by Rick Kueber
Chapter8 ROAD TRIPPIN'
It was approaching midnight and every essence of my being said this needed to end. I had to separate myself and my teammates from the negative side of this energy, but there was something deep inside me that caused every footstep towards the van to be heavier than the last, until finally I sat down in the driveway and could go no further. Katie and Jenn, with much difficulty, helped me to my feet and with several dragging steps, I reached the door, and managed to pull myself into the seat. I battled to get my seat belt on as the girls hopped into the front seats of the van, and Jenn turned the key, started the van and pulled away from the parking spot.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Katie asked. “We can do this another day, if you are feeling sick, cause really….you don’t look so good.”
“Thanks, but as bad as I look, I’m pretty sure I feel ten times worse. I really just want to go back to bed.” The pounding in my head was making it difficult to keep my eyes open. I had never had one, but I imagined that this must be what it felt like to have an extremely intense migraine.
Jenn spoke up quickly. “You just close your eyes, and take a nap if you can. If you get too bad, we will take you to a doctor, but for now, we need to make this trip if at all possible.” Heeding her suggestion, I closed my eyes, tried to relax, and slumped over in my seat. It was as if exhaustion had set in and I soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I never found a real explanation for why I felt so horrible. Looking back now, I can't help but wonder if it was Ash. Maybe, like most of us, no matter how desperately she needed to go home and to find an end to her misery and ours....maybe she was just scared, and the closer we came to taking her to face her fears, the more ill I felt. She may have existed for well over a hundred years, but as far as we know, most of that was spent trapped in her home, and it was obvious to us that some part of her was still a frightened nine year old little girl. Or, maybe, it was my own fears of the unknown adventure we were about to embark on...or perhaps it was just a migraine. I can speculate, but I don't suppose I will ever really know for sure.
Katie whispered to Jenn, “Don’t you think we should take him to the ER, or at least the convenient care center? He looks bad, and now that he’s asleep, he looks all clammy and sweaty…and you know if this is something contagious, I can’t afford to end up that sick….I WILL kill you Jenn!”
Jenn crinkled up her nose and stuck her tongue out at Katie. “I hear ya chica, but I am going to bet he is no more sick than we are. There is something evil that caused the haunting and the hallucinations, and maybe whatever that is, doesn’t want him to go to this house.” Jenn shot a look of concern to Katie quickly before turning her attention back to the highway. “…and you do realize, no matter how good our directions are, none of us have been to this place before, never seen a picture of it, and we may never even find it. Hell, we don’t even know that it actually exists!”
“But….” Katie butted in, “if it does, and we do, and it is….” She giggled a bit, “How amazing would it be to be the first team to investigate and research this place? And even if someone has been inside, it doesn’t sound like they stayed very long. It’s almost like we will be the first people to spend any time there since before the turn of the century. Haunted or not, that alone thrills me!”
Jenn kept her eyes on the road but nodded to Katie. “I couldn’t agree more, you know what a history geek I am… and I’m getting the feeling this trip will be one for the books.”
Katie reached over to turn up the radio and in simple agreement, said, “Epic.” The songs and stations on the radio came and went. The miles flew by, as the ‘Now Leaving’ and ‘Welcome To’ signs passed like memories in a photo album. I woke up disoriented about six hours into the drive feeling a bit refreshed. Though I didn’t feel altogether well, the dread and sickening feelings from earlier had subsided. What I felt now was…hungry. “Where are we? Can we stop someplace soon so I can use the restroom and get something in my stomach?”
“Sure, anything you want.” said Jenn with comedic sarcasm in her tone. “Sorry we didn’t wake you earlier when we stopped for gas and a midnight snack, but we kinda figured you reeeaaaally needed your rest.” Katie chimed in doing her best to imitate Jenn’s sarcasm. I smiled, knowing that through all of this, above all else, we had each other’s backs, and we would always look out for the team and every member, even if it was a temp, filling in on an investigation or helping to review some footage. We were more than a team, we were like family.
