“Could be…”
“Lacey…do you realize how insane all that sounds?”
“Anymore insane than what has gone on tonight?”
“In that case, I think it is time to get out of this place.”
Sarah gathered her coat from the sofa and was on Lacey’s heels heading toward the front door, when all hell broke loose.
Sunnyday House Comes Alive Again
No sooner than they had slipped out of the den, then a repeat of what Sarah had already endured cranked up again, but this time with a renewed vigor. They both spun in their steps as the den door slammed shut, rattling the door frame. The lights went blindingly bright and then all the bulbs shattered casting the house into darkness. Just as Sarah had described, the temperature of the living room fell precipitously and Lacey shook with fright as she and Sarah huddled together, too petrified to move. The television blared to life with a volume that seemed impossible based on the old set’s technology as well as being partially muffled by the closed den door.
In all the rooms, cabinet doors banged open and shut and they could hear dishes and utensils and pots and pans being flung from their storage areas onto the tile floor in the kitchen. Lights blazed on from the upper level and threw an eerie glow down the stairs as the sounds of multiple footsteps raced back and forth from above. They whirled toward the stairs with the sounds, and Toby raced by them barking at full volume now, but seemed to just be racing from room to room in a mad frenzy. With a feeling of intuition, Lacey looked toward the fireplace and pulled Sarah to the floor with her as the fireplace tools began to fly at them like projectile missiles. They would have been skewered if not for her quick action.
Sarah and Lacey scrambled across the living room toward the foyer, moving as fast as they could on their hand and knees, as papers, books, and all manner of bric-a-brac from the shelves and tables flew past them. A few of the items hit them in their backs and legs as they scurried along, but fortunately the larger projectiles that could have done real damage missed them. Lacey dragged Sarah to her feet after standing herself as a set of heavy bookends whipped by her face, missing her by just inches and smashing into dust on the far wall. To add to the blare of the television, the voices of children then sprung up.
It was what Sarah had described perfectly and Lacey was feeling like they might not get out in one piece. The repeated chant of “mummy” went on and on like some demented recording coming from hidden speakers that filled the entire house. It was hard to even tell where they were coming from, and to Lacey it seemed as if they were coming from everywhere. With all the other mayhem, she was fighting hard just to keep her sanity.
“We’ve got to go now, Sarah!”
Sarah seemed rooted to the spot where she was standing, unable to move, like she was hypnotized by the massive assault. Lacey finally just shoved her along and then pulled her by an arm as she reached for the front door. From out of nowhere, Toby reappeared getting between them and their exit. This was no longer a calm, shy family pet, though. Lacey pulled her hand back in reaction as the dog snarled and snapped at her. He was like a miniature Cujo on steroids. It was only when the dog lunges at her and bit uselessly at her, that Lacey recalled he was not a real dog. Toby’s gaping jaw, with vicious-looking teeth, just passed through Lacey’s arm and he then ran off still barking and snarling, perhaps frustrated that he could not do any physical damage.
The door seemed locked or jammed as Lacey grasped the knob with both hands, twisting and pulling with all her strength to open the thick oaken panel. Just as she thought it impossible to open it, and was beginning to consider alternative exit options, the huge door gave way and slammed open into the wall. Outside a violent electric storm was raging. Lacey assumed that they had been oblivious to it due to the racket they had just fought their way through. The wind was howling and heavy sheets of cold rain were blowing sideways as Lacey was plastered by a combination of rain, leaves, and small twigs from the trees.
The storm seemed to have been causing some sort of suction, she figured, making it hard to open the door…at least that was she was telling herself. Lacey looked back to grab Sarah and she nearly collapsed as she saw disembodied spirits floating down the stairs. They were the images of the heads and arms of children, smiling demonically, and covered in blood coming toward them with a steady and determined purpose. They were all saying “mummy” but their voices were just a tiny portion of the chant that was still permeating the house.
Before she completely lost it, Lacey looked away and got a death grip on Sarah’s arm who had become virtually inert. Perhaps this second round was too much for her…in any case, she yanked Sarah along and moved to the opening and out into the storm as a huge clap of thunder with a terrifying slash of lightning tore across the black sky. Larger pieces of debris were now flying past the house as the branches of the trees waved wildly in the gale. Sarah had become almost dead weight to Lacey, and she was preparing to launch them both out of the house, head-first if necessary, not caring how they might land on the hard stones of the walkway.
As she began to cross the threshold, Lacey felt a resistance, and she wondered if Sarah’s leg or some other body part had gotten snagged on something. When she looked back, though, what she saw would haunt her for years. She still had a firm grip on her friend’s arm, but the specters, the three bloody children, plus one of an old man, she assumed this was Peter Chadwell from Sarah’s description, had just as firm a hold on her legs and were pulling her away and back into the living room. The old man, however, no longer had the kind and benevolent look on his face that Sarah had known. His smile, while similar to that of the children, was twisted and evil-looking as he stared deep into Lacey’s eyes…apparently he no longer had a problem making eye contact, she thought.
