The Haunted Houses of Foxwood & Reindeer Manor
By
Kevin Michael Guest
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Kevin Michael Guest on Smashwords
The Haunted Houses of Foxwood & Reindeer Manor
Copyright © 2011 by Kevin Michael Guest
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
To the wonderful volunteers of
Reindeer Manor,
The 13th Street Morgue, and
The Dungeon of Doom.
Some of the nicest people doing some of the strangest work.
To Pasty,
With you, I can only
Improve.
A Character Glossary is available at the end of the book for your convenience.
PART 1: THE HAUNTED HOUSES OF REINDEER MANOR
Deep in the tall grass, far out in the pasture, where the cattle were grazing in peace, the faint sound of a gunshot was heard. As the sound traveled across the pasture, echoing off a tree line in the distance, the cattle made only a faint sound.
Moments later, the wind died as clouds blocked the sunlight. The tall grass that had been waving back and forth majestically, stilled suddenly as if stopping to notice. Only the fading echo of the gunshot could be heard, but it too went silent seconds later.
The air became stale and lifeless. The wasps in the distance calmed themselves and returned to their nests. The ants and spiders resumed their work. The cattle looked at each other, then slowly walked towards the back corner of the pasture. There, they found a hole in the fence, and one by one, left the property, never to return.
Around 75 years later…
On a lone road, in northwestern Montana, a man was walking with his thumb out. The temperature was a ghastly three above zero with a wind chill of negative ten.
After several hours, a trucker pulled his rig over and offered the man a ride.
“Where ya headed mister?”
“I have no destination.”
The trucker tipped his hat, “Well, this load’s going south. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
The truck was found abandoned twenty miles north of Denton, Texas, along interstate thirty-five. All identification on the truck had been destroyed, though the cargo remained. The driver was never found.
Dallas News
Friday, October 31, 2008
Ghost Confirmed!
Above you will see an actual photograph taken at the famous Reindeer Manor in Red Oak! A photographer for the county, standing on Houston School Road, photographing the dilapidated road for reconstruction in February, captured the ghost standing just inside the property line!
Many investigators have visited the famous house and though they have recorded strange phenomena, none have produced such undeniable evidence! This may be in part because the owner of the property, who has requested we not publish his name, has never allowed anyone to stay inside the manor. His reasons for that are unknown, but the public relations coordinator, John Hartsfield, states, “A good magician never reveals his tricks. The owner is more concerned about losing his edge on the competition than the discovery of actual spirits.”
In the interview with the owner, he revealed he resides close to the manor, but does not confirm or deny the hauntings.
If you have not had a chance to visit Reindeer Manor this year, their season runs through the first weekend in November~
The
Project
All Hallow’s Eve
Dr. Anderson put down the newspaper. Next to it lay his rejection. He had worked so hard and come so close, now to be stopped was almost criminal. Could this be the answer he was looking for? He thought about it all afternoon; then on the way home, he decided, yes or no, he had to have a look.
Several hours later, Anderson was questioning his decision. It had been raining all afternoon and into the evening. The traffic down interstate thirty-five was horrid. Once he got off on Bear Creek Road, he thought things would ease up. How wrong he was. The sea of cars heading to Reindeer Manor seemed endless. For forty-five agonizing minutes he inched forward until finally he came upon the entrance. Once he crossed under the iron arch he thought he was home free, but to his dismay, another long line of cars were ahead of him. Thirty torturous minutes later he was finally directed into a parking spot.
He stood outside of his car. He was an aging man of psychology, in his middle sixties, slightly overweight and balding. The rain falling from the sky, along with the cold temperature, made the night miserable. In the distance he saw a tractor dragging cars out of their spots. He felt lucky he was not forced to park in the mud.
In the distance, through the rain, he saw a lone lantern. It glowed yellow, signaling all those around, over here, come to me. With their heads bowed, the people resembled zombies, walking mindlessly towards the lantern.
Anderson was cold and his clothes were quickly saturating. He questioned his thought process and choice to venture out on this night. Only the prospect of completing his life’s work gave him the motivation to continue on.
As he reached the lantern, he was relieved to see an awning, just beyond the light. Under the awning stood a crowd of people, waiting for something, transportation of some kind. He thought he would see a ticket booth. That after such a long entrance, surely his wait would end. He was sadly mistaken.
As he walked under the awning, his demeanor was shared by all. No one was talking, instead huddling together for warmth.
The howl of the wind whistled through the trees as a light in the distance broke through the darkness. Everyone scooted forward as the tractor drove past them and revealed a long trailer with seats of hay. Once the tractor came to rest, they boarded.
Because of his bad leg, Anderson was the last to get on. He barely sat down when the tractor jerked and moved forward. The ride was bumpy; Anderson grit his teeth as every bump sent ripples of pain up his injured back.
As the tractor pulled them along, they crossed threw the old cemetery, before plunging into the dark woods. The rain was magnified by the speed, as well as the wind. It was a miserably cold ride on a soggy Fall night.
As they emerged from the woods, they passed another iron gate with the name Reindeer Manor on top of it. The tractor continued on, pulling them along the hayride road, then around back of the 13th Street Morgue, and finally to the front entrance. As the tractor stopped, a huge fireball erupted right above their heads. Anderson looked; the fire illuminated the dilapidated gas station underneath it. Only one pump remained, but the roof of the building had collapsed in and a portion lay on top of the old pump.
As Anderson stepped off the hayride, he noticed the ground here was also saturated and muddy. He had to give credit to the date; this was good weather for a haunted house, even better for Halloween.
Finally, after nearly two and half hours since he left his prestigious home in Highland Park, he saw the ticket booth. Luckily, since he was the last one on the hayride, he was the first one off. He walked up to the booth and was greeted by the friendly cashier. She happily sold him a premium ticket.
