7
At first the noise was only minor, hardly a furor or calamitous type commotion. Even so it had awakened me from a deep slumber. “Hmm,” I remember thinking. “Wonder what that there racket wuz?” I had a solid reason for posing that question to myself. Because you see, I was alone in an eight-room framehouse where noises, even slight ones, should not have been. The disturbance continued and, though in a groggy state, I quickly determined it was emanating from the kitchen, a huge floor- space directly beneath my upstairs bedroom An added note concerning this house. Ladies and gentlemen, I certainly don’t wish to become overly dramatic here, but the ancient structure has always had a foreboding look, and even today an aura of menace surrounds the property. I’ve shivered with uncontrollable terror while looking at creepy houses in a thousand Hollywood horror films. Every dang one of ‘em wuz the spittin’ image of this Narrows landmark where a family was born into this world, spent their entire lives within it’s walls and then, hopefully, went on to a better and higher place. Those movie prop-men had without doubt paid a visit to Narz ( local dialect for Narrows ) in days of yesteryear. Certainly their brainchilds, those spooky houses where Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi committed unspeakable atrocities against humankind, were patterned after this local edifice where I reside. And we really oughta’ give old Vincent Price his just due. That ghoulish sonofagun has caused millions of anguished people to suffer endless nightmarish nights, and made them believe dawn would never come again. But back to strange noises in big houses. I had this thing figured, or so I thought. A sudden temperature change…possibly a rational explanation for that commotion emanating from downstairs, now increasing in tempo. An instantaneous rise or drop of the mercury causes funny things to happen to inanimate objects such as metal, asphalt, water and …wood. Expansion, contraction…stuff like that. Why sure, the old planks all around me had either shrunk, or become elongated ( depending on whether the thermometer outside had fallen or risen ). “Such might cause some objects to fall, thereby creating that terrible noise downstairs ( talking to myself, possibly brought on by an acute case of jitters ). Supporting one’s weight while propped on elbows is most uncomfortable, so I returned to the more normal sleeping posture that had been so rudely interrupted just a few moments previously. I felt certain I’d have no problem getting back to slumberland where my sawing logs and countin’ sheep might resume. But the interlude following the cessation of noises didn’t last long. It was, as the old adage so plainly says, “the lull before the storm”…
8
The noise began as a syncopated orchestration of soft plunks and plinks, then rapidly escalated to a deafening crescendo of loud thuds, thunks, clangs and crashes. From downstairs again it came, and this time I thought the house would come falling down. Bolting upright in total darkness, I groped for the lamp at my bedside. After more than a tad of fumbling, I succeeded in flooding the room with welcome light and glanced at the clock…3:03 A.M.! Now folks we’ll depart from our theme for about 3 paragraphs for a very important reason. The purpose; “settin’ the record straight.” The readers of my garbage have been told many times, but in these strange and bewildering times certain bits of information are well worth repeating. This info is directed at all people everywhere who are afraid of “things.” Your numbers, by the way, are far greater than anyone will admit. Thus not a single poll will ever show those numbers accurately ( a pollster shows up at your door and asks: “Do you believe in ghosts?” You may be fearful of your shadow but answer with a resounding: “Absolutely not!” And we have yet another poll what ain’t worth a plug nickel.). Okay then, a very important point follows for all “skeerdy cats.” Jot this down, make a note and place this advice in a place of safekeeping for future reference. Your dreadful fear of the hour of midnight just ain’t justified, tis groundless and completely without foundation. Man, I’m tellin’ya,” THINGS don’t cavort about at midnight. The very idea is not only ridiculous , it’s ludicrous! On the other hand, the 10 minute timeframe twixt 2:55 and 3:05 A.M. is a cat of a different color. A time for alarm and great concern…for your health, well-being and sanity. Save all worry and anxieties for this timespan. Because just as surely as you live and breathe this is when “things” become invigorated with fresh pre-dawn air, materialize and come forth