by Hope Jameson
The Haunting of Briarsville Orphanage
Hope Jameson
Copyright © 2017 by Hope Jameson
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, without written approval by the author, except for short excerpts used in a book review.
All characters, places, events, businesses, or references to historical facts are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any references to actual people, places, or events are purely incidental.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Follow Hope Jameson
Prologue
Briarsville, Oregon; March 26, 1957
The Briarsville Orphanage was a testament to the caring nature of humankind. At least it was when it was first built. The vision was that children who needed a family would have one when they came to this place.
The building was constructed with the best materials available. The home was large and spacious and met the needs of the orphans in the area.
As part of the massive building plan, the finest stonemasons were employed to carve the ornate stone gargoyles on the exterior of the building. The addition of the sculptures completed the ornate and grand look of the building that would fill a great need.
From the day the first child moved in, the children had questions and fears about the gargoyles. Little Robbie Griffin was a sad and lonely boy. His first day at the orphanage was filled with trauma just walking in.
“No! No! They’re scary!” Robbie started screaming the minute they walked up the walkway to the front door. “They’ll hurt me?”
“What? What do you think is going to hurt you, Robbie?” Miss Richardson, the house mother stopped and stooped down in front of him.
“Those! They’re looking at me.” He wailed louder as he looked back at the stone faces of the gargoyles.
“Oh, Robbie. Don’t be afraid of them. It’s an old tradition to put them on buildings. They’re supposed to scare away the evil spirits. They’re there to watch over us all and keep us safe.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. They may look scary to you, but they won’t hurt you. I promise you that. Want to go in now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go in.”
Robbie Griffin wasn’t the last child to be afraid of the stone watchmen. Many of the kids who ended up there, were scared of the gargoyles, especially the younger ones who were old enough to notice them.
The care takers and teachers would patiently explain that the gargoyles were there to protect them from evil spirits. Once the children knew why they were there, the fear went away.
For most of the children who passed through this orphanage, life had been hard. These children almost expected people to depart from their lives. But the stone gargoyles were permanent. They couldn't die, they couldn't fly away. They were there to stay. The children found comfort in this. Or that’s the way it seemed.
The orphanage had been full almost from the very first day. There were signs that it would serve a great need and give refuge to the most vulnerable children in the area. Politicians and businessmen visited in the first few months and all came away with glowing reviews of the children, and the resident staff. For the children, it was a necessity, for the staff, it was a calling.
Then one night it all ended. March 26, 1957. The gargoyles must have been sleeping, for someone was roaming the halls that night. Someone with evil intent. The night had grown dark, the moon had risen full, and the halls of the orphanage were deserted, almost.
From the outside, the building looked completely normal. The stone walls stood erect and tall. The windows had become black rectangles, pasted onto the side of the building. Green grass surrounded the building, kept short by the expert groundskeepers. Trees swayed occasionally in the slight breeze, some large and towering, others only a few years old.
Then one of the windows on the second floor began to glow. A faint orange tint showed through the glass. A dark figure stood still at the window for a short time, seemingly looking out over the grounds. Then the figure moved away and back into the room as the orange glow became brighter.
Another black window, slipped from shadow to light, an orange tint showing through. Then one by one, the windows popped with color. One by one, they lit up. The eerie glow was almost magical, though the truth of the light source would be deadly. Soon the glow swept through faster until it turned into flames.
Frightened screams from the children echoed into the night as the flames grew brighter. High pitched wails begging for help.
Finally, there were sirens. They shrieked through the night air bringing help and hope. Soon, hoses were uncurled and men ran back and forth, setting up ladders and securing the exterior of the building. Within minutes, water was being sprayed onto the building.
The flames had begun to lick the outside of the building, emerging from the window like the tongue of a snake, darting back and forth, inside the warm room, then out quickly to taste the night air, becoming more daring with each escape. Adults and children could be seen at the windows of some of the rooms, but too high to jump. The fire was beginning to crackle loudly as it raced through the building. Black smoke was pouring out of every exit.
The firemen checked the doors, but all of them were locked. When they broke through the main door, they were met with a barrage of furnace hot flames. There was no way in, or out. All the ground floor doors were engulfed.
One by one, the crying figures in the window disappeared as they were taken from this world. The firemen continue to try to get into the building. They try to reach the children on the upper levels, but it is useless. And then those who came to help were the ones screaming into the night air.
The cries from the children and adults inside the orphanage stopped completely. The fire continued to crackle while the inside of the building crashed as it was consumed by the flames.
