Ghost Walk Read Free

who’d paid to walk
around the historic town by lantern light and hear spooky tales for an hour. 
No wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was going to ruin this for them.
    Not
that anybody else looked thrilled with the Ghost Walk, either.
    That
was what pissed her off the most.  The wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was
right.  She sucked as a tour guide.  Unlike the rest of her family, Grace refused
to live her life inside of a Supernatural episode.  Consequently, she
talked about Harrisonburg’s significant places and noteworthy citizens, not
ghosts and goblins.  She tended to go off on academic tangents, which, her boss
assured her, bored the tour groups senseless.  They wanted to hear about
monsters and mayhem.  She told them about architecture.
    Perhaps
it was a different take on the Ghost Walk script, but --Darn it-- she wasn’t boring.  No matter what her family, thought, she could be as exciting and fun
as anybody.  Besides, why would tourists find some cheap campfire stories more
interesting than actual history?  It didn’t make any sense.
    History
books had gotten Grace through some of the darkest parts of her life.  For the
past year, she’d lived inside of them.  She’d always read about Virginia
history for fun and relaxation, but now she felt like it was keeping her
alive.  Ever since she lost her mind in that alleyway, she’d been struggling to
rebuild her life.  Without the refuge of her books, she’d be lost.  If she
could just instill that feeling into others, surely they would understand why
they should care about her unflashy tours.
    Grace
took a calming breath, before she started getting stressed, again.  Stress was
the enemy, according to her shrink.  It was what caused her hallucination.  A
skeptical little voice (that sounded a lot like her aunt Serenity) asked
how she could’ve hallucinate the blood on her hands, when everybody else at the
scene had seen it too, but Grace didn’t like to listen to that voice.  If she
did, all the nice normal walls she’d built would come toppling down again.
    “You’re
standing in front of Virginia’s oldest tavern, The Raven.”  She waved a hand at
the building behind her.  “Built in 1768…”
    “176 9 .” 
Mr. Tri-Corner casually interrupted.  Who the hell bought those stupid hats at
the gift shop and actually looked good in them, anyway?  It was sooo unfair.
    Worse,
he was right about the date.
    “176 9 .” 
She corrected, refusing to acknowledge him.  “The Raven was the site of many
clandestine meetings during the Revolution.”  See?  That was
interesting.  She tried to infuse her voice with excitement.  “A favorite
tavern of luminaries such as Thomas Jefferson, George Wythe, Josiah Oliver, and
even Gregory Maxwell, the hero of Yorktown…”
    “Hero
of Yorktown, my ass.  The man was a bloody idiot.”
    “…it
served as the unofficial headquarters for the patriots in Harrisonburg.”
    “That’s
because it had the bawdiest wenches in town.  Ach, Mistress Mary…”  The jackass
in the back gave a dramatic sigh.  “Josiah could hardly keep his hands off of
her long enough to lead his troops.  Almost lost us the war.”
    Grace’s
teeth ground together, but she kept going.  “The Raven was owned by Edward
Hunnicutt, one of the Richmond Hunnicutts.”
    “Watered
down his ale, the cheap bastard.  Treated the serving girls quite badly, as
well.”
    “He
also had a fascinating history as a cartographer of the region…”
    “Maps? 
Sweet bleeding Christ, you’ll really be talking of maps , now?”
    “…Edward
charted portions of the James River,” she pointed towards the harbor, “helping
to make it navigable to larger ships.  He imported goods like tea and cloth from
England, opening a shop.  It did so well that he doubled his money by selling
the store to his sister-in-law, Aggie Northhander, making enough gold to invest
it in this tavern.”
    The
tour critic gave an exaggerated groan at that