The House on Menlough Hill (The Return)The House on Menlough Hill (The Return) by tommyboywood
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I swore I'd never visit that old dreadful house again,
the one that sits upon the hill, where legends twist and spin.
It's been three years since I transgressed that hilly, weedy trail.
The dreams still haunt my days and nights; that awful, shrilly wail.
My sense of logic tells me that the voice was Mrs. M.,
escapee from the state asylum, since been on the lam.
I don't believe in ghosts or ghouls or leprechauns and such.
Yet, what I sensed that fateful night still frightens me so much.
The thing that goads me onward in my foolish, silly quest,
is: How did Mr. Menlough die, and was his soul at rest?
Could it be his crazy wife had done him in unnoticed?
If she did the crime would be this town's most cruel and boldest.
I waited for a new moon eve when things were lit up well;
odd shadows cast on yonder hill, a distant clanging bell.
I make my way through brush and thorns just like I'd done before.
A sick'ning dread now fills my gut and rocks me to the core.
A hooting owl lets out her hoot
Tables WaitedTables waited on her.Tables Waited by enigmaticsmile
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On any given Friday night there would be at least three groups of people in the waiting area of Campell's Family Cuisine Kitchen who only wanted to be seated in Naomi's section.
It was a bit of a headache for the Campells, because a lot of the other wait staff would quit because they weren't making good tips. Naomi was the gold standard, not that the Campells ever said that, and the other wait staff couldn't help but feel a little put off by her popularity.
None of them actually hated Naomi, mind you. Everybody loved Naomi. You couldn't not love Naomi.
She was sweet, she was patient, she was quick and never forgot anything that any customer asked for. When people thanked her for doing something nice, she always said "Oh, it ain't nuthin' that you didn't deserve." with a slight Southern lilt. And she wasn't hard on the eyes, either.
Naomi wasn't a bombshell, she just had that pretty look that echoed purity and kindness. Men, women, and children alike all found her
SleepingOf two things I was aware. Both of them were odd, and raised questions in my mind.Sleeping by EricAMBM
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The first was a smell. It was deep and natural, something like earth, but at the same time sour. It was faint and hard for me to pick up on, so I was not sure what it was. Really, I wasn’t sure if it was even there.
The second was a sound. It came from far below me, creeping up through the floor. There was a series of knocks, followed by a high pitch sound like something shattering. Once again, it was very faint, and I wasn’t certain if it was really there at all. However, something about it was familiar. I got a sense of déjà vu, like I had heard each of the sounds before.
It occurred to me that I had been sleeping. I still lay down, unmoving. Now, I say I had been sleeping, but that may not be the right sense. I definitely HAD been sleeping moments before, but wasn’t quite sure if I was awake yet. The sounds I heard seemed far off, and could very well have been a dream
A Friendly Little ExorcismA Friendly Little ExorcismA Friendly Little Exorcism by Delta-13
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March 7th 1816-McCoy Manor, Monroe, Gargain
Lightening streaked across the sky in blasts of fury as thunder groaned across the landscape and drops of rain drowned two hooded figures on horseback. The figure leading the way was one of the elder priests, Patrick Gergen. He had a long grey beard and kept his head down to keep the rain out of his face. His new, freshly lined cloak provided some protection, but not much. He wore many rings on his fingers and a heavy purse hung from his saddlebag. The figure behind him was a recently converted priest, Timothy Murphy. He was thin and tall, even though he was hunched over his horse. He wore a threadbare cloak that hardly kept out the rain, but made him like look a beggar. Around his neck was a large, heavy golden cross which carried a solemn oath that hung heavy over his heart and in his saddle bag was the Holy Scriptures. His thin, blonde lion’s mane was plastered to his head and his sharp blue eyes blinked aw