Chapter 1
Minya, Upper Egypt 1204 BCE
She was taken to the ubi, a place of purification. The embalmers washed her body with richly scented palm wine and rinsed it with water from the Nile River. Then an incision was made with a fine flint blade to the left side of her body to remove some of the internal organs for preservation. The liver, lungs, and stomach were each washed and covered with natron for dehydration. Her heart was left intacted. It was the center of all emotions and knowledge and would be needed in her afterlife.
Her body was filled and covered with natron for forty days. The embalmers then washed it away and bathed her skin with exotic oils. The dehydrated organs were washed and wrapped in linen. Each was placed in its own canopic jar to be buried with her in the tomb. Again, they covered her skin with fine oils and wrapped linens tightly around her body. She was placed inside a coffin of pure gold adorned with her name in hieroglyphs inside of a cartouche. This was a symbol reserved for only royalty. The four corners of the sarcophagus were protected by the goddess Isis. Her brightly painted wings spread out along the coffin’s sides enclosing and guarding its valuable contents.
Princess Chione, mystical daughter of the Nile, lived and died under the reign of her father Pharaoh Mermeptah. Her death, by suspected poisoning, rattled the citizens of her kingdom. She was loved by the people. Upon her father’s death she would have been named Pharaoh to the dismay of her brother and husband, Nefru. Her younger brother became obsessed with obtaining this power of the gods and the need to be king. He despised her, but they had to be married for sake of the family and their place on the thrown.
It was a common practice in ancient Egypt to marry within a family. This insured royal blood stayed royal and commoners could claim the power of the thrown. However, Mermeptah was still King of Egypt and even in his frail state he refused to relinquish power to anyone.
“Why does she deserve a Phararoh’s burial? You are King, father!”
“She was to be Queen and Pharaoh of all Egypt, my son. That is all that is needed to be said.”
“Would you have done the same for me, father?”
“Her heart was lighter than the feather of Anubis. She has successfully entered the afterlife. You have a selfish heart, my son. To be a true king you need purity of heart and the strength of a fierce lion,” his father was sweating and shivering. “You show no promise with either of these traits. I have decided to pass the kingdom to your brother, Coseru. It was the decision made by the gods and cannot be changed, my son.”
“He is only six years old, father! I am the true heir and rightful king! He is the son of your whore! I have made sacrifices to the gods. The priests have accepted me as their new Pharaoh. I want to build monuments and temples.”
“Running a kingdom is what you do for its people, not your selfish purpose.” His father coughed and wheezed. “Water please, my son.”
His son watched his father’s pain with no response.
“Water, I need water.”
“You need water! You...need...water!” His anger was building. “I married my sister to have this kingdom! I killed my sister for this kingdom! Now, I will kill you for MY KINGDOM!”
With that, he pulled his sacrificial obsidian blade, encrusted with precious stones of alexandrite and arabian rubies, from his tunic and stabbed it through his father’s heart, killing him instantly. Then he ran away. With the help of his trusted servant, Katawu, he stashed the blade where it would never be found. Members of the household were gathered together, by the reigning King Nefru. They were questioned then immediately condemned and executed before anyone could reveal the truth of his father's demise. Nefru had gotten away with murder. He had fulfilled his destiny. No one knew of his father’s plans to make Coseru heir to the throne. Nefru was now Pharaoh.
The next morning his sister’s body was to be finally laid to rest. She was then placed inside a pink granite sarcophagus. It was tightly sealed with plant resin to keep her body preserved. She was transported by a lavishly decorated funeral boat to her tomb in the hills of the Valley of the Queens. Many gifts from her people were laid with her to take into the afterlife. There were jars of olives, barley, oil, clothing,and gold. One gift was given without love and respect, but with hatred and greed. Lying next to the mummified body of Princess Chione sealed in her tomb, was the jewel encrusted black obsidian blade that killed their father.
Chapter 2
South Western Pennsylvania 1898
The mysterious woman greeted her guests with a strange, unplaceable foreign inflection.
“Velcome ladies and gentlmen. Zee zpiritz are rezless…quickly be zeated!”
Their eccentric hostess, dressed in a jade Kosa silk sari with swirls of shimmering gold thread and matching Pagri turban headdress, suddenly rose puppet-like from her mahogany gothic armchair. A bell rang somewhere in the room. Their eyes widened. The hostess’s piecing green eyes appeared to roll back into her skull and she began to shake violently. Then she abruptly stopped.
“She iz ‘ere. I can feel ‘er zpirit. Your Molly iz ‘ere wiz uz.”
The room, lit by several beeswax candles, was shrouded in near darkness. The bronze ivy leaf wall sconces emitted the tiniest glint of pale ginger gaslight.
“Help…me…Mummy.”
It was the soft voice of a young girl.
“Molly is that you? Oh, my darling girl, is it really you?”