As he walked away, the smoke of slow burning hickory wood crossed his olfactory senses. His mouth began to salivate as he realized he had not eaten dinner. He followed the heavenly scent and found a group of people standing in line, drawn by the smoke. He watched the small chimney of the smoker as it blanketed him with its heavenly aroma.
Anderson stood in line, trying to block his hunger pains until they could be satisfied. He watched as young children ran screaming from a haunted house. They darted across the midway as ghouls chased them. He chuckled at their terror and wondered if he would be so affected by the attraction.
As the line moved forward, he had trouble staying upright. His left leg was weak from a car accident and the cane provided little support on such saturated ground. As he stepped forward, his fear came true. The cane was properly stuck.
Fortunately for him, a nice young man walked over and freed his cane from the mud.
Finally, his time to order had come. He stood before a young man who had a smile that would warm even the darkest of hearts. Above him stood a sign, ‘The Ole’ Texas Smokehouse.’ The man was wearing a plain t-shirt, covered by a black apron that bore the same name as the banner. Atop his head was a hat that read, ‘The nicest guy in town.’ Dr. Anderson thought, we shall see.
The booth was made of cheap timbers and used lumber; parts of it even looked as if it had been in a fire. It was a hodgepodge of corrugated metal and wood, but perfect for the Neanderthal food of fire and meat.
As he looked down, he could see a beer cooler filled with cold drinks covered by ice. Even in such miserable conditions, a person could enjoy an ice cold soda.
Beside the cooler was a cutting board, wooden, with a large razor sharp cleaver lying on top of it. Beside that, was a portable steam table, no doubt where the delicacies of the barbeque were held.
The man smiled and said, “How are you tonight?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s great! Now, how are you really?”
What a persistent man, Anderson thought. “Actually, I’m cold, tired, and regretting coming out here with my cane.”
The barbeque man looked at his watch, “I can understand, it’s Friday, it’s Halloween, and it’s half an hour ‘til midnight. A lot of people are out here.”
Anderson rolled his eyes, “So what’s the deal with these houses? What’s so special about them?”
“Well, since you’re now the only one in my line, let me tell you a story.”
Anderson motioned with his hand, “Please do.”
“In the early 1900’s, a two story wooden house stood on the site of the current house. The owner of the house was James Sharp, a prominent Texas oil pioneer and banker who partnered with Howard Hughes Sr. in the famed Sharp-Hughes Tool Company. He leased the house and property to a family of Swedish immigrants because he was often away on business. Unfortunately, in the early hours of a morning in 1915, the silence of the farm was shattered by screams. Lightning had sparked a tragic fire which quickly consumed the wooden house. The entire family of sharecroppers, including several small children, perished in an unspeakably horrific death.
Upset by the fate of his tenants, or maybe just mad because of the loss of property, Mr. Sharp decided to build on the property again.”
Anderson leaned against the booth. “Why would he do that?”
“Well, he decided that this time he would occupy the property and turn it into the crown jewel of all his properties. But that’s where his normal side ended. He wanted to make sure the newly built house would not succumb to something as pedestrian as fire. Even though it nearly tripled the cost of construction, he made sure the buildings on the property were as fireproof as possible. This explains the unusual construction of virtually all the structures at the Manor; they are all almost entirely engineered with concrete, brick, and steel.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yes, well, it was not to be. Mr. Sharp was killed, but by whom is still unclear. Even the location of his death is a mystery. Some say he was killed in the Manor, by his Mistress and his Wife. Some say it was just his Mistress. Additionally, there is some proof that he was killed at his city house in Oak Cliff. Even the details of his affair with his secretary are off. Some say they were married, some say it was a general affair, and some say he was a devoted father and would never succumb to such temptation.”
“Uh huh.”
The barbeque man looked around, making sure he was not missing out on any customers. He leaned in to the professor, “Well, the fact is, no one really knows who killed Mr. Sharp. The details are vague because of the bare semblance of an investigation at the time; the Widow Sharp didn’t want her husband’s rumored infidelity widely known. She applied pressure on the County Sheriff to quickly close the investigation and thus end the wild speculation of the press and neighbors. However, a darker rumor still circulates, that Mrs. Sharp and his Mistress, who may have been the second Mrs. Sharp, chopped him up and put him in the attic of the house. But that rumor really does not correspond with the coroner’s report which stated that the cause of death was due to the loss of 2-3 ounces of brain substance.
Now, it gets even more interesting. In 1917, shortly after the death of his father, James Sharp’s eldest son, James Jr. moved into the newly completed Manor, but the legacy of misfortune continued. He developed quite a prosperous farming and ranching operation in addition to breeding horses for harness racing. Between 1918 and 1928, additional buildings were added to the grounds, from servants quarters to a carriage house with various and sundry additions which a large Manor of a wealthy family was expected to have. Everyone thought the Sharp Family had survived the untimely death of its patriarch and had even come out better for it.
However, James Junior’s stewardship of the property was cut short with the onset of the Great Depression in October of 1929, which thrust the once wealthy family into poverty. His wife, a prominent spiritualist at the time, was convinced that the family and the Manor itself were cursed. With creditors threatening, Junior began to act strangely. As the rumors of insanity spread within the staff, he receded more and more into himself, shunning those with whom he had been quite open. He spent more and more time with his wife in her unholy pursuits.
Constantly tormented by the whispers of a Sharp Family curse, James and his wife were obsessed with finding a solution to their woes. Strange folk were seen going in and out of the Great House; from psychics to witch doctors; Mr. & Mrs. Sharp invited anyone with access to the occult to their bedroom in the vain pursuit of lifting the hex. His wife held séances to contact James Senior from beyond the grave for advice and council. Potions were mixed and incantations were chanted to rid the home and family from the string of bad luck. No one is sure if they were instructed by a spirit or simply came upon the solution on their own, but soon the couple found a way to bring the Sharp Family out of the shadows.
