Boo Hag
When Selma Gooden got out of the rental car and felt the enervating heat of August in the South, she wanted to get back into the air-conditioned vehicle and head back to Boston.
The young African-American woman looked up at her grandmother's long, narrow, two-story home, which like its neighbors was placed sideways on the property. Built in an architectural style Charlestonians called a "single house," it was more than a century old, but, thanks to her financial help, it was well-maintained.
Seeing the place for the first time in over four years, a flood of childhood memories came back to her. She recalled, as a little girl, sitting on her grandmother's lap, on the second-floor piazza, listening to stories passed down from her Gullah ancestors. Descendants of slaves from a Beaufort County plantation, her family was as much a part of the area's history as the Aikens, the Draytons, the Ravenels and the Rutledges.
"We may not have lived in any of those fancy houses," Minnie Gooden once told her granddaughter, "but we built them. We even made the bricks ourselves. And when we were freed after the war, we didn't head north. We stayed and helped rebuild the city."
Our family has certainly come a long way, Selma thought with pride as she approached the front door. From Low Country slaves to a Harvard-educated lawyer and professor in one hundred and sixty years.
She walked up four steps and onto the first-floor piazza, smiling when she looked up and saw that the ceiling was still painted "haint blue." It was a popular color in Charleston, based on an old superstition that haints (evil spirits) could not cross water.
The front door opened before Selma had the opportunity to knock.
"It's so good to see you!" her mother cried and threw her arms around her only child. "Come on in. It's much cooler inside."
"How's Grandma feeling?"
"Better. But she still has difficulty getting around. Course, that's to be expected. After all, she just had hip replacement surgery."
"What does the doctor say?"
"That she'll be fully recovered in three to six months."
"Is that my grandbaby's voice I hear?" Minnie called down from her second-floor bedroom.
"Hi, Grandma."
"Get up here and let me have a look at you."
When Selma crossed the threshold of her grandmother's bedroom, she was relieved to see her looking so healthy. She had half-expected to find the energetic senior citizen had become a frail old woman.
"Tara Banks, eat your heart out!" Minnie exclaimed when she saw her grandchild. "Don't you look beautiful!"
"I'm hardly supermodel material!"
"No, but that's because you've got some skin on your bones. Most models look as though they haven't had a meal in a year. Anyway, you've got something better than a skinny body. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Harvard! And to think, my parents were proud when I graduated high school."
"Times were different then. Who knows? Someday, I may be the next Michelle Obama."
"Michelle, hell!" the old woman laughed. "You may be the next Barack!"
"Sorry to disappoint you, Grandma, but I wouldn't want to be president. I like it fine right where I am."
"Yeah, I guess you do. I don't suppose you'd ever consider coming back down south?"
"Maybe someday," Selma replied.
It was a lie, but only a little white one. She knew it was Minnie's wish that the single house in the heart of Charleston's historic district be kept in the family.
"Did you know your grandfather and I once entertained Dr. King under this very roof?"
"I think you may have mentioned it."
Like many elderly people, Minnie told the same stories over and over, each time believing it was news to the listener. This particular memory was one the old woman cherished, so she mentioned it frequently.
"What a fine man he was!"
"Dr. King?"
"Him, too. But I meant your grandfather. Too bad you didn't get to know him. You were still a child when he passed."
"I remember Grandpa. I was twelve when he died."
They spent more than an hour talking about Justus Gooden and his son, Justus, Jr., Selma's father, both of whom were deceased.
"You're the last of the Gooden line," Minnie said with a heavy sigh. "That's why it would mean so much to me for you to have this house. When Justus bought it, it created quite a stir. We were the first black family in this neighborhood. And it didn't make matters any better that your granddaddy was from a wealthy Philadelphia family. I don't know which bothered the neighbors more, the fact that he was black or that he was a Yankee!"
At that moment, Pearl, who had been down in the kitchen preparing a feast for her daughter's homecoming, called upstairs, "Supper's ready."
"Are you coming downstairs?" Selma asked.
"No. I take my meals up here. But you go down and sit with your mother. I've monopolized your time enough for one day."
* * *
"Where are you going?" Pearl asked when she saw her daughter had traded her tailored suit for a cotton sundress.
