Showing posts with label ghost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost. Show all posts

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Lone Star Liberty: Paranormal Western Flash Fiction Story



Steven never even knew there had been a Texas branch of the Underground Railroad until the other men at Lone Star Blasting started whispering about the Russell mansion.

Old man Russell, they said, had built his house high on a hill at the edge of town with a special purpose in mind -- hiding slaves and helping them escape into Mexico.

Part of the house’s design included hidden tunnels that began under the front porch or inside the house and spilled out into the open country at the back of the property.

And, well, tunnels ran both ways.

Of course, there were also stories about ghosts, mostly of slaves who had met their demise in the tunnels and came back to either protect the house or seek revenge on their murderers.

Steven didn’t put much stock in that sort of talk, but the other part ...

What if Steven could find a passage and make his way into the house while Russell was traveling? Why, the treasures inside might set him up for life!

And so it was that Steven found himself behind Russell’s mansion on a starry autumn night, shovel and scythe in hand.

At first, there was no sign of an entrance of any sort into the hill. But after a few minutes of hacking and prodding, Steven’s shovel struck something hard, and he brushed away the dirt and roots to reveal an iron door.

The old hinges creaked as Steven pried the gate open and slipped inside.

He lit his lantern and started down the dark tunnel.

When he was a few feet in, the gate groaned again behind him, and then slammed shut.

From the murkiness in front of him, a whisper growled: “You got no business in Mr. Russell’s house!”.

And then … the lantern went dark.


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Wednesday, September 12, 2018

X Marks the Ghost: A Western Flash Fiction Story



“Keep your voice down, Frankie. Do you want to wake up the whole camp?”

Teddy Smithers sat up on the thin layer of blankets that served as his bed and listened into the darkness.

“There’s no waterfall in these parts, Frankie,” the old man said.

Around him, Teddy’s fellow railroad workers began to stir.

“Hush up, Teddy!” one of them whispered harshly from across the barracks. “We’re tryin’ to sleep.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frankie.” Teddy lowered his voice.

Nearby, Bob Chambers leaned in closer. Just who was Teddy talking to?

“Well, it ain’t that I don’t believe you, Frankie. It’s just that I never heard of anyone finding gold around here.”

Frankie! Ol’ Teddy must be losing it, Bob thought.

Frankie Smithers was Teddy’s long-lost son, killed in a railway explosion near on three years ago now.

“Alright boy,” Teddy said, eyes darting back and forth in the dark. “No need to get all riled up. I’ll head out there with you.”

Bob eased back down onto his own mat and watched Teddy sneak out into the moonlit landscape.

When he was sure the old man was gone, Bob followed after him.

--

They walked for a good fifteen minutes through the cold desert night, Bob lagging behind a hundred feet or so. Though the words were inaudible, he could see that Teddy was talking all along the way.

Finally, Teddy disappeared over a small hill.

Bob eased his head over the ridge and was astounded by what he saw -- Teddy shuffled with reverence toward the bottom of a suddenly lush valley.

On the other side, a raging waterfall splashed into the ravine.

And Teddy was talking again -- but this time, Bob could hear a second voice.

“The gold’s right there, Dad.”


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At the Altar: A Western Flash Fiction Story

Mabel Joplin worked the strand of black satin through her gnarled fingers, weaving and twisting it into a perfect bow tie. She stepped b...