to greet you in the night. This visit guarantees the beginning of your new day will not be a dull one. Our little detour from the theme ends with the dispensing of that crucial data, so let us return to a terrifying supernatural event. Again I was talking aloud, this time saying: “If’n that there racket downstairs is caused by a sudden temperature change, then it’s a drastic one. Must be 90 below outside, or else hotter than the pits of hell.” A conclusion I’d reached because of the shenanigans around me. Now the partition walls were trembling, and in a barely audible monotone a synthesized whispering was asking: “ Who are you and what is your business in this house?” Over and over the terrifying phenomena repeated itself; words would not form…no answer did I give. Petrified with fear, I literally jumped into my britches and slipped on a pair of bedroom slippers in record time. The chances for a fella’ getting stranded or trapped ( and going on to his just reward ) are much greater on an upper floor than at ground level. Thus my priority and immediate concern was to get down those steps with all due haste ( even though a sixth-sense told me someone, or SOMETHING, waited below!). Sprinting to the top of my staircase I stood aghast at detecting a faint glow of light, an eerie light, that had to be coming from the kitchen. Very, very peculiar. I don’t retire at night and leave light burning! I paused a moment longer, listened as pandemonium broke loose throughout the house, then began slowly descending the stairway. In a few seconds I would come face to face with a scene not of this world…
9
This decrepit Narrows landmark, built in 1884 without blueprint or even random planning, is a series of mazes and cut-up designs. For many years I’ve been burdened with an uneasy felling about this old structure where, unfortunately, I now reside. I believe it is indeed “alive”, and waits decade after decade watching, waiting…waiting. Waiting for what? Well, I have some thoughts, but will say no more until evidence surfaces to corroborate them. Local residents walk past this relic of another century each and every day but only a few, maybe none, are aware of the bizarre happenings that occur regularly within these walls. Pilgrim, we’re talkin’ supernatural here! News of this nature will de-value any property to “rock bottom” level and throw a wet blanket on the probability of a sale taking place…ever! I mean this housr is wall-to-wall in “haints.” There’s really not a market for such houses! There’s not a real-estate agent living, no matter how foxy and smooth talking, that could offer a sales-pitch convincing enough to sell a house loaded with such “accessories.” I’m fully aware that many comments are made about individuals who delve into matters of this sort. None are complimentary, all are derogatory. A warning ,pal…a fascination with the supernormal will get ya’ branded: “Everybody knows he’s a little tetched in the head.” Pay them no mind; continue checking out those reports about a band of werewolves roamin’ thru the neighborhood. Any person conducting a serious investigation into the “spirit world” will hear an assortment of stuff: “That dude is loonier than a goony bird. Always has been.” Tell that uncouth person to go home and shoo Count Dracula off his front lawn! Here’s a remark heard quite often: “That man is an oddball if ever there’s been one.” Just ignore it; tell him a family of Boomawhoppers have been spotted on the outskirts of town! And this: “People wouldn’t know he’s so ignorant if he’d keep that junk out of print.” Let ‘er go in one ear and out the other. Then quickly inform them how a pair of recently discovered dinosaurs are laying waste to Monroe County, West Virginia! But the critical barb heard most frequently, the one exuding more venom than any other, is a simple and abbreviated one: “Ya’ gotta’ consider the source.” This means you’re rated at the very bottom, down there with snakes, slime and earthworms. Just keep yer mouth zipped, pretend you didn’t hear. So then, if you’re a people what can’t handle ridicule and derision , then fer goodness sake don’t make the supernatural your field of endeavor. Get into something else. I do it only because of a built-in immunity from scorn and belittlement. After a cautious descent I reached the bottom of my stairwell where a pair of left-face movements were necessary. With the first I stepped into my dining room, the second had me facing the kitchen. There’s no way I can describe the scene that greeted my eyes, not if I lived another century. With hair standing on end my legs became jelly, the remainder of my anatomy turned to instant jello. An intense bluish-white light radiated from the kitchen, a color never before seen in works of art. The blinding glare I looked at had no earthly origin, but came instead from a place far, far beyond human comprehension…