“Where...are….you…Mummy? I…need…you. I’m...scared.”
“I’m here. Mummy is right here,” cried a pale, thin, young woman sitting across the table.
She was exquisitely dressed in a Victorian black crepe mourning gown with a plain collar, broad weepers’ cuffs of white muslin, and a bombazine cloak. A handmade lace weeping veil draped the taut flesh of her face.
“I need to see you, Molly!”
The woman burst into a desperate, frantic sob. A well dressed gentleman, who was trying to comfort the young mother, spoke into the dark abyss of the room.
“I’m so sorry my darling girl. We tried everything, but it was too late.”
Materializing behind the apparently still possessed hostess was a faint trace of a figure clad in a long, flowing nightgown. She appeared to have an iridescent aura emanating from her body.
“I can see you! You are so beautiful, like an angel,” said the distraught mother.
Entranced by the angelic figure before her, she started to get up from her chair.
“Zit down, pleaze. Do not break zee circle. Zee vindow between zhat worlt and zhis worlt iz fragile and zee circle must ztay complete!”
The hostess’s assistant, that slowly paced the parlor ominously, gently placed her hands on the young mother’s shoulders insuring she wouldn’t move. The room fell silent. The five other anonymously invited guests stared at the ghostly image with pure terror in their eyes. Each dared not move for fear of spiritual retribution. Everything in their minds said this was the devil’s work. They should not be tampering with this black magic, but they were invited here for a purpose that was yet to be known.
The brass bell that was sitting in the center of the table started to hover above their heads as if it were enchanted by some mystic being. They could just make out the shine of its outline as it flew across the room. It landed loudly on the hard pine floor with a tremendous clang from its clapper. The large robust table began to vibrate vigorously. It lifted slightly from the floor then crashed down hard again. The beeswax candles blew out spewing wax onto a gentlemen’s cravat, narrowly missing his face. A loud gasp and a scream came from the other side of the room. Then a loud thump as one woman fainted, slumping in her chair and hitting her forehead hard on the tabletop. The elderly man sitting beside her tried to help.
“Let ‘er be. Do not break zee circle,” cried the crazed hostess. Her head was spinning wildly side to side.
“Zpiritz, come clozer!”
The light surrounding the ghostly figure brighten. The guests tried to shield their eyes from the blinding light.
“Do not break zee circle! Rize, my children!” She motioned to her guests.
With their hands still clenched together they rose from the table, still grasping to the woman that was passed out on the tabletop.
Madame Rousseau reached her hands into the air as if absorbing some intense invisible energy.
“Ztay wiz uz mighty zspiritz,” she shouted to the heavens.
The girl’s image slowly faded into the shadows.
“They…are….taking…me…away! Don’t…leave…me…Mummy.”
The young mother yelled in pure desperation, “Bring her back Madame, please! My little Molly, do not leave me again! I can not bare it!”
Madame Rousseau fell backwards, with the help of her assistant, landed squarely in her armchair. She let out a huge gasp of air and began to heave billowy clouds of grey smoke from her mouth and nose, as if expelling a dark force from her body. Her eyes rolled back to their normal placement in their sockets. The room lay still. The guests did not speak; they were paralyzed in their chairs.
The gas sconces along the wall lit brighter now. The room was left a disheveled wreck. The frighten visitors grabbed their belongings and tried to exit the parlor as fast as they could. The woman that fell faint was still resting unconscious on the purple silk cloth covering the table. As the room grew lighter the guest realized she would never recover from her horrific ordeal. The razor-sharp, jewel encrusted, obsidian blade of Nefru that pierced her neck insured her of that.
To Be Continued......
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Submission to Tribune Democrat Mystery Story-Chapter 4 April 2010
“Wait until you see the acreage of this place, perfect for a winery.” said the realtor excitedly.
Melissa knew it was an intentional attempt to change the focus from the picture back to the farmhouse.
“You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute,” said Melissa with a spurious smile.
When they were out of sight Melissa used her sleeve to dust off the glass covering the picture.
The heavy portrait shifted on its nail and slid sideways. A small plaque dislodged from behind its frame and fell to the floor.
The Caplin Family – March 1975
Melvin and Loretta with our kids: Jimmy, 19 and Amy, 6
Melissa straightened the picture and studied the family in the photograph. She shuddered at the sight of Melvin with his horn-rimmed glasses and Jimmy the slender young man from her vision.
The face of an older woman with a solemn expression appeared to stare straight through her. The couple seemed more like grandparents to the children.
“This can’t be….,” Melissa recognized Amy. It was her ghostly companion.
She shoved the small plaque into her coat pocket and ran to the front porch. She abruptly interrupted the realtor, as he was pointing out the Queen Anne posts lining the porch.
“We need some time to think about the house, we’ll call you,” said Melissa shooting a look at her husband.
“Well…James...thanks for the tour,” said her husband awkwardly.
