There are two stories on this page:
Werewolf of Misty Valley and Sanctuary.
WEREWOLF OF MISTY VALLEY
By Donald H Sullivan
Werewolf! What a horrible legend, thought Peggy Vasko, for such a beautiful, peaceful valley. But according to Pete Halas, the clerk in the general store, the four hundred people that populated the town of Arcos didn’t think of it as a mere legend. He told her that everyone here truly believed that a werewolf roamed the valley and surrounding mountains during every full moon. Peggy had studied the history of this area, and she knew that a band of Gypsies from Eastern Europe had settled Arcos over a hundred years ago. That was probably the basis for the werewolf legend, she thought, as she finished hanging the drapes she’d bought at the general store.
She put on a pot of coffee, and just as she sat down to rest, she heard the door chimes. That would be Phil, back from the hospital in Asheville. She ran to the door.
He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Hi, Sweet. Got my last rabies shot today. Am I ever glad that’s over.” He chuckled. “I asked them for a rabies tag, but they wouldn’t give me one.”
She grinned. “Darn. I could’ve put the tag on your collar. Seriously, Phil, I know you love to hike, but I want you to stop going so far into the woods.”
“It was just a raccoon bite,” he said, pulling up his trousers leg to expose the healing scar on his calf. “Next time I go hiking I’ll take the revolver along.”
“You must be tired from the drive to Asheville.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “I made some cookies this morning and just put on a pot of coffee.”
***
The following day, Phil had to make another trip to Asheville, this time to sign some papers for his lawyer. Phil had recently inherited this property in the mountains of Western North Carolina, along with a sizeable fortune, from his uncle Dan Vasco. At first, Peggy had wanted to sell the property, but fell in love with it the first time she saw it.After Phil left, she continued rearranging things and cleaning the house. She was cleaning the den, when she idly picked up one of the books on a shelf. She glanced at the title, “Werewolves: Fact or Myth?” Uncle Dan must have had a fascination for the occult, she reasoned. She noticed a slip of paper protruding from the book. apparently marking a page.
She opened the book to the page and found that the slip of paper was a receipt. The receipt was from a book store in Asheville, dated only two days ago.
Curious, she scanned the marked page. A passage caught her attention. “It is believed that a werewolf attacks for one of two reasons. The first is pure bloodlust. The second is simply to inflict a bite, which causes its victim to become a werewolf at the next full moon.”
Why, she wondered, would Phil be reading such trash? Phil was a hard working, practical man. Before inheriting his uncle’s fortune, he was a construction foreman for a builder in Asheville. Hardly a man to be interested in the occult.
Peggy, an ex-nurse, thought of herself, too, as a very basic, practical person. But deep inside she knew that she tended to be a trifle superstitious, probably a legacy from her grandmother. When Peggy was a little girl, her grandmother had filled her head with frightening ghost stories and myths.
Peggy found a calendar in the den and checked the moon phases. The next full moon was just three nights away.
Looking at the calendar, she laughed inwardly. What on Earth was she thinking? She couldn’t believe that she was actually, even for a minute, believing in such nonsense. She went back to her cleaning, but couldn’t stop thinking of the bite on Phil’s leg and the marked page in the book. Coincidence?
***
The next morning, Phil took the .38 revolver from the locked drawer where he kept it. “They don’t have a gunsmith here in Arcos,” he said, “so I’m taking it to the next town, Morganton, to get it checked out. I want to make sure it works okay.”When Phil left, Peggy made a trip into Arcos. She was ostensibly going to the general store for a lampshade, but her real reason for going was to talk to Pete.
She picked out a lampshade and paid for it at the old fashioned cash register sitting on the counter. “Nice lampshade there, Peggy,” said Pete. “Thanks, and hope you enjoy it.”
“Pete, before I go, there’s something I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” The young man’s face showed concern. “What’s on your mind?”
“Pete, I wonder if you would tell me more about this werewolf thing. I’m just curious.”
“All I know is what I’ve heard the old folks say about it,” he said. “The werewolf is a normal person until the night of a full moon. It could be anyone who lives in the valley, or maybe even someone here in Arcos. It kills mostly livestock, wild animals, and pets. But they say it prefers the flesh of humans.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe you’ll think I’m nuts, but I’ve seen and heard of enough strange things in this valley to think there’s something to it.”