The children continued their macabre chant and Toby had now made an appearance, barking along as well. The look from Peter made Lacey’s blood run cold. He never said a word, though. He just bore a stare through her and she felt helpless. She tightened her grasp and pulled harder, now in a hideous tug of war with the ghosts over Sarah.
“Sarah! Snap out of it!” Lacey yelled.
But the roar of the storm and the continued nightmare from inside, drowned out her voice. With a final effort, marshalling strength from deep inside herself, Lacey braced her feet on the stoop and gave it all she had. But it was not enough. A gust of wind and a blast of rain hit her from the side and Lacey watched in horror as her hands slid from Sarah’s arm. As she fell backward, she saw Sarah sucked back inside as the front door slammed shut with a resounding echo despite the storm’s assault. Lacey landed awkwardly on the stones of the walkway, her head smacking solidly against a light pole fixture. She shook away the cobwebs of the rap to her head and went to the door, beating at it like a maniac as she cried out Sarah’s name.
As Lacey began to run out of steam, she heard Sarah scream at the top of her lungs. It was a terrifying, hideous thing and Lacey covered her ears with her hands just as an enormous splatter of blood sprayed across the picture window inside the living room. With that, Lacey fell to her knees and matched the scream that Sarah had just uttered, before springing to her feet and running full tilt down the muddy road that led back to the main road. She never looked back, and had a friend of hers retrieve her car a few weeks later, promising herself she would never go back there…nor would she ever speak of the incident to anyone…
Epilogue: Lacey in Recovery
Hartford, CT, October, 2016
Lacey took some time off from Wesleyan to try and recover from what had happened. But when she went back, she found she could just not function. Everywhere she went, she was reminded of Sarah. True to her word, she never spoke of that night at the house. She figured time would be her friend to recover completely, but at the moment, she had no idea how long that might take. She had considered seeing a therapist to help her, but she was reluctant to tell even a professional psychologist of this. She knew of the doctor/patient confidentiality,
but even so, she kept it to herself. Lacey tried a transfer to Trinity College in Hartford, as it had programs similar to what had drawn her to Wesleyan, and for a few semesters it seemed to be working out.
She was making new friends and liked her classes and professors, but she was now holding most everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let anyone too close anymore. Lots of boys were buzzing around her as well, as they had at Wesleyan, but Lacey kept to herself now. She still had nightmares from that night in Middlefield, and she never wanted to have to explain her outbursts to anyone. Fortunately, she had the resources to live alone now. Outwardly, Lacey seemed like just an average college student. However, only she knew that she had been scarred from that night and that it was likely she would remain so. It was painful to keep herself so isolated emotionally from her peers, but that was the only way Lacey could function at all.
And…most of the time, she was able to feel alright and go through the routine of being a student. The only time of year when she felt especially vulnerable was when October rolled around. October used to be Lacey’s favorite month of the year. The heat and humidity of the northeast normally broke by then and the change in seasons was visually stunning. But now, October had become a time of dread and fear for Lacey. Her friends could pick up on a weird vibe from her then, but it always seemed to pass, so they just let her be.
However, in October of 2016, Lacey’s life was completely derailed. She had tagged along with three of her sociology classmates to the Ipanema Café on Park Street in Hartford. She was feeling the dark pull of her memories as the end of October approached, so Lacey thought a diversion for some lunch that day might help. The Ipanema was renowned for its Brazilian and Portuguese cuisine, and the four friends sat in the warm sun of the afternoon on the outdoor patio. Lacey joined in the conversation as best she could, and her friends, now well versed in her odd moods in October, just let her be.
The food was as good as everyone on campus had said, and Lacey sat back with a beer following lunch letting her friends chatter on. The month was coming to a close, and relatively speaking, it had been a mild month, emotionally speaking, for Lacey. It was odd…as soon as October was over…and this happened like clockwork…the pall of that night just seemed to vanish. From the 1st through the 31st of October was sheer hell for her, but on November 1st…it was fine again. Lacey excused herself to run to the bathroom as her friends laughed loudly about some boy or some other thing she had not been really paying attention to.
Lacey was about to go inside when this neon-yellow sign that was attached to the bulletin board outside the restaurant caught her eye:
Wanted:
Children for Play Dates for Home Schooled Family
In Middlefield, CT
Ages 5-10
Mother is Caretaker for Elderly Grandfather and
Looking for More Social Activities for Her Three Children
If Interested, Call 203-671-5403
Ask for Sarah Chadwell
Lacey felt her mouth go dry and heard a thick buzzing in her head as black dots filled her vision before she fell hard to the pavement. Several of the patrons at the Ipanema rushed to her fallen form, as well as her friends, and one of the waiters got a thick towel under her head while they waited on an ambulance to arrive. Lacey’s closest friend, Bonnie, held her hand and sat at her side as Lacey shook as if in a seizure of some kind. She began to mumble and Bonnie leaned closer.
“Lacey? What was that?”
“It’s a ghost dog, Sarah…it’s not real…”
“A what?”
“Ghost dog…Toby…he ate the pizza…”
With that Lacey fell back and went quiet. Bonnie moved away as the paramedics arrived on the scene. As they drove away, the other girls joined Bonnie and asked her what it was that Lacey had said. Bonnie thought over what Lacey had mumbled out and decided it was just too weird to have meant anything.