"I thought I'd take a walk. I need it after that big meal I ate."
Back in Boston, she ate light, healthy foods and went to the gym several times a week. Her regimen was more to maintain her health than to keep her slender figure.
Charleston, nicknamed the Holy City because of its large number of churches, drew history buffs from around the country. Not only was it here in Charleston's Institute Hall that the South Carolina General Assembly voted to secede from the Union, but it was also back on April 10, 1861, that General P.G.T. Beauregard ordered his men to fire on Fort Sumpter in Charleston Harbor, an action that kickstarted the Civil War.
Walking at a brisk pace, Selma passed through the French Quarter—not nearly as well-known as the one in New Orleans—to the southernmost part of the peninsula, a district often referred to as "South of Broad." It was the most exclusive neighborhood in downtown Charleston, with homes along East Bay Street costing in the millions. But it was not the grand mansions or the antebellum homes that drew her to the area. It was the Battery, White Point Garden and the excellent view of the harbor. As she stood on the seawall, a cool ocean breeze blew through her hair. Although she loved her Beacon Hill townhouse, she had to admit Charleston had a much more attractive harbor than Boston.
After strolling along White Point's paths, she headed north on Meeting Street. A number of walking tours and horse-drawn carriages passed by her. Like many American cities, there were several ghost tours available, and since Charleston recently stole the title of the Most Haunted City in the South from Savannah, business was booming.
One story all the guides loved to tell was that of Lavinia Fisher, a woman of great beauty, who some claimed was America's first female serial killer. Back in the early 1800s, Lavinia and her husband, John, owned the Six Mile Wayfarer House where, according to various accounts, they would rob and murder the inn's wealthier clientele. One of the intended victims managed to escape and reported the Fishers' nefarious doings to the authorities. The couple was arrested, charged and convicted—not of murder but of highway robbery, a capital offense at the time.
Several of Charleston's more lurid legends center around Lavinia's 1820 execution. The most fascinating one, as far as Selma was concerned, is that the condemned woman claimed that according to the laws of that time, a married woman could not be executed by the court since it was the sole responsibility of a husband to reprimand and punish a wife. Supposedly, a cunning judge then sent John Fisher to the gallows first, thereby changing Lavinia's marital status from wife to widow and allowing the sentence to be carried out.
Another tale the tourists loved to hear was that the beautiful but deadly Lavinia, desperate to save her life, donned a wedding dress on the day of her execution. As she was led to the gallows in front of Charleston's Old City Jail, she pleaded with men in the crowd to marry her. However, no one accepted her desperate proposal. Finally, when the hangman placed the noose around the unrepentant murderer's neck, she is said to have cried out with defiance, "If any of you have a message for the devil, tell me now, for I shall be seeing him shortly."
As Selma made her way along the side streets toward her grandmother's house, she idly wondered if, given her legal knowledge, she could have gotten Lavinia acquitted.
If not, she thought with amusement, I would have at least gotten her a reduced sentence.
* * *
Despite having more than eight hours of sleep, Selma woke the following morning feeling tired.
"I need a cup of strong coffee," she announced as she walked into the kitchen and headed toward the coffeepot.
"Don't tell me you were up until all hours of the night reading," Pearl said. "Even when you were a child, you always had your nose in a book."
"Not last night, though. I went straight to bed after watching the news."
"That explains it. I never watch the news; it gives me nightmares."
"Is Grandma up yet?" Selma asked as she added milk and sugar to her coffee.
"Up and already had her breakfast. You know us old women, early to bed and early to rise."
"I guess some things never change."
"Have any plans for your first full day of vacation?"
"Not really. I thought I'd just kick off my shoes and relax for two weeks."
"Good! You deserve it. You work hard all year long."
Selma sensed a subtle change in her mother's expression, and she knew from experience what the look in her eyes meant.
"I hope your life up north isn't all work and no play," Pearl said.
Uh-oh, here it comes, her daughter thought.
"Are you seeing anyone?"
"I see lots of people," Selma laughed. "Students, faculty members, criminals ...."
"You know what I mean."
"Mom, I've told you over and over that I don't have time for a relationship."
"But you don't want to live for your job to the exclusion of a personal life."