When asked in the following days what they remembered about this particular fire, the firemen all said they remembered the frantic screams when they arrived. They remembered the feelings of panic when the screams began to stop. The moment they knew there wasn’thing they could do to save the souls inside the home had been heart wrenching.
The odd thing about this fire was that it seemed like it was invincible. For hours firemen doused the fire with water, and for hours, the fire fought back, raging against the ones who wanted to kill it.
The gargoyles looked on, expressionless, still there in spite of the deadly flames. When finally, the fire reduced to smoke and embers, the firemen were able to gain access to the building. They wouldn’t speak of what they found. No one was recovered from the building. Not a single member of staff. Not a single child.
The fire left this world with a final crackle. Everything it left behind was warm and black and damaged beyond imagination.
The sun was beginning to rise as the fire went out. The fire had been vanquished, but the work was only just beginning. More people joined the throng. The orphanage was a hive of activity for a while, but, just like the fire, the activity finally died out. There were a few people left to clean up the mess, and then there we
re none.
For a while the orphanage stood closed. The brick building, tinged by blackness, lay empty and hollow. It was a constant reminder of the lives lost. Most of the little ones who died weren’t missed as they had no family to care. Perhaps, that was the biggest tragedy of the whole thing, that people forgot about the ones who left the world that night.
In the years to come, the property was bought and sold many times over. Every project to revive the building met some sort of roadblock or disaster making the investor drop their redevelopment plan. It seemed that the Briarsville Orphanage was an empty shell that was cursed. It was doomed and would never be more than the burned out death trap from 1957.
1
Helmsworth, Oregon; Spring, 2016
Jill Rogers wasn’t a feminist. In fact, she hated the word. She wasn’t flattered when someone called her a strong and independent woman. It made her feel that this was a special title, bestowed on select women who had been able to make it in a man’s world. It made it sound like men were unnecessary and she didn’t believe that way at all.
The women she’d known through her life had always been strong, and while they had always valued community and family, they would have had no problems living an independent life if they had to. For Jill, being able to take care of yourself, was simply something everyone needed to do – man and woman alike.
So being a woman who didn’t necessarily need a man to take care of her wasn’t a badge of honor to be worn, not a way to rise up above someone else. It was who she was. It was what she’d seen in so many around her.
She pondered this as she thought about her adoptive grandmother. She had been only five when she met her new Babcia. She had moved with her parents to the small town of Helmsworth for her father’s new job. She vaguely remembered being excited to meet new friends and have a new house.
Jill loved exploring their new house and took her time getting familiar with the new place. The village was small, but the houses were big, and Jill spent hours looking for hidden doors or traps in her new home. She did make new friends and there were many young families in the neighborhood.
One evening when Jill was supposed to be asleep, she tiptoed down the stairs to listen to her parents talk. She loved to do this because she enjoyed hearing their secrets. And she loved having a secret to keep from them.
“We need to start making friends, Jack. I need it, Jill needs it, and so do you.” Her mother’s voice was quiet, but insistent.
“I know. I keep thinking we should get involved in church. I know it will be different here, but it’s the right thing to do. For us and for Jill.”
“You’re right. Maybe it’s time to do it. I just miss the family. I wish we could have the best of both worlds, you know? I like it here and I know you love your job. But I wish we weren’t alone.”
The wistful sound of her mother’s voice had made Jill sad, but for only a moment. Her father helped make it all better.
“We won’t be alone when we start making friends. Church is a good place to start. This Sunday. And let’s get involved. Jill will grow up with people around her who care for her just like we did, Abbie.”
“Yes. Sunday, then.”
After only a month of regularly attending the Helmsworth Community Congregation, it had felt like home for Jack and Abbie Rogers along with their daughter, Jill. Their eyes were opened to what they’d missed. They were welcomed with open arms and finally felt a sense of belonging in this small village.
Soon, they met Mr. and Mrs. Wazkowski. The couple had moved from Poland many years ago, separately, but had connected later in life and married. Jill fell in love with them from the very first moment she met them.
Mr. Wazkowski was seven years older than his wife and the tribulations of time had taken their toll on him. Mrs. Wazkowski spent most of her time caring for him. They had never had children, which meant no grandchildren. They took the Rogers family in as soon as they met them.
In Poland, grandmothers were bestowed with the title Babcia and Mrs. Wazkowski had never had the honor of the title. Jill and her parents felt like the family she never had. Abbie had suggested that Jill call Mrs. Wazkowski, Babcia. Jill couldn’t pronounce the word, no matter how hard she tried, and in the end, she shortened the name to Bub. Everyone loved the name.
