The Book of Whispering Spirits

By Jeff Ferrell

"The Book of Whispering Spirits" is a haunting collection of 18 ghost stories, ranging from Gothic horror to modern tales of terror. These tales of the supernatural will haunt your dreams and trouble your sleep, making you believe once more in the ghostly phantoms that wait for you in the shadows...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483533773

Jeff Ferrell

Jeff Ferrell is Professor of Sociology at Texas Christian University and Visiting Professor of Criminology at the University of Kent. He is the author of Crimes of Style, Tearing Down the Streets, and Empire of Scrounge and the coauthor of Cultural Criminology: An Invitation.

Book preview

Winterbrook

The Girl on the Road

Henry needed work. He was on his way to the small logging town of Darrington, where his cousin had set him up with a new job at the local saw mill. He had driven twelve hours in the cold December snow to get to his cousin’s house that night. Only the thought of his wife and son back home kept him warm as he drove down those icy roads, and so did the thought of putting food on their table once more. But he was far away from them now. Night had fallen, the snow was still falling, and he found himself on a lonely tree-lined road.

The road was dark. The only light came from the headlights of his truck and the occasional solitary street lamp. The snow was dense and endless. He drove slowly and cautiously, unfamiliar with his surroundings. He tried to make-out what was around him through the blankets of falling snow, hoping to find a sign that would lead him back onto the main road. But there were no road signs – nor any signs of life.

And then he saw the girl. She was standing on the side of the road, shivering under a flickering street lamp, the broken orange glow of the light falling down upon her frail frame along with the flakes of snow. Henry slammed on his brakes as soon as he saw her, not sure if she was real or simply a figment of his imagination. His truck skidded across the ice, swerving into the middle of the road. Gripping it tightly, he re-gained control of the steering wheel and brought the truck to a screeching halt.

He turned and looked behind him. The girl stared back at him from beneath the street lamp. He turned forward and put the truck into reverse, straightening the wheel and driving the truck backwards down the road and towards the girl. He pulled up alongside her and rolled down the passenger side window.

Are you alright, ma’am? he called out. The girl stared back at him silently, shivering in the wind. He saw now that she was soaking wet and clad only in a white nightgown.

You must be freezin’ out there. Can I give you a lift? he asked her. But she only continued to stare at him. Come on, aren’t you cold? he called out. After a moment, the girl slowly nodded. Henry reached over and opened the passenger side door. Then come on in before you freeze to death, he said. She stared back at him with trepidation. I’m harmless, I promise, he said with a smile. After silently considering his request for a moment, she slowly began to walk towards his truck. He smiled as she approached the door and got into the passenger seat. There ya go, he said, I knew you’d come to your senses.

She got in, but only stared forward out the windshield, leaving the passenger door open behind her. Henry stared at her for a moment as the snow began falling into the truck. No worries, I’ll get it, he said. He reached across her and closed the passenger door, rolling up its window. He stared over at her. What on earth are you doin’ out here in the middle of a snow storm, anyway? he asked. She continued staring forward silently. Alright, well I guess you have your reasons. I’m headin’ into Darrington. Is that good for you? The girl nodded in reply. Alright then, he said, Onward and upward. Henry put the truck into gear and began to drive it again down the dark and lonely road.

What’s your name, anyway? he asked her. She did not respond, but only stared out the windshield. Well, my name’s Henry, but most people call me Hank. Nice to meet you. Again, she did not respond. She turned and looked out the passenger side window. Not much of a talker, are you? Well, that’s OK by me. I guess it’s just after twelve hours on the road, you start to feel a little talkative once you get some company.

She slowly brought her left hand to the passenger window. He noticed a red ruby ring on her ring finger. She slowly ran her fingers down the glass, leaving a crimson trail of blood upon it.

Jesus, are you bleedin’? Are you alright? Did someone hurt you? he asked. She did not respond, but only brought her hand back down to her lap. He looked down at it and noticed there was blood spattered on her dress and legs, and that her fingers were bleeding. Look, we oughtta get you to a doctor, he said. She shook her head. Well, we gotta get you somewhere. Get those wounds closed up and get you warm again. She continued silently staring forward out the windshield. Poor girl, Henry said under his breath, shaking his head.

As they continued to drive, he noticed a red neon diner sign flickering on the side of the road. Hey, there’s a diner up ahead. Are you hungry? he asked her. She shook her head silently. Well, I think both of us should have some coffee. And they might have somethin’ to fix up those wounds.