The final chapter of the Sharp family ended with the discovery of James Junior’s wife dead by poisoning and his lifeless body swinging from a noose in the barn. To this day it is unclear who killed whom or if it was a suicide pact. Either way the curse was lifted.
Anderson smiled, “Well I’ll be, that’s a tumultuous history alright.”
“Well if you have a bit more time, there’s more.”
Anderson was beginning to sense a gold mine lay here, “Son, I’ve got all night.”
He smiled, “Well, years after the Sharp Family was no more, a man named Jonathon Maybrick leased one of the barns for his residence and funeral parlor, which he named the 13th Street Morgue, presumably after his first location in Alvarado. He was able to create a state of the art embalming facility, funeral chapel, and crematory. The north end of the barn was converted into a residence while the south end became storage for the horse drawn hearse. The land to the west of the building was used to bury folks who could not afford a plot in the city cemetery. Even today, the owner still enjoys sizable tax discounts on the property for the paupers’ graves.
The Maybricks did well at their new location, but trouble began to brew when a local criminal met his end in a botched bank robbery. During the crime, a local widower’s sixteen year old daughter was shot and killed. The widower, Alfred Helm, religiously kept his three children indoors for fear of losing them like he lost his wife. In a strange twist of fate, he had sent his eldest daughter, Abigail, to the bank that afternoon. The robber, Raymond Reynolds, an out of work railroad employee, killed the bank teller and Abigail for no apparent reason, though it was suspected that the teller resisted the robber’s demands. As he tried to flee, he was shot dead by the town’s only police officer.
After the shootings, Raymond’s mother came to the Morgue to make final arrangements for her son. Even though Mr. Maybrick was hesitant to arrange the funeral for such a notorious villain, he finally acquiesced because he ultimately needed the money. Alfred Helm was not at all happy to hear the news that the murderer of his precious Abigail was to receive a proper funeral when he had to lay his child to rest on his own land with his own shovel. There were rumors that Helms would show up at the funeral and cause trouble, but on the day of the event all was quiet.
A few months later, close to Christmas time, the memories of the robbery and shootings were beginning to fade. But in the early morning hours of December 13th, Alfred cut the phone lines and broke into the morgue. Dressed as Santa Claus to fool the children, he made his way into the Maybrick home and into each of their bedrooms. After strangling the two small children, the wife, and finally Jonathon himself, Alfred sat in the Maybricks living room and shot himself in the chest.
The note he left read simply, ‘Please watch after my children. They are the product of an unholy mind.’
After years of abandonment, I believe the Red Oak Fire Department used Reindeer Manor as a training ground, since the house would not burn. However, strange reports of floating objects and unexplained noises unnerved some of the fire fighters. They petitioned the town for a new facility, and in 1974, they received it. Shortly after, it was determined by the leaders of the department that the strange events that occurred on the property could make for an interesting attraction. At that point, the Haunted House at Reindeer Manor was born. Years down the road it was bought and run by an unnamed family who eventually sold to the current owner. When the history of the morgue was discovered, they decided to exploit that history as well; however, they have had more problems with the barn than the house. Some say the true evil lies there, where Junior hung himself and Alfred did his killings.”
Anderson saw spots before his eyes; he grabbed the cutting board to stable himself as his cane hit the ground. The barbeque man reached across the cutting board and grabbed him, stopping him from falling.
* * *
Anderson stood up and regained his balance, “I’m sorry; I’m not sure what happened.”
He smiled, “That’s alright, here, just take a sandwich. It’s on me, just sit down and take it easy.”
“Thank you.” He took it and walked over to a table. As he sat there, he thought about the history, and the newspaper article. It seemed too good to be true. He recounted days of wasted time spent staring at useless monitors and listening to the unexplained sounds of rickety old homes.
Anderson finished the sandwich; then returned to the vendor. “Thank you for your kindness. May I have your name?”
The barbeque man smiled at him, “Kevin.”
“Nice to meet you Kevin; say if I wanted to investigate the house, how would I do that?”
“Well, you would have to talk to Andy, he’s the owner. Unfortunately he also runs the special effects of Reindeer Manor, so he won’t be available ‘til the show is over.”
He raised his cane and smiled, “Thank you sir.” He walked away, hopeful he had found what he was looking for. He wandered over to Reindeer Manor and enjoyed the rooftop show, customers being put in the gallows, and the overall atmosphere. He stood in line and slowly inched his way ever closer to the house. Finally, after nearly two hours, he was escorted inside. Unlike the rest, though he enjoyed the acting, he was more enamored with the manor itself. He spent a good deal of time looking up at the ceiling, trying to authenticate that at one time this was a residence.
After the show, a group of actors took Anderson to Andy. As he walked along the large concrete porch of the house, he came to a special window. Inside, a man, thin, in his late forties was finishing up some kind of paperwork. Around him were knobs, buttons, computer screens, amplifiers, and ropes that disappeared into the ceiling.
The man looked up and saw him. “What can do for ya?”
“I’m sorry for staying behind, but I was told I would have to wait ‘til the show was over to talk with you. My name is Dr. Jonathon Anderson.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Andy, now you waited a long time doctor, what can I do for you?”
Anderson leaned his cane against the window, “I want to investigate the house. How might I go about that?”
“Well, during the week, I will be happy to give you a private tour. We have prices for private parties.”
“No, I want to stay in the manor.”
Andy sat back in his chair, “No one spends the night here, ever.”