They had lost Mr. Wazkowski when Jill was a teen and her bond with Bub grew even stronger. And finally, when Jill grew up and left the community, she always kept in contact with Bub, calling her at least once a week. Theirs was a bond of choice and Jill cherished the woman who had taught her so much.
Jill still remembered where she was when she got the phone call from her mom, telling her of Bub’s passing.
“Honey, I have some bad news. It’s Bub.” Her mother’s voice had been shaky and Jill knew what was coming next before her mother even got the words out. “She had a stroke this morning. She’s gone, Jill.”
“But I just talked to her. She called me on my birthday. She sounded fine.”
“I know, honey. It was really sudden. We’re all in shock. The doctor says she didn’t suffer.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
“I know. We’re feel the same way. I think it will be good for us to be together. This is going to be hard.”
“Oh, gosh. I wish I’d been there.”
“I know, honey. She knew how much you loved her, though. You know she knew that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do know she knew. Oh, Mom. I’m just so sad.”
“I know. It’s going to be different without her. Honestly, I miss her already.”
“She’d be so angry to know I’m sad. She always said her life had been full and fun. She never wanted to be mourned, but I can’t help it.”
“You have to feel what you feel, Jill. Bub would forgive you, I think.”
“Probably. Well, I’ll be there tomorrow, probably the afternoon.”
“All right, honey. We’ll see you when you get here. Drive safely, please.”
Bub died three days after Jill’s twenty-third birthday. She was sad that Bub was gone, but she wouldn’t allow herself to go deeply into mourning. The funeral was likely to be a celebration of her life, but Jill couldn’t forget that there was one less guiding light in the world.
The days after the funeral were a blur for Jill. She and her parents were Bub’s family and there were things that needed to be done. Bub’s estate had to be settled and her father was in charge of that task.
“Jill, do you have a minute?” Jack Rogers stuck his head out of his study the day before Jill was planning to go back to her small apartment in the city.
“Sure, Dad. What’s up?” Jill followed him to his desk and sat in the chair across from him.
“There’s something you need to know. Bub left most of her estate to you.” Her father’s voice was quiet and soothing.
“She did what? Her estate?” Jill struggled to keep her mouth shut.
“Yes, she wanted you to get a good start and not have to struggle. About ten percent of the money will go to the church, but the rest is yours.”
She sat in disbelief as her father went through the details of what she’d inherited. She had known that Bub had a little money, but she never expected any of it to come to her. When she heard the figure, it was more than she ever imagined.
There was one stipulation associated with the inheritance. Just after her husband’s death, Bub had purchased the Briarsville orphanage. The truth was, though, she’d told nobody about the purchase. The will insisted that Jill rebuild the orphanage.
“Why didn’t she tell us she’d bought that old place? And it’s not like it’s just down the street.” Jill’s forehead creased with wrinkles as she wondered how and why Bub had bought the place without telling anyone.
“I guess she figured we’d try to talk her out of it. She was right about that if that was her motivation – I hear the place is a mess.” Jack looked at his daughter with almost a frown as
he shook his head. “I’m just as floored about this as you are, Jill.”
Jill’s mother who had been sitting across the room, listening, stood up and walked to her daughter. She placed a soothing hand on Jill’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“She had such a soft spot for orphans, Jack. Jill, you remember how she told us she and Mr. Wazkowski almost adopted a child but it just wasn’t meant to be for them.” Abbie looked at her husband then at her daughter with a ghost of a smile. “I wonder if she wanted to do this herself and just couldn’t or if she was counting on you to do it for her?”
“I don’t know, but it would have been nice for the old bird to tell me.” Jill laughed. “It’s just like her to pull something like this. I hope I’m up to it.”
“I’ll help any way I can. This won’t be easy, but there’s plenty of money for the renovations and you’ll be set up very well when the work is done. The Wazkowskis were very savvy with their money.” Jack Rogers raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the financial summary again.
“I guess I need to do this, then. For Bub. It wasn’t what I had planned at this point in my life, but I think I’m up for it.”
Her mom and dad looked at each other and smiled. Apparently, they knew their daughter would make this choice.
2
Briarsville, Oregon; Spring, 2016
It had been two weeks since she’d found out about the orphanage – well, the building that was once an orphanage – she now owned. There was no point fooling around or putting the project off. After some serious thought, she quit her job and started making plans.
Excited and nervous at the same time, she was on her way to see the place for the first time. This was an adventure. Jill had no real idea what she was going to do with the building. The will hadn’t stated that she must restore the building as an orphanage and she was thankful for that. She didn’t have the desire or the knowledge to get involved with something like that. So, the starting point was to get it cleaned up to a condition where she could figure out what she could do with it.