“I understand,” she said.
He went on. “Anyway, it’s immortal. But since it must live as a normal person, it must seek a new host when its present host is ready to die. It always senses when a host is about to die, even if death comes unexpectedly, such as in an accident. The only death that it can’t foresee is death by a silver bullet, which ends its life forever.”
She felt the blood draining from her face. “But how does it go from one host to another?”
“It bites a victim, who will then become its new host. It immediately abandons its old host. A host seems completely normal, but is always under the spell of the werewolf.”
Peggy was speechless for a long moment. “This is all such nonsense,” she said. “I don’t know why I bothered to ask.”
“I know about Phil getting bitten,” said Pete. “I don’t blame you for being concerned. Don’t feel embarrassed.”
“It was a raccoon bite,” she countered.
“All the same, I’d be cautious if I were you. If he was bitten by the wolf, he would be under its spell. He certainly wouldn’t tell anyone.
“The moon will be full tomorrow night, Peggy. Don’t be afraid to come to me if you need help.”
***
When she returned home, she spotted Phil’s pickup parked in the carport. She did a double take when she saw a goat tied to a stake in the front yard. She hurried into the house.“Phil, what on Earth is a goat doing in our yard?”
He seemed irritated. “Look, I’m going to start raising livestock as a hobby, okay? Got to start with something.”
“It’s just that I was a surprised to see a goat in our yard,” she said. “But I wish you’d wait until we fence off a place behind the house.”
“Sorry I snapped at you,” he said. “Guess I should’ve told you before.”
That night she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was in turmoil. She fought to convince herself that werewolves were mythical creatures. It was all nonsense, and she was foolish to even think about it. But then she would think of the facts.
It was a fact that Phil was bitten by an animal. It was a fact that he had taken a sudden interest in werewolves. It was a fact that he had a live goat tied in the yard. In anticipation of feeding when the change came?
And it was a fact that the entire village was convinced that a werewolf roamed the valley. Even Pete, a seemingly practical and well educated young man, was convinced.
She thought of the goat, and was horrified to think of Phil, in wolf form, attacking and feeding on the poor creature. Or worse, what if he, as a wolf, decided to feed on a human? And she would be convenient, lying next to him.
In her tormented mind, she reached a decision. She could not simply brush her fears aside, considering all that had happened. Would she be willing to risk her life to prove the werewolf thing was a mere myth?
The moon would be full tomorrow night. She shuddered to think that she might be lying in bed next to a bloodthirsty monster. She glanced at Phil, sound asleep and softly snoring, and chills surged through her body.
The next morning, after breakfast, Phil told her that he had to return to Morganton. “I’ve got to pick up the revolver,” he said. “The gunsmith found something that needed repair.”
After Phil left, she did not resume her work on the old house. Instead, she sat down and racked her brain for an excuse to leave the house. Finally, an idea came. She found a sheet of writing paper, sat down at the kitchen table, and began writing:
“Phil, I’ve received a call from one of the ladies in Arcos. One of them is sick, and knowing of my experience as a nurse, the ladies asked if I would come and look after her. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It depends on the lady’s ailment. Love, Peg.”
***
It was almost noon when she entered the general store.Pete greeted her. “Hello Peggy. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking it over, Pete, about this werewolf thing. I hope you don’t mind if I ask your help.”
“I said I’d help you, and I meant it. If you need a place to stay for awhile, you’re welcome to stay with me and my mom.”
“I’m so mixed up. I need some time to think. I’d really be grateful for a place to stay for a while. I need to relax and think.”
She told him about her ruse to escape the house.
“You can stay in the back room of the store until closing time, then I’ll take you to my place. Later on, I can call Phil and tell him that I’m calling for the ladies, and that you’ll stay with the sick lady all night.”
***
Darkness had fallen when they arrived at Pete’s house. They entered the house, and Pete locked the door. “Can’t be too careful tonight,” he said. He looked around. “Mom’s not in. Guess she’s at the grocery store. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, while I go in the kitchen and make us a snack.”