With a stunned look from the realtor, they got into their car and left.
“No…No…LET ME GO,” yelled Melissa waking out of her sleep in a cold sweat.
Every night that week she was wrought with nightmares of Amy’s abduction. Sometimes, Melissa felt she was being pulled into the dark abyss of the van.
Flashes of the older man and woman, the dusty room, the street corner, the two men arguing, and Amy plagued her every thought.
Still exhausted from lack of sleep, Melissa got into her car and drove back to her hometown.She pulled into the Johnstown library’s parking lot just as the doors were being unlocked. She rushed past the security guard and went to the third floor.
She researched the library’s digital archives and found several articles regarding the 1975 abduction. To her surprise, that’s not all she found.
February 21, 1975
Amy Davis Abducted in Broad Daylight
February 28, 1975
Eight Abductions in Two Years: Police Suspect Link
April 2, 1975
Three Suspects Arrested in Cambria and Centre County Abductions
April 4, 1975
Amy Davis, Who Helped Seven Children Escape, Still Missing
Melissa printed each article, but before she could read them Amy’s ghostly image appeared through a reflection in her computer screen.
She turned and saw the little girl standing in the stacks. Amy giggled and then ran away. Melissa followed.
“WAIT! I want to help you!”
Amy ran right through a door in the library’s backroom.
Melissa opened it.
A tiny hand reached out, grabbed Melissa’s arm and pulled her through the door. It slammed shut behind her.
She was in the secret room of the farmhouse again. It was now furnished with seven tiny cots. Several children were playing tag and two were hiding in under a bed.
“Meli, come play with us,” said a small boy.
“Meli?”
No one called her that for years.
“You can see me?” Melissa asked.
“Of course I can silly-willy. Tag…you’re it!”
Just then, Jimmy the slender young man entered the room.
“Go to bed! You got lots to do on the farm tomorrow!”
The children scrambled to their beds.
“Come on Meli, lay down before you get in trouble.”
That’s when she noticed her tiny, little feet peeking out from under her long nightgown.
“What happened to me? I’m a child!”
“Oh no..!” Melissa started to remember the childhood nightmare she blocked out years ago and now she was reliving it.
Melissa ‘Meli’ Stewart was abducted at age 7. She was one of the seven children in the secret attic.
Then his familiar face flashed in her mind.
Jimmy, the slender young man, was James Caplin, their realtor. Did he remember her?
Melissa had to find Amy.
Where could Amy be and why was she in the Caplin family portrait?
Melissa knew it was an intentional attempt to change the focus from the picture back to the farmhouse.
“You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute,” said Melissa with a spurious smile.
When they were out of sight Melissa used her sleeve to dust off the glass covering the picture.
The heavy portrait shifted on its nail and slid sideways. A small plaque dislodged from behind its frame and fell to the floor.
The Caplin Family – March 1975
Melvin and Loretta with our kids: Jimmy, 19 and Amy, 6
Melissa straightened the picture and studied the family in the photograph. She shuddered at the sight of Melvin with his horn-rimmed glasses and Jimmy the slender young man from her vision.
The face of an older woman with a solemn expression appeared to stare straight through her. The couple seemed more like grandparents to the children.
“This can’t be….,” Melissa recognized Amy. It was her ghostly companion.
She shoved the small plaque into her coat pocket and ran to the front porch. She abruptly interrupted the realtor, as he was pointing out the Queen Anne posts lining the porch.
“We need some time to think about the house, we’ll call you,” said Melissa shooting a look at her husband.
“Well…James...thanks for the tour,” said her husband awkwardly.
With a stunned look from the realtor, they got into their car and left.
“No…No…LET ME GO,” yelled Melissa waking out of her sleep in a cold sweat.
Every night that week she was wrought with nightmares of Amy’s abduction. Sometimes, Melissa felt she was being pulled into the dark abyss of the van.
Flashes of the older man and woman, the dusty room, the street corner, the two men arguing, and Amy plagued her every thought.
Still exhausted from lack of sleep, Melissa got into her car and drove back to her hometown.She pulled into the Johnstown library’s parking lot just as the doors were being unlocked. She rushed past the security guard and went to the third floor.
She researched the library’s digital archives and found several articles regarding the 1975 abduction. To her surprise, that’s not all she found.
February 21, 1975
Amy Davis Abducted in Broad Daylight
February 28, 1975
Eight Abductions in Two Years: Police Suspect Link
April 2, 1975
Three Suspects Arrested in Cambria and Centre County Abductions
April 4, 1975
Amy Davis, Who Helped Seven Children Escape, Still Missing
Melissa printed each article, but before she could read them Amy’s ghostly image appeared through a reflection in her computer screen.
She turned and saw the little girl standing in the stacks. Amy giggled and then ran away. Melissa followed.
“WAIT! I want to help you!”
Amy ran right through a door in the library’s backroom.
