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Written by James Nichols
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I'M NOT SURE I EVER saw it, but it was always there. Something just beyond the horizon, behind that tree or above me. It didn't matter; I simply felt the presence the moment I'd set foot in those woods.
The parcel of land had changed owners so many times in the last century that the county clerk had two pages of names, mine being the latest. It was a "good deal," and I had been considering a cabin in the woods retirement dream. There was water; a little 2 acre pond rumored to hold some huge bass, though I had never seen anything more than a few dragonflies and perch.
Not that I could see much at all, I'd never spent more than 30 minutes here before the overwhelming anxiety arose. Like clockwork it would start with just a "feeling," and culminate with me jogging toward my truck once I reached the pond.
I was determined to overcome this unnatural fear. It was just land, trees, and water. Had been forever. The pond was built in the '40's by a family who actually had a homestead here, but it had caught fire one Christmas Eve. A burned out tree stump now was the only witness left. The family allegedly had relocated a few miles north. The owner of the deed at that time was just listed as a T. Salinger. That's all I had heard ever about it.
So, this June night the humidity was palpable as I drifted back to the present and put the truck in park. I fumbled with the key a second when I heard the truck sputter to a stop and a man who looked to be about 40 with thinning blond hair and a bit of gray in a day-old beard stepped out and approached.
"Hi there, I'm James." I extended my hand but his eyes never left mine.
"You the owner here?" his gruff voice sounding much older than he appeared. "Yes, I am."
“Well, you know what happened here?"
"No, I haven't heard much. I know a family used to live here and the house burned and they relocated."
"Yeah, relocated. They relocated to that damned pond." he said as cold and clear as a winter night.
"What?"
"Yeah, that family was mine. My grandfather built the house in 1945. Fresh out of the war and with his wife and four kids, my dad was the youngest, just an infant at the time. My grandfather had nothing but time and a few bucks, but not enough for what he wanted to build, so he borrowed from the Bugatti's, the two brothers who owned most of the town back then. Later found out they were ex-mob relocated with assumed identities. Back then, they were just a couple of Yankees with good business sense who could get things. Lumber, tools, clothing, things every little town needed but few in rural Texas had. They ran the bank, too. They could give loans at a fair rate and always had the money in a day or two. They were nice enough but kept to themselves. My grandfather bought all he could from them to build his house, but needed a bit more. He borrowed $1200 from them. They put a 2 year note on it as he intended to pay it off with his new job with a local contractor. Lots of roads were being resurfaced and many new ones built. There was plenty of work and he would often do a 24 hour shift and take advantage of the cool nights to do the most strenuous parts. It was great for a year, then the state took over. Squeezed his boss out of business and paid peanuts to high school kids to do his job. The money didn't come in and he was out of work that Christmas eve and 6 months behind on the note. They were just getting back from a friend's house where they had had dinner and my father had stayed with them because he got sick with a fever, so grandmom didn't want the other kids getting sick and she would be back after Christmas in the morning to get him. It wouldn't be much Christmas with no money but they had each other and grandpa was an eternal optimist and loved his family above all. He was finally home, survived the war, would be just the family in their new home. I would like to think it would've been the best Christmas ever for them. But it wasn't.
They got home, around dusk they say, to see flames leaping from the roof and spilling out the windows. It was totally engulfed and the whole family was staring in disbelief when they were suddenly pushed to the ground in unison. Four men in dark suits were standing over them. The thugs demanded the family get up and walk to the pond. They were told to face the water and..." He paused, briefly gathering himself and continued. "The machine-gun fire must have been heard for miles. Five bodies floating face down were found the next morning by the lady with my father on her hip. She apparently was so shocked she never spoke another word from that day until she died in an asylum two years later. The sheriff could only tell that the weapons shot 9 mm rounds and at least 60 of them by shell case count.
“The investigator quickly learned of grandpa's debt and the Bugatti's were questioned extensively but could not be placed by evidence at the scene. A year later a witness came forward. A poacher by trade and well known to local law enforcement, he'd been hunting deer on my grandfather's land and saw the car approaching, ducked into the woods behind the pond, fearing the law. When he witnessed the executions, he was able to get the plate number and wrote it down and waited until his parole expired before he walked into the sheriff’s office and told them everything. The Ford was from Chicago and was at that time still there, registered to a man named Gravatti who was a known mafia
associate. Alleged hitman. He was also dying of cancer and would die three days after the sheriff visited. He allegedly confessed and named the others as a purging of his soul in his dying hour. He had details of the fire, cabin, what they used to burn it, where the empty gas cans were, and described the family in detail before and after death. Apparently, the aunt I never knew was decapitated by the machine gun fire. The surviving murderers were quickly arrested, tried, convicted, and executed."
"Jesus..." was all I could muster. Was this for real? Why would this guy make this up?
"Yeah, my sentiments exactly. My father brought me here a few years before he passed. The land was in limbo, for sale and he said no one should ever buy it because the pond was evil. I remember walking to the bank and thinking I was standing where my aunt, two uncles, and grandparents I never knew died. I had seen the pictures, knew the story, but it was only then so real and wicked...and, well, never mind."
"What were you going to say, tell me!" I sensed my fear now was justified.
