Ghost story contest

[Guest]

I was thinking about homemade special effects to add some pizzazz to fireside stories memequay, and remembered that a little sugar tossed across the flames will sparkle. When I internet wandered I found the following website. I like the coffee creamer and flour idea, maybe a bit of borax for some spooky green flame...but the other chemicals might be a little risky, I dunno. http://www.campfiredude.com/campfire-magic.shtml

 

[oldie moldy]

Duff McKracken’s Axe

Duff McKracken’s Axe

Duff McKracken’s Axe​

Did you ever see her? No, I think not, it was probably before your time. She was a slight girl often in clothes that didn’t fit her; hand me downs. She was always busy with tasks that never seemed to end. But if you looked past the patched large mans coat, past the basket of laundry to hang on the knotted clothes line and really looked at her you would know she was beautiful, graceful like a deer with a doe’s soft, dark eyes.

She was the paradoxical daughter of the village drunk. Like a lovely flower growing out of a manure heap. Her mother died in childbirth; too many children, too much work, too many worries. Her mother didn’t have the strength to keep trying. When she died, many of a mother’s burdens fell on the girl’s thin shoulders. No matter what the day brought, or her own worries, the girl kept a cheerful front.

Her father worked, when he was sober, for the trading post factor. He wasn’t worth much, but he provided cruel amusement for the factor, Duff McKracken. Duff McKracken was a thoroughly embittered man who hated as much as he breathed. He never saw a smile but that he wanted to scrub it off the face that wore it and if he could destroy the reason behind it so much the better. Physically he was not impressive but still the people were careful around him for he was a man who watched, thought, and waited. No slight, real or imagined ever was forgotten or forgiven by him.

The abused and hectored drunk wasn’t the only employee of the trading post; there was also a boy, who provided the bulk of the manual labor. He was cursed at birth with a clubbed foot. He too received the sharp edge of Mc Kraken’s tongue. Although Duff held back on his spleen some, because if he drove the boy off, who would do the manual chores? Named “Duff” at birth by someone with the second sight, the name in the old Scottish tongue meant “Dark” and dark he surely was.

A clubbed foot like the boy’s is a burden, there’s no denying it. But the boy grew strong under it and thoughtful. He was quick in his mind and able in his hands. And knowing pain and cruelty he developed patience and gentle compassion.
That the boy and girl would become friends, each bearing a burden, should come as no surprise, nor as time passed that it would grow to love.

One day McKracken on his high stool, behind his desk, with the ledger in front of him, that listed the accounts of the villagers, looked up and out the windows of the store and saw the girl walking by. “My God, she’s turning into a real little piece” he thought. It would have better said she was a lovely young woman.
That night at closing, Mc Kracken called the father and said “Sit down and let’s have a drink, it’s been a long day.” They drank, or rather Mc Kracken sipped and the father drank. After the bottle showed a little wear, Duff pulled from his coat a paper. “I suppose that you’re about ready to settle up on what you owe, the company can’t carry you forever.” The startled father advanced a shaking hand and looked the list up and down. He remembered some of it and the rest he could only suppose that he’d got that when he was too drunk to remember. “I ‘spose I can pay a little bit……” McKracken interrupted; “No, no little bit, it’s due and then some, the company is cracking down of these dead beat accounts. You’ve got to pay up or I ‘ve got to cut you off completely.”
“Completely?......what’ll I do? I’ll starve!”
After a long pause Duff spoke,
“Well, Here, have another drink and let’s see if we can think of a way around you problems.”
After a long palaver, the deal was struck; the particulars were that McKracken would pay off the debt and see that the man never was short of beans, blankets or a bottle.
In return, the father would make his daughter go to McKraken as a bride.

As the drunk was gathering himself to leave, McKraken gripped his arm setting him back down again. “Now let’s be clear: we have an agreement; you entered it of your own free will. As proof of your acceptance slide this iron ring on your finger!” And he laid a heavy iron ring on the table. Trembling the man picked it up and tried to fit it over his swollen fingers, “Can’t get it on, it’s too tight!”
Leaning forward McKracken hissed “It’s that or I’ll cut you off completely!”
The drunk finally got it on and there it was to remain until the day when it dropped freely from his finger bones.

