Sunday, September 27, 2015

Conclusion - Guardian of the Dead

I went to Pioneer Days at Plainview, Arkansas yesterday. I sold quite a few books, both Spreading Wing and Forever cry. But mostly, I ran onto lots of great people I knew in the old days, back when I grew up in Yell County.
     Forever Cry can still be found at Hardman Interiors in Arkadelphia, both newspaper offices in Yell County, Gypsy JUNCTion in Plainview, and at The Country Store in Rover. Or, you can order from me direct for a personalized copy. barbandpat66@suddenlink.net.

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     Over time, I started noticing; strange things started happening, seemingly in that upstairs room of the tree house. Our bedroom in our house is on the end close to that tree house. One night, I heard a woman moaning way up there in that tree house. It was one of those cases where I snapped suddenly awake, terrified, and was absolutely sure I heard it. Yet later, I reasoned I must have dreamed that, because it just could not have actually happened.  Another time, I was awakened in much the same way, by the sound of someone tapping, very sharply, five times on our bedroom window. Occasionally I heard terrifying, high pitched screams emanating, it seemed, from that upper room at night, or was it just another nightmare? Occasionally, a small light could be seen, flashing on and off, in that upper room. Several times, I have heard the sound of a board falling up there, late at night, even though I left no loose lumber up there. These last two events I was absolutely sure of.  I was wide awake long before they happened.
     Barbara and I have an open door policy for any college student in our church. If their visiting friends or their parents need a place to stay overnight, they are always welcome.
     It occurred to me one day, it seemed that the only time those strange noises happened was when an OBU or HSU student was in our house. I started keeping track of it, and sure enough, that was the case - only when a college student was staying with us.
     We often have a group of mostly college students over on Sunday nights, and once, when I built a campfire outside after our meeting, they started talking about that tree house, only 50 feet away. Not wanting to scare them, I didn't mention its history.
     One boy wanted to climb up there. I tried to talk him out of it. I told him it had been deserted for years, that no lights were in it now, and I don’t really know how solid it still is. He insisted, would not listen to me. He snatched my headlight out of my hand and headed for the tree house. The girls begged him not to go. He negotiated the 2"x10" plank up to the first level, then we could hear him entering. Soon, I could hear him ascending the rope. With much trepidation, I began to realize;  he was one of those rare young men with enough shoulder strength to actually get up there.  I held my breath, terrified as I thought what may be about to happen.  Suddenly, we all heard an ear splitting scream, the most highly pitched scream any of us had ever heard.  It was followed by a loud thud, as if someone, or something, had fallen. We saw him sliding, jumping, and falling back down that plank. He came to the campfire, sat down in a chair, and never spoke. Just stared into the flames. He was white as a sheet, had a bleeding wound on his head, and my headlight was smashed. Nobody said a word.
     We all sat there quietly for a long time. Finally, a girl spoke. “Why did you scream? And how, with your deep voice, could you scream like that?”
     He got up and started heading down the hill toward his car. He stopped, turned and looked at us with a wild look in his eyes, and finally spoke in his very deep voice.
     “That was not my scream.”
     That’s all he said. Not another word.
     We miss him. Word got back to me that he left town that night. And has never been back.
      I know I need to just tear that old tree house down. But to take down a tree house, one has to start at the top, or risk having it fall on you.

      And, I’m not about to go up there.

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