“I am willing to make it worth you while. I have the backing of the psychological department at the University. The picture we saw in the paper has generated quite a bit of enthusiasm.”
Andy folded his arms, “Dr. Anderson, there are places in this house that are sealed off. Not even I will go there. You have to understand, this place is like a museum. Enjoy it while you’re here, but let it be. Let whatever resides here rest. You’re doing no one any favors by stirring up further controversies. It’s just a Halloween attraction. It’s best if you leave it that way.”
He was not deterred. “But you know it’s more, much more. You’re selling the history of the house, why do you deny its true form?”
“I made the mistake of staying in the house after I bought it. I thought it would be a neat experience. It’s not. Sometimes things happen to visitors that are out of my control, but for the most part, people come and people go, and they have a good time. Please, go back to the University. Leave this house alone.”
“I can’t do that. Though you’re warning me, it’s only furthering my curiosity. I am offering you one hundred thousand dollars to allow myself and a staff of my choice to reside in the manor for five days. This is what I want, return the house to its original design, open up any sealed off areas. After five days, we will leave and make no further requests of you.”
Andy shook his head, “I don’t—”
“—One hundred thousand dollars plus the cost to take down and rebuild. Take it or leave it.” Anderson put his business card down and walked away.
The next day Andy approved the deal.
Obsession
† † †
He was standing at the door of Reindeer Manor, eager to enter. The fact that he was there alone did not register. He reached out, but as he touched the handle, a sense of dread came over him. Though he could only hear the leaves dancing in the wind, he felt as if something or someone was calling him.
A whisper, “Open the door.”
He backed away. Though it was daylight, the house looked menacing, evil, and dark. The house was in disrepair. Once standing with glory, now its faded red paint and crumbling bricks spoke of a slow death.
As he stood there, he heard a crunching sound, getting louder, as if someone was approaching. He turned, but no one was there. The dread continued to build. He no longer wanted to be there, he had to leave.
Cautiously he began backing away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something. Slowly he turned as he held his breath. The three ropes in the gallows were swinging. “It’s only the wind”, he mumbled. Suddenly they stopped but one of the nooses was parallel to the ground, as if someone was there, about to be executed. Quickly he turned and walked, refusing to look. Suddenly he heard a door swing and an acute scream followed by silence. Oh God, he thought. He wanted to look, to see if there really was a body hanging there, but he fought it. If he looked, what would he see, himself? No, he had to go; it was not of his concern.
As he was about to round the corner of the snackbar, suddenly he stopped, my cane, he thought. He heard tapping, coming from the house. He turned to his left to avoid looking at the gallows. In the upstairs window, there it was, leaning against the glass. He shook his head, they want me to come inside, he thought. No, I have to leave; I have to get out of here!
Amazingly, he did not need the cane. Faster and faster he walked, past the iron gate as it slammed shut. He turned, but no one was there. He felt frozen, as if someone was right behind him.
As he turned, again, no one was there. He instantly began running. The faster he ran, the faster they were coming. He did not stop as he barreled into the parking lot.
Finally, off in the distance, he saw his car. He dashed for it, his leg aching intensely; he wished he had gotten his cane. The sun disappeared behind the clouds as music began playing from the morgue.
Finally, he reached his car. He felt in his pockets for his keys, but they were gone. Oh God he thought, I dropped them in the house! As he turned to go back, a glimmer caught his eye. It was his keys, in the ignition!
Quickly he tried to open the passenger’s door, but it was locked. He ran around to the driver’s side, locked. As he panicked, he felt three claws digging into the back of his neck. He screamed in agony and arched his back. Finally, in desperation, he smashed the driver’s side window with his fist. He jumped into the car, his hand bleeding profusely, and started the engine. With the accelerator pressed to the floor, he sped down the bumpy entrance road, hitting his head on the ceiling multiple times.
Ahead he could see the barricades, they were closed! He smashed right through them and in a blinding flash felt a jolt as he was tossed from the car and ejected onto the grass.
As he lay there bleeding, he saw another vehicle on its side. After what seemed like hours, people finally came to his aid. He over heard a child telling an adult, “This guy came speeding out and this truck was coming down the road, then they met.”
As he lay there, all he could think was, “I got out”.
† † †
The alarm went off as Anderson opened his eyes. He looked all around but was surrounded by darkness. He lay there, confused, unsure of who he was or what was going on. His emotions were in overdrive. He was terrified and unable to speak. His brain raced to make sense of what was happening. “Am I dead?” He mumbled.
“No,” a voice in the darkness said.
He jumped from the bed, his heart racing, his breathing labored, “Who’s there?”
A light suddenly went on, “What are you doing John?”
He sighed, “Apparently suffering the effects of a nightmare”
She looked at him like he had lost his mind, “Silly man.”
He took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. A cold wet sensation came over him. He quickly stood as Lauren jumped up, “Oh John, you wet the bed!”
He leaned over to smell, “No, its sweat.”
She ripped off all the covers in disgust, “You and your dreams!”
He looked at her and smiled as he reached over and turned on the radio.
A bright cheery voice sounded through the speakers, “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, hope you all had a spooky weekend, but now Halloween’s over and it straight to Thanksgiving! For all of you who missed it, the Cowboys won last night over the—”
He reached over and turned the radio off. “No, it’s time to work!” he mumbled.
Lauren walked back in, “Well, are you gonna get dressed or not?”
In a burst of affection, he ran over and kissed her deeply. After the embrace he sat her down, his hand on top of hers, “Yes, I am!”
Lauren stood and walked around him, “What’s got into you?”
He followed her with his eyes, “Success, like a gift from above.”
