Tag Archives: ghost story

Lyndsey 2 (Part 1) – The Old Mill

Mill Building

(This is the latest installment of the series that starts with The Old Mill.  The previous chapter was  Sean (Part 2).  The Table of Contents is here)

(Note – this is part 1 of a two part chapter.)

— —

I took my eyes off of the road for a second to glance at Lyndsey.  Her face was slightly illuminated in the dark by the dashboard lights.  A surge of emotion ripped through my body, feelings I hadn’t felt since the early days of my relationship with Becky, almost 15 years in the past.  My right hand slipped off of the steering wheel and onto Lyndsey’s thigh.  I could see the smile out of the corner of my eye.  She put her own right hand on mine and caressed it while threading her left arm under my arm and putting her left hand onto my thigh.  Her left hand lightly squeezed my thigh in rhythm to the music.

“Oh, this used to be one of Jess’ favorites,” she said as a new song came on the radio.  She hummed along for a minute.  “Thinking of Jess.  I was met her for breakfast this morning and she was the old Jess.  I always wonder why sometimes she is so, well, present, and other times it’s like, well…”

“It’s like someone pretending to be Jess,” I said.

“Exactly!  It’s like someone going through the motions of being Jess so that nobody would know that it isn’t her.”

“I have a theory about that.”

“Ha!  I knew it.  Does it have something to do with Martha or the Goode mansion?”

“Uhm, yes.” Continue reading

Sean (Part 2) – The Old Mill

(This is the latest installment of the series that starts with The Old Mill.  The previous chapter was  Sean (Part 1).  The Table of Contents is here)

(Note – this is part 2 of a two part chapter.  Part 1)

— —

A hand fell heavily on my shoulder.

“Hey Gill, having trouble finding them?”  It was Bill’s voice.

I was looking into an empty black space, no people were visible, no woman and no children.  I turned to look at Bill.  There was only him there, no other men.

“Uhm yeah, Bill.  Coming in from the bright outside my eyes just didn’t want to adjust.  I’m still a bit blinded.”

“Here they are.”

Several garden rakes, a hoe, a spade and a yard rake were leaning against the wall just inside of the entrance to the main building.

“Oh, I must have walk right past them.  No wonder I didn’t see them.  I was looking over there.”  I pointed past were the woman and children had been, into the dark far corner of the building.

“Here, I’ll grab a couple,” he said.  “You take the rest.  Let’s go, the air in here is unhealthy.” Continue reading

Sean (Part 1) – The Old Mill

Old Mill on two Rivers

(This is the latest installment of the series that starts with The Old Mill.  The previous chapter was  Bill Wallace.  The Table of Contents is here)

(Note – this is part 1 of a two part chapter)

— —

Bill pulled into my driveway at almost exactly 8:30. I was out of the door before his truck came to a stop.  I climbed in and set my travel mug next to his.

He almost immediately started talking about a neighbor of his that I didn’t know very well.  It was typical small town gossip and complaints.  He had barely gotten out of my drive before I picked up my mug and sipped my coffee, just nodding at the appropriate places and saying, “A-huh,” when needed.  I only half noticed that we were headed up to Amesbury Center until we turned to take the road that avoids the main village.

“We’re going to the Goode Mansion, aren’t we?” I asked.

Bill smiled.  “Ay-yup.”

I had wondered why he asked me to come with him; now I knew. Continue reading

Isn’t it Pathétique?

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan W. Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan W. Fields

“The spinet was purchased by George Hamsford in 1837 for his bride, Eleanor. She went mad after the death of their second child, Randolph, and spent her remaining days here, playing the slow movement of the Pathétique over and over.  To this day people claim to hear her playing.

“Moving along, the dining room is decorated as Marguerite Hamsford would have known it in 1893.”

Why did that awful man always say that? Mad indeed! Eleanor was no more “mad” than anybody else!

To take out her fury, Eleanor sat down and played Randolph’s favorite music, the slow movement from the Pathétique.

Continue reading

Why are They Here?

Fall Leaves

“There are police in the front yard.”

Sara shook her head. Where did that come from? She had been working all morning. Perhaps it was time for a break. She got up and walked to the kitchen.  A large window opened onto the front yard. It was a beautiful late fall day. The trees across the road were glowing rust and mahogany in the morning sun. Her neighbor Ruth was out walking her dog. Sara notice Ruth only had a thin jacket on. The weather report called for almost record breaking temps. They used to call such warm spells “Indian Summer” but she figured that term was now considered racist.

