Second time I posted this. The first one seems to have been lost in the ether. Kind of spooky, eh? My first posting here. 497 words by the way. jon ============================================================= The House Across the Street J. M. Strother There is a house across the street that is reputed to be haunted. It certainly looks the part; it is old, with huge windows, a recessed entryway, and an enormous front door at the top of a long series of steps. It's white facade stands out like a beacon on top of the hill when the sky is dark and the sun peeks in low under the clouds. It commands your attention. It is fabled to have been part of the Underground Railroad. Rumor has it that there are tunnels in the basement, tunnels used to hide escaped slaves, and later, contraband for the Union. If such tunnels exist, we never found them. God knows, we looked. I spent hours in the basement with my friend George, tapping walls and floor, listening for a tell tale sounds. George lived there with his mother and two sibs, Mary and Elaine. His father lived there too, when he was home, which was seldom. I never met the man. Seems the tunnels were the root of the haunting. A young Confederate officer by the name of Jeremy Pike heard tales of this house, and took it upon himself to go investigate in hopes of earning glory. So on October the 20th 1861, he rode out to the house alone. He was never seen again. Stories say he was graciously welcomed by Mrs. Stowe. After they exchanged pleasantries over tea and cake he asked if he could have a look around. She protested but ultimately relented, following him from room to room. Finally he entered the basement, and with the aid of a poker found what sounded like a hollow spot behind the staircase. He turned to ask Mrs. Stowe about it. He was met square in the face with a shovel, killing him instantly. So we banged and prodded around that stupid staircase for weeks. Even took a pick to the wall one time, much to George's regret. We never found anything. Still, the old place gave me the creeps, epically around Halloween. I'll never forget that one Halloween when I went over to collect George for a night of Hell raising. I rang the bell and waited. Finally I heard steps in the hall. The door flew open. George's old man stood there glaring out at me dressed in a Confederate uniform that was dead on, his Southern percussion six-shot Griswold & Gunnison replica revolver aimed at my chest. After recovering my wits I asked for George. No one's home. his dad snapped back. The door slammed in my face. I stood there for awhile before going on to collect my other friends for a pumpkin smashing night. We had a great time, but I kind of missed George. When I saw George I told him his dad had a killer costume for Halloween. My dad's in Colorado. George informed me, looking confused. Like I said, I never met the man.

 
~jon
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