She opened the dresser, looking for something. “I hung up the pants you wore on Friday. I did not have a chance to go to the dry cleaners on Saturday, so just wear those and we will be back on track tomorrow.”
“Yes dear,” he said instinctively. He dressed himself, cleaned up in the bathroom, and walked downstairs. He found Lauren cooking. He walked over and sat at the table as she placed a plate of toast and assortment of jams in front of him. He picked up the peach and spread it over the toast. He smirked, why she insisted on putting out the others was beyond him, in thirty-eight years of marriage, he had never used anything but peach.
Lauren put a plate of food in front of him, and though he was anxious to leave, he took time to eat.
“You’re cheery today,” she said.
He nodded, “I know.”
“Well, I will come by the University later. Don’t forget we have dinner reservations.”
He had not the slightest clue what she was talking about. His mind was wrapped around one thing, Reindeer Manor!
As he was driving, he could not help but daydream about the success to come. He thought of the details and knew he would change his mind often, but finally after so long, a chance to investigate; it was almost too good to be true.
He pulled into the parking lot and parked in his spot. He took a deep breath, wondering what the day would bring him. Quickly he gathered his things and hurried to his office. As he entered, he was grateful his secretary was already there.
“Good morning Dr. Anderson.”
He smiled and bowed, “And good morning to you Mary!”
“Well my, my, what has you in such high spirits?”
“The thrill of the chase!”
She was ecstatic. It had been so long since he had gone on an investigation. She had missed his eager, often boyish excitement. “Well it’s about time!”
“That it is Miss Mary; that it is!”
She followed him with her eyes as he walked into his office and gently closed the door.
Inside, he found everything just as he had left it. His book, the letter, the newspaper, nothing was out of place. He set his coffee on the desk; then picked up the phone and called Dean Shultz. With enthusiasm, he requested to go before the special projects board. To his delight, he was added to the meeting later that afternoon.
A few hours later, Anderson stood before the council. “Ladies and Gentleman, as some of you know, my long term project is nearing completion. Last week I received both good news and bad. My book, Texas Hauntings, was rejected by the publisher; however, it was only rejected because of a lack of content. The publisher wants an additional haunting, to make it an even ten. They need something with more substance, different from the rest.
I believe I have found my final subject, Reindeer Manor. Though this is a Halloween attraction, and though it has been investigated before by my colleague, Dr. Weinstein, never in the history of the house has an investigator spent the night. The owner has refused to allow staying guests, that is, until now.
As most know, my department rarely uses its entire budget. In the accounts, my department has two hundred and eighty five thousand dollars allocated for special projects. I intend to withdraw one hundred and fifty thousand. These funds will be used to rent the entire property of Reindeer Manor, to pay for the rental cars, new equipment, supplies, and three additional assistants.”
Anderson uncovered the aerial photograph of the property. He used a laser pointer to focus the group’s attention. “On the right, you will see the main house. This is the Sharp’s residence. James Sharp, of the Sharp-Hughes Tool Company, began the construction of this house, but never saw it finished. He was killed allegedly by secretary, who was also his mistress, by a single gun shot to the head.
I have to admit, my research is unclear on the fact that he was also married to his mistress while still married to his first wife. Some reports say yes, some say no, but he did have an ongoing affair while his wife and children remained in New York, pending the estates completion.
In addition to the coroner’s report, there is also a rumor circulating about his wife and his mistress cutting up the body and leaving it in the attic. How and when he died remains a mystery.
Afterwards, Mrs. Sharp sold her fifty percent of the company and remained in New York. Her eldest son, James Sharp Junior, was given the property to complete and reside in.”
Anderson pointed to the building on the far left. “Junior completed the house and also built this large barn to raise horses, some used in racing. Unfortunately, when the stock market crashed in 1929, Junior’s investments were hit hard. He and his wife did not recover from this hit, and sank deeper in debt as time went on.
As their finances continued to suffer, they took more and more drastic actions to release them of the curse they felt they were under. They blamed the death of James Senior on the family losses, citing, ‘The sins of the father will revisit the son.’
They turned to the occult and began séances in order to rid the house of the curse. They bricked up all the windows, invited witch doctors and dark priests into their home where they practiced all manor of depravity and dark ceremonies.
There were several employees working the property. They reported seeing less and less of Sharp and his wife. From time to time, they appeared, almost magically in the barn, five hundred feet from the house.
Though they practiced their new religion diligently, it didn’t prove to be the problem solver they were looking for. Over time, the banks and lenders grew tired of waiting for the back payments. After many extensions, the lenders lost faith in their ability to regain profitability. They sent notices of foreclosure and threats of eviction to the Sharps. This only prompted them to descend further into the occult, until they had lost all sanity. In the last act, Junior and his wife discovered an escape from their mounting problems. It is unsure how it all played out, but Junior was found in the barn, dead by hanging. His wife was slumped over at the kitchen table, dead by poisoning.
It was reported that there was no heir to the estate. However, Sharp’s mother was still alive. It is unclear if she refused to assume the debt or if she had any options at all. In any case, the property fell to the lenders, who sold it to the county.”
Anderson looked at the council. He was pleased to see he had not lost their attention. “That in itself; would make the house worth investigating, but there’s more. A man named Jonathan Maybrick leased the barn on the left and turned it into a funeral home.”
One of the councilmen rolled his eyes. Anderson addressed him, “Dean Shultz, you can’t make this stuff up.”
Shultz motioned for him to continue.
“The Maybricks were a normal family with an odd way of life. They performed numerous funerals, some in coordination with the county, per their lease, for those who were of low income. Their troubles started when a man named Raymond Reynolds was killed during a botched bank robbery. The father of Reynolds sought out the Maybricks to perform a quiet funeral. Unfortunately, the news of the funeral did get out, and Alfred Helm was furious.