"It's not a job; it's a career, and I've worked long and hard to get it. I know it's hard for you to understand, but it fulfills me. I don't need a husband and children."
"Who said anything about marriage? Not me."
"Don't worry. I'm not a workaholic. I occasionally go out with men. Just this year, I went to a Red Sox game and to see the Boston Pops perform. But there was nothing romantic about either date. It was just a matter of two good friends spending an evening together."
"Was it the same friend both times?"
"Yes," Selma admitted but neglected to tell her mother the man in question was an Irish Catholic lawyer from Brookline and that there had been more than just two dates.
If I were to tell her that Shawn and I have been seeing each other for more than a year and are considering moving in together, she would immediately begin making plans for a wedding in Charleston.
* * *
Selma spent the morning with her grandmother doing a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle. It was a team effort. Minnie concentrated on completing the houses in the village scene, and her granddaughter put together all the blue pieces of the sky. As they worked, the old woman again relived memories of her youth.
"Here I am doing all the talking," she finally said.
"That's fine. I like to hear your old stories, especially those from the Sixties about the Civil Rights movement."
"What about you? Are you involved in any social causes?"
"Between teaching and consulting on high-profile criminal cases, I'm afraid I don't have much time for activism," she said guiltily.
"Don't feel bad," Minnie said, affectionately squeezing her granddaughter's hand. "Justus and I joined the fight so that our children could live in a better world and have greater opportunities than we did. And having you graduate from Harvard makes it all worthwhile. I only wish he could have lived to see what you've made of yourself."
Once the sky was completed, Selma stopped working on the puzzle.
"We can finish it tomorrow," Minnie said. "Unless you have other plans."
"No. As I told Mom at breakfast, I'm here for rest and relaxation. Speaking of which, I think I might take a nap after lunch. I didn't sleep well last night."
"Is something troubling you?"
"No. I went right to sleep when my head hit the pillow, and I didn't wake up during the night. But I was still tired when I got up this morning. Maybe I'm coming down with something."
"Why don't you go over to Walgreens on King Street and buy a bottle of vitamin C?"
"Maybe I will this evening when I go for my after-dinner walk."
After a two-hour nap, Selma felt more rested.
"What's for dinner?" she asked when she went down to the kitchen.
"Shrimp and grits or would you rather I make Hoppin' John?"
"Shrimp and grits. I haven't had that in years."
When the two women finished eating, Selma insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes.
"I'm going on my walk," she announced, hanging the dishtowel on the rack to dry. "I thought I'd stop at Walgreens while I'm out. Can I pick you up anything?"
"A bottle of low-dose aspirin. I'm running low."
When Selma entered the pharmacy, she headed for the vitamin aisle. As she was deciding which size bottle of vitamin C to buy, she noticed a man in a Carolina Panthers T-shirt staring at her.
"You clean up real nice," he said, eyeing her from head to toe.
"Excuse me?"
"I said you clean up nice. I mean, last night you looked hot but—no offense—a little on the slutty side."
"You obviously have mistaken me for someone else. I've never seen you before."
"No? Then you must have a twin sister who was at the Blind Tiger Pub last night, looking for an unattached man to pick up."
"I don't pick up men at bars!" Selma said haughtily, deeply offended by the suggestion.
The man sensed her anger and backed off.
"Maybe it wasn't you, after all," he said and walked away.
After selecting a bottle of generic low-dose aspirin—she never bought name brands if she could help it—she went back to the vitamin aisle for melatonin.
I'll make sure I get a good night's sleep tonight.
* * *
A knocking on the bedroom door woke her the following morning. She glanced at the clock on the night table and was stunned to see that it was already past ten.
"Come in," she called, knowing it was her mother at the door.
"Are you feeling all right, honey?" the concerned woman inquired.
"I can't believe I slept so late! Even on Sundays, I'm always up by seven."
"What time did you get home last night?" Pearl asked as the two women made their way down to the kitchen.
"You know I came home right after my walk, and then you and I watched a movie on HBO."
"There's no need to keep secrets from me. You're not a little girl. You're a grown woman, and you're old enough to go out on the town."
"What are you getting at, Mom?"
