The Ghosts of Meeker Hollow: The Tale of a Family Secret

By C. H. Crane

When Tim, cousin Natalie and the Weaver twins are invited to Stretchs grandparents, a fun day of swimming and eating birthday cake turns into an evening of thunderstorms and darkness. Once the power goes out, there really is not much to do. Until the kids decide to tell ghost stories!

Sitting in a circle, with the glow of their flashlights outlining the shadows of their faces, theyre not too impressed with each others stories.

That is when Stretchs grandfather joins the group and describes how a real ghost story goes. Grandpa shares a tale of a mystery that happened many, many years ago in their own hollow. A tale of some evil entity buried in the old cemetery.

Is this story just a tall tale? Or is it perhaps something more. . . something that may have really happened all those years ago?

Join the gang in this new adventure as they investigate the Ghosts of Meeker Hollow and find out firsthand what happens when daylight fades into darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490721361

C. H. Crane

C. H. Crane grew up and still resides in a small town in the Back Mountain of Northeast Pennsylvania. He was born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania in 1962 and graduated from Pennsylvania State University and College Misericordia. In 1984, he married Barbara J Perrego and together they raised five children. They are currently proud grandparents of their first grandchild. C. H. Crane is the author of “A Christmas Quest, A Young Boy’s Unexpected Christmas Vacation” which earned Trafford’s Gold Seal of Literary Excellence.

Book preview

Copyright 2014 C. H. Crane.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-2135-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-2134-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-2136-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013922572

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Trafford rev. 12/26/2013

33164.png www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   The Birthday Party

Chapter 2   Ghost Stories

Chapter 3   The Box

Chapter 4   The Pact

Chapter 5   Meeker Hollow

Chapter 6   A Family Secret

Chapter 7   Now Or Never

Chapter 8   A Grave Matter

Chapter 9   Enslaved

PRELUDE

I t must be well understood that in this world there are forces that surround us that largely go undetected. Nevertheless, when certain conditions collide with circumstance and the once unreal is unwisely unleashed into the consciousness of our world, consequence and control no longer remain the property of humanity. For whatever is brought forth from the other side, no individual can ever be certain to restrain.

Take heed and know that the veil between our world and theirs is sheer and not to be peered through. Lest be warned to the imprudent that rupture this fabric in seeking their ill-gotten gain. For so shall it be that the foolhardy who dare tread upon this taboo will forevermore be destined to endure their fate having once ripped open this shroud of no mend.

CHAPTER 1

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

August 1985

I n the sweltering heat of an August afternoon, Tim sat not so patiently on his front porch steps, listening to the locust as they each took a turn resonating out their late summer serenade. Seeking shelter from the hot summer sun, Tim sought refuge on the porch, chasing his shadow ever farther up the steps to the overhang of the porch roof. Although Tim was sitting there almost motionless on the breeze-deprived front porch, the sweat still somehow managed to escape his forehead dripping down to collect, but briefly, on the step below.

Thirsty and growing more impatient with every rise in degree, Tim finally broke from his vigil and stepped back inside to get a cold drink of water.

Where are they? he wondered as he stood in the kitchen, gulping down the cup filled with cold water. Checking the time on the kitchen clock against his wristwatch, he shook his head from side to side and tossed the cup into the sink.

On his way back outside, the phone rang in the living room. Doorknob in hand, he instinctively stopped midstride. Holding the door open, allowing the heat of the afternoon to flood into the foyer, he paused for just a second, listening in as his mother answered the phone.

Hello… oh, OK… really… well, how late do you think you will be? OK, I’ll tell him… no, no problem… no, he will wait… OK, see you when you get here.

Hey, Mom, said Tim. Hoping he did not already know the answer, he asked the question anyway. Who was that?

It was Uncle Frank. He said they were having some car problems, something about a muffler. Anyway, they are running a little late. They are going to drop off Natalie and her bike here and then go to the garage to get their car fixed. Uncle Frank asked if you would wait here for Natalie until they got here so she could ride to the birthday party with you.

I guess, I guess, said Tim as he closed the door behind him, stomping off to find a seat on the front porch railing.

Just great, another delay, he thought.

While Tim was resting on the rail, a little agitated with the news, his thoughts slowly began to drift to the birthday party and especially the pool, the refreshing and cool pool.

