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December 21, 2005

ghost story

I did not see the corn crib the first time I came by. They told me at the barber shop in town to go exactly 4 and 3 tenths of a mile out of town on old high way D and I couldn’t miss it. When the odometer ticked past 6 miles, I doubled back. I could see why it was hard to spot. The vines and weeds had completely covered it. They told me not to look for the farm house. Kids playing with matches had burned it down years ago.

I parked my black Expedition and grabbed my digital. The early evening sky was slightly overcast with a tinge of orange marmalade color on the western horizon. I studied the structure trying to find the best angle that would give me a good composition. I took two or three shots and walked a little closer to the open doorway. Slowly, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck begin to stand out. I saw nothing that was out of the ordinary. It was just an old corn crib like hundreds I had seen before. Maybe it was the darkness falling around me or the sound of absolute silence that was creeping me out. I was not sure. Suddenly, I spotted the dark crimson stain on the ground. It couldn’t possibly be blood after all these years. In 1957 when the bodies were discovered, there had been plenty of blood soaking the ground inside this old crib. But the rains of forty eight summers surely must have washed it away by now.

Ed Geine still lived with his mother long after other children would have moved out on their own. However, at fifty seven, he still had trouble making friends and settling down with a wife. The years of lonliness and isolation must have taken their toll. People say they found his mother’s body still sitting in a chair in her bedroom where she died of old age. Ed had simply closed the door and left her there. I remembered the framed and faded newspaper articles hanging on the wall in the barber shop describing the gory details of the two town's people he murdered. He cut off their heads, gutted them, and hung their bodies upside down in the corn crib like a hunter would hang a buck ready for butchering.

I hesitated before entering the dark interior of the crib. The last remaining bit of dusk light shone through the openings in the boards nailed to the outside. I took four steps and stopped dead in my stride. I could sense something near me. No, it was more like the feeling you get when you feel someone’s eyes watching you. I looked around but saw nothing in the shadows that filled the corners. Suddenly, with a loud screech, a barn owl fluttered out of the rafters. Flying with in a foot of my head, it soared out through the open door and in to the evening sky.

That was enough for me. I ran to my car, frantically started the engine, backed out of the drive way, and headed for home.

Posted by roadapples at December 21, 2005 08:43 AM