Peggy looked at her watch. The grocery store had closed over an hour ago. She looked around the house, and saw no sign of a woman’s touch. The house, and all in it, told her that this was a bachelor‘s place. What was Pete up to?
Was he planning to take advantage of her? She was puzzled, for he seemed like a nice young man. But she hadn’t really known him that long.
She glanced out the window to see that the moon was visible now. My God, she thought. Had she made a terrible mistake? Suppose that Pete was the werewolf? She was turning the knob of the locked door when she heard a low growl.
She turned, and was horrified to see a huge wolf staring at her with it’s gray-green eyes, snarling and showing its teeth. Its head low, it crept toward her, slowly, as if relishing her fright.
She was frozen with terror. She heard a piercing scream, and then realized that it was coming from her own throat. In terror, her eyes moved around the room, seeking escape. She spotted the window. If she could just get close to the window, she thought, she might have a chance to jump out and escape. She started working her way, crablike, toward the window.
But the wolf sensed what she was up to, and quickly jumped in front of the window. It seemed to be toying with her, whetting its bloodthirsty appetite. Suddenly it hunched, ready to spring.
Peggy was startled, and jumped when she heard a crashing noise. She turned to see the door burst open. Phil rushed in, holding the revolver. The wolf turned, facing him, once again ready to spring. Phil fired two shots, both finding their mark. The wolf fell, and in moments its body lay still.
She ran to Phil, and they embraced. She was trembling, and her eyes were filled with tears. “Phil, my darling, I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me.”
He held her tightly. “You’re forgiven, Hon. Now I can see that I should have told you what I was doing. But I thought that you might think I was crazy.”
“How...how on Earth did you know where to find me?”
“It took some doing. Let’s get out of here. I’ll explain on the way home.” They hurried from the house.
“Shortly after Uncle Dan died,” Phil began, “my lawyer gave me a sealed letter, to be opened after his death. Uncle Dan wrote that he was convinced that stories of a werewolf in the valley were true. He further stated that he was convinced that the werewolf was one of the men in Arcos. I knew Uncle Dan was a no-nonsense, trustworthy man, and I had to take what he said seriously.”
Phil went on. “I read up as much as I could on werewolves, then took the revolver to the gunsmith and had a couple of silver bullets made. I bought the goat, and hoped to use it as bait to lure the wolf, and then shoot it with the silver bullets.
“When I saw your note, I called Sara Kovacs, who knows everything going on in Arcos, and asked her who was ill. She told me flatly that no one was ill. It then dawned on me that you must have suspected me.”
“But how did you know it was Pete?” Peggy asked.
“I didn’t know until Pete called, saying that you would be with the ailing lady all night. It took me some time to find out where he lived, or I’d have gotten there sooner.”
“I wonder,” she said, “where the law will come into this.”
“When they find the wolf in Pete’s house,” said Phil, everyone in Arcos will figure out what happened. The mayor, old George Dunny, will cover it up and simply report Pete as a missing person.”
“We’re almost home,” she said. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’m exhausted.” She relaxed as the anxieties and tension of the past two days drained out of her. She put her arm around his neck and snuggled up next to him. “I don’t think I’ll have trouble sleeping tonight.”
He looked at her and grinned. “I think we’ll both sleep well,” he said.
The End
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She’d gone but a couple of miles when her headlights picked up an animal crossing the road. She swerved to the left to avoid the creature, hit her brakes, and skidded into the ditch. She was shaken, but unhurt. The car, however, was stuck fast in the soft mud of the ditch. Her efforts to pull out only spun the wheels, sinking the car deeper into the mud.
“Of all the dumb tricks. And it had to happen in the dead of night a thousand miles from nowhere.” She looked at the dark wall of trees on either side of the road. “There won’t be any traffic on this stretch of road until people start going to work in the morning. No way I’m going to wait here. No choice but to walk back to the truck stop and call Dad.”
She guessed she could walk to the truck stop in a little over thirty minutes. “Great. Just what I need after being on my feet all day.” She opened the trunk, pulled a flashlight from the road emergency kit, and set out. She knew that she would pass a few houses along the way, but she decided against stopping for help at this late hour.