“GPS says about 12 miles and we will be exiting the interstate. Can you wait that long to pee, or should I pull over now?” Jenn shot a quick glance back to me over her shoulder.
“No you don’t have to pull over, there’s a cup back here……” I burst out laughing, “...just kidding, but the look on your faces was priceless!…ahhh, good times, good times.”
The dull laughter was good for the souls of us all, but deep down we all knew things were about to get far more serious, so we said nothing to dampen the mood, and enjoyed the next few minutes of music, and the sound of the wheels on the pavement, until we arrived at our exit, and the Mighty Mike truck stop, where we could all get out and stretch our legs. We each did what we needed to, using the rest room, getting some really bad ‘truck stop food’, and getting a cold drink for the road and adventure that lay ahead of us. Perhaps adventure is a poor choice of words. What was in store for us was more of a challenge, or a test, that we prayed we would pass even though we were going into it blind, and having no idea how to remedy this paranormal plague that followed us relentlessly.
“Okay, you never answered my question earlier….where are we exactly?” I asked casually. “Well, we crossed over the West Virginia state line about twenty miles back, and now we have about a half an hour or so until we reach Summersville. After we visit the museum, it’s back to the highway for a few minutes and then we will have some two-lane driving through the foothills before we really have to start looking for the land marks.” Katie answered very sure of herself and her directions.
After wasting a full hour we managed to find ourselves back in the van with Katie behind the wheel and that uneasy feeling overcame us again as Mighty Mike’s slowly vanished behind us. From Interstate 64, to Mountaineer Expressway, we eventually found ourselves crossing Summersville Lake just as the sun was coming up.
We soon rolled into the small town of Summersville. Passing white water outfitters and camping supply businesses on the way in, we arrived nearly an hour before the Historic Museum would open, so we pulled into the parking lot of the local greasy spoon for some overly strong coffee and a bite of breakfast. When 9 a.m. rolled around, we paid the check and headed to the oldest part of town.
Finding the old town square was simple enough and after making the trip around the square a couple of times we located the museum. Pulling up outside of the beautiful two story brick building we were enchanted by its historic charm. A white bell tower jutted from the top of the structure and still housed a huge, well weathered brass bell. A smaller gabled roof covered the main entrance and was upheld by two white pillars rising nearly fifteen feet from bottom to top. The greatly oversized double doors were a dark stained solid oak, and much like the rest of the building, though probably restored at some time in the not too distant past, were definitely original. A newer sign, which was meant to appear from the same time period, to the left of the entrance, read:
HISTORIC PRESERVATION HALL
Nicholas County Antiquities Museum and Library The heavy door swung open and the smell of freshly painted walls combined with the musty odor of century old antiques greeted us as we entered. Katie walked straight up to the information desk and struck up a conversation with an older woman sitting there. Jennifer and I split up to opposite sides of the enormous room while the woman escorted Katie upstairs. The elderly woman reappeared at her desk after a few minutes and we continued to browse through dozens of items and photos throughout the museum. Over thirt
y minutes had passed when Jenn and I reached the staircase. It was a tiring trek up the steep set of twenty stairs that rose to the second level.
At the top, the staircase opened up to a great library style room. Large bookcases lined the walls, and large tables lined with chairs filled the center of the room. A handful of people were wandering about, looking over book titles and cover art with no real purpose. Katie was nowhere to be seen. We wandered around the room for a few minutes before finding a closed door with a plastic 'keep out' sign on it. To the right of the door was a placard that read 'special collections room'. I tried the door knob to find it unlocked and inside was Katie. She sat at one end of a large table with a dozen or so books surrounding her, many had already been opened to specific pages and lay scattered about her.
