Haunted House Ghost by James J. Cudney

Author:James J. Cudney [Cudney, James J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gumshoe Books - A Next Chapter Imprint
Published: 2019-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Determined horses rushed past us with the second carriage trailing behind. It was filled with an excess of straw and contained at least one passenger. Hiram Grey half-stood and leaned on the rails, holding on for dear life. It was now a good twenty feet away, and I couldn't get a clear focus on who else was with him. As they maneuvered around a ravine, Hiram screamed out for help. No one was steering the pair of horses from the front coach. They were wild with abandon, trampling anything in their path.

The carriage came to a screeching halt before colliding with an old farm building where Nana D previously stored all the harvested grains. Hiram flew from the carriage and crashed into an oak tree adjacent to the building. We stood in shock, mouths agape, at what had just unfolded, then rushed over to check on Hiram. Minutes sped by before we reached the spot where the carriage had stopped. One horse had broken loose from the wrecked carriage and wandered off. The other, still hitched to the coach, whinnied and jumped in agitation. While rushing toward the site, I noticed someone dash away in the distance. It might've just been a shadow from the sun setting behind the grain silo. I couldn't be certain. My father checked on the passenger section of the carriage. All the straw had been thrown from the vehicle and covered the shattered wheel and bench.

I rushed to a groggy Hiram, who was pinned against the tree. “Be careful. Don't trip on the carriage rails,” I shouted to my father, checking Hiram's pulse and breathing. I stepped away from Hiram to unhitch the remaining horse, concerned what might happen if it tried to trot away. Just as I got the horse loose, Hiram mumbled something incoherent.

My father swatted at the straw in a panic. “Kellan, there's someone else buried in here.”

I scanned Hiram for additional injuries. “We'll get you help right away.”

Pulling the cell phone from my pocket, I noticed Hiram's lips moving again. I cocked my ear toward his mouth to understand his marginally inaudible whisper.

“Damien. Revenge.” Hiram's head fell forward. He had a faint pulse but was now unconscious.

I saw no other wounds and hoped he would recover soon. Had he really called out Damien's name? I dialed 9-1-1 to let them know what had happened, then rushed to the upturned carriage.

When I reached my dad, he pointed at a pair of legs covered in dark stockings. I knew her identity despite not seeing a face or headdress. The famed psychic had worn something similar earlier that day. “It's Madam Zenya,” I cried out with urgency. “Dust off the straw to find out if she's okay.”

He pulled at several pieces near her waist, only to stiffen when he saw blood and encountered something sharp and metallic. “She's been cut or stabbed. I can't tell what's happened to her.” Seconds later, he dislodged enough straw to reveal the spikes of a pitchfork piercing through Madam Zenya's abdomen.

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