She’d been walking but a few minutes when she saw lightning up ahead, followed by a clap of thunder. Moments later she felt a few drops of rain. As she turned to run back to the car, a flash of lightning revealed a house off to her left. She recognized it as the Graves place. Old John Graves had died last year, and the house was now unoccupied. A couple from up north had bought the house and planned to retire here in a few years.
The rain was coming down stronger now. Amy ran up the steps and onto the porch of the old house. She discovered that the door had been jimmied open, probably by vandals. She turned on her flashlight and entered.
Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Stories of old John still prowling around the house probably kept young vandals from entering. Amy had no fear of the dead, but she did fear lightning, and was relieved to find shelter in the old house.
To pass the time until the storm blew over, she set out exploring the old house. The furniture had not been covered and was collecting a considerable amount of dust and mold. A musty odor pervaded the house.
As she wandered through the house, she thought of Billy Joe Prescott, a young truck driver she had met only weeks ago. Billy Joe believed in ghosts and such, and she laughed to herself as she wondered how he would react to this situation.
She had only recently met Billy Joe, but she was surprised at how well she and the lanky young redhead got on, almost as if they were old friends. Except for his belief in the occult, they shared many interests. She sometimes teased him about his beliefs, but he would just laugh and come back with good natured jibes of his own.
She remembered something he had once told her: “I like my women spooky, but a cute blonde like you is just too sexy to fit the bill.” She smiled to herself as she wandered through the old house.
She went up the creaky stairs and into the bedroom on the second floor. There was nothing in the bedroom except an old double bed, a wooden chair, and a nightstand. She opened the drawer of the night stand to discover some old newspaper clippings. Curious, she sat down in the chair and began to read the yellowed clippings.
The clippings concerned the murder of John’s wife, Jessica. The murder had taken place twelve years ago; Amy was but ten at the time and could barely recall the incident.
According to the clippings, John was charged with the murder. John confessed and the case seemed cut and dried. But during interrogation, one of the officers lost his temper and struck John, and some of the evidence was obtained through questionable means. Eventually, John was found not guilty of Jessica’s murder.
One of the clippings caught Amy’s eye. According to a tabloid, John feared meeting Jessica in the spirit world after his own death. He had consulted a spiritualist about finding a sanctuary for his spirit where Jessica could not find him. According to the spiritualist, she had advised John that as long as his spirit remained in the old house, he would be safe from the vengeful spirit of Jessica.
Amy noted that the rain had stopped and the thunder was now a barely audible rumble. As she rose from the chair, she heard footsteps coming from below. Someone else must have come in seeking shelter from the storm, maybe a hitchhiker who had lost his way.
“Hello. Who’s down there?” The footsteps stopped momentarily and then started again. There was no reply. She called out again, but there was still no reply. Probably someone trying to scare her, she thought. Well, they had picked the wrong person.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but if you’re trying to scare me you’re wasting your time.” The footsteps stopped again, but a moment later she heard the stairs creaking.
It came to her that she might be dealing with some kind of weirdo. She turned off her flashlight and positioned herself by the door. The flashlight was the heavy duty type and would serve as a club. When the door opened, she would club him with the flashlight and then knee him in the groin. She hoped this would give her time to leave the house and flee into the woods and hide before he recovered.
What happened next was totally unexpected. The door did not open, but whatever was there simply came through the door as if it did not exist. The room grew dank and cold, and a foul smell filled her nostrils. She flicked on the flashlight to see a tall, shadowy figure standing before her. But it was the face that shocked her. It was the same face as the picture she had seen in the clippings--the face of John Graves.
Its sallow face was expressionless; only the eyes seemed to be alive. She held the flashlight beam on its face, but its eyes seemed to look through the beam directly into her eyes.
She began to recover. This was some kind of trick, using projectors and mirrors. Someone had set this up, just waiting for an unsuspecting person to enter the old house.
The apparition opened its mouth and spoke in a raspy whisper. “Why have you come to my sanctuary?”
Okay. She would play along with his little game and psyche him out. “I came in to get out of the rain. Now suppose you tell me what you’re doing here.”
It ignored her comment. “I am lonely here. Come and join me in my sanctuary.” It held out its hand.