My attention was grabbed by a large book of artworks that was opened to a painting of a black shadowy demon rising from glowing embers and billowing smoke with its bat-like wings spread wide. With arms outstretched and bulging muscles flexed, its horned head looked downward. The beast had red glowing eyes that seemed focused on a small figure before it, the figure of a girl engulfed in flames. From the footnoted credit, this painting was supposed to represent a sinner's meeting with Satan, but to me, it had sent a different message, and I shuddered, but kept my thoughts to myself.
Katie looked like a college student researching a term paper, deep in her own thoughts and earnestly scouring through the books before her. So I asked, “Good reading?” in my inside, library voice.
“Some. There is a lot of history in this area, and plenty of legends and folklore. I found this book filled with drawings and stories about the witch hunts of the early 1800's and other religious beliefs.” She pointed out the open book that had caught my attention. “And this one here,” she said referencing another, “is all about a short lived Christian based religion that grew out of the witch hunts. They called themselves The Chosen, and look very much like Puritans. They existed from the east coast all the way to extreme eastern Kentucky and Ohio for nearly a hundred years after the witch hunts had ended... well, they ended everywhere except for within this one cult based religion.” Her knowledge was a great tool, and she used it well. “This book here...” she held up the book in her hands and made that clichéd vocalization as if the heavens opened up and the angels sang, “...this is our 'Holy Grail'… at least that's my opinion. This book is a compilation of short stories by various local authors from the early 1800's to the early 1900's.” The tome did indeed have the look of a 'Holy Grail'. Its cover was larger than my laptop, and nearly four inches thick. It was so large, in fact, that it would be nearly impossible to pull it from the shelf, or lift it from the table, without using both hands. The leather bound cover was simplistic, but no doubt hand crafted. It was titled
'Compendium of Nineteenth Century Narratives”
Katie laid the book heavily back onto the table and opened the cover. She swiftly thumbed past the first few pages until she came to the index pages.
“There are over a hundred different stories in this book, some two pages, some twenty or more.” She began turning through the book fifty to a hundred pages at a time until she was close to what she was searching for. “I read the title of every story in this book, but when I saw this one...well... I think we were meant to find this one. This can't be a coincidence, no way!” She turned a few more pages and ran her hand across the oversized page revealing its title. Katie leaned back in her chair while Jennifer and I stood on either side of her open mouthed and wide eyed.
We were on the right path, and we were here for a reason. I was never so certain about anything as I was about that fact.
Chapter9 THE CHILD WITCH OF HELMACH CREEK
THE LEGENDOF THE BURNING GIRL
(What follows is a copy of an anonymous story found in the historical library at Summersville's Preservation Hall. We have every reason to believe this is an accurate portrayal of the real life events that became this legend.)
The nine months prior to her birth of her first child had been difficult, even for 1872, but the birth was more than Kathrine could endure.
It was a frigid night. Frost covered the pumpkins and the now barren fields surrounding the meek Helmach farm. At three in the morning on All Hallows Eve, the last day of October, Elijah Helmach was awakened by the deep and disheartening groans of his wife Kathrine. Nearly three weeks earlier than expected, their child was coming.
Elijah stoked the embers in the fireplace and placed a well-seasoned piece of split oak on top. Soon the tiny flames began to dance and the room quickly warmed to the point that he could no longer see his breath, or that of his wife who was struggling in their bed with the pains of the coming childbirth. Kathrine sat up halfway in her night gown and wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if holding the unborn child inside of her. She winced and her face turned red with eyes shut as tight as could be. The contractions were overwhelming to this first time mother to be.
As the contraction eased and her body began to relax, she glanced over as Elijah came in from the cold with a kettle of water to put over the fire to boil. Kathrine could see in the pale gray of his face that he was as unprepared as any new father could be. The room was still measurably cool, but she could see the sweat beading heavily on his brow.
Kathrine mustered a half smile as she looked into his pale blue eyes and spoke softly, “I have never been around anyone giving birth, and of course, I have never done so myself….” She paused as Elijah returned a smile, difficult as it was.