"Mrs. Stokely's daughter said she saw you last night around midnight. She had just gotten off work—she's a waitress at a restaurant on Market Street—and she saw you going into a bar, alone, dressed in, as she described it, a slinky little white dress."
"That's ridiculous! I was home in bed, asleep, at midnight. And I don't own any slinky dresses either in white or any other color."
Selma knew by the look on her mother's face that she did not believe her.
"It's true."
"Honey, I want to believe you, but ... well, I can smell the alcohol and cigarettes on your clothes."
"It's impossible! I swear I never left the house last night. And why would I lie to you? Like you said, I'm a grown woman; I can do what I want."
"But how can you explain ...?"
"If the girl says it wasn't her, then it wasn't her."
Selma and Pearl turned and saw Minnie in the doorway.
"What are you doing down here?" her daughter-in-law scolded. "You know you're not supposed to be using the stairs."
"I heard the conversation you two were having," she answered. "I've never known Selma to lie. If she says she didn't go to a bar last night, then she didn't."
"But ...."
"At least she doesn't have any memory of doing so," the old woman continued. "My mother used to tell me about a creature that, similar to a vampire, lives off humans, not by drinking their blood but by stealing their skin during the night and returning it the following morning. The Gullah people had a name for it: the boo hag."
"Oh, God!" Pearl exclaimed. "You're trying to tell us some haint stole my daughter's skin and went out to a bar! Do you know how absurd that sounds?"
"I didn't say it was a haint. I said it was a boo hag. They're not the same thing. And I didn't say I believe that's what happened. I said that's what the Gullah people believed."
"A boo hag?" Selma laughed uneasily.
"Maybe you were sleepwalking," her mother suggested.
"I've never walked in my sleep before."
"How do you know? You live alone. You could get up in the night, walk around and get back into bed without anyone knowing, not even you."
"I don't ...."
It was at that point in the discussion that Selma remembered the man in the vitamin aisle of the pharmacy.
"What is it?" her mother prompted.
"There was a man in Walgreens last evening. He claimed he saw me in the Blind Tiger the previous night. I thought he was just trying to come on to me, but ... Could I be wandering around Charleston late at night, sleepwalking? If so, where did the slinky white dress come from? And the man at Walgreens said I was dressed—as he put it—'on the slutty side.' None of the clothes I brought with me are even remotely seductive."
"Don't look at me," Minnie joked, trying to ease the tension in the room. "I haven't owned a slutty dress since before Kennedy was assassinated."
* * *
That afternoon, Selma phoned Doty Yarnell, an old high school friend who conducted ghost tours. The two met for coffee at a Starbucks on King Street.
"I never knew you were interested in the paranormal," the Harvard professor said.
"I'm not. Since I'm a history teacher, and notoriously underpaid, I figured I'd make a little extra money as a tour guide during the summer. After all, who better to answer questions about Charleston's history, especially its role in the Civil War, than a person who teaches the subject? But few tourists were interested in the firing on Fort Sumter or the battle at Fort Wagner. They wanted to know if the Old Jail or the Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon were haunted. So, I went to the library and took out a few books on the legends of the Holy City and—voilà!—I'm now a ghost tour guide."
"Then you don't actually believe in the supernatural?"
"I suppose I should give you an emphatic no, but sometimes, late at night, when I head home after my last tour, I get this odd feeling that I'm not alone. Sounds crazy, huh?"
"Not as crazy as what's been happening to me since I've come back to Charleston."
Selma then proceeded to tell Doty about her late-night wandering, leaving out her grandmother's mention of a boo hag.
"I was hoping you might know of some group that studies paranormal sites. Perhaps they have equipment that can detect if someone or something is entering my room at night."
"I know just the person. One of the other tour guides travels throughout the South investigating alleged hauntings. Last week, he was at Moundsville Penitentiary, but I think he's come back. I'll give him a call."
When Jackson Bridger arrived at the house the following day, he brought nothing but a camcorder and tripod with him.
"Was there a disturbance again last night?" he asked, as he positioned the camera and tripod to get the best possible view of the area surrounding the bed.
"I'm not sure. There might have been because I woke up exhausted again this morning."
"Sounds like a boo hag," he laughed.
"That's what my grandmother said. Have you ever had an experience with these creatures?"