Amy backed away, but as she did, she felt its hand touch her wrist. It was icy cold, sending chills through her body. This was something that could not be done with projectors and mirrors. And there was the drop in temperature and the sickening odor. Fear was starting to set in--was she actually facing the ghost of a murderer?
She remembered that she had heard the creaking of the stairs as it ascended. If there were such things as ghosts, they would have no weight to make stairs creak. But Billy Joe had once mentioned that evil spirits could materialize and take on a solid body, and such spirits delighted in making noises to terrorize the living. But Amy rejected such notions; she was convinced that this was a prank; there were simply no such thing as ghosts.
The apparition came toward her, still holding out its hand. “Give me your hand,” it whispered. “You will be with me for eternity.”
She continued to play along. “And what if I refuse?”
“It is too late to refuse.” The thing reached out, and its hand encircled her wrist, holding her in a vice-like grip. She tried pulling away, but its grip was too powerful. The cold from its hand was almost unbearable. She felt the cold creeping up her arm, and soon her upper body was beginning to feel the chill.
“Even now I sense your life draining away,” it whispered. “Soon you will join me in my sanctuary.”
Amy was growing weaker. She struggled vainly to escape the iron grip of the thing that was John Graves. She felt her consciousness fading as the cold crept through her body. She knew that if she lost consciousness, that would be the end. In her mind she could picture someone finding her car in the ditch and then her body in the old house.
Desperately, she began to think, and from somewhere, an idea came to her. It was an idea born of desperation--a drowning man clutching at straws. But she would not simply give up without a fight. She remembered the clipping about John’s fear of meeting Jessica in the spirit world.
She summoned all the bravado she could muster. “John Graves, I am a spiritualist.”
“That does not matter to me.”
“But it does matter, John. I have been in contact with Jessica.” She felt its grip loosen slightly. “Jessica wants to find you. If you do not release me immediately, I’ll summon her here to your sanctuary.”
“You are trying to deceive me.”
“Do you think it’s just by chance that I‘m here, John? If you don’t release me, you will find to your sorrow that I am telling the truth.”
Slowly, she felt the grip on her wrist loosen. Her arm began to tingle as warmth flowed back into her body. She made to pull away. But as she did so, it reached out and again caught her in its grip.
“I will not be deceived.”
There was no hope now. It had seen through her feeble attempt to escape. But she had deceived the thing, if only for a moment. Perhaps if she followed through, she might gain enough time to pull free and run from the house.
“I warned you, John. I will now summon Jessica.” She closed her eyes. “O Spirit of Jessica, I...”
A fearful moan escaped its lips as it released her wrist. Amy opened her eyes to see a glowing light. In the center of the light stood Jessica. Jessica stepped forward and took John’s hand.
“Come with me, John,” she said, and they both vanished.
Amy rushed outside into the warm, humid summer air and hurried away from the old house. She resumed her trek toward the truck stop, half expecting the shadowy figure of old John to appear before her.
She would never know how or why the spirit of Jessica appeared. Perhaps John remained in a materialized state too long, allowing Jessica to find him. Or perhaps her feigned summons had really worked. There was no way of knowing.
Amy could never tell anyone of her horrifying experience--people would laugh; they would think she was making the whole thing up. But it dawned on her that there was one person who would listen to her. Billy Joe. Thank Goodness, she could confide in him, and he would understand.
Amy was exhausted in body and spirit as she trudged along through the dark. But her spirits lifted when she saw the bright lights of the truck stop up ahead.
SANCTUARY
By Donald Sullivan
Amy Stewart pulled out of the truck stop parking lot shortly after midnight. She was dead tired from waiting tables at the truck stop cafe for the past eight hours. She turned east on State Road 24, crossed over the interstate, and sped toward home. About twenty minutes and she would be soaking in a good hot bath, and then she’d slip between the fresh, clean sheets for a good night’s sleep. She’d gone but a couple of miles when her headlights picked up an animal crossing the road. She swerved to the left to avoid the creature, hit her brakes, and skidded into the ditch. She was shaken, but unhurt. The car, however, was stuck fast in the soft mud of the ditch. Her efforts to pull out only spun the wheels, sinking the car deeper into the mud.
