A Frightful Visit

What follows below is an entry from a journal, found in the basement of an old mill building somewhere in Jefferson County, WV. Not much is know about the alleged writer, Hezekiah Smith. County records say he was born Augst 23, 1840 and past away on February 3rd, 1898. Little else is know currently, but this is an ongoing process.

Below is an excerpt from his journal:

I shall recount to you, dear reader, a story most horrific, for it is true - naught a word is falsehood.

The building was old. Quite old they say, the stones are of an ancient Devonian age, though the building itself not nearly so ancient. It is said that grain was ground here, pulverized to make flour, ground down between two large slabs of sandstone. The foundations predate this very country, and thus, many a soul has passed through here, though not all have left. Or so, some say.

Why, but just down the road, there were the deeply disturbing events of the Wizard Clip, the local do tell. A man most pious was in dire need of a priest, a true Catholic priest, and yet in his dying moments, was denied his most basic of rights - to have a man of God commune with him and carry his last wishes to almighty God. Nay! But there was no priest to be had.

But then this man died. And lo, his spirit did linger; wandering about, wayward and alone, confused. It is said that there were the sounds of horses disturbed, the breaking of pottery, candles going out on their own. Deeply disturbing things, nigh upon too disturbing to relate. And to top it off, the most distressful - crescents cut from people's clothing, unbeknownst to them! Yay! Tis truth!

Twas in the afternoon in late March when first I brought myself to this ancient building, of which rumor swirled and story grew. I had to know, to see for myself. My curiosity was piqued and I could do nothing to assuage it. I had to know. Were the stories true? What was up there? Was the upper floor of this building really haunted?

So, I built up my courage to go up to the purportedly haunted upper floor of the old building. The stairs were very steep, and so, by the time I got to the top, upon the third floor, I was perspiring most profusely, both from nerves and exertion.

The door was open when I got there, as if someone had been waiting for me, or left in a hurry. I affected my perambulation in search of any spectres or phantasms. Alas, none did I see. Many small trinkets were about, not strewn in abandonment, but procured, curated, collected and displayed. They were of a rather odd assortment, them being small figurines of fantastical creatures, insects mounted and set into boxes, small jars of seeds, powders and tinctures, hand written notes, and rudimentary life portraits.

However, as I left, touching nothing, neither door nor knob, the door, all of its own accord, closed with a slow creak. I swiveled around, but there was no one to be seen, the door continued it's slow slide closed.

In a sweat I absconded from the top floor of this most accursed attic. Frantically, I worked my way through the empty hallways, the light casting insane shadows upon the walls, the moonlight raking the rooms in such angles, creating such shapes as to be tantamount to insanity.

Was that a creaking tree or an ethereal entity that made that squelching sound? I did not know. I turned round and round desperately searching in vain for the source of the wretched sound. And yet, there was, as before, no one there.

In a long hallway, in the middle of the floor, I came upon a cloth crescent. Reminiscent of the crescents of the tall tales, shakily, I bent down and picked up the cloth, turning it over in my hand. From the feel of it I surmised it to be rather old, it's threads coarse and itchy. Wool? The crescent was of a simple plaid pattern of faded red and black, though it was hard to tell in the dark. I stuffed the crescent into my pocket and ventured on.

As I passed an unfamiliar entrance, whereupon there was a rendering of a bird of prey, a falcon I believe. The detail most exquisite, though faded with time. Upon another wall hung a large poster upon which were many renderings of fish. A most curious illustration, I must say. Were this new country not so vast I would have otherwise not believed so many fish to exist.

All of a sudden, with great noise sounded and with great alacrity, out from the wall, the fish poster launched itself. I stepped backward, in fright, my instincts taking over, narrowly missing having my skull split in twain. My heart did pound in my chest with great enthusiasm, my blood coursed through my veins like a rushing river.

It was now that I was convinced, most assuredly, that this place was indeed haunted by a most malevolent geist. I set forth to take my leave of this building posthaste, never to return.

I ran down the steep stone stairs in a rush, and as I exited through the low, narrow door, lightning crashed, and in the window, I saw its silhouette. Standing still and erect, looking down her long aquiline nose, in the topmost window, she looked down upon me. Her well tailored black and red dress cutting a sharp figure, her eyes cut like glass at my very soul. Frozen in place was I, unable to move my feet. A second flash of lightning showed her face again, but this time her face was a skull, her long curly hair now burnt and matted against her bare, skinless forehead. Blood filled the sockets of her eyes, dried and crusty. Her teeth, long and jagged, her lips pulled back in a rictus grin. Her head was tilted back as if frozen in a pose of raucous laughter.

A third flash of lightning, and the thunder now rolled down the valley jolting my from my reverie and I affected my escape. Once I was far away from this place and had gathered my wits I reached into my pocket and found that the old crescent was no longer there. What little evidence I though I had was now gone, like so much smoke in the wind.

Hezekiah Smith, August 3rd 1882
(This was added for clarity, he didn't actually sign every entry in his journal)