Melissa opened it.
A tiny hand reached out, grabbed Melissa’s arm and pulled her through the door. It slammed shut behind her.
She was in the secret room of the farmhouse again. It was now furnished with seven tiny cots. Several children were playing tag and two were hiding in under a bed.
“Meli, come play with us,” said a small boy.
“Meli?”
No one called her that for years.
“You can see me?” Melissa asked.
“Of course I can silly-willy. Tag…you’re it!”
Just then, Jimmy the slender young man entered the room.
“Go to bed! You got lots to do on the farm tomorrow!”
The children scrambled to their beds.
“Come on Meli, lay down before you get in trouble.”
That’s when she noticed her tiny, little feet peeking out from under her long nightgown.
“What happened to me? I’m a child!”
“Oh no..!” Melissa started to remember the childhood nightmare she blocked out years ago and now she was reliving it.
Melissa ‘Meli’ Stewart was abducted at age 7. She was one of the seven children in the secret attic.
Then his familiar face flashed in her mind.
Jimmy, the slender young man, was James Caplin, their realtor. Did he remember her?
Melissa had to find Amy.
Where could Amy be and why was she in the Caplin family portrait?
"Ode to a Shoe-addict"
Oh goodness, what have we here?
A pair of Choo’s magically appear.
Buy me, buy me, says a voice in my head.
Money is no object when your husband is in bed.
Just press, submit and you can have those Chanel's.
It’ll be a month before you even catch hell.
I reach for my card and enter my pin.
Those Prada's are calling, “Carisa, give in!”
My husband awakes, what do I do?
Just press send, I must have those shoes!!
What have you done? Oh wifey of mine!
My shoes will be special, so lovely, divine.
I promise these will be the last one’s I’ll buy!
…Until next time I decide to shop online.
A pair of Choo’s magically appear.
Buy me, buy me, says a voice in my head.
Money is no object when your husband is in bed.
Just press, submit and you can have those Chanel's.
It’ll be a month before you even catch hell.
I reach for my card and enter my pin.
Those Prada's are calling, “Carisa, give in!”
My husband awakes, what do I do?
Just press send, I must have those shoes!!
What have you done? Oh wifey of mine!
My shoes will be special, so lovely, divine.
I promise these will be the last one’s I’ll buy!
…Until next time I decide to shop online.
Submission to Tribune Writers Contest- Week 2- Mar 2010
Horrified, Melissa became dizzy and nearly fainted. She caught herself before falling on a sharp picket fence that bordered the nearby yard.
Would she have even felt the point of its raw cut edge? Or, would she have fallen right through it as though it wasn’t even there?
Melissa wasn’t about to test that theory. She was still trying to get a grip on her new reality.
The little girl was silent and stared blankly at her. She was clad only in a white turtle neck, a bright red romper with a ladybug embroidered on the bottom, a pair of crisp white tights, and one patent leather shoe on her right foot. Her raven hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
She was not dressed for the current weather, but it didn’t seem to affect her.
Melissa felt there was something eerily familiar about her.
“Why am I here? What’s wrong with that farmhouse? Who are you?” Melissa asked apprehensively.
Without saying a word the girl lifted her hand and pointed to a crumpled piece of paper pinned to her romper. Funny, Melissa hadn’t noticed it earlier.
Hello my name is……Jaclyn Gardner.
The phantom girl turned away from her without uttering a word.
Jaclyn began walking. Melissa didn’t know what to do. Everything in her said, run.
Run where? She thought hopelessly.
Suddenly, out of the silence came a disembodied voice, “Follow Me.”
It whispered into Melissa’s ear. This sent an icy shiver down her spine.
“FOLLOW ME.”, now there was annoyance in the voice.
The little girl turned toward her in frustration.
“WALK, PLEASE.”
The girl’s pale blue lips never moved. Melissa’s ear rang as though the girl was right beside her; she wasn’t. In fact she was at least 10 feet away. Melissa’s pupils widened and her vision blurred. How is she doing that?
“WALK. WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME.”
“Ok... I’m…coming.” Melissa’s voice shook nervously. She felt like she was answering the air.
Melissa began walking down Johnstown’s main street. She passed familiar businesses like the hospital where she got her first cast and the old theater where she used to watch movies as a child.
After high school Melissa chose to attend the university in ‘Happy Valley’. It was always her dream growing up.
She met her husband at the local diner where she liked to study late at night. They argued over the last ‘world famous’ sticky bun and agreed to share it over a cup of coffee.
Melissa married and decided to stay in Centre County. She taught Abnormal Psychology at the university. The rest was history or a far off future.
“MELISSA, STOP!”
This made her nearly jump out of her skin. She didn’t realize that Jaclyn had stopped walking.
Jaclyn lifted her thin, insipid hand and pointed down an alley.
“GO, NOW!”
There was a sound of desperation from the voice.