Selma could not believe she was actually discussing such a possibility.
"For the record," he replied, "I don't think they exist, but I follow the advice of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' So, let's start by eliminating the boo hag."
"You sound like a doctor. First, they test for the worst possible diseases, and then they diagnose you with the common cold."
"Actually, you're not far off. I'm a second-year medical student."
"Why is a medical student conducting paranormal investigations?"
"To please my girlfriend. Why else?"
"Why else, indeed!"
"There, that should do it," he announced, once the equipment was set up. "It's pretty straightforward. I didn't use any of the fancy ghostbusting gadgets, but we may want to use them at some point in the future, depending upon what we discover tonight."
"What should I do?"
"Leave the light on overnight. And just before you hop into bed, turn on the camcorder. See this button here? Don't worry about turning it off. I'll come by in the morning and see if we managed to capture anything on the tape."
At five minutes to nine the next day, there was a knock on the Goodens' front door. When Selma opened it, Jackson got a strong whiff of whiskey.
"I assume you went out last night."
"Not to my knowledge, but, boy, have I got one hell of a hangover!"
"Let's see if the camcorder picked up anything," he said, removing it from the tripod.
He connected it to his computer using a USB cord. Then he and Selma watched the videotape in real-time playback for more than an hour.
"You seem to be sleeping soundly," he observed. "No tossing or turning."
Ten minutes later, however, the sleeping Selma rose from the bed and walked out of the view of the camera.
"I don't remember getting up to go to the bathroom during the night."
They watched the empty bed for several minutes, and then the apparently sleepwalking woman returned, wearing a slinky white dress, stiletto heels and several pieces of cheap, flashy costume jewelry.
"Where did all that come from?" she asked with surprise. "None of it belongs to me."
"It seems your boo hag brought along her own wardrobe."
After one more pass in front of the camcorder, the woman in the white dress vanished. It was not until Jackson fast-forwarded the tape to the 2:15 a.m. time code that she appeared again. Wearing her pajamas, she got beneath the sheet and remained in bed, sleeping soundly, until morning.
"Just for argument's sake, we'll say I was visited by a boo hag," Selma conceded as she and Jackson sat in the family dining room eating a batch of mother's pecan waffles. "What do I do about it?"
"According to Gullah legend, boo hags are obsessed with numbers and counting. It's suggested one way to get rid of them is to leave a broom with as many bristles as possible, in front of your bed. When the boo hag comes, it has to pick it up and start counting."
"So, I have to sleep with a broom every night?"
"No. It's believed that after three such nights, it won't come back. I know it sounds ridiculous ...."
"The whole concept of a boo hag sounds ridiculous! But so does my sneaking out in the middle of the night, so I'm willing to give it a try."
* * *
Jackson Bridger sat in his Honda, which was parked in front of Minnie Gooden's house, drinking strong coffee to keep himself awake. It was half past eleven when the front door opened and Selma emerged wearing the now familiar white dress. As she approached him, he saw the moonlight reflect off her shiny, cheap jewelry. After she walked past the Accord, heading toward the center of town, he got out, locked the door and followed her at a safe distance.
Rather than head toward King Street, where many of the city's drinking establishments were located, she walked to East Bay. As she neared The Gin Joint, her previously stiff-backed body loosened and her hips began to sway. She appeared less like a sleepwalker and more like a woman looking for a good time. Once inside the crowded nightspot, she wasted no time zeroing in on a man sitting alone at the bar.
"Buy a lady a drink?" she asked.
"Sure. What'll you have?"
"Whatever you're having is fine with me."
Meanwhile, Jackson asked the bartender for a beer and then found a seat at a table near the bar where he could keep an eye on Selma. When he saw the man stand up and take her arm, he felt a moment of fear.
What am I going to do if she decides to go home with him? he wondered. I can't very well stop them. That guy is twice my size!
But Selma apparently had ulterior motives. She wanted more than a one-night stand with a stranger.
"Not unless you marry me first," she laughed in a teasing manner.
"Very funny. Come on, let's go," the man said.
"I'm not joking. I want you to marry me. Look, I'm even wearing white for the occasion."
"You're nuts, lady."