“Of all the dumb tricks. And it had to happen in the dead of night a thousand miles from nowhere.” She looked at the dark wall of trees on either side of the road. “There won’t be any traffic on this stretch of road until people start going to work in the morning. No way I’m going to wait here. No choice but to walk back to the truck stop and call Dad.”
She guessed she could walk to the truck stop in a little over thirty minutes. “Great. Just what I need after being on my feet all day.” She opened the trunk, pulled a flashlight from the road emergency kit, and set out. She knew that she would pass a few houses along the way, but she decided against stopping for help at this late hour.
She’d been walking but a few minutes when she saw lightning up ahead, followed by a clap of thunder. Moments later she felt a few drops of rain. As she turned to run back to the car, a flash of lightning revealed a house off to her left. She recognized it as the Graves place. Old John Graves had died last year, and the house was now unoccupied. A couple from up north had bought the house and planned to retire here in a few years.
The rain was coming down stronger now. Amy ran up the steps and onto the porch of the old house. She discovered that the door had been jimmied open, probably by vandals. She turned on her flashlight and entered.
Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Stories of old John still prowling around the house probably kept young vandals from entering. Amy had no fear of the dead, but she did fear lightning, and was relieved to find shelter in the old house.
To pass the time until the storm blew over, she set out exploring the old house. The furniture had not been covered and was collecting a considerable amount of dust and mold. A musty odor pervaded the house.
As she wandered through the house, she thought of Billy Joe Prescott, a young truck driver she had met only weeks ago. Billy Joe believed in ghosts and such, and she laughed to herself as she wondered how he would react to this situation.
She had only recently met Billy Joe, but she was surprised at how well she and the lanky young redhead got on, almost as if they were old friends. Except for his belief in the occult, they shared many interests. She sometimes teased him about his beliefs, but he would just laugh and come back with good natured jibes of his own.
She remembered something he had once told her: “I like my women spooky, but a cute blonde like you is just too sexy to fit the bill.” She smiled to herself as she wandered through the old house.
She went up the creaky stairs and into the bedroom on the second floor. There was nothing in the bedroom except an old double bed, a wooden chair, and a nightstand. She opened the drawer of the night stand to discover some old newspaper clippings. Curious, she sat down in the chair and began to read the yellowed clippings.
The clippings concerned the murder of John’s wife, Jessica. The murder had taken place twelve years ago; Amy was but ten at the time and could barely recall the incident.
According to the clippings, John was charged with the murder. John confessed and the case seemed cut and dried. But during interrogation, one of the officers lost his temper and struck John, and some of the evidence was obtained through questionable means. Eventually, John was found not guilty of Jessica’s murder.
One of the clippings caught Amy’s eye. According to a tabloid, John feared meeting Jessica in the spirit world after his own death. He had consulted a spiritualist about finding a sanctuary for his spirit where Jessica could not find him. According to the spiritualist, she had advised John that as long as his spirit remained in the old house, he would be safe from the vengeful spirit of Jessica.
Amy noted that the rain had stopped and the thunder was now a barely audible rumble. As she rose from the chair, she heard footsteps coming from below. Someone else must have come in seeking shelter from the storm, maybe a hitchhiker who had lost his way.
“Hello. Who’s down there?” The footsteps stopped momentarily and then started again. There was no reply. She called out again, but there was still no reply. Probably someone trying to scare her, she thought. Well, they had picked the wrong person.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but if you’re trying to scare me you’re wasting your time.” The footsteps stopped again, but a moment later she heard the stairs creaking.
It came to her that she might be dealing with some kind of weirdo. She turned off her flashlight and positioned herself by the door. The flashlight was the heavy duty type and would serve as a club. When the door opened, she would club him with the flashlight and then knee him in the groin. She hoped this would give her time to leave the house and flee into the woods and hide before he recovered.
What happened next was totally unexpected. The door did not open, but whatever was there simply came through the door as if it did not exist. The room grew dank and cold, and a foul smell filled her nostrils. She flicked on the flashlight to see a tall, shadowy figure standing before her. But it was the face that shocked her. It was the same face as the picture she had seen in the clippings--the face of John Graves.