Melissa started cautiously down the alley. She saw a patent leather shoe lying on its side.
Two boys started to shout.
“It was an accident. It was all her fault anyway!”
“They won’t believe it was an accident.”
“We need to get out of here! She knows who we are!”
A small cry came from behind a green dumpster.
She’s alive. There’s still time. Melissa thought.
Then she was struck with fear.
It was as though she was sleeping. That red romper, white tights, and one patent leather shoe; it was the lifeless body of Jaclyn Gardner. A small child was standing above her crying. She seemed uninjured. A tag hung from her yellow satin dress.
Hello my name is…Melissa Ellis.
“That’s me!”
“That’s why we’re here.” It was the first time her ghostly companion spoke directly to her all day.
“They know who you are. You are the only witness. They are coming for you.”
The two boys crawled through a small hole in a wooden fence at the back of the alley.
“Follow them!” Jaclyn ordered.
Melissa didn’t think twice and squeezed her way through the small hole.
Mystified, she found herself back in the hallway of the empty farmhouse. When she turned around, the alley, Jaclyn and small door to the dusty room were gone.
Would she have even felt the point of its raw cut edge? Or, would she have fallen right through it as though it wasn’t even there?
Melissa wasn’t about to test that theory. She was still trying to get a grip on her new reality.
The little girl was silent and stared blankly at her. She was clad only in a white turtle neck, a bright red romper with a ladybug embroidered on the bottom, a pair of crisp white tights, and one patent leather shoe on her right foot. Her raven hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
She was not dressed for the current weather, but it didn’t seem to affect her.
Melissa felt there was something eerily familiar about her.
“Why am I here? What’s wrong with that farmhouse? Who are you?” Melissa asked apprehensively.
Without saying a word the girl lifted her hand and pointed to a crumpled piece of paper pinned to her romper. Funny, Melissa hadn’t noticed it earlier.
Hello my name is……Jaclyn Gardner.
The phantom girl turned away from her without uttering a word.
Jaclyn began walking. Melissa didn’t know what to do. Everything in her said, run.
Run where? She thought hopelessly.
Suddenly, out of the silence came a disembodied voice, “Follow Me.”
It whispered into Melissa’s ear. This sent an icy shiver down her spine.
“FOLLOW ME.”, now there was annoyance in the voice.
The little girl turned toward her in frustration.
“WALK, PLEASE.”
The girl’s pale blue lips never moved. Melissa’s ear rang as though the girl was right beside her; she wasn’t. In fact she was at least 10 feet away. Melissa’s pupils widened and her vision blurred. How is she doing that?
“WALK. WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME.”
“Ok... I’m…coming.” Melissa’s voice shook nervously. She felt like she was answering the air.
Melissa began walking down Johnstown’s main street. She passed familiar businesses like the hospital where she got her first cast and the old theater where she used to watch movies as a child.
After high school Melissa chose to attend the university in ‘Happy Valley’. It was always her dream growing up.
She met her husband at the local diner where she liked to study late at night. They argued over the last ‘world famous’ sticky bun and agreed to share it over a cup of coffee.
Melissa married and decided to stay in Centre County. She taught Abnormal Psychology at the university. The rest was history or a far off future.
“MELISSA, STOP!”
This made her nearly jump out of her skin. She didn’t realize that Jaclyn had stopped walking.
Jaclyn lifted her thin, insipid hand and pointed down an alley.
“GO, NOW!”
There was a sound of desperation from the voice.
Melissa started cautiously down the alley. She saw a patent leather shoe lying on its side.
Two boys started to shout.
“It was an accident. It was all her fault anyway!”
“They won’t believe it was an accident.”
“We need to get out of here! She knows who we are!”
A small cry came from behind a green dumpster.
She’s alive. There’s still time. Melissa thought.
Then she was struck with fear.
It was as though she was sleeping. That red romper, white tights, and one patent leather shoe; it was the lifeless body of Jaclyn Gardner. A small child was standing above her crying. She seemed uninjured. A tag hung from her yellow satin dress.
Hello my name is…Melissa Ellis.
“That’s me!”
“That’s why we’re here.” It was the first time her ghostly companion spoke directly to her all day.
“They know who you are. You are the only witness. They are coming for you.”
The two boys crawled through a small hole in a wooden fence at the back of the alley.
“Follow them!” Jaclyn ordered.
Melissa didn’t think twice and squeezed her way through the small hole.
Mystified, she found herself back in the hallway of the empty farmhouse. When she turned around, the alley, Jaclyn and small door to the dusty room were gone.
Submission to Tribune writers contest- Week 1- Feb. 2010
Mystified, Julia stepped back from the oval window in disbelief. Her left foot broke through a loosened plank in the floor. She saw a large, green, leather bound photo album tied with a worn string peeking through the new opening. It stopped her foot from going through the second set of boards holding up the ceiling below. She thought, “Who would hide a photo album in the floor?” She untied the string which seemed to disintegrate in her fingers. The book let out a cracking sound from its bindings as she opened it. Inside she expected to see someone’s family photos, but instead there were pages of perfectly cut newspaper clippings. Each page bore a different headline and had the dates handwritten in the margin.