Late the next day the father called the girl to the table in their cabin. After some confused talk about the future and how the girl was grown and must start thinking of marriage and getting “fixed up” he got down to it. With near enough to pride he outlined the wonderful match he’d arranged; the glowing future as the wife of Mckracken, the richest man in the village.
“Him? Never!!” said the girl. The father grew warm to his subject and soon was shouting. The girl hunched over and knees tight together and arms clenched over her breast, would have none of his arguments. With visions of his future slipping away the drunk became more angry and fearful of the consequences his failure would bring. Through clenched teeth the girl ground out; “I’ll never marry him! I’d rather die first!” At that the father lost what little restraint he possessed and began to beat her in earnest. He wielded the heavy leather belt on her crouched form until his arm was tired and throwing it down in the corner, left the cabin.

The boy had carved a necklace with two playful otters dancing and stringing them on a leather thong placed it in the pocket of his coat till he could give it to the girl and be rewarded with her smile.
The boy and many in the village saw the girl crippling along to fetch water to prepare the evening meal. Her progress was painful and in alarm the boy hurried to help and try to determine what was wrong.

In the mean while the father had gone to Mckracken and confessed his initial failure. But he assured the factor that he’d bring the girl around if it he had to beat her half to death. Duff had watched the painful progress of the girl as she carried the water buckets, obviously severely beaten, and glared at the father, “No more beating! You’ll spoil her for my use!” Dumbly the drunk nodded. “I need to study this and think so leave her alone, no more beatings! Do you hear me?” Again, the dumb acquiesce.

The boy carrying both full buckets and the girl to the one side by his bad foot, held that bucket as well so as to give more room to the foots’ swing. To rest a bit and so the boy could wipe away her tears they set the buckets down and once the tears were gently wiped, the boy removed the otter necklace from his pocket and placed over her head. She looked at the frolicking otters, smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Poor innocents, by bad luck they happened to pause in front of the store and under McKrackens’ gaze.
“So that’s what’s blocking my way! I’ll have to do something about that” thought McKracken as he turned to the back of the store.

The next afternoon McKracken called the boy to get down some boxes from the high loft in the back of the trading post. It was high, difficult to get to, and seldom used. Up there were several wooden boxes and some big cloth bags that contained harvested down. “It’s pretty high, I’ll hold and make steady the ladder” offered McKracken. The boy climbed and slowly because of awkwardness of his foot. When he reached the lip of the loft he carefully positioned himself to make the move off the ladder and into the loft. When he was midway, McKracken jerked the side of the ladder up and pivoted it and the boy fell. Futilely trying for something to grab, the boy snagged one of the bags of down. Tumbling they both fell over one another till at last with a terrible thud they arrived at the bottom. Part of the boy’s body was on the bag and it burst freeing an instant cloud of down into the air. McKracken retrieving a hidden axe handle, struck the boy three mighty blows, through the enveloping down cloud, aimed at the boys head. Looking at the still form, he said “There, I believe I’ve cured your limp for you!”

Cursing at the probable loss of the valuable down, Duff went quickly to the front of the store, slid the axe handle into its proper bin and flung open the door, “Hi, Come help me, the boy has fallen, I think he might be hurt!”
Several willing hands bore the boy’s body to a hastily cleared trestle table, brushing off the clinging down and arranging so he was lying flat out. The one who had supported the head seeing the blood on his hands said “Check his head, it seems to be bleeding” McKracken offered “He hit the ladder several times coming down, poor boy, will he be alright?”

In a small village like that, it’s always surprising how fast news travels, soon a crowd of villagers had gathered and several of the grayer heads had examined the boy. None could see his chest rise or fall, no heart beat could be heard and a mirror held under his nostrils failed to show even the slightest fogging. It was agreed; the boy was dead, probably of a broken neck.

