Scared Spitless - Calling All Ghosts

Ghosts and spooks have haunted the imagination of children since the beginning of time, I guess. And we were no different because along about the time adolescence set in, we decided to try our hands at dabbling into the supernatural. Having been gifted with the blessing of an avid curiosity, along with a Mother who encouraged us to investigate that which we didn’t understand, we embarked onto a voyage of discovery into the unknown. And who better to appease our fascination than the neighborhood ghost, Annie Dee Wilkerson Moody Dearman, a lady who died in unexplained circumstances just steps down the road from where we lived. And so it began…

Annie Dee Wilkerson was born January 28, 1928. In 1945, she married a Mr. Moody, a relative or a relative (etc.). They parented two children. Family history says she divorced him after he returned from the war. She married a Virgil Dearman and again, gave birth to two children. For some never disclosed reason, at midnight on October 4, 1967, she was standing in her front yard when some “ambushed” her, shooting her five times. She managed to crawl to the front porch steps before she died. No one was ever indicted or ever even charged with her murder. Her husband, Mr. Dearman, had a nervous breakdown shortly after her death, and claimed that she kept appearing to him after her death. He died shortly after her death. Rumor still runs rampant when her name is mentioned as to her character - Annie Dee was a lady who liked and craved men. And had few scruples about satisfying that craving.

She is said to haunt the place where she died, a small house less than several hundred feet from where we live. Local legend in the small rural community where we live states that on any given rainy day, her blood stains can still be seen on the front doorstep, even though the original step has been replaced numerous times. Blood stains are reported to leech up through paint, no matter how many coats are used. I have seen “SOMETHING” on that step myself, whether from an overactive imagination or something actually being there I can’t decide. Who had assassinated this woman in cold blood in her own front yard? We were determined to discover her murderer and the reasoning behind it. Being inquisitive in nature, a group of us decided to try to have a séance to call her back into our midst, never knowing what we were getting in to. Or the chaos it would cause.

A séance requires two things - a medium, or intermediary, and a group of people with a open mind willing to accept that there might actually be spirits of the deceased living among us with the ability and the will to communicate with us. The only other necessary items are total darkness, a candle or other form of light source and an overactive imagination. Our version of a séance were drawn from late night television viewing, such oldies as Saturday Night Shock Theatre, Alfred Hitchcock Presents and Dark Shadows. Fingers joined, each person thumb to thumb, with pinkie finger touching the same finger of the next person around the candle, the medium simply “goes into a trance”, closing their eyes and meditating and chanting, hopefully opening communication with the spirit of the deceased. If the chain of hands is broken, the link to the spirit world is severed. They supposedly reply by either using the medium’s voice, noises, movement of something in the room or some other strange way. We were ready to begin, but I don’t think we were prepared for what actually happened.

Being kids, we had the imagination in plenty and were willing to take the chance that we could contact the other side. We felt very brave and daring, having no fear as we delved into the great unknown. It was decided that the séance would be held in our neighbor, Karren’s, bedroom. She was the medium, the one chosen to make contact with those who had already passed from this earth. Her room had no windows, and with both the doors shut tight not a sliver of light could enter her room, leaving it a black pit, the perfect ambience for a séance. It was also a plus that her Mom worked during the day, hence no parental interruptions or censure. Our party of courageous souls included myself, my sister Vicki, Karren, of course, and two boys who lived next door, brothers, Rickey Gene and Kenny. These boys, although they were scared spitless, big macho males and real he-men that they were, were not going back down in front of three lowly girls. And, let’s be honest here, us girls had a way of challenging them that left them no room for retreat. They at ‘least’ had to be as brave as we were or they would never hear the end of it!

We were set - we could handle any ghost that deigned to present itself to us. Let the nether world do it’s worst! Gathering in the bedroom, we fell to our knees around a small table placed in the open space of the floor. The candle was lit and the overhead light was shut off. Ebony darkness surrounded us, the candlelight from the taper sending wavering tapestries of movement to dance along the murky, shadowed walls. A picture of Annie Dee, the lady of our quest, was placed near the candle, an encouragement to entice her to leave her place in the from beyond the veil of darkness and give us a sign of her unearthly presence. There we were, kneeling in the small cramped room, elbow to elbow, pinkies and thumbs touching, eyes closed…… breathlessly waiting….

