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I remember one time, when i worked for the local newspaper, i spent a night in the old Simmon's place.
I tried to get in the front door but it wouldn't budge,so i walked around to the side where i fell through the coal shoot and landed in the basement.
As i made my way upstairs the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up....i realized i wasn't alone.I tried to shake the feeling as i bedded down for the night in my sleeping bag.
As i started to doze, i was throttled from my slumber by the sound of the old organ upstairs in the organ loft.
I got scared and threw a book at the wall....much to my surprise the wall opened up to a secret stairway.....which led to...the organ loft.
As i ascended the stairs the music got louder and much to my horror.....there was nobody sitting at the organ....it was playing by itself.....the blood covered keys moving to the tune without assistance.
I quickly ran down the stairs....the thunder and lightening booming outside.
At the bottom of the stairs was the picture of old Mrs Simmons...with garden shears stuck in her throat and blood oozing down.I managed to get out of there pretty quick and get back to write my story for the daily edition.
It is a small town where i dwell, so when the story was published i was hailed as somewhat of a hero.......a picnic luncheon was had the following day in the town square and i was the guest of honor. I can still hear the cheers....."attaboy Luther".
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