Now, you might be asking, who was Alfred Helm? He was a strong minded fellow who lived peacefully and privately with his family. On the day of the robbery, he allowed his eldest daughter to run an errand to the bank. Unfortunately, she was killed during the robbery.
Several months passed and Reynolds was buried, presumably in the county cemetery just west of the funeral home. Christmas was approaching, and the joy of the holiday hit the Helm household hard. Alfred, reportedly dressed like Santa, snuck into the Maybricks home, and strangled each family member. Afterwards, he sat in their living room, wrote a suicide note to his children and then shot himself.
Since that time the property has gone through several families, some reporting strange events and leaving soon after, others left because of the odd construction and difficulties in remodeling.”
Shultz spoke up, “Why would the house be hard to remodel?”
Anderson put down the laser pointer. “James Sharp bought the property as an investment. He rented out a house that was already there to a ranching family. That house was struck by lighting and burned down, there were no survivors. This tragedy so affected Sharp, that he ordered the new house, the estate he intended for his family, to be built out of concrete and steel, so it would not burn.”
Shultz sat back in his seat. “I see, now you mentioned before that no one had ever been allowed to stay in the house overnight, why?”
“The owner of the property indicated it would be extremely dangerous.”
“Then why is he allowing you to stay there?”
Anderson gripped the podium with both hands, “To be perfectly honest Dean Shultz; because money talks. I offered him one hundred thousand dollars to lease the entire property to me for five days. As a part of the deal, he and those at the morgue must remove all props from the house and restore it, as it was, before it became the Halloween attraction.”
The group whispered amongst themselves. The large amount of money was a sticking point for the council. After a few moments Dean Shultz stood, “Dr. Anderson, would you wait outside for a moment?”
Anderson smiled then left the room. As he stood outside, he went over everything he had talked about. He began preparing himself for additional questions and even an argument. He had not asked for a substantial amount of money in years, other departments asked regularly.
Half an hour later, he once again stood before the council. Dean Shultz, head of the council, addressed him. “We have approved this project and its funds. However, you will not be allowed to choose the three assistants. You may take your secretary with you since she has assisted you with other projects. For the remaining, we will conduct an intensive search for the proper candidates. The council has decided your group will consist of an additional psychologist, a medium, and an observer with no skills in psychology. Those three will write independent reports for the council; you will not be allowed to view them until the council feels this project is at an end. Are we agreed?”
Anderson was more than delighted, “Yes sir, however, I would ask that the nature of this project be kept secret. I don’t want the team to have any knowledge of where they’re going. They shall go under this agreement or not at all.”
“That seems fair. Since you want the project details classified, then will you write the advertisement for the candidates?”
“Yes sir.”
“Very good, you can send it to my office as soon as it’s done. This council is adjourned.”
Anderson could not have asked for a more receptive group of people. As he walked back to his office, he saw Mary leaving for lunch. “When you return, cancel my afternoon classes, a new project is afoot!”
She smiled, “Yes sir.” He was a giddy as a school girl.
FROM: The Office of Dr. Anderson
University Chair, Psychology Department
TO: All Students and Facility
RE: Paranormal Investigation
The office of Dr. Anderson will be conducting a five day study into the existence of ghosts, spirits, and the afterlife during the spring break of next year. This will be an off-campus investigation at a predetermined location in the Dallas-Fort Worth area.
Three candidates will be chosen based upon experience, writing ability, skill set, and project needs.
The University will hire one psychologist, one demonstrated medium, and one observer.
The observer should not be enrolled in the psychology program and is only required to posses excellent writing and descriptive skills.
The pay will be substantial and following completion of the project. In addition, the person must complete all five days.
If you believe you posses the skills and qualities needed for this project, please submit a résumé, your beliefs on the supernatural, and a ten page essay demonstrating your writing ability to Dean Shultz’s office by the Thanksgiving holiday.
Candidates who meet submission guidelines will be contacted for an interview in December.
The Investigators
During the month of December, nearly five hundred applicants were interviewed and re-interviewed until only ten remained. Those ten were subject to background searches, polygraphs, psychological and physical examinations, and more. Of the ten, only two passed.
The third one, a Dr. Albert Lynn Fletcher, was interviewing with Dean Shultz. “Dr. Fletcher, having come from out of state, you bring a refreshing point of view to this institution. I want you to accompany Dr. Anderson on his project in March. Unfortunately, we do not have a teaching position open at this time, but we do have an opening in the summer for an adjunct professor.”
Fletcher nodded at him, “Can I ask why you want me to accompany Dr. Anderson?”
He frowned, “Honestly, it’s best if you go without knowing. If what I think is true, you will reveal that on your own.” Schulz eyed him, “Do this for me and the University will guarantee you a teaching position next fall.”
Fletcher raised his eyebrows, “What about my background? It seems your human resources department cannot locate me.”
Shultz stood and motioned for Fletcher to leave. “I think by the end of this project, we will have a good idea of who you are. Don’t discuss our arrangement with Dr. Anderson, if he asks, tell him you were chosen by the committee, just as the other candidates. Now please, wait outside and my secretary will provide you a packet that will get you on Dr. Anderson’s team.”
Fletcher walked out of the office. He took a seat and waited.
Dean Shultz called Anderson. “Are you sure about this?”
“Quite sure.”
“He’ll be down in a moment.
Dr. Albert Lynn Fletcher
As Mary typed up new guidelines for Dr. Anderson’s classes, a man in his early fifties, with dark hair, a full beard, standing about five foot nine, skinny, and with yellow teeth approached her.
The stench of cigarettes announced his presence before he could speak. Mary gracefully reached into her purse and retrieved a bottle of perfume. She sprayed the pleasant liquid in front of her nose. Afterwards she looked at him, “May I help you?”
