Christmas Eve on Haunted Hill by Bryan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

visitors
swore they heard what sounded like the blade of a heavy axe plunging into flesh
or wood.  Police ventured into the place now and then to check it out after
receiving particularly hysterical calls from people who’d trespassed on the
property, but they never found any evidence of ghosts or new murders.
              The tales nonetheless
persisted over the next several years, with elements of the basic story shifting
and mutating along the way.  At some vague point, it became an accepted part of
the lore that the ghost of Silas Herzinger could be spotted wandering around
the house at night every Christmas Eve.  The ghost was always there, so the
stories went, but on that one night each year it became corporeal, gaining
physical substance and form.  Those who claimed to have seen the ghost usually
described it the same way, saying it wore a bloodstained Santa suit and carried
a large, heavy-bladed axe. Greg attributed all this to rumors and outright
falsehoods told by local kids who were just trying to scare each other.
              Luke’s mood darkened
considerably when told about this.
              Greg noticed and
attempted to steer the conversation in another direction.  “You ask me, though,
there’s no ghost as scary as some of those clowns running for president this
time around.  Just imagine one of those narcissistic maniacs actually making it
to the oval office.  This country would go down the toilet faster than a blast
of explosive diarrhea.”
              Dave Wannamaker and
Virgil Alston chuckled dutifully at this, both men clearly sensing what Greg
was trying to do.
              But Luke wouldn’t be
distracted from the story.  It disturbed him that the night of horror he’d
endured ten years ago had morphed into a source of spooky entertainment for
local youth, but hearing about it awakened an insatiable morbid curiosity.  He
needed to know more and pressed Greg for additional details.
              Seeing that his friend
wouldn’t be dissuaded from hearing the rest of it, Greg sipped from his whiskey
glass and gave Luke’s anxious expression a moment’s thoughtful consideration
before setting the glass on the bar.
              The look on his face was
somber as he told the rest of what he knew.  “Okay, here it is.  For a while
there, a stretch of about five or six years, it became a kind of rite of
passage among the older kids to visit Haunted Hill on Christmas Eve.  Partly it
was to show how brave they were, but at heart it was really just another excuse
to get away from the adults in their lives and party.  You know how it is.  We
used to do similar things.  Well, some of these kids experienced mysterious
injuries while they were at your old house, a few of which were serious enough
to require medical attention.  One boy had to be hospitalized for a gaping
wound to his abdomen.  He told the hospital staff he’d narrowly avoided being
chopped in half by the ghost of Silas Herzinger.”
              All the color had drained
from Luke’s face at this point in the tale.  “Jesus.  What really happened?”
              Greg shrugged.  “No one
knows.  And that was the last incident.  The police went out to investigate
again and again found nothing.  No evidence of squatters or intruders other
than the trespassing kids who were there that night.  Some folks theorized the
boy’s wound was self-inflicted, that he’d done it for the attention and had
made up the story about being attacked by Silas’s ghost.”
              Luke nodded, letting out
a slow breath as he stared at the nearly empty bottle of Pabst he was rolling
between the fingers of both hands.  “Guess that makes sense.”
              Greg laughed softly. 
“More sense than a fucking ghost, that’s for damn sure.  Anyway, after that the
place was boarded-up pretty securely and some warning signs were