10
The world of the supernatural holds sights and sounds which can instantly paralyze the puny life-form known as homo-sapien. A terrifying place indeed, one which no mere mortal should enter into. Voluntarily or otherwise. Step into this realm and harrowing experiences are your lot, horror and disbelief commonplace. Powerful “forces of darkness” await foolish interlopers who dare venture therein ( devil cultists would be well advised to extract themselves from that scene before it’s too late. The lid on your “Pandora’s Box” opens unexpectedly fast, and always first to be consumed is the holder of that dangerous package ). Most people express a strong desire to steer clear of the “spook world,” and make a concerted effort to do just that. These are the most sensible people around, wiser than owls. But I have some disheartening news for these folks. Not always will your efforts to remain non-involved meet with success. Our planet is a mystical ball of mud, and we quite often find ourselves caught up in strange vortexes that refuse to let us remain isolated from the evil round about. The supernatural is a relentless stalking hunter…a predator that will seek you out! Spirits are restless souls, prone to wander about in the night. A strong hunch tells me they’ll never break that long-standing routine. And really, I find that understandable. Each and every one of us pick up habits we find hard to break. Certainly this is true while we’re among the living, and I imagine that’s true in the afterlife too. Ghosts will never cease meandering from pillow to post. Too bad if you’re residing in their favorite “haunting place.” Nervous nights are your guaranteed future. I’m certainly not a willing participant in these strange events unfolding in my dwelling place ( I ain’t one of them there “ghost hunters.”). This thing, whatever it might be, came looking for me! My eyes were riveted on the kitchen as the phenomenon became more weird with each passing second. The bluish-white light was fading fast, replaced with a frightening aura of crimson. Stopping just short of the door leading into the kitchen, I watched with unbelieving eyes as five globs of red, each the size of a softball, began bouncing from floor to ceiling, caroming from wall to wall. Only with great reluctance do I tell what happened next. A sudden transformation was underway, and five shimmering transparent shapes began emerging...human forms! I wanted to run to a door leading to outdoor spaces but my feet were set in concrete. All scientists I’m acquainted with would have you believe nothing is “unexplainable.” They say everything in this vast universe operates in an orderly fashion and follows a definite set of rules. A bunch of hogwash and don’t you believe it. All things in this unending universe DO NOT follow a definite set of rules! I was witnessing a scene not of this world. Nor any other you or I might be familiar with…
11
Nothing is more irritating for humans than finding themselves embroiled in situations where “control” has been wrested from them. Get any man in a position where he ain’t “calling the shots” and he’ll shatter like a pane of glass making contact with concrete after being dropped from a skyscraper. My exact predicament as I watched 5 brilliant orbs of crimson coalesce into a single unit of illumination and then, in a dazzling display of pyrotechnics, explode into something quite different A sunburst of blinding color flooded the kitchen, and with it came an increased pounding inside my chest. I’m quite certain icewater replaced blood flowing through my inner-body channels. An incredible altering of matter and molecules was occurring and, looking back in hindsight, I believe a tad of anti-matter was also in the mix. Manifestations from out of nowhere, and at first I looked right thru ‘em to the walls beyond. The overall materialization required maybe 10 seconds…and there they were!! Human forms, and to this very day I’m not sure if they were tangible and solid, or vague silhouettes that come and go as do elusive wisps of smoke (I’m sorta’ leanin’ to the notion that any solid object, my hand for instance, would’ve passed right thru ‘em ) Call it instinct, call it what you will, but with their other-worldly emergence into our dimension I knew WHO they were, and WHAT they were!! The number of apparitions totaled five. Three were seated around my kitchen table and two seemed occupied with kitchen chores. Running