He handed a yellow envelope to her. She opened in and read the judgment. “Congratulations Dr. Fletcher; seems you’re the chosen psychologist to assist Dr. Anderson.”
He smiled, “Thank you ma’am.”
Mary stood, “Let me see if he’s available.”
Anderson was sitting in his office, studying the picture from the Halloween edition, looking for any imperfections or signs of trickery. He was as nervous about the project as he was excited.
Mary hit the call button on the intercom. “Dr. Anderson, Dr. Fletcher is here to see you.”
The sudden voice started him and he dropped his magnifying glass. It shattered as it hit the floor. He sighed; then hit the call button, “See him in.”
Mary motioned to Fletcher as he straitened his suit.
Anderson stood as Fletcher walked through the door. “Dr. Fletcher, it is good to meet you!”
“Likewise Dr. Anderson, I have looked forward to this moment since I first heard of it.”
“Yes, well please come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, I am fine, thank you.”
Anderson smiled at Mary. She nodded and closed the door. He sat down and picked up his manuscript. “I am finishing my life’s work. With one more haunting, I will have definitively proved the existence of ghosts and the afterlife.”
Fletcher nodded, “That’s an amazing achievement,” He scooted forward in his chair, nervously eyeing the manuscript, “I hope my contributions will be fruitful. The chance to assist a colleague in a project that will define their life is an honor unto itself.”
“Indeed,” Anderson held the manuscript firmly in his hands. He stared at it as he talked. “You know, sometimes it seems that they call to me, the houses, as if finding them is not a random occurrence.”
“How do the residents react when you arrive?”
“They often fall over backwards for me. Many times they are at their wits end, having all of their finances tied to the property. In addition, they are suffering extreme embarrassment, afraid if they go public they will be ridiculed. A haunting is not just about objects that move or unexplained electrical and environmental phenomena, but it’s about the people who dwell within the house. Many times, the psychic energy of the resident or another member of the household is exacerbating the situation, or creating it all together.”
“So do you solve their problem or is it just documentation?”
Anderson smiled, “From my end, its pure research. In one instance, an owner of a small house off Banner Street in Dallas did not want the haunting solved. They rather enjoyed the thrill of living in a spiritually active place. However, the norm is paranoia. After the investigation, I usually contact the Catholic Church or another group on behalf of the owners. I supply them with my research; then move on.”
“Have you seen many haunted houses?”
“Well yes and no. I have not actually been in contact with a spirit directly. But I have seen an unexplained phenomenon that baffles science.” Anderson folded his hands on his desk, excited to talk to someone on his own level. “I once saw water, dripping from the floor to the ceiling. It was a most remarkable thing. Another time, I saw a pen move itself across a table, jump from that table to the floor, and roll under a couch. Now, that might seem normal, but it took the pen almost ten hours to make the full journey.
I don’t actually believe that you can be contacted in a physical way by these phenomena. It’s not like the movies. I am not entirely sure that what ever is causing the events is done by an intelligent being. My research is not about solving hauntings, but documenting them in a scientific way. I believe we, as an intelligent species, are still new to this planet, and though we feel we have obtained superior knowledge, we are actually in our infancy about its mechanics. ”
“So this is more about busting the myth of ghosts, than discovering them.”
“Not quite, by doing the research in a scientific manor, I am actually hoping to be proven wrong. Unfortunately to date, I have not been. I believe if I go into a house looking for evidence of an unexplained intelligence, I will find it simply because I am looking for it. My mind will fill in and rationalize any gaps present. Therefore, for me to be convinced I am wrong, it has to come when I am not looking for it.”
Fletcher had chills running up and down his spine. “Do you think we will see such unexplained phenomena at the location you have chosen?”
“Oh yes and much more. I have made sure to keep the location an absolute secret, as to not skew the data in any way.”
Fletcher smiled, “Well, it sounds like a dream. I can’t wait to get started!”
Anderson stood and showed him to the door, “First week in March, 9 a.m., Monday morning, outside this building. I will check with you before then, but that’s when we make history!”
As Fletcher walked out the door, Anderson grabbed his arm, “Now remember, you’re under contract not to discuss this with anyone, not even family.”
“That, I guarantee you, will not be an issue.”
Amy
The next day, a young brunette walked into the office. Mary looked her over; she could not be more than eighteen, if that. She was thin, cute, but nothing special.
The young girl walked over and handed her a yellow envelope, just as Dr. Fletcher had. She opened it, “Congratulations Amy! So you’re the medium, tell me, what am I thinking?”
Amy looked at her with a blank expression, “I don’t think your romance is going to work out.”
Mary was stunned. The young girl’s response was completely unexpected. That was exactly what she had been thinking all morning! For so long she desired to be married to the professor. She stumbled out of her chair, “I’ll see if Dr. Anderson’s available.”
Amy stopped her, “Yes, he is. He is doing something right now that he would give anything to put aside.”
Mary watched the girl walk straight to his office, “You can’t just—”
Amy ignored her and entered.
Inside, Dr. Anderson was grading project papers from his advanced class. He looked up and saw the woman, “My secretary will help you Miss, please close the door.”
She shook her head, “You don’t like doing that, do you?”
Anderson set his pen down, she was right. He detested grading papers. One of the chief complaints from his students was his turn around time on assignments.
Mary rushed in, “I’m sorry; this is Amy; she’s the medium chosen for the project.”
Anderson smiled, “So I gathered. Well, you know how to make an entrance, please come in. I would ask you—”
“—Coke, diet.”
He laughed, this was going to be fun he thought. “Mary, if you would.”
Mary shut the door as Amy took a seat. Anderson folded his hands, “So, what do you think of this project.”