March 6, 1968
Vice President of U.S. Bank found Murdered at Incline Motel
On the night of March 4 the body of a Centre County banker, Lukas Grant, was found in room 213 of the Incline Motel in Johnstown. Mr. Grant was not a registered guest of the motel. No one knows why he was there. Cause of death is suspicious and still unknown. Autopsy will follow.
March 9, 1968
Police seek Two Suspects in Poisoning Death
Police want to speak with two possible suspects in the poisoning death of Lukas Grant at the Incline Motel. A couple from Bellefonte, PA staying in room 211 stated that on March 4 at 7:25 p.m. they heard an argument ensue through the adjoining wall. “I could hear two men shouting at each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying,” the man said. “My wife Ava, heard a woman’s voice say ‘Grab the papers and let’s go already.’” An employee of the motel saw the victim enter the lobby at approximately 7:03 p.m. He was alone.
September 30, 1968
Police Arrest Two Suspects for Grant Murder
Mr. Christian Mansfield, a Johnstown deli owner and Ms. Isabelle Redding, a librarian at the Johnstown Library were arrested for the murder of Lukas Grant in March 1968. They were positively identified by two witnesses. Trials will be held at Cambria County Courthouse. Dates are to be announced.
May 28, 1969
Two found Guilty of First Degree Murder of Lukas Grant
Mr. Christian Mansfield and Ms. Isabelle Redding were both found guilty of first degree murder in separate trials held days apart. Both received life without parole.
August 24, 1969
Cambria County Woman serving Life Sentence Commits Suicide
Ms. Isabelle Redding, serving a life sentence for the murder of Lukas Grant, was found hanging in her cell yesterday morning by a guard. She left a suicide note proclaiming her innocence. She wrote, “I was nowhere near the Incline Motel that night. That couple lied on the stand. PLEASE FIND RALPH WALTERS! HE KNOWS THE TRUTH!”
Julia closed the book, tucked it under her arm and opened the tiny door. She found herself not in the empty farmhouse, but a fully decorated hallway that looked off into a living room. Everything was quiet except the ticking grandfather clock that stood high against wall. There was an orange, polyester reclining chair and a matching sofa in the room. Through the large window she could see it snowing heavily outside. No one seemed to be home. In the hallway, there were pictures hanging in every empty space. Unfamiliar faces stared intently at her through elaborate frames.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a key in a lock. The front door
opened and someone entered the house. She ran back to the small door hoping to return to the dusty room of the farmhouse. To her horror, she found only a tiny storage cupboard with two moth eaten coats, a worn down broom and a pair of old slippers. There was barely enough space for her to fit. She heard a man and woman conversing. The woman said, “I’m going to make some coffee.” The man replied, “I’ll take your coat. Feels just like the winters we had in Bellefonte, eh Ava?” Then he headed in the direction of the tiny closet where Julia was hiding. With his hand on the knob, he started to open the door.
March 6, 1968
Vice President of U.S. Bank found Murdered at Incline Motel
On the night of March 4 the body of a Centre County banker, Lukas Grant, was found in room 213 of the Incline Motel in Johnstown. Mr. Grant was not a registered guest of the motel. No one knows why he was there. Cause of death is suspicious and still unknown. Autopsy will follow.
March 9, 1968
Police seek Two Suspects in Poisoning Death
Police want to speak with two possible suspects in the poisoning death of Lukas Grant at the Incline Motel. A couple from Bellefonte, PA staying in room 211 stated that on March 4 at 7:25 p.m. they heard an argument ensue through the adjoining wall. “I could hear two men shouting at each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying,” the man said. “My wife Ava, heard a woman’s voice say ‘Grab the papers and let’s go already.’” An employee of the motel saw the victim enter the lobby at approximately 7:03 p.m. He was alone.
September 30, 1968
Police Arrest Two Suspects for Grant Murder
Mr. Christian Mansfield, a Johnstown deli owner and Ms. Isabelle Redding, a librarian at the Johnstown Library were arrested for the murder of Lukas Grant in March 1968. They were positively identified by two witnesses. Trials will be held at Cambria County Courthouse. Dates are to be announced.
May 28, 1969
Two found Guilty of First Degree Murder of Lukas Grant
Mr. Christian Mansfield and Ms. Isabelle Redding were both found guilty of first degree murder in separate trials held days apart. Both received life without parole.