here, scampering yonder, busy as bees they were ( this pair were mighty careless in their handling of pots and pans, skillets and tableware. Droppin’ ‘em, throwin’ ‘em, slidin’ ‘em…the sound effects that had so rudely interrupted my peaceful slumber ). Heading the “guest list” was, of course, the old man who had nailed the structure together in 1884, called it home for half a century, and then about 1935 (when I was a mere lad ) had departed from his earthly existence. Even so, after resting 47 years neath the sod, I recognized him immediately. Seated alongside was his lifelong helpmate, the mother of the son and daughters assembled in my kitchen. They’d returned for a frequent rite, a breakfast affair. I now refer to it as “the family reunion,” or “clan get together.” This shindig was, and is, played out at my expense. Mine is the icebox being raided. They’re eatin’ like they ain’t had no vittles in 40 years…this family is eatin’ me outta’ house and home! Be assured, however, I’m not voicing any objections. From my dining room I witnessed the ghostly scene, a bunch of spooks eatin’all my groceries. I feel quite certain the disembodied spirits were oblivious to my presence…they paid me no mind whatsoever The two old maids placed heaping platters of bacon and eggs on the table, then seated themselves alongside Mom, Dad and brother. At this point a strange, un-nerving silence settled in, the spookiest part of the whole affair. From that moment on not one sound did I hear. Five heads bowed; pantomime lip movement told me the old man was saying grace. Hey man, etheric spooks of the benevolent type. I realized then I had no cause for concern. With meal finished my “guests” didn’t exit the door in a normal fashion. They simply moved toward that portal and melted right thru it’s wooden panels! They’ll be back…
12
This story is grinding to a halt and will end by offering some timely advice to persons who might be thinking about submitting written material of any type for publication. These final paragraphs demand your utmost attention, especially you “Edgar Allen Poes” who’s speciality is the macabre. Close adherence to the hints contained herein can be mighty valuable in helping a chap to “save face.” Obeying what is offered here ( at no fee ) can prevent ya’ becoming an object of scorn, and perhaps be of assistance in helping to retain a small measure of self-esteem. Once ya’ begin scrawling with that cheap ballpoint, stay a healthy distance away from ghost stories. Don’t touch one of ‘em with a pole of any length…not even one 40 miles lond! Write about computers and their components…software, hard-drives, data banks, data processing, data this, data that. Direct all time, energy and efforts in this direction. The suspense is overwhelming! Concentrate your talents toward really thought-provoking subjects. But never, never confess a belief, even the slightest, in “the unexplainable” and the “haints” associated with it. Such is taboo! One topic of utmost importance, earthworms, is begging the attention of an energetic young writer. Around the globe there is a desperate need for information concerning the sexual activities of these elastic-like critters. An avalanche of questions must be answered in this field. Are earthworms male, female, or something in between? Hermaphrodites, the slimy one’s who are a combination of both sexes. May the Good Lord shine his light down and have mercy on us…another bunch of danged perverts! There are huge incentives for anyone wanting to research this vital project. The government has appropriated 40 billion dollars for the patriotic author willing to take on this crucial assignment. However, a note of caution. One stipulation applies with all business matters connected with the government…you will find “strings attached.” All yer findings relating to earthworms must be shared with them thar Perfessers over yonder at VPI (else no federal funding ). But whatever, don’t mention one word about “haints.” Spooks are a no-no in any conversation. Forget the spirit world and all it entails, else you’ll be in bad standing in government circles, and on campus as well. The time I’ve spent on this story has seen a never-ending stream of invectives hurled in my direction. I’ve endured ridicule, been avoided and shunned: “Here he comes down the sidewalk. Lets cross to the other side.” Ladies and gentlemen, this work has reached it’s terminal point; time to move on to other matters. I’ve been hearing persistent whisperings about a half-man, half-beast creature runnin’ free and unchecked in Bluff City, a neighboring megalopolis just 3 miles east of Narrows. The End M. L. Wilkinson April, 1992 |
