"Weirder Than Weird" 18 Bizarre Tales From a Disturbed Mind Read online

Deep in the forest of Greyshire, a dark and forlorn figure could be seen wandering its long forgotten road in search of shelter. The gloom of night descended quickly and with it a shroud of mist layered the trees and roadway like a gathering of spirits. Yet up ahead, peeking out from behind a small copse of trees, a pale yellow light seemed to beckon the traveler, a most welcomed sight considering his present circumstance. As he moved closer, he could see more clearly the outline of a large log cabin and upon arrival a great wooden sign hung prominently from the top of its doorway, it read “TELL A TALE TAVERN & INN.” The words seemed to be freshly painted and covering up a different name underneath but he couldn’t quite discern exactly what it was because of the poor lighting. An uneasiness crept over him as he stepped to one side and peered through the window.

  A fireplace was brightly ablaze on the far end of the room and a few tattered deer heads hung from its darkened walls. There were also a number of roughly hewn wooden tables and chairs dotting its inside but not much more could be seen from the window. “Such a dismal décor,” he thought to himself as he started to make his way inside. He wrenched the rusty door handle with great effort and the heavy wooden door slowly swung open with a moanful creak. Aside from the crackling of the fire, the room was deathly quiet and void of any presence. His eyes scanned the interior. A row of vintage oil lamps hung from a grey wooden beam that ran down the center of the room and to his left was a large slab of gnarled and unfinished wood sitting upon notched logs. Behind this he saw shelves filled with sand colored bottles, all corked and of myriad shapes and sizes. On one side of the counter rested a wooden ladder that rose to a darkened loft and on the other, a door to an unseen room.

  Despite the odd surroundings he was certainly thankful to be out of the cold. He turned to close the door and as he turned again, a figure now stood before him. This sudden appearance startled him and he fell back against the door with a gasp.

  “Oh my! Beggin’ your pardon stranger, I didn’t mean to frighten you so!”

  Before him stood a plump old fellow whose slack face looked to be fully drained of color. “I’m the barkeep here, Old Tom they call me,” he wiped his hand across a stained apron and held it out in common gesture. The man instinctively took hold but a stingy cold instantly penetrated his flesh and coursed quickly to the bone.

  The old man gave him a wink. “Now you just shake off that chill over there by the fire and old Tom’ll get you some grub right away… they’ll be plenty of time for story tellin!” He then turned and disappeared behind the counter door.

  Still a bit shaken, the man rubbed his hands and walked over to the fire. Within a few minutes the old man returned, carrying a large wooden platter filled with small loves of fresh bread, slabs of cheese and two large steins of beer. He sat the platter down upon the table and gestured for the man to have a seat.

  “Now then, stranger, why is such a man as yourself out on a night like this?” the old man asked, eyeing him from top to bottom. “We certainly don’t get many borders these days.”

  “Well, it just so happens that I got lost somehow,” the man replied. “You see, I’ve been surveying these parts for about a week now and I must have gotten confused, I mean, it’s the damnedest thing, one minute I’m standing on a hill just taking notes when, for some inexplicable reason, I look up and everything was … mmm… different!”

  “Different you say?”

  “Why yes, I know that it sounds crazy but all my surroundings were changed somehow. Come to think of it, I remember