Henry pulled his truck into the diner parking lot. The snow had eased up, and he could see the surroundings more clearly. Other than the diner and the snow covered trees surrounding it, there was no one and nothing else in sight. He parked the truck, and after some convincing, he managed to get the girl out of it. He led her slowly and carefully towards the entrance of the diner.

They opened the door and entered the empty diner. Music played faintly from a jukebox in the background, but there was no one else in sight. Hello? Henry called out. At once, an elderly male waiter appeared from behind the counter.

Well hi there, didn’t hear you come in. Have a seat wherever you like, the waiter said.

Oh no thanks, we just need to get some coffee to go and we’ll be on our way, Henry said.

Oh fine, that’s fine. Comin’ right up, the waiter said as he stepped behind the counter, filling a paper cup with coffee.

Say, do you have anything to treat wounds, like a first aid kit or something? Henry asked the waiter.

No, I’m afraid I don’t. Sorry about that. One coffee to go, one dollar, the waiter said as he set the coffee cup on the counter.

That’s two cups; one for me, and one for the girl here. She’s not doin’ too hot, Henry said. The waiter’s face drained of color as he looked up towards the girl. She stared down at the ground.

No charge, just take the coffee and go, the waiter said.

What the hell do you mean? I ordered two cups, Henry said.

Just get out! the waiter yelled, then he turned and disappeared behind the counter.

Henry stared at the waiter as he walked away. He grabbed the cup of coffee and turned to the girl. Come on, let’s get outta here. Don’t wanna deal with a crazy son of a bitch like that anyhow. Henry picked up some napkins from the counter, turned and walked out, as the girl followed behind him.

After they walked out of the diner, the waiter came out from behind the counter and watched them get into the truck through the front window of the diner. His eyes filled with fear, he shook his head and quickly turned and went back to the counter.

Inside the car, Henry set the coffee down and tried to give the girl the napkins he had grabbed. Here, at least you can clean yourself up a little till we find a doctor, he said. She looked down at the napkins and shook her head. Henry sighed. Alright, well how ‘bout some coffee? he asked. She turned away and stared out the passenger window once again. Alright, well it’s here if you want it, he said. He started the truck, backed it out of the parking lot, and pulled it back onto the road. The girl continued staring silently out the window.

Some time had passed without a word between them. They drove on in silence, until at last Henry couldn’t take it anymore. Look ma’am, could you at least tell me somethin’? I mean, how am I supposed to help you if you won’t say one word to me? he asked her harshly. She turned and stared directly at him. Blood now trickled from her red lips.

Pull over, she said.

What?

Pull over.

Honey, if you think I’m lettin’ you get back out there in that snow, then you got –

Now! she screamed as she grabbed ahold of the steering wheel.

Alright! Jesus! Henry yelled as he grabbed the wheel and swerved to maintain control of the truck as it slid across the icy road. He slammed on the brakes and the truck skidded to a stop, crashing into an unseen object on the side of the road with a loud thud. The girl threw open the passenger door and ran out of the truck and through the snow. Where the hell are you going? Henry yelled. He opened his door and ran outside, following quickly behind the girl.

He ran to the other side of the truck and looked around for her in the darkness, but she was gone. Where are you? he called out. There was no reply. He only heard the sound of the snow falling softly on the ground around him. He looked down at the snow next to the truck, where the passenger door was still open. There were no footprints from where the girl had run. Henry looked all around him, breathing heavily. There was no one else in sight. He looked up at the flickering street lamp which was illuminating the snow around him. He recognized from its broken orange glow that it was the same lamp the girl had been standing under when he first found her. He shook his head in disbelief. He turned and walked quickly back to the other side of the truck.

As Henry walked in front of the truck, he looked down below the beams of the headlights. His eyes grew wide with horror. A woman’s arm was protruding from beneath the truck, lying in a pool of blood. A red ruby ring was on her ring finger.

No, Henry uttered in disbelief. He slowly backed away from the front of the truck, stepping out into the middle of the road. But he did not see the speeding car that was fast approaching him. The car blared its horn. Henry turned his head and saw the blinding headlights of the car just before it slammed into him. His body was thrown over the top of the car and fell back down onto the icy road, his bones shattered from the impact. The car slammed on its brakes and came to a skidding stop further down the road.

Henry’s body lay lifeless in the middle of the road, a pool of blood forming around it in the snow. The girl now stood over him. She leaned down and softly caressed his cheek with her fingers, leaving behind a crimson trail of blood across his face. And then she was gone. And the snow continued to fall down upon him.