Immersed and all alone with his thoughts, Tim was interrupted from his daydream by the shouting match from John and Tom, the Weaver twins. Bickering back and forth as they raced their bikes down Grove Street hill, destined for Stretch’s house, the twins once again and in true fashion announced their arrival.

Each twin, dressed only in an old pair of cutoff blue jean shorts and a pair of well-worn sneakers, raced side by side to see who would be the first to get to Stretch’s house. Flying down the hill with beach towels, tied around their necks, flapping backward into the wind, the redhead freckle-faced boys looked like a couple of caped heroes racing to a rescue.

Faster and louder, they sped down the hill until arriving at their destination. Immediately after passing the telephone pole that signified their finish line, the duel shouts of I won! filled the otherwise quiet street. After declaring their victories, they each stood up on the pedals of their bikes coasting to the next pole. While looking at each other as the next pole was passed, a shout of Now! was instantaneously followed up with a forceful backward lunge as each twin quickly pushed down as hard as he could on the rearmost bike pedal. As the twins screeched to a sideways stop in the middle of the road and directly in front of Stretch’s house, the inevitable argument soon erupted as to who lost the most tire tread to the road. Stopping for only a brief moment and after a quick scan of the premises, the impatient two began to circle the street directly in front of their target.

From Tim’s front porch view, the two resembled a pair of redheaded cartoon buzzards circling in rings, eyeing up their next feast. As the two looped back around and rode along Tim’s sidewalk, the twins continued their nonstop war of words.

I don’t see him out here yet! I told you we were gonna get here too early! scoffed John.

Ah, you’re wrong. It’s not too early. Stretch said to be here by one thirty. Why, what time is it anyway? asked Tom.

It’s one fifteen, I told you we were early! retorted John.

One fifteen, one fifteen, why, that’s not early! Now noon, or even twelve thirty, that might be a little early, but I say one fifteen is right on time, argued Tom.

Well—I won the race here anyway, declared John.

On and on the two continued to do what they do best until, unable to stand any more bickering in the sweltering heat of the afternoon, Tim stood up from the front porch rail, waved his hands, and shouted out, Hey, guys, over here. Why don’t you two come on over here and wait with me in the shade? That is, as long as I don’t have to hear another word from either of you until we leave for the party.

Not needing any further coaxing, the twins retreated from the heat and their continuous parade of circles. Kicking open Tim’s front gate, they rode down the flat stone-slab sidewalk, bumping against the front porch step with their front bicycle tires, completing the stop.

Why don’t you guys take a break and sit here with me in the shade for a few minutes. I just talked to Stretch a little while ago and he said he would only be a few more minutes. Said he had to finish helping his mother before we left, explained Tim.

Getting off their bikes and tossing the rides to the ground, John and Tom climbed up the steps and joined Tim on the front porch steps. As they sat and waited for what was hoped to be a short stay, the twins plopped down on the floor and sprawled out on their backs, seeking shelter from the ever-diminishing shade.

Having had enough of the encroaching sun himself, Tim reached over for his baseball cap, twisted the lid on his head, and stood back up to once again find relief from the scourge of the sun.

The twins, resting on their backs with arms stretched up to their heads with hands cupped together acting as a pillow, for once were silent, at least for a few minutes.

Sure is a great day for a birthday party today, said John.

And even a better day for a swimming birthday party! replied Tom.

Thinking about the cold splash of the water, John said, Yeah, I sure will be glad to get in that pool, can’t happen soon enough. After pausing for just a second or two, John moaned, Just not looking forward to that ride back up Grove Street hill. It’s hot!

Joining in on the conversation, Tim added, I’m just glad Stretch’s grandparents let him use their house and pool for his birthday party this year. The bike ride there won’t be too bad, guys. Once we get to the top of Grove Street hill, it’s almost an all-downhill coast until we get to Meeker Hollow, and then from there, Stretch’s grandparents’ house is only a few miles or so away.

Once again John complained, Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you, but still not looking forward to that hill.

Cutting John off midsentence, Tim pointed over to Stretch’s house and yelled, Finally! Hey, guys, get up and take a look over there. Looks like Stretch is finally done helping his mother.