There wasn’t a police officer or car to be seen.  Not that she expected one.  Why had she even looked? She laughed at herself but stopped short. For some reason the way the laugh reflected off of the wall bothered her.  She unconsciously took out her cell.  Her hand was shaking.  She clicked Darren’s name.  Her thumb hovered over the word “DIAL”.    Why was she calling Darren?  Feeling silly she put the phone away. Continue reading

Blood Hollow

Common Grackle

“Uhm, could you explain that again?” Mike asked. He let out a little laugh. Mike had obviously had a little too much to drink.

Barbara, ignoring the rude tone of Mike’s question said. “It’s pretty simple actually. The world of the living and the world of the dead are very close, perhaps just nanometers apart. Some of the dead easily bridge this gap. We call them ghosts. Some of the living can too. Politely we call them Mediums, but some call them crack-pots.” Everyone looked at Mike.

“Periodically the worlds merge, but usually it’s one sided,” Barb continued.   “Almost yearly the world of the dead approaches the land of the living. Typically this happens in late October or early November, but it doesn’t follow a human calendar. As the world of the dead approaches, more make that transition and they are usually a little more substantial, less the shadow and almost solid. Thus we get the day of the dead in many cultures. The world of the living sometimes approaches the land of the dead, but it follows its own rhythm that few have learned to fathom. When this happens, more people can see into that land of the dead, even enter it. They can interact with those on the other side. Most people aren’t ready for it, so we see an upswing in murders and suicides. There are also more what some would call psychotic events. You know, people seeing things or hearing things, believing strange events. Our Western science has no explanation so attributes it to mental illness.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I have heard stories like this. By why is tonight special?”

“This will be the first time in a thousand years that the two coincide, that the world of the dead approaches the land of the living as the world of the living approaches the land of the dead,” Barbara said. “Not only that, this is the first time in almost three millennia that it will happen on Halloween.” Continue reading

Break the Cycle (Again)

Beam

The girl at once looked out of place and yet perfectly natural as she stood in front of my house. Her colonial attire was flawless and matched the colonial houses of the neighborhood.   Being a bit of an amateur historian I placed her costume at late 17th century, not too different from a classic picture of a Pilgrim girl at the first Thanksgiving. Perhaps, I thought with a laugh, she looked more like a witch’s apprentice in the Salem trials.

When we first moved in the kids used to play pranks on the old ‘haunted house’ and its new inhabitants, particularly at Halloween. As the kids got used to us living here the pranks and whispers slowly died out. Nobody had pulled a stunt like this in ages. I had to wonder what this girl heard. She couldn’t have been more than a baby when we moved in 16 years ago.

As I was closing the front door a man said, “Break the cycle.” I turned but nobody was there. Continue reading

Devon

Trent's Eye

“You see the picture?” my brother, Sean, asked in a text

“Yep,” I texted.

“Whatcha going to do about it?” he asked.

“Me? Nothing. What about you?” I asked.

“Ha! What would I say, and to who?” he answered.

“That’s ‘to whom’,” I texted. He usually took every opportunity to try to prove to me that he knew more as a high school junior than I did as college freshmen. This was a bit of payback.

“What? Anyway, I got to go. Later,” he said.

“Later.” I put my phone away.

I didn’t ask what picture he was talking about. I didn’t have to. It was a recent picture of our cousin, Devon. Only Devon had been dead for seven years. Continue reading

Break the Cycle

Beam

The girl at once looked out of place and yet perfectly natural as she stood in front of my house. Her colonial attire was flawless and matched the colonial houses of the neighborhood.   Being a bit of an amateur historian I placed her costume at late 17th century, not too different from a classic picture of a Pilgrim girl at the first Thanksgiving. Perhaps, I thought with a laugh, she looked more like a witch’s apprentice in the Salem trials.

When we first moved in the kids used to play pranks on the old ‘haunted house’ and its new inhabitants, particularly at Halloween. As the kids got used to us living here the pranks and whispers slowly died out. Nobody had pulled a stunt like this in ages. I had to wonder what this girl heard. She couldn’t have been more than a baby when we moved in 16 years ago.

As I was closing the front door a man said, “Break the cycle.” I turned but nobody was there. Continue reading