The air in the room was still, almost stagnant, the silence complete and nearly stifling, as we waited apprehensive and anxious. It began, a low chant, a droning hum, slowly rising in volume, sounding eerily like the calls of a wild animal in it’s death throes. Mumbled words, spoken in a monotone, at first garbled beyond recognition, slowly became a chant….” We are here to reach the Realm of the Spirit World“…..“Are there any spirits willing to connect with us?”………. “If you hear us, please give us a sign that you are there”. Our eyes opened and there was Karren, seemingly deep into a trance, appearing under a spell from some unknown source. We watched apprehensively for what was going to transpire next. As we sat there uneasy and vigilant in the gloomy room, the light from the shifting rise and fall of the candle flame caused specter-like forms to drift over the ceiling, grotesque shadowy ghoul-like forms hovering above our heads. The air was expectant, the possibilities in our minds endless with the mayhem that could be caused from the opening of opening Pandora’s Box.

The temperature in the room, although it was summer, seemed to have dropped several degrees. A breeze, which had no source (remember the room was closed off - no windows - doors closed tight) was floating lazily across the room, raising chill bumps on bare arms and legs. Sweat, clammy and cool, most likely brought on by fear, dripped from our brows and into our eyes. Electricity from some mysterious source made the hair on our arms and back of our necks stand on end. The flame of the candle dipped, sputtering and popping loudly, nearly extinguishing itself and thereby leaving the room in total darkness. A glow began to radiate from the picture of Annie Dee, eerily lighting up the face of the slain woman, giving her the appearance of a fiery wraith about to escape the confines of the picture frame. Was she seeking her murderer, possibly seeking revenge for the person responsible? Would she wreak her vengeance on us? Then all Hell broke loose…

Suddenly, there was a scream, a feral screech, high pitched and earsplitting in the small, closed room. Pandemonium erupted and in the melee, the candle was knocked from it’s base and the two boys, those bastions of manly courageousness, rushed to the bedroom door. In their haste to exit the room, fear and cowardice lending their puny arms strength, the door was ripped from it’s frame left to dangle drunkenly from the remaining hinge. The candle, knocked from it’s base, was left to flounder on the bedroom floor, igniting the covers on the bed. Candle wax spattered the floor, leaving a sticky gooey mess. The glass covering the picture was shattered, although whether from being knocked over in the fracas or from her ghost making an appearance was never known. The two boys, terrified, ran up the hall and out the front door, never stopping their wild dash until they reached the safety of their own home across the highway. Us girls were right behind them, until, smelling smoke, returned to the scene of the crime to extinguish the flames searing the bedspread. All that was left for us to do was to try to hide the evidence of our latest fall from grace from Karren’s Mom. There was a flurry of activity as we flipped the bedspread several directions, hoping to conceal the burnt spot. Melted wax, once a candle, and now a hard solid substance on the carpet, was scraped and scrubbed in the effort to remove every trace. Open windows and doors allowed the smell of smoke and singed material to escape. Glass from the broken glass covering the picture was discarded. We might just survive this escapade if we were lucky.

Annie Dee’s murder was never solved, although people from our community have their suspicions as to her assailant to this day. She was buried in a grave in the small town near us, alone, with neither husband placed beside her. Which in itself, seems a punishment to a lady who enjoyed the company of a number of men, to be left lying alone in a cold, dark tomb. Although we had numerous other séances, all with the intent purpose of solving a murder mystery, no new evidence ever came to light. But, in every ceremony we held, some very strange happenings occurred - everything from a towel being set on fire to uncanny noises and smells permeating the air. To this day, I would speculate that Annie Dee is still there, living beyond the veil of darkness, waiting for her death to be avenged.