Some weeks later, a woman was driving down that same lonely road where Henry had died. And as she drove, she saw a figure standing under a flickering street lamp at the side of the road. She stopped her car and turned back to look at the figure. It was Henry – cold, wet and bleeding. The woman put her car into reverse and drove backwards towards him. She brought the car to a stop and rolled down the passenger side window, looking out at Henry under the street light. Can I give you a ride? she called out to him. Henry only stared back at her – his eyes cold, dark and dead.

The Red Room

Matthew Olson had just moved into his new apartment. It was hidden away in an old part of town, in the top floor of an ancient brick building. It was certainly nothing you’d call fancy, but it was all his. For the first time in his life, he had a place all his own.

It was the first night he slept in his new apartment that he saw the red room. He had finished moving all of his belongings into the place, and was relaxing with a celebratory drink while sitting in his new living room full of unopened boxes. He stood up and walked across the room to take a look out the window and see the surroundings. As he gazed out, he noticed an old house across the street with a peculiar red glow coming from a window on the upper floor. It caught his eye immediately, and for reasons he could not explain, it made him feel deeply uneasy. He remained staring at it for several minutes, until he convinced himself that it was nothing and turned away from the window to continue unpacking.

That night, as he lay in bed unable to sleep, his thoughts returned to the mysterious red room at the top of the house across the street, and what it could possibly contain. He was determined to find out, one way or another. Matthew didn’t know himself why he was so intensely curious about the strange room, but captivate him it did. As the days wore on, he would often wake in the middle of the night, and unable to fall back to sleep, he would wander into the living room to peer out the window and see if the red light was still glowing from the room atop the old house. And indeed it always was, no matter the time of day or night.

One night as he was lying awake in bed, as he had now grown accustomed to doing, Matthew heard the faint sound of music coming from the street below him. He got up and walked to the window. He looked outside, and realized that the sound of the music was coming from the house with the red room. The song was a jazz-era love ballad, its muffled melody somberly drifting through the air. And then he saw something he had never seen before – the silhouette of a woman in the window of the red room. The female silhouette danced about the room to the music, in rigid, marionette-like motions. There was something not quite human about the dancing woman, something not quite natural in her movements. The sight intrigued but disturbed Matthew. He remained transfixed upon the window until the song stopped, and once the music ended, the silhouette vanished. But the red light from the room remained glowing. Matthew turned away from the window, went back to his room, and went back to sleep. His dreams that night were haunted by the color red, the distant melody of the age-old love ballad, and the strange shadow of the silhouetted woman, dancing endlessly through his mind.

The next morning, as Matthew was taking his garbage outside, he saw the old man who lived in the house with the red room. The old man stepped out the front door and was walking outside to get his mail when Matthew glanced up at the house and saw him. Matthew’s eyes widened and he called out to the man warmly; Good morning! I’m Matthew Olson, your new neighbor. The old man stared at him silently for a moment. Matthew dropped his trash and walked towards him. I just moved in a few days ago, and now I’m trying to get to know the neighborhood.

Oswald, said the old man.

What’s that?

The name’s Oswald.

Well then, smiled Matthew, nice to meet you, Oswald. He extended his hand towards the old man. Oswald stared at it for a moment, and then shook it hesitantly.

Likewise, said Oswald.

You lived in this neighborhood for long?

Fifty years.

Oh wow, that’s amazing. Just you and your wife?

My wife is dead.

Matthew stared at the old man for a moment. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume. It’s just, I thought I saw—

You’d be better off just keepin’ your eyes away from this house, Oswald said, deadly serious.

Oh yeah, sure, no problem, Matthew said nervously. Oswald stared silently at him. Nice to meet you, Oswald, Matthew said, forcing a smile. He then turned and walked back towards his apartment. Oswald watched Matthew as he disappeared inside the front door of his building, and then he turned and walked back up the steps to his porch, disappearing into his own house.

Trying to keep his mind off of Oswald and the strange things he had seen in the house across the street, Matthew began to clean and organize his apartment meticulously. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of the dancing female silhouette would not leave his mind. Later in the day, he went outside to dispose of some empty cardboard boxes, and as he threw them into the recycling bin, a woman approached him from behind.

Hi there, did you just move in? said the woman. Matthew turned around and looked at her. He smiled.

"Just a couple days ago. Name’s