The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 4

I snagged David’s jacket sleeve and stopped him from crossing the threshold. I whispered, “Hold on a sec, just hold on.” He turned his head to me, his eyebrows raised. “We can’t do anything,” I said. Quizzical look on his face. “Do you really want to watch a family get murdered and not be able to do anything?” He pressed his lips together and peeled away a short strip of gray paint from the doorway. I continued, “It’s one thing to read about it and another to see it happen. Let’s just go, maybe–” Thunk from inside the house. We jumped. … Continue reading The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 4

The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 3

“Nope nope nope,” I repeated as I got to my feet. I set my sights on the car and started walking toward it. Eyes front, Elizabeth. Ignore the house at your back. Ignore the hard-packed dirt under your boots, when by all rights it should be mud and scrubby weeds and the occasional styrofoam soda cup. Ignore the smells in the air, the ozone and that hot, sour stench from a paper mill that’s been gone for decades. Ignore the way the patrol car seems to shimmer and how there are no grass stalks whisking against your hands like there … Continue reading The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 3

The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 2

I got out of the car and paused, one hand on the door handle, the other on my Maglite. David had removed the dome light after we’d parked, the better to sneak up on dipshit ghost hunters, so it stayed dark, no light to mess up my night vision. Not that I was using my eyes to check my surroundings. I took a quick sniff, picked up nothing to be concerned about, and gently shut the door. I heard the squish of David’s footsteps–it had rained a couple of days ago, and the dirt road was still soft–and then his … Continue reading The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 2

The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 1

(From Ghostly Legends and Monstrous Myths of Texas, by Harrison Folger, copyright 1994 by Big Armadillo Press at the University of Texas) On October 30, 1920, Merllyn Sanger came home to his two-story frame house after a 12-hour shift at the Collins Paper Mill. Sanger, like most people in his tiny community, didn’t have a car; he’d ridden in the back of a horse-drawn cart with other mill workers. It beat walking the six or so miles, even if the cart dropped him off at the head of Tyrell-Sanger Road and left him with another mile to walk. (The narrow, … Continue reading The Werewolf and the Haunted House – 1