She continued,”…but my darling Eli, I am scared. I feel that something is not right. Though I am most likely over acting, just as a scared little girl might.” The contractions began again and her arms slammed the bed at her side. Her hands gripped and pulled the sheets with such fury that more than her knuckles turned white. In fact, her short fingernails had torn straight through the bed linens and dug
themselves deep into the palm of her hands. When she finally relaxed, Elijah gasped at the bloody hand prints she had left on the shredded sheets beside her.
Elijah and Kathrine had been preparing as best as they could for this moment, but now this moment had become hours of unimaginable pain for her, and sheer torture for him to witness. Somehow, Kathrine had been correct in her statement that something was wrong. The tiny infant entered this world with the umbilical cord wrapped tight around its neck. Elijah cut the cord and frantically removed it from the child. It made no sound. It drew no breath. His shaking hands grabbed up a steaming cloth from the kettle and wiped clean the motionless body of the baby. He sobbed quietly and his eyes were drawn to Kathrine.
“I wish to hold our child.” She spoke with a voice as shaky as Eli’s hands had been.
“My dearest love, I don’t know how to say this….” He paused as the tears ran down his cheeks. “Then say nothing and allow me to hold our baby.” The weakness showed not only in her voice, but also in the feeble attempt to reach out her arms.
Eli wiped his face on his upturned sleeve, lifted the child from the side table and placed the still infant upon Kathrine’s chest and whispered in a quivering voice, “It’s a girl.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around the child and pressed her lips against her cool forehead. Kathrine laid her head back against the pillow. Her eyes met Elijah’s and she spoke to him in a soft yet sure voice. “Farewell, my love. I shall wait for you at heaven’s gates.” Her view drifted down to the stillborn infant in her arms, and as she squeezed it ever so tightly, she spoke to it saying, “I would have gladly given my life for you my precious Ashley Sue.” And with one last embrace, she sighed a heavy sigh, her final breath crossed the cold flesh of her child.
Elijah stood beside her, his eyes covered by the palms of his hands and his fingers tangled in his hair, as his heart broke. Hearing her last breath, knowing his child was stillborn, in far less than a second, he knew his world had ended, and everything he loved had been ripped from him. Yet within that same second the moment he
r last breath ended, from the cloudless starry sky came a sudden clap of thunder and the immediate flash of lightning and the scratchy cry of a newborn infant filled the room. He jerked his head towards the bed and his eyes opened wide. There was movement. There was sound. There was LIFE!
The days and weeks that followed tested Elijah’s faith and strength, but within months, he had become bitter towards the child, blaming her for the death of his wife, and his love… not only the love of his wife, but the love of anything. Eli found it more and more difficult with each day to feel any love for anything. He could only feel anguish, pain, and eventually hatred.
On her 1st birthday, a few of the neighboring farmers and church members brought a cake, some lemonade, and a toy bear as a gift to the Helmach farm. Elijah invited them in and pretended to be the caring father that he truly wasn’t. After an hour or so, he put little Ash into her crib, and placed the bear in the rocking chair directly across the room from her, and returned to socialize with the neighbors. They all could hear the quiet sobbing of the child in her crib, but mostly ignored her and continued on with their mundane conversations. A few minutes later, they all noticed her crying became increasingly louder and louder, until finally Elijah stood up angrily and stormed into the bedroom.
The crying immediately stopped, and the guests rushed to see what was, or wasn’t, going on. They found Elijah just inside the room with a puzzled look on his face, and baby Ashley in her crib with her arms outstretched through the spindles holding the bear on the outside of the crib.
“However did she manage to get the bear outside the crib? There is no way it could have fit between the spindles!”, one neighbor commented.
Elijah, stunned as he was, spoke, “She didn’t. I left the bear out of the crib…but I left it here in the rocker. How could she now hold it without one of us giving it to her?”