“Oh…nothing…just gibberish. I guess she was having some sort of attack.”
They all stood together for a few moments more, none of them sure what to say to that. They all knew that Lacey got all weirded-out this time of year. She was so odd anyway…They shrugged it off and went their separate ways. But Bonnie ordered a latte and sat by herself wondering what the hell Lacey had meant by a “ghost dog” and who exactly Sarah was. Then she saw the bright card on the board where Lacey had collapsed and wandered over. The name on the card was Sarah…maybe Lacey knew her. Bonnie jotted down the number and headed back to her table and dialed it up. Her older sister had kids that age…maybe they would like to meet some new friends…
The Haunting of Yellow Sulphur Springs
By Riley Amitrani
Prologue
Yellow Sulfur, Virginia
June 1965
In southwestern Virginia, life had gone on unremarkably for years. It was a quiet and bucolic little wide spot off route 460 just south of the more populated Blacksburg, known primarily for being the home of Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, which had thankfully come under the guise and more palatable name of Virginia Tech. Despite its proximity to the university and the large and more prosperous Blacksburg, the residents of Yellow Sulfur could not have been more pleased. It was not like Blacksburg was some massive, bustling metropolis, but it was still more than the people of Yellow Sulfur cared to endure on a daily basis.
Yellow Sulfur had been mostly an agricultural enterprise for as long as anyone could remember, with its main thoroughfare having remained virtually unchanged for decades. It was as typical as any small town in the country, with the main route that ran through the middle of town hosting all of what might be considered Yellow Sulfur’s commercial district. There was Jimmy Gordon’s barber shop, a post office, a hardware store, Sarah Beltran’s café, the Yellow Sulfur Eatery, a combination clothing and appliance retail store, and a smattering of other places that seemed to change owner and offerings annually. Oh, yes…and of course, Larry Evan’s butcher shop that was on the corner of Spruce and Larchmont. Without The Virginia Meat Emporium, there would be no reason to be writing this story.
Larry had inherited the butcher shop from his uncle, Myron when he was just twenty-five. Myron had taken over from his own father who had done the same. It had been a family business going back generations dating from the founding of Yellow Sulfur. When Myron had taken ill, he came to Larry in hopes that his floundering nephew would take over so that he would not be the last link of the Evans clan to operate the butchery. Larry had helped out at the shop since he was a little kid, so he knew the operation well. That was not the issue. The real concern to Myron was that Larry, even though the boy was not in his mid-twenties, just seemed unfocused and had no real ambition or goals for his life. However, to his great surprise and relief, Larry seemed to be transformed when the opportunity was presented.
In fact, The Virginia Meat Emporium had never seen such success in all of its days as those in which Larry came to be in charge. It had always had a steady stream of customers who came from the few small towns and villages surrounding Yellow Sulfur, as well as the locals themselves, but as Larry took the reins, he was able to spread the word about the shop and soon he was serving Virginians traveling from an hour or more away. He even boasted that people from as far away as West Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina were beginning to be regulars as well. Most locals rolled their eyes at this claim, as they knew it was in Larry’s nature to exaggerate wildly…had been this was as a kid and they just figured it was the same now with him as an adult. In any case, they kept coming knowing that the quality of what Larry had to offer was still unrivaled in the area.
Larry Evans, however, in addition to having a popular butcher’s shop, had a dark side that he kept well-hidden for years. It was not until the police were closing in on Larry and he shot himself in the back office of his business that a lot of the truth about Larry came to light…as well as some more lurid and salacious rumors from Yellow Sulfur tongue waggers. Let’s see…better to
begin with what little was actually proven following his death before proceeding to the folklore of Larry Evans that arose later. What was proven by the police at the time was that Larry had a serious psychological pathology and had for years been killing locals in his shop. It had not been something that might have fallen under the label of a mass murderer, but for sure Larry was a serial killer.
The forensic science of the time made it difficult to link Larry to all the killings. Plus, the fact that he performed the murders in the butchery, made the evidence a bit more muddled than if they had occurred elsewhere. However, after years of non-stop investigation and a dedicated detective named Howard Stovall, it soon became obvious as to what had been going on. Due to the vile nature of the situation and the unknown nature of what he might be walking into, Stovall took a team of six other county officers with him to confront and arrest Larry. Stovall did not give any advance notice to his arrival, simply kicking in the back door of the shop where they suspected the crimes had occurred.
However, as soon as they burst through the rear entrance, Stovall and his team discovered they were just a few hours too late. There was nothing to see in the room they found themselves in but Larry Evans slumped in a chair at the desk where he kept his business records. There was a single bullet wound to his head and enough gray matter sprayed from the shot, that there was no doubt as to Larry’s suicide…the handgun responsible was still clinging to the curled fingers of its owner. Stovall never figured out how Larry had known they were coming for him. All he was left with was a closed case…he supposed it should have felt satisfied to him, but even though Larry Evans’ reign of terror on Yellow Sulfur had ended, it left Stovall with many unanswered questions. These hanging unknowns are what led to speculation, rumor, and wild tales of folklore about the man…
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