From across the street, the three watched Stretch as he ran off the porch, tripped down the steps, and disappeared around the back of his house. Out of sight for only a moment, Stretch reappeared, zipping around the corner of his house on his bike, riding at full throttle heading over to Tim’s front yard.

Riding past the open gate, Stretch too used Tim’s front porch step as a bumper and crashed to stop. A loud thump and a subtle Ouch later, Stretch looked at the hot three sweating on the porch and shouted out, Hey! Who wants to go swimming?

Without another word, Tom and John bounced to their feet, scrambled down the porch steps, and retrieved their bikes from where gravity had earlier placed them.

Stretch, unaware of the earlier phone call and anxious to leave, looked up at Tim, who was still standing on the steps, and quizzed, Hey, Tim, what’s up with you? Aren’t you coming now too?

Still a little disturbed, Tim groaned, No. You guys go on ahead. Natalie is running a little late, and I had to promise my mother that I would wait here for her if she didn’t get here in time.

Annoyed that he had to stay behind and continue to wait in the ever-increasing heat of the day, Tim went on to explain, I guess Natalie doesn’t want to ride alone to the party, so I have to stay here so we could ride down together.

Sensing a delay the twins groaned, while Stretch pleaded, Come on, Tim. It’s hot! Let’s just go now. Besides, know-it-all Natalie knows where the party is. The directions were on the invitation, and we all know she can read!

Yeah, I hear you, Stretch, but I promised my mom that I would wait. Natalie shouldn’t be too much longer. You guys go on ahead—we’ll catch up later.

Still perched on his bike while kicking his toe up against the first step riser, Stretch relented, Oh, well, all right, but you know, Tim, ever since know-it-all Natalie moved back up here, it seems like you sure do have to wait around a lot for her.

Meanwhile, the impatient twins continued their unrelenting and almost-too-well-coordinated barrage of pester to get going to the party.

Come on, Stretch, Tim’s right. Let’s go! urged John.

Yeah, they’ll catch up, agreed Tom.

Conceding to the twins and Tim, Stretch looked over at Tim, shrugged his shoulders, and not so happily replied, All right, I guess so. We’ll head down my grandparents now. But, Tim, if you’re too late, you’ll miss my grandfather’s famous secret recipe, barbecued grilled burgers.

Aw, don’t worry, Stretch. I’ll be there! There’s no chance of me missing out on the burgers or the pool on a day like this! assured Tim.

Finding agreement on the plan, Stretch, John, and Tom wasted no more time and soon sped past the gate and up the street. Sweating and looking forward to the top of Grove Street hill, the twins continued to gripe with every push of the pedal. At least now they are Stretch’s concern, Tim thought.

Again, alone in the heat, Tim watched as the trio navigated their bikes up the climb, out of eyesight and, better yet, out of earshot.

Remaining behind on the front porch, Tim sat back down and was once again entertained by the lullabies of the locusts. Another glance of the watch only led to the question, Where is she?

Five minutes went by, and then ten full minutes of the annoying squeal of the insects passed when, finally, Tim heard the sound he was waiting for. From the bottom of Grove Street hill, the sound of a car in desperate need of a muffler motored its way up the mount with a long and loud reverberating groan.

Finally! It’s about time! he whispered to himself.

As the noisy car drove into sight, sure enough it was Natalie’s parents’ car with Natalie’s bike strapped to the trunk. The car made its predicted right-hand turn toward Tim’s house, while the impatient and soon-to-be-partygoer trotted off the front porch, ever anxious to greet the relatives in the driveway.

The car stopped, the back door opened, and out dashed Natalie.

Hi, Tim! Sorry we’re late—problems with the car, she lamented.

Yeah, I kind of heard that. In fact, I think everyone on Grove Street kind of heard that!

Meanwhile, Tim’s uncle Frank stepped out of the car and began to untie the rope that lassoed Natalie’s bike to the trunk lid.

Tim, want to give me a hand here? asked Uncle Frank. Here. He pointed to the rear tire of the bike. Hold the bike up here while I untie this last knot.

Tim held on to the rear tire, and with a final loosening of the rope, the bike was liberated from the trunk lid.

Thanks, Dad! exclaimed Natalie as she ran over to her bike and stuffed her swimming suit and towel into the front basket. Climbing on the bike, she looked over to Tim and shouted, OK, let’s go!