August 24, 1969
Cambria County Woman serving Life Sentence Commits Suicide
Ms. Isabelle Redding, serving a life sentence for the murder of Lukas Grant, was found hanging in her cell yesterday morning by a guard. She left a suicide note proclaiming her innocence. She wrote, “I was nowhere near the Incline Motel that night. That couple lied on the stand. PLEASE FIND RALPH WALTERS! HE KNOWS THE TRUTH!”
Julia closed the book, tucked it under her arm and opened the tiny door. She found herself not in the empty farmhouse, but a fully decorated hallway that looked off into a living room. Everything was quiet except the ticking grandfather clock that stood high against wall. There was an orange, polyester reclining chair and a matching sofa in the room. Through the large window she could see it snowing heavily outside. No one seemed to be home. In the hallway, there were pictures hanging in every empty space. Unfamiliar faces stared intently at her through elaborate frames.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a key in a lock. The front door
opened and someone entered the house. She ran back to the small door hoping to return to the dusty room of the farmhouse. To her horror, she found only a tiny storage cupboard with two moth eaten coats, a worn down broom and a pair of old slippers. There was barely enough space for her to fit. She heard a man and woman conversing. The woman said, “I’m going to make some coffee.” The man replied, “I’ll take your coat. Feels just like the winters we had in Bellefonte, eh Ava?” Then he headed in the direction of the tiny closet where Julia was hiding. With his hand on the knob, he started to open the door.
I'll Love You Forever
I’ll love you forever. We’ll always be together. You mean everything to me, Happy Valentine’s Day sweetheart. Those words rang out from the depths of my bedroom cupboard from lost voices of high school sweethearts to college boyfriends from 19 years ago. Yes, guilty as charged. I keep a small bag of stale memories from those forgotten days hidden in the depths of my darkest closet. Never too see the light of day. These are my proverbial skeletons. They have traveled with me from place to place like a favorite book you read again and again when times are tough and lonely or you need a good pick me up.
So to write this story I dug into the very back of my biggest closet, emptied every blue covered storage container and finally saw it, a small crumbling unassuming box which held a little plastic bag with a broken zipper. Years ago I placed these sacred mementos into a bag from a set of newly bought sheets. I hoped it would keep them safe from prying eyes. Kept in there are the first eight years of learning about life and love.
Reading them after 13 years made me think of such good and bad memories. Wow so loved so cherished at times. Then so hurt and deserted in others. I love you followed by I’m so sorry for what I did. It’ll never happen again.
This theme would seem to reoccur throughout my younger years over and over again, each time taking a piece of my heart with them and leaving mine an open and seeping wound.
You never think you’ll love again. You never think you’ll find the one that warms your soul. Valentine’s Day has always been one of those days we either dread because we’re alone, enjoy it with others who share our singleness, find a person to fill the void for the day and possibly the night, or have a love to share it with. It doesn’t really matter where you’re at in life every one of us has had a worst Valentine’s experience at some time or another. Sure I got the roses and the cards and the dinners, but what did it all mean?
I can tell you, until you meet the person of your dreams, the one that never hurts you, the one that forever cherishes you, and the one that stays when times are tough, you can never really understand what those cards, flowers and dinners really mean. What love truly means.
So for me every Valentine’s Day before I met my husband was the worst because it never really meant anything until now.
The Storm
It is 4:03 a.m. on this brisk Saturday morning of in the small town of
Suddenly, I hear the shrill sound of wet tires spinning but going nowhere. Occasionally, I see through my partially open blinds flashes of PENNDOT lights flickering up and down my street. Outside my seven foot tall picture windows bright white mounds of snow blanket my town like a thick layer of fluffy marshmallow. The snow sticks to every surface I see and strangely illuminates the night sky with an iridescent glow.
I like this view from my living room. I can see the traffic lights at the intersection on my corner cycle through their continuous colors of red, yellow, and green as if sensing phantom cars and trucks and the bright lights of the local gas station’s empty parking lot. However, dawn is approaching. Plow trucks emerge and arm themselves with defenses of rock salt and tire chains like an army waiting to wage war. I see a plows sharpened blade brush through the first layer of snowfall making a massive snow peak in a neighboring parking lot. In a month it will still stand ever so slowly diminishing covered with the soot that busy lives leave behind. Then I hear a plow’s horn beep three times signaling to anyone behind it, clear the way there is work to be done. Here in my small neighborhood early risers wake to see what nature chose to give to them this night. Steaming cups of coffee in hand and the dread of the shovel and its back breaking labor weigh heavy on their minds. So tempted to wait out the storm, but hospitals need their nurses, stores need clerks and customers and our mail must go through.
The unlucky Saturday morning commuters line up outside my window patiently waiting for the traffic light to change. Their faces tell of exhaustion from the morning of work that the night of snowfall has created. I can see the gas station is starting to buzz with drowsy customers needing a strong coffee and a fresh glazed donut. Some patrons are standing outside pumping gas, jumping up and down, and breathing into cupped hands trying to get warm. Delivery drivers unpack cartons of much needed supplies. The small wheels of their dollies, loaded with the essentials of milk, eggs and bread, barely make onto the freshly shoveled sidewalk of the store front.
