When she caught up with him, she would give him a good hiding for knocking down the fence and tearing his shirt. She just hoped that Ms. Annabelle did not learn of the misadventure.