Glad Natalie was finally there but still annoyed for the delay, Tim muttered under his breath, Yeah, let’s go… how about a ‘Let’s go’ a half hour ago?

Natalie, not hearing Tim’s grumble very well, looked over and asked, Sorry, Tim, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?

Tim replied, Umm—I said ‘Yeah, let’s go should only take a half hour or so.’

Wanting to quickly change the subject before Natalie caught on to what he really said, Tim excused himself by saying, Be right back. Walking over to the side of the front porch, Tim grabbed one of the handlebars of his bike, which he had propped up against the rail earlier that day. Swimsuit and towel already tied to the back of his bike, he climbed aboard and, in no time, led Natalie out the gate and up the hill.

It was now Tim’s turn for the hill and just in time for the hottest of the afternoon’s sun. Leaving the town behind them, they trudged, pedaled, and rested, over and over, all the way up Grove Street hill until, finally, they made it to the top.

All downhill from here, well, at least for a while anyway, huffed a worn-out Tim. Starting to enjoy the free ride, Tim looked over at Natalie and reaffirmed, Yes, a nice coast all the way down to Meeker Hollow.

Enjoying the breeze and a bit of relief from the hot August afternoon, the two descended the mountain hill. Side by side they rode. With only occasional chatter to fill the journey, the easy trip now didn’t seem all that bad.

Nearing the bottom of the hollow, they passed what looked to be a long-forgotten and all-but-abandoned cemetery. Not slowing in her stride, Natalie nonchalantly looked over at the old rusted iron gates and overgrown entrance as she rode by. Not really giving the unvisited boneyard much thought, she looked back over at Tim and asked, How much farther?

Tim answered, Once we cross the bridge up ahead, it should only be about another mile or so.

Now that the travelers were back on pedal power and the free ride from the mountain over, the hot August sun was beginning to take its toll on the them. Crossing over the raised bridge and knowing that she still had some distance to ride yet, Natalie suggested, Hey, Tim, care if we take a quick break up here?

Tim, hungry for burgers and more than ready for a swim, would have rathered traveling on. But looking over at the tiring Natalie, he responded, Nah, no problem. It’s hot, and I guess I could go for a break too. Shouldn’t really be too much of a delay, he figured.

Parking their bikes up against the side wall of the bridge, Natalie looked downstream at a tall stone foundation rising out of the creek’s water. The old wall, long missing whatever it was that rested upon its shoulders, now sat moss-covered and purposeless.

What’s that? Natalie inquired while pointing over to the curiosity.

"Aw, that’s just the foundation from the old grist mill. My dad said that’s where they used to grind their flour back in the day. I think he said it burned down sometime in the 1940s, but by then no one cared since they weren’t using it anymore. It’s just like everything else down here in this hollow: something that was."

With no further interest in the old wall, and the short break over, they mounted back up to finish the last leg of the trip. Only riding a few minutes and much to Tim’s chagrin, Natalie finally saw something that did catch her attention.

Wow! That looks creepy, what’s that? Natalie asked.

Hoping to discourage his cousin and to just keep pedaling to the party, Tim dismissed, Just the old meeting house, nothing special.

But before the words even finished leaving his mouth, his hopes of a soon swim evaporated.

Stopping to get a better look, Natalie pulled off the road and into the one-time entrance of the old and run-down building. Tim, with little choice, reluctantly pulled up next to her and could only hope that the wait would be quick. He was hot, hungry, and hardly in the mood for another delay.

Without saying another word, Natalie gazed over inquisitively at the old structure. Taking it all in, Natalie rubbed her chin with her thumb and forefinger and only offered up a quiet Hmm at the sight.

The two-story clapboard building, once painted a bright white and trimmed with green, was now only a former shadow of itself. The windows, long ago boarded up, offered no welcome for anyone for as many years as any kid could remember.

The large oak tree, out in front, extended one of its large branches over the rotten, hole-plagued roof of the front porch.

On the main roof, only a partial chimney remained with its brickwork littered among the saplings and overgrown brush-filled yard.

The base of the decaying structure offered no comfort. The lonely, old, and dilapidated building rested on a handlaid fieldstone foundation. Still intact, the heavy stonework looked to imprison whatever remained within.