Its sallow face was expressionless; only the eyes seemed to be alive. She held the flashlight beam on its face, but its eyes seemed to look through the beam directly into her eyes.
She began to recover. This was some kind of trick, using projectors and mirrors. Someone had set this up, just waiting for an unsuspecting person to enter the old house.
The apparition opened its mouth and spoke in a raspy whisper. “Why have you come to my sanctuary?”
Okay. She would play along with his little game and psyche him out. “I came in to get out of the rain. Now suppose you tell me what you’re doing here.”
It ignored her comment. “I am lonely here. Come and join me in my sanctuary.” It held out its hand.
Amy backed away, but as she did, she felt its hand touch her wrist. It was icy cold, sending chills through her body. This was something that could not be done with projectors and mirrors. And there was the drop in temperature and the sickening odor. Fear was starting to set in--was she actually facing the ghost of a murderer?
She remembered that she had heard the creaking of the stairs as it ascended. If there were such things as ghosts, they would have no weight to make stairs creak. But Billy Joe had once mentioned that evil spirits could materialize and take on a solid body, and such spirits delighted in making noises to terrorize the living. But Amy rejected such notions; she was convinced that this was a prank; there were simply no such thing as ghosts.
The apparition came toward her, still holding out its hand. “Give me your hand,” it whispered. “You will be with me for eternity.”
She continued to play along. “And what if I refuse?”
“It is too late to refuse.” The thing reached out, and its hand encircled her wrist, holding her in a vice-like grip. She tried pulling away, but its grip was too powerful. The cold from its hand was almost unbearable. She felt the cold creeping up her arm, and soon her upper body was beginning to feel the chill.
“Even now I sense your life draining away,” it whispered. “Soon you will join me in my sanctuary.”
Amy was growing weaker. She struggled vainly to escape the iron grip of the thing that was John Graves. She felt her consciousness fading as the cold crept through her body. She knew that if she lost consciousness, that would be the end. In her mind she could picture someone finding her car in the ditch and then her body in the old house.
Desperately, she began to think, and from somewhere, an idea came to her. It was an idea born of desperation--a drowning man clutching at straws. But she would not simply give up without a fight. She remembered the clipping about John’s fear of meeting Jessica in the spirit world.
She summoned all the bravado she could muster. “John Graves, I am a spiritualist.”
“That does not matter to me.”
“But it does matter, John. I have been in contact with Jessica.” She felt its grip loosen slightly. “Jessica wants to find you. If you do not release me immediately, I’ll summon her here to your sanctuary.”
“You are trying to deceive me.”
“Do you think it’s just by chance that I‘m here, John? If you don’t release me, you will find to your sorrow that I am telling the truth.”
Slowly, she felt the grip on her wrist loosen. Her arm began to tingle as warmth flowed back into her body. She made to pull away. But as she did so, it reached out and again caught her in its grip.
“I will not be deceived.”
There was no hope now. It had seen through her feeble attempt to escape. But she had deceived the thing, if only for a moment. Perhaps if she followed through, she might gain enough time to pull free and run from the house.
“I warned you, John. I will now summon Jessica.” She closed her eyes. “O Spirit of Jessica, I...”
A fearful moan escaped its lips as it released her wrist. Amy opened her eyes to see a glowing light. In the center of the light stood Jessica. Jessica stepped forward and took John’s hand.
“Come with me, John,” she said, and they both vanished.
Amy rushed outside into the warm, humid summer air and hurried away from the old house. She resumed her trek toward the truck stop, half expecting the shadowy figure of old John to appear before her.
She would never know how or why the spirit of Jessica appeared. Perhaps John remained in a materialized state too long, allowing Jessica to find him. Or perhaps her feigned summons had really worked. There was no way of knowing.
Amy could never tell anyone of her horrifying experience--people would laugh; they would think she was making the whole thing up. But it dawned on her that there was one person who would listen to her. Billy Joe. Thank Goodness, she could confide in him, and he would understand.
Amy was exhausted in body and spirit as she trudged along through the dark. But her spirits lifted when she saw the bright lights of the truck stop up ahead.
The End
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