There were prayers and discussions of next of kin or for that matter who at all was related to the dead boy. The general thinking was that maybe he might have an uncle in a village down river. Discussions of the various accidents that had take off people from the village in the last five or so years, these kind of events have a meter all their own and in a way it allows the people of the village to process and digest and to weave this event into the fabric of the village history.

With the passage of a few hours the formalities had been observed and the boy’s body was wrapped in canvas and snuggly tied. He was carried to the “Dead House”; during the winter the soil was frozen and made digging a grave impossible. In the dead house, the dead were placed on a long plank table top, suspended from the rafters by thick wire. This was to discourage the mice from paying their respects too closely.

The time now was late afternoon and several kerosene lanterns were needed against the dark. As an elder was offering up a last prayer, a finger of light briefly played over the face of McKracken, unguarded in the dark, his face was pulled into fiendish glee. Then someone moved and the light was gone. But the girl had seen and she knew!
Once the boy was finally placed, the door was closed and he was left till the coming of spring. The villagers weren’t exactly superstitious but no one ever went to the dead house unless in a group, in the daytime, on proper business. Only a simple sliding bar secured the door.

Three days had passed and McKracken, confident that nothing now stood in his way was content to bide his time.
Late that afternoon the girl went to her father and gave him a long searching look. “If it’s still your wish, I’ll marry him. But it must be quick. If I’ve got to wait I’ll run away.”
The father thinking only of himself, assured her that the marriage would be arranged just as fast as possible and ran to tell McKracken the news.

The village was of various opinions about the wedding, the rapidity of its arrangement and the poor girl who was obviously being sacrificed.
The day came; they’d got a preacher from somewhere. He was a curious chicken of a man, thin, over hooking nose and a high nasal voice. He had red hair with flaking skin that made anyone watching him want to scratch.

McKracken was all business to get the ceremony underway. The girl stood at her designated place with quiet dignity and remote calm.
The terrible travesty was done, the words had been spoken. The register had been signed and they were married.
McKracken had provided the father with several cases of beer, crackers, cheeses and sardines. But of the few who had attended, even fewer had any stomach for food.

Duff guided the girl to the door of the trading post and with his hand in the small of her back, pushed her toward the stairs to the second floor, “Go on up to the bedroom, I’ll be up after I lock up.” The girl went. He poured himself a drink and savored the monument.
The girl stood at the foot of the bed as McKracken entered the room. Calmly she returned his gaze. “She don’t seem afraid of me; well I’ll do my best to change that!” he thought. Kicking off his boots he slipped the suspenders from his shoulders and dropped his pants. As he reached down to slip his feet from the pants she struck.

The next morning long past opening hours, the store was still closed. A few idlers made coarse jokes about where McKracken could be. Finally somebody tried the door to find it swung freely open. The stove was cold, no one was about. Calling loudly “Anybody home?” received no answer. Hesitant feet on the stairs; more calling, slowly the curious went up the stairs. Into the door to the bedroom and there was McKracken. He was doing about as well as a man might who had his head split from the crown to his eyebrows. He was stone cold dead with his trousers tangled around his feet. There was an immediate rapid retreat down the stairs and out of the store.
Well, it wouldn’t be far from the mark to say that bedlam ensued.

Cries of “Murder” roused any who were not already in attendance. A grimmer second posse armed with shotguns and rifles slowly ascended the stairs again. There was McKracken, he hadn’t moved a peg. Of the girl there was no sign. Someone levered the corpse over so his face could be seen. As the body of McKracken fell on its back, the assembled company took a step back in horror. Graven on his bloody face was such a look of abject terror that no one present would ever forget. Whether it was due to the manner of his leaving this world or the view of what awaited him in the next no one present would hazard a guess.