The man laid a twenty on the bar, turned and walked away. Not at all discouraged by his rejection, Selma moved on to the next unaccompanied male.
"Buy a lady a drink?"
The approach was the same and so was the result. By ten to two, when the bartender called for last rounds, she had worked her way through nearly every male patron of the bar, even a few of whom were with a date. Not surprisingly, no one was willing to take her up on her offer. Finally, in desperation, she approached Jackson's table.
"Buy a lady a drink?"
"I think you had enough for one evening."
"I know you. You're the one who put a camera in her bedroom," she said, taking him by surprise.
"You know what goes on in the daytime when you're not there?"
"Who said I'm not there? I've kept my eye on that one since the first night she arrived in Charleston. Do you think I vanish when the sun comes up?"
"I don't know. I've never met a boo hag before."
"Boo hag? Honey, if you believe in that nonsense, you're crazier than she is. Still, I'd be willing to marry you."
"Why are you so anxious to get married?"
"When my husband, John, was hanged, I became a widow. If I hope to escape his fate, I need to find another husband. Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow night," she said and walked away.
As she exited The Gin Joint, her body again resumed the stiff-backed gait, and her eyes looked straight ahead as though she were sleepwalking.
* * *
After bringing her mother-in-law her breakfast, Pearl stepped out onto the piazza to get a breath of fresh air. She was surprised to see Jackson Bridger sleeping in his car in front of the house. She walked over to the Honda and gently tapped on the window. The young man woke with a start.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," she apologized.
"That's okay."
"Did you sleep out here all night?"
"Yes. I wanted to keep an eye on your daughter. Make sure she didn't get into any trouble."
"Why don't you come inside? I'll fix you something to eat."
When they entered the house, they found Selma sitting at the kitchen table in pajamas and a bathrobe. Not only did she look as though she had not slept all night, but she reeked of alcohol.
"While I make us all some fresh coffee, you might want to go take a shower," Pearl suggested. "It'll help wake you up."
"All the hot water and caffeine in the world won't wake me up this morning, but I will go take that shower."
When she returned, smelling if not looking better, she sat down at the table next to Jackson who was already on his second cup of coffee.
"Are you here to see the tape?"
"This poor boy slept outside in his car all night," Pearl explained.
"You did?" Selma asked with surprise. "Why?"
"To keep an eye on you in case you left the house."
"And did I?"
"Yes. I followed you down to The Gin Joint on East Bay Street. You were wearing that same white dress and propositioned nearly every man in the bar."
"Why on earth would I do that?"
"Maybe we're not dealing with a boo hag."
"What makes you think that?"
"She—you—told me I was crazy for believing such nonsense."
"She spoke to you?"
"She wanted me to marry her. That was after she asked nearly every other man in the bar the same thing. When you go out at night, you seem to be under the impression that you're Lavinia Fisher.
"Thank God no one took me up on the offer. And thanks for playing chaperone."
"I'll keep an eye out tonight as well."
"You can't spend every night watching over me."
"For now, let's continue under the assumption that it is a boo hag and hope that in three days the broom trick will work."
Not long after Jackson left, Selma's cell phone rang. It was Shawn Meara, the Irish Catholic lawyer from Brookline that she was dating. She stepped outside with her phone so that her mother would not overhear their conversation.
"How's the trial going?" she asked him, trying to sound as normal as possible.
"The witness was incredible!" he replied excitedly. "She had members of the jury in tears."
"That's great. Sounds like you got a winner."
"I hope so. I really want to get this guy off the streets. How's your vacation going?"
"Good. I'm having a great time," she lied.
"And your mother and grandmother? Are they both doing all right?"
"My grandmother is recovering from her surgery, but she's making good progress. And Mom is Mom; she never changes."
"I'd like to meet them."
"You will."
"Did you tell them about us?"
"Not yet, but I will. I just haven't had the opportunity. I've been reconnecting with some old friends. One of the girls I went to high school with, Doty Yarnell, is a history teacher now, but during the summer she conducts ghost tours. Funny, huh?"
There was a moment of silence before Shawn asked the question Selma dreaded hearing.
"Have you given any more thought to our moving in together?" he asked.
"I'm still thinking about it."
