Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure by Constance Westbie & Harold Cameron

Author:Constance Westbie & Harold Cameron [Westbie, Constance & Cameron, Harold]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The Crypt on

the Hill

I didn't expect old Enoch to be any more perfect than the rest of us. It was after his regular salary started that his particular weakness showed up, although it was to be some time before I recognized it. He was rather fond of gin. Not that he was in a constant state of inebriation. Far from it. He was never late to work, but we gave him Saturday afternoons off and he treated himself to a bottle every payday.

At first I wondered where he got the stuff because he didn't seem to wander into town. Then I learned that the family-the "poor" relatives the real estate agent had mentioned-who owned the barn had political connections. A group of prisoners had been released to work, under supervision, on a construction project and they were being housed on the premises in the old barn. The family benefited because they had cheap labor available and made money on housing the prisoners. We still don't know what the prisoners derived from the arrangement.

One of the prisoners, Rollie, was a painter by trade and he was permitted to do some extra work at night for a certain contractor in town. Thus, he had a little extra money which was spent entirely on booze. Rollie and Enoch struck up a friendship of sorts.

I ran into Rollie one day near the barn. He was staggering around, definitely under the influence, and had a handful of salt which he was scattering before him as he went.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously.

"I salt 'em," he confided with a sly look. "Long as I can salt 'em they can't get at me."

He was only a step removed from delirium tremens but, as it was a Sunday, I supposed the overseer wasn't paying too much attention to his condition. At any rate Rollie had access to liquor-and so had Enoch.

Our first experience with Enoch in his cups had its humorous aspect. One Saturday afternoon I heard his voice down beyond the garden in the direction of the creek. I hadn't even known that he was anywhere around, but he seemed to be entertaining company. His high-pitched, squeaky voice was louder than I had ever heard it.

"Bob," I said to my son. "Enoch's been carrying on for some time. He seems to have company. Let's see what's going on."

We crept silently among the trees, down through the garden to a clearing where Enoch was holding forth. Finally we saw him. He was precariously balanced on an old stump and was expounding the gospel with great vigor. His audience was composed of the trees around the clearing. Undoubtedly, Enoch must have imagined a group of animated listeners for he was holding forth with all the fervor of a traveling evangelist.

"He is chastened also with pain on his bed and the multi tude of his bones with strong pain," Enoch thundered. "So that his life abhorreth bread an' his soul dainty meat. His flesh is consumed away that

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