A quick search showed that the girl wasn’t there. Her small footprints were found in the snow leading out the back door. Even though there were many skilled trackers in the village, no great craft was required to follow the trail. A child could have done it. The steps in the snow lead out of the village and through the woods. There was a quick scattering to get coats and boots and the village folk started on the trail. “See, she is alone!” said one. “She’s carrying something and it’s dragging in the snow, here’s a print where she let it down; it’s an axe!” said another “McKracken’s axe!” “Oh God, if she kilt him, she’ll hang for sure!” a third offered. For they all knew that if a person killed someone the constables would take them away, speak the law words over them and then hang them.

The girls’ trail went on and on and some dropped out to return home, but the bulk went on.
The trail lead to a small lake and when they reached the shore the village people stopped, all could see what had happened. But it took a minute to sink in. Slowly the people followed her steps out on the snow covered ice, till near the middle a person could see where she had chopped a hole in the ice. A hole large enough to admit a slim girl weighted down with a large axe.
It was over, she was gone. There would be no hanging.

They might have stayed longer just to keep her company, to say good bye, but the sun was low and the temperature was dropping.
McKracken was bundled up in one of his tarps and flung in a corner of the dead house. A message was dispatched with a description of the events to inform the constabulary. As there were no unanswered questions the constables were in no hurry, the law could wait till spring.

The father, now without any supply of alcohol suffered visits from the snakes that only drunks can see. They crawled up his pant legs, bit on to his fingers, his ears. In the dead of the night he ran screaming away from them, none noticed when he fled, or where he fell or where he froze. And nobody cared.

In years to come, berry pickers would report that the profusion of wild flowers growing around the margins of the Girl’s Lake, for so it was called, were amazing in their number. You couldn’t find any better, except maybe around that crippled boy’s grave.

Now, after the passage of time, some children who were supposed to be gathering pine nuts found the axe where it had been flung up on the bank, slimy with alge, rejected by the lake, by whose hand no one knew. They dragged it back to the village until an elder who knew what it was told them it wasn’t something to play with and tossed it on the trash heap.
And so, a sad little story seems to have come to an end.

There is a foolish thing, repeated by idle folks who have nothing better to do. They say that if a person has the courage to ask a particular question in a particular way, they will get an answer back from someplace they never wanted to hear from.

(I suspect Rob's kids will want to know)

Well, alright. It works like this:

Holding McKracken's axe up

Now, it's a long way off so you must listen closely.

(in a firm clear voice)

"How goes it with you McKracken?"

Drives the axe into the wood, thump!
Pause........

SCREAM!!!!

 

[memaquay]

Awesome! I think that one is ready to be published! I am really amazed at the quality of these stories!

 

[Guest]

Absolutely awesome x2! I paused several times while reading Duff McKracken's Axe, just to savour it. If some people paint with words, in a finger painting kind of way, then Rob is an Olde Master using brushes and oils.

 

[memaquay]

I am officially declaring Brad and OM first place winners in this contest! I'd like to thank the both of them for their most excellent tales, which I will resurrect this fall. Prizes are in the mail! However, now that the official contest is over, if anyone still wants to contribute, feel free to do so!

 

[Rippy]

Congrats Brad and OM!

 

[snapper]

Great stories. Thanks to all the creative minds out there!

Until next time...Be well.

snapper

 

[Guest]

Thanks friends for the kind words. It was harder than I thought, trying to think of a spooky axe idea. But, it was a lot of fun too. I hope memequay causes many a spilled hot cocoa around the campfire this summer!
Thanks memequay. This pack will be used. Maybe I'll use it to carry my axe?! Ha! In any case, I'll use it and treasure it. Thank you.

 

[oldie moldy]

I need to echo Brad's well chosen words! It is hard to work out a story; a whole new experience trying on a strange medium. And who invented the way things are spelled! If he wasn't dead already I'd be tempted to go and wring his neck!

I too am thinking about where I'll use the pack, I do know that it will be a source of deep pleasure to think of this tangible connection to Memaquay's wonderful work with the young folks in his Outers Club!

Thanks to All, Especially Rob!

Rob (the other rob)