"Why the uncertainty? I know you're not ready for marriage yet, but ...."
"Please, Shawn, let's not get into this now. We'll talk about it when I get back to Boston. I promise."
The call ended with declarations of love from both parties. As Selma slipped her iPhone back into the pocket of her jeans, she was unaware that an unseen listener had overheard the entire conversation.
* * *
This time Jackson waited in Minnie's living room. Before going to bed, Pearl made him a pot of coffee that he kept warm in a thermos. He read through that day's edition of The Post and Courier as he kept an eye on the staircase with his peripheral vision. At two o'clock, the hour the bars closed in Charleston, he put the newspaper down, let himself out the front door and drove home.
Was it the broom, he wondered as he prepared for bed, or did the boo hag, knowing we were on to her, find another unsuspecting victim?
When Selma woke later that morning, she felt well-rested. She sniffed the skin of her arm. There was no lingering scent of alcohol. She took out her phone and called Jackson.
"Did anything happen last night?" she asked.
"Not unless you snuck out of the house by climbing out your bedroom window."
"I didn't do that even as a teenager."
"You want me to keep watch tonight, just in case."
"No, but I will keep the camcorder on."
The next day when Jackson showed up at her house and they watched the footage, all it revealed was Selma sleeping peacefully throughout the night.
"It seems your boo hag is gone," the medical student announced, somewhat surprised by his success.
"I don't know how to thank you. Let me give you something," she said, reaching for her handbag.
"No. I don't want anything."
"But you spent a lot of time helping me."
"That's okay. The experience was worth the time I spent."
"Well, if there's anything you ever need, including the advice of a good lawyer, just let me know."
The remainder of Selma's vacation was uneventful. She spent time with her grandmother and mother and even had the opportunity to take one of Doty Yarnell's ghost tours. On her last evening in Charleston, she told Minnie and Pearl about Shawn Meara, although she greatly downplayed the seriousness of their relationship.
"He's a nice guy, and I like him a lot."
"He's Irish, you say?" her grandmother asked. "Back in my day, interracial marriages were illegal."
"This isn't the 1950s, Grandma. Besides, I didn't say we were getting married. We're still at the 'just dating' stage. I don't want to rush things."
Despite her daughter's insistence that there were no marriage plans in the foreseeable future, wedding bells pealed in Pearl's head.
"When do we get to meet him?"
Here we go, Selma thought, rolling her eyes.
"Why don't the two of you come down for Thanksgiving?" her mother suggested. "You can spend all four days here at the house."
"I'll see, but we're both very busy with our careers."
"Even Harvard law professors get the holidays off."
"Is he picking you up at the airport?" Minnie asked in an effort to prevent her daughter-in-law from badgering her granddaughter.
"No. He'll be in court all day. He's trying a murder case. But I'll meet him afterward for dinner."
Pearl smiled, already wondering what the couple would name their first child when it was born.
* * *
"I have no further questions for this witness," Assistant Prosecutor Shawn Meara declared and took his seat.
"The witness is excused," the judge announced. "Due to the lateness of the hour, I'm going to ask the defense to call its next witness when the court reconvenes tomorrow morning."
"All rise," the bailiff cried as the judge left the courtroom.
Shawn quickly gathered up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase.
"You're in a rush," his co-counsel noted.
"Selma has come home from Charleston. I'm meeting her at Ma Maison for dinner."
It was all the explanation he offered before hurrying out of the courthouse.
Maybe I should have stopped and bought her flowers, he thought as the maître d' led him to the table. Or perhaps a bottle of ....
Shawn lost his train of thought when he saw Selma making her way across the room from the bar. She was wearing a slinky white dress, stiletto heels and an abundance of cheap costume jewelry.
"What is it, Halloween?" he laughed.
"Buy a lady a drink?" she asked.
Selma Gooden, Harvard Law School professor, might not have had plans to marry the Irish Catholic lawyer from Brookline, but the haint of Lavinia Fisher certainly did.
I learned about Lavinia Fisher, boo hags and haint blue when I recently visted Charleston. And, yes, I took not only a ghost tour carriage ride but also a haunted harbor cruise.
Salem is so superstitious that when we visited Charleston, he dyed his fur haint blue.