Without missing a beat, “We’re going to Reindeer Manor.”
Anderson was shocked, “Ok, who told you that?”
“No one, I knew it before I applied. I knew I would get the job before I applied, otherwise, why waste my time?”
As Mary put her hand on the door handle, Amy turned. Before Mary could say anything, Amy said, “Bottle water will be fine.”
Mary did not even get the chance to tell her the machine was out of diet. She closed the door and went to retrieve the water.
Anderson sat back in his seat, “Wow, that’s quite a gift you have. If you can maintain it, you will have quite a career.”
Amy looked off to the side, “It’s not a gift; it’s a curse, one I would give up in a heartbeat.”
“Why do you say so?”
She looked at him, “Do you like presents? Christmas presents, birthday presents?”
“Of course, who doesn’t?”
“I don’t. I stopped asking for things when I was five years old. Even then, I knew what I was getting. I’ve never been surprised about anything; accept by the people around me.”
“How so?”
“I can’t maintain friendships, certainly can’t keep a boyfriend. I already know what they want and though I have seen many of my peers in good relationships, I can’t do that. I can’t let a person make natural mistakes with me, because I already know they’re going to do it, so I shut them out. I once met a boy, obsessed with my body. I knew though he would make a wonderful father and if I allowed him into my life, we would have several children.”
“Then why did you stop him?”
“Because I already knew how he was going to die. I can’t live that way.”
Anderson sat back, “Do you sense those things in everyone?”
“No, it’s usually random, but when a person gets closer to me, or the issue is about me, things become much clearer.”
He looked at her grades; she was barely passing her subjects. “If this gift is so powerful, how do you explain your GPA?”
“If I was to get every question right, on every test, in every subject, on every grade level, do you think I would be free?”
“I suppose not.”
“That’s why, Dr. Anderson.”
This was not the conversation he wanted to have, “Ok, back to the matter at hand, why this project?
“Because I want to know about the afterlife, that’s the one thing that eludes me. Hopefully this is one more step towards an answer I don’t know, and a question I can’t ask.”
He looked baffled, “Why can’t you ask the question?”
“Because I don’t know it, but I can sense its presence.”
Anderson was beside himself with this girl. She was perfect. The committee probably had no doubt about her. He thought about her answer; then asked, “Could that be God?”
She thought about it for a moment; then answered in a slow, broken fashion. “I…don’t know how to answer that, the words…don’t seem…to exist in our language…, that’s…about the best way I can put it”
Anderson nodded, “Ok, so what can you tell me about Reindeer Manor?”
She sat up with a cold threatening stare. “It’s not the same as the show, not in any way. It’s a dark place, where those who go, never come back the same, if they come back at all.”
He smiled, “No ones ever spent the night there; we will be the first.”
“I’m not talking about investigators. I’m talking about those who lived there, however short, decades before the house became an attraction.”
He sat forward, “Is this going to be a waste of time? Should I look for something else?”
She looked off to the side, “Yes, but for a very different reason.”
“And that is…”
“This will be unlike any haunting in your book. You’re dancing with the devil on this one.”
Anderson smiled “Ok, so what’s going to happen?”
“I can’t tell you that, because I don’t know. What I do know, is your life has already changed, whatever it was before, has ended. You’ve already been there, it’s already seen you and you have no choice. Either you go for it or it will come for you.”
“That won’t be a problem, as we are going for it.”
She looked at him in the most serious way, “It’s going to attack you in a way you won’t see coming, and when the final act comes, it will be a surprise. Nothing you do, nothing you say, nothing you take with you, can change that fact.” She wiped a tear from her eye, “That’s all I have to say about that.” She stood and walked to the door. Before exiting, she turned, “Monday, 9 am, first week in March, downstairs.” She then exited his office.
Anderson jumped up; a last minute thought hit him. He hurried out of his office and saw Amy, standing there, by the front door. She looked at Anderson, “Because it’s what you needed, to meet me.”
Amy turned and left the office. Mary looked at him, “What were you going to ask?”
He was shocked, “I was going to ask, if she already knew what our conversation was going to entail, then why have it?”
“Wow.”
Anderson returned to his office and sat back in his chair. What an amazing person, he thought.
Jesse
Later in the day, a gorgeous woman with blonde hair and deep blue eyes walked into the office. Mary eyed her, she was obviously of wealth. Her clothes were designer and her pursed looked as if it came from one of the high-end stores at Northpark.
Mary found her figure threatening. She looked as if she had been hand sculpted by a master craftsman. She glanced at her chest, fake, she thought. She instantly hated her.
The woman walked up to her, “I’m not sure if this is where I am supposed to be.”
Mary thought, in college or in this office? She smirked, “Well, who are you looking for?”
“Dean Schulz gave me this envelope. He instructed me to bring it, unopened, to this office.”
Mary rolled her eyes, “Uh huh, well, give it to me.”
The woman handed her the yellow envelope. Mary opened it then sighed; she feared she would be spending time with this woman. In a snotty tone of voice, she said, “Congratulations Jesse; seems you have won the position of observer.”
Jesse smiled, “Yes I know! So, like what are we gonna do?”
Mary looked at her and thought; we are not going to do anything. “Just have a seat, Dr. Anderson is in class; he should be back shortly.”
Twenty minutes later, Anderson walked in. He saw the beauty sitting; waiting for him, at least he hoped. He accepted the yellow envelope from Mary then looked at the young woman, “Follow me Miss.”
Jesse stood and followed him into his office. Mary gave a glancing look at her shoes. Disgusting, she thought. Why can’t I be spoiled like that?
Jesse stood as Anderson sat down. He laughed, “You can sit, you already have the job; this is only so I can meet you.”