"Ok, that pond- that pond is a grave yard. The bodies are still there. I've seen them. I mean, they aren't IN the pond. They float. They are there most nights around 7, the hour they were killed. These figures, apparitions, whatever you want to call them, appear. They float above the water, heads down and arms extended as if in limbo. Ghosts trapped between here and ever after I guess."
Another Jesus from me before I shook off a sudden chill.
"I have to go, I can't be here too long. I'm Bill Salinger, by the way. I didn't mean to scare you."
With that, he ambled a few feet to his truck.
I gathered my thoughts and noticed the time of 6 pm. It was still a blazing hot day, but I justwasn't prepared to verify this story. I was not a ghost person. I laughed at all the silly campfire stories growing up, even the "haunted" houses I'd been in were just old musty places with no intimidation to them at all. I'd never really had "a feeling" until now. The first time and every time I set foot on my property I had it. I had it right then. I left.
It would be three months before I returned. I had turned this story over a million times in my head. I had found only a passing reference in a back page article of the Chicago Tribune about the murders and the trials and executions, referred to as simply the Salinger slayings. Apparently, the town wished to move on and not gain a reputation or become an attraction for the morbidly curious. The surviving family remained as Bill had told me and I suppose it was mostly out of respect to them that the notoriety was squashed. My how times have changed. If it were now, there'd be carnival barkers and a ticket booth at my gates.
It was late September and I was walking the trail beyond the gate. I had my tent and sleeping bag in tow and a very level head. I had taken up some meditation exercises the last month and was fully engaged in this moment with an open mind. Whatever I saw or whatever happened was not my decision and I was simply to be an observer. Well, that serenity was shattered as the pond came into view and that sudden altitude change occurred. I was literally wheezing for the next quarter mile where the trail narrowed to a few feet and then the pond disappeared, reappeared and I was standing on the homesite. It was 6:33 pm and I quickly pitched the tent, catching my breath between stakes and nervously eyeing the pond.
It was now 6:55.
I sat in front of the tent and took in the scene. I tried a minute of meditation and actually felt better for the next minute. And then I saw them. It was 7:02. Five blurry shadows seemingly arose from the pond's near bank. At first, they were simply blotches in the twilight, but they now took form.
Clearly these were of human shape. Two larger and three smaller. They were there, this was real. I looked away briefly, counted to ten even but they didn't budge. I was transfixed and never noticed the four new shadows approach. Literally they materialized between me and the first five. These were black, formless and I suddenly felt the urge to run. I stood and eyed the trail. I looked back and the figures remained. Nine clear apparitions, forms, ghosts? I closed my eyes and counted again and sat back down. At once the first five now floated toward the water and what looked like limbs now in unison were raised in a "V" above each figure. Suspended, but definitely moved, they were now at least 40 feet from the bank when there was this sudden illumination. As if a spotlight were shining above them, yet I could not see a source. Then it happened. They ascended as the light intensified so that I couldn't make out anything but that whiteness as if staring at the sun. I raised my arm to shield my eyes and at once it was gone. They were gone. Gone as in nothing but a few ripples on the still waters. But the black figures remained. They too were now moving toward that same spot. They stopped. It was a still night but the water suddenly churned below them. A sound of utter terror arose, a deep unsettling, War of the Worlds hum. The dark ghosts strained for the sky, as their lower halves now tapered to a common point above the angry water. They began to twist as if in some death spiral, vortex dance. As quickly as the light had left, they now were gone, pulled into the water that just as quickly settled.
I stood for what must have been ten minutes. I ran through every possibility in my head. I had fallen asleep, surely. The notes in my hand refuted that. I had detailed each event with a time stamp beside it. I had no recollection of this but it was my writing and I had brought a notebook and pen just in case. I finally approached the water. It was still and now in the fading light I couldn't tell water from earth. I knelt and touched the muddy bank and looked up. A single star flickered above. I stood just as the loud splash of a decent sized fish nearly sent me packing again. I laughed out loud at this. I felt completely at ease. I had just witnessed the ascension of good and the fall of evil. I built that place finally. I often stopped each night at 7:02 during the construction to stare at the pond and say a small prayer for the departed. I never saw anything remotely supernatural again.
I don't try to rationalize it anymore. I accept that there are things we just don't know and won't know in this mortal form. I suppose they found their way out of limbo once Bill had divulged the truth to me and I was now the owner of the land. I am actually the guardian of their land. It was here their last mortal steps were taken and here where their departure from this world was finally possible. I was the humble witness and knew I would never sell this land as long as I lived and had already willed it to my disbelieving brother and his children. Often they would come spend a night on a camp out and I would tell them a real ghost story and they would laugh and tell me I was getting old because they'd heard it all before. I would smile and look at that pond and just nod.
People occasionally will stop me at the gate and asked why I named this place "Ascension".
I'll tell them, if they really want to know they'll need to come to the house and sit and listen because it's a long story and well worth it. I've had five takers through the years, three of them literally sprinted out the door. One told me I was full of it as he nervously left, and one just walked down to the pond and nodded, said he was an empath and I was a good man. I don't know about that but I know that the evil that once walked this land now rots in hell and that good does see its promise fulfilled. And that is all I need to know in this life.
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“LIFE ASKED DEATH: ‘WHY do people love me but hate you?’ Death responded, ‘Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth.’”
~ Anonymous