The snow hasn’t stopped yet. The wind is blowing violently in all directions making swirls of snowflakes appear to dance to their own silent song. I have seen blizzards like this before in my hometown of
I think it’s because when the first snowfall of the year dusts our faces and we look skyward with a smile, we welcome it like an old friend returning from a long journey. It’s watching children’s faces when they finally get bundled up to go outside and create snow angels and make-shift igloos. Its neighbors helping neighbors dig out and lend a hand without complaint or reason. It’s a good snowball fight no matter what age you are. It’s something that not everyone may get to experience in a lifetime. I read a saying somewhere that “Nature is the art of GOD” and we his audience. Our nature can be so unpredictable at times, but it will still go on challenging us and so we will accept its challenge and live on.
Carisa's Creations by Carisa J. Burrows is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Living In Shadows
Skye’s hand tensely gripped through the diamond grate covering her south facing window.
She stood petrified staring at the hospital grounds below. The freshly cut lawn was buzzing with orderlies, patients and charge nurses. It was a hot, cloudless summer day; her worst nightmare.
La
Nothing about this place was warm or comforting. It was as cold, bleak and bland as its name, ‘the white house.’
Since her admittance, Skye had developed several obsessive compulsive disorders and phobias caused by reliving the death of her mother years ago. This included a fear of sunlight and an obsession with odd numbers.
She was forcibly mandated through treatment to spend one hour daily outdoors to conquer her fear. This required an immense amount of planning from her third story window. Because of her illness she plotted movements to coincide with the direction of the sun and the shadows it made.
Now, I can sit in the shade of the willow tree for thirteen minutes fifty-one seconds. Then, I’ll move to the shadow of the north facing wall for three minutes seventeen seconds. Then to the gazebo’s
It was exactly one hour, cut into five parts, made up of all odd numbers.
Perfection, she thought proudly.
“Attention please: one o’clock medications.”
A nurse’s voice rang over the loud speaker startling Skye out of her compulsive trance.
She slowly dragged herself away from the window and down the long, stark hallway. Her finger traced the grout line between every other cinder block of the wall while happily counting to herself.
1…3…5…7…
Halfway down the corridor, a note slid out from under a door. The words ‘READ ME’ were written on the outside. She opened it cautiously.
Come in and visit me. The door is unlocked. Jeremy.
It came from inside room 313. Its occupant was never seen by patients. Nurses delivered medications and meals to him through a small flap in the iron door.
Skye knocked, and then opened the door cautiously. There, huddled in the corner, was an ordinary boy of about thirteen.
“They took my Superman cape. It makes me brave. Help me.”
Skye remembered noticing the red satin cape in the orderly’s trash cart.
“I’ll help you,” said Skye.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded.
“It’s room 313, someone opened his door”, yelled an orderly, mopping the hallway.
Within a second the small boy lunged at Skye and pinned her to the ground.
“Thank you. My beautiful
A nurse ran into the room, pierced a syringe into his neck and he blacked out instantly.
“What are you doing in here?”
“He asked me to help him,” Skye said trembling.
“Don’t come in here again. It’s not safe. Go get your medications.”
In front of the medication line was a large bald man with a cut off left ear.
“Ruff!” He barked at the nurse giving the medications and crawled away on all fours.
“Don’t worry,” said Nurse Redding “He’s harmless. He thinks he’s a one eared dog. So, Ms. Skye Evans, 4 milligrams risperidone, 3 milligrams lorazepam, and 1250 micrograms of vitamin D.”
“Where’s Nurse Miller today?” Skye asked.
“She says she has H1N1 and refused to come to work. I think it’s a lousy excuse. Melvin, an orderly, called off for the same reason. The rumor is they’re helping each other ‘get better’ somewhere.”
Too much information, thought Skye as she popped her meds and went to the resident’s common area.
“Hey Skye, check out this headline”, said a resident, reading today’s newspaper. “Your sister’s book is number one on the best sellers list.”
There it was, just above The Dethroning of King Stanistovia: The Fall of an Empire. Living In Shadows was a book based on Skye’s life with OCD. She was speechless that her sister published a book that was rooted in such tragedy.
Their mother, a devout alcoholic, as if it were her religion; downed a fifth of vodka’s finest and slipped into a bath. While gawking and screaming obscenities at a neighbor lady hanging wash through the bathroom window, she seized. The tub overflowed. She lost consciousness and drowned. Skye found her body later that day.
“What goes around comes around. She asked for it,” said her sister sarcastically.
Skye went into a near catatonic state a week after the death. She was admitted to the La Casablanca for psychiatric treatment soon after. That was seventeen years ago.
Sadly, Skye still sits trapped by her illness and will possibly hide in the shadows for good.
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