Echoes of Other Times Read online

  Table of Contents

  Echoes of | Other Times

  By Kathryn Meyer Griffith

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

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  Echoes of

  Other Times

  (The Eighth Spookie Town Murder Mystery)

  Scraps of Paper

  All Things Slip away

  Ghosts Beneath Us

  Witches Among Us

  What Lies Beneath the Graves

  All Those Who Came Before

  When the Fireflies Returned

  Echoes of Other Times

  By Kathryn Meyer Griffith

  ~

  Why is the town called Spookie? In this murder mystery series, it is a tongue-in-cheek, a tip-of-my-hat to my earlier roots as a horror writer and little else.

  This book is for my beloved husband of forty-three years, Russell Griffith, who passed away on August 27, 2021 and took my heart with him. Rest in peace, sweetheart, I will love you forever and always. See you on the other side.

  This book is also for my sweet brother Jim Meyer, who passed away on May 27, 2015. He was a great singer/musician/songwriter. If you’d like to listen to some of his songs, here they are: http://tinyurl.com/pytftzc

  Other books by Kathryn Meyer Griffith:

  Evil Stalks the Night

  The Heart of the Rose

  Blood Forged

  Vampire Blood (prequel to Human No Longer)

  Human No Longer (sequel to Vampire Blood)

  The Last Vampire (2012 Epic EBook Awards Finalist)

  Witches

  Witches II: Apocalypse

  Witches plus bonus Witches II: Apocalypse

  The Calling

  Scraps of Paper-First Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  All Things Slip Away-Second Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  Ghosts Beneath Us-Third Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  Witches Among Us-Fourth Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  What Lies Beneath the Graves-Fifth Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  All Those Who Came Before-Sixth Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  When the Fireflies Returned-Seventh Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  Echoes of Other Times-Eighth Spookie Town Murder Mystery

  Egyptian Heart

  Winter’s Journey

  The Ice Bridge

  Don’t Look Back, Agnes

  A Time of Demons and Angels

  The Woman in Crimson

  Spooky Short Stories

  Haunted Tales

  Night Carnival

  Forever and Always Novella

  The Nameless One erotic horror short story

  Dinosaur Lake (2014 Epic EBook Awards Finalist)

  Dinosaur Lake II: Dinosaurs Arising

  Dinosaur Lake III: Infestation

  Dinosaur Lake IV: Dinosaur Wars

  Dinosaur Lake V: Survivors

  Dinosaur Lake VI: The Alien Connection

  Memories of My Childhood

  Christmas Magic 1959 non-fiction short story

  *All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s books can be found in eBooks,

  paperbacks, and audio books everywhere.

  Chapter 1

  It was warm today in the woodlet, yet the trees provided shade, cooling things down, and he was thankful for that. The night before had been full of wind, rain and fury, and he’d huddled, whimpering, in his shelter until it was all over. He was scared of storms. He hated bad weather. That fear was from the old times, or the other times as he sometimes called them. Once, long, long ago in one of his other lives he’d been caught in a monster tornado and it had killed him. It had killed his whole family.

  So, he was terrified of rainstorms, because sometimes tornadoes lived in them. But the small lean-to he’d fashioned of sticks, mud and leaves, covered by a piece of thick plastic, up against a sheltered boulder, had given him plenty of protection from the rain when it had come. The tarp had flapped and snapped, but it had held and he’d been grateful for that. He liked living among the trees, except when it got too cold, away from town and people who might ask questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer. Of course, anything was better than living with those people. His last foster family. They’d been cruel and miserly. They lived in filth. They’d beaten him for any small infractions. They beat him because he had been different. They thought he’d had the devil in him. He had run away from them, and he would never go back. He’d die first.

  His homemade shelter had most everything he needed to survive. A person, he’d learned, didn’t need all that much to live. Shelter. A dry place to sleep. Sustenance. Stuff to read. He had a rolled-up thin mattress to sleep on, a pillow and blankets, clothes, his tattered books, flashlights, food. He tried not to borrow–that’s what he called it–too many items from the town or the outlying houses. When and if he moved on, if he could, and had made enough money doing odd jobs for people, he’d give back everything he’d taken. That was his way. Anything else was out and out stealing, and he didn’t steal. It was one of his rules. Even in the old times he’d faithfully followed that rule, if he could. In another time, he’d once witnessed a man publicly have his hand cut off for stealing. It was a lesson he never forgot.

  Around him he could see the birds snuggling in the trees, the squirrels cavorting from limb to limb above him; hear them chattering in their own special language. The forest creatures were talking and singing to each other, and it made him smile. Sometimes he could almost understand them. None of them were afraid of him any longer. He’d been their neighbor for quite a while. They’d accepted him. All was well in his world. Breathing in deeply of the summer air, he came out of his shelter, and headed to the nearby stream where he could wash up. He didn’t like being dirty. He’d wash his extra set of clothes there, too. Nothing ever got totally clean, but it was better than nothing.

  Perhaps after he was washed up, he’d mosey into town. See what was going on. In the woods he could trap rabbits, or catch fish, to eat; though he didn’t care much to hurt the woods’ creatures. He snagged, cooked, and ate them only when he had to. He also knew how to do that from the other times. He’d even planted a little garden with tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes with seeds he’d been given by the hardware store owner. A nice man. Soon he’d have fresh vegetables. If he had one weakness, though, he couldn’t deny, it would be his insatiable craving for sweets. He couldn’t grow chocolate or donuts. He couldn’t grow clothes, soap, or toothpaste. So sometimes he’d do small jobs, sweeping sidewalks, washing windows, or running errands like picking up lunches or suppers for the business owners from their favorite restaurants–mainly Stella’s–to earn a little money for confections, supplies, or other food. He never begged. That was against his life rules as well. He worked for what he wanted, always had and always would.

  After he was presentable, he hiked through the woodlet and into town, whistling or humming a song or two. He still tended to sing the songs of the older times. Once in town, among people, he’d keep as low a profile as he could. He’d be polite and soft spoken, respectful. He’d smile openly at the townsfolk so they didn’t think he didn’t belong there. Though, if he had to escape, his two legs could outrun anyone who he felt might cause him trouble. He cherished his freedom and no one was going to take it away from him. Not ever. There w
ere a lot of bad people out in the world, and he often recognized them; stayed away from them if he could. Just an inner sense he possessed. It rarely let him down.

  The town he was hiding in was usually a sleepy little place, but he’d found out, that was because of the great illness. He’d heard about the pandemic, as it had been called, that had spread across the country, the world, and he had taken precautions. There had been this really nice woman at the local clinic who had given him information on it, a mask that he could use if he needed to, and eventually three shots, which didn’t hurt at all, and hadn’t asked any questions. She’d given him a strange look more than once, as if she’d known he was on his own, had known more about him than most people knew, but hadn’t said anything or turned him in to the cops. She’d said he could come in anytime if he needed medical care, or help of any sort. She’d been so kind, too. She’d given him sandwiches and potato chips to eat. The town, he’d learned, was full of caring people. That was probably why he was still hanging around. He almost felt safe here. He felt the town was a good place. There were more such good places in the world, but not as many as there had used to be. He was happy he’d found one of them.

  He strolled into town, skirting along the back streets, alleys and through people’s yards. There were more townsfolks out today than in a long while. Things must be getting better out in the world.

  From behind trees and bushes he observed the town and those who walked its streets and sidewalks, chatted in front of the local businesses, or entered through those doors to buy things, or just to chat and pass the time with the proprietors or other customers. Everyone seemed to know everyone. More smiles than frowns.

  There were things he needed and he figured he’d acquire them; then he’d go have a picnic in the town’s park, down by the lake. He liked the lake. He liked water. The lake area was a pretty, serene, place and always calmed his restless spirit. He’d dally by the water, with something to eat and drink, and bask in the beauty of it all. Then before twilight he’d go back to his sleeping shelter.

  Seeing the owner of the hardware store emerge out onto the sidewalk, opening his doors for the day, he plastered a happy expression on his face and strode out to meet him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Williams. It’s a beautiful morning.”

  The older man smiled in return and answered, “It sure is.”

  “Sir,” he spoke respectfully, “I was wondering if you had any more odd jobs around your store today that I could do for you? Sweep the front sidewalk? Run an errand or two for you? Stock the shelves? Anything, Sir. Anything.”

  The hardware store owner stared at him intently, and thought a bit. “I think I have a few errands or other little chores I could find for you to do. Come on inside, and we’ll talk about it.”

  The proprietor led him inside and, with a grin on his face, the boy trailed in behind him. He’d have a good meal later, food to take back with him, and maybe even be able to afford some sweets. He already had a good feeling about the day, so the smile remained on his face.

  Chapter 2

  “So, Glinda, you’re not going into town today to work at the clinic, huh?” Abigail was lingering at Glinda’s kitchen table early one June morning, a year and a half after the arrival and then the departure of the pandemic. Outside, after a night of rain, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. It was a beautiful morning. With the pandemic at long last finally winding down, life had almost returned to normal, and Glinda, the whole town, was glad of it.

  “Not today.” Glinda smiled at the woman. “Since the pandemic cases and patients in town have fallen to practically zero, I no longer need to be at the clinic every day. I’ve been released from duty. Free to go back to my true calling.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” Abigail had dropped by to share breakfast with her daughter-in-law and catch up on town gossip. The last eighteen months, as the pandemic had raged around the world, and through their little town, Glinda had been helping her husband, Doctor Kyle Lester, at the town’s clinic, and often heard Spookie’s gossip before anyone else. With Myrtle, as most of the old ones, imprisoned in their houses for the duration, fresh town gossip had become rare. Since Glinda was good with people, the partnership with her husband at his clinic had been a beneficial one.

  Doctor Kyle had taken compassionate medical care of the townsfolk, making sure any who’d come down with the virus had had access to the best healthcare he could get them. If they became ill enough, he’d triage them and, if needed, send them off to one of the nearby towns’ hospitals.

  When the voluntary mandate for masks and hand washing had come down, Glinda had helped spread the word as well as making sure there were more than enough masks available for everyone who needed them; and when the vaccinations had begun, she’d aided her husband in giving the shots to the townsfolk who had wanted them. It had been a long year and a half, and Glinda was relieved it was behind them. The town had come out on the other side with only a few losses of life. In that, Spookie, unlike the rest of the world, had been exceptionally lucky.

  “It’s a good thing I don’t have to help Kyle as much anymore. But, for a while, I’ll still assist him when he needs me until he can find and hire more help, and a second nurse. He’s looking for that nurse now. In fact, he has interviews this morning.”

  “You won’t miss working alongside of him every day?”

  “A little perhaps. It was interesting meeting and helping people. I enjoyed it, but it isn’t what I am supposed to be doing. The spirit world has missed me and has been letting me know that. My dreams have become so vivid. I’m ready to once more pick up my tarot cards and continue my psychic predictions. Being a nurse, even a substitute one, is a difficult job, especially during a pandemic. I admire any healthcare worker so much more now after being on the front lines, so to speak. But I’m no nurse. Seeing blood still makes me queasy. I’m happy to leave it behind. To reclaim the life I’m supposed to have.”

  Abigail nodded her head. She was amusedly observing the cats as Amadeus chased one of the younger ones around the table and into the living room. The kitten was meowing loudly. “I feel the same way. Good riddance pandemic. But the house seems so quiet now with Rose and Irma gone.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Glinda’s face reflected a subtle sadness. “After having a full house for so long, down to just the three of us–and the cats, of course–again does make the place seem a tad emptier. Irma can make me laugh over almost anything. As you know, she had this sarcastically peculiar way of looking at the world. I miss that.

  “And Rose...well, she’d come out of her shell for the first time since she’d been a young woman and it was beautiful to see. I enjoyed all the old stories she told about Spookie in the nineteen-fifties; about the people that had lived here. She loved working in the garden she, Irma and Myrtle planted last spring; loved watching the birds and the squirrels at the feeders eating and scurrying around in the trees. I can still see her childlike excitement when we’d play games or cards, or just sit around and talk. She enjoyed being with all of us so much. I really, “she whispered with a sad look on her face, “miss her.”

  Irma was living once more in her little house in town; reinstated in her second-hand shop, continuing her life right where she’d left it, but Rose hadn’t made it until the end. Somehow, she’d contracted the virus in the final days of their confinement, they suspect after she’d attended an old neighbor’s funeral, and had quickly succumbed to the illness. She’d gone quickly, though, and everyone had been glad of that.

  “The year and more she’d spent with them, though, had been special. She’d been alone so much of her life, carrying the weight of her and her dead brother’s secret of what they’d done to Hattie, that being with Myrtle, Irma, Glinda and Kyle–even through a pandemic with everyone locked in their houses most of the time–had been a gift she’d never taken for granted. She’d treasured every single day, had told them so often, and she’d died happy. Or, at least, that’s wha
t she’d told Glinda before she’d passed, and after.

  “Myrtle had believed that once Rose had had the burden of her guilt over her part of Hattie’s death taken off her shoulders, she’d been more than ready to go. She wanted to be with her brother. Her family.

  They’d lost old Silas, as well, a couple of months past. He’d been staying with Abigail, Frank, Laura and Nick since the beginning of the lock down, but his cancer had in the end returned and they’d lost him, too. Like Rose, though, swiftly. Frank believed he’d had symptoms for a while, but had kept it from everyone. Glinda knew Frank missed the old man, yet he’d been relieved Silas hadn’t suffered long. The cancer had showed up in early February and Silas was gone by April.

  “By the way, Glinda, where is Myrtle?” Abigail took another sip of her coffee, and finished a second of the homemade cinnamon rolls Glinda had baked for their breakfast. “Usually if she smells breakfast pastries fresh from the oven, she’s right here ready to eat them.”

  “Oh, she’ll be out, I guarantee it, any minute. She was up late last night reading some murder mystery she’s been glued to for days. When I went to bed last night, after twelve, the light was still on in her room. I peeked in and she had her nose in that book. I don’t expect her to sleep too long, though. Today, she told me yesterday evening, is the day she gets her scooter out and makes her first voyage into town since everything went to Hades–without a mask, too. First time since the lockdown began. She’s meeting Irma for lunch at Stella’s Diner. It’s been open at near full capacity now for a week. She’s so excited. Probably another reason she couldn’t sleep last night. She’s got the day all planned out.”

  “She has become a devoted reader during the pandemic, hasn’t she?” Abigail had reached for another cinnamon roll, and got up to brew herself a fresh cup of coffee.

  “Reading murder mysteries, she swears, during the pandemic, has kept her sane. You know how she hates to be confined to the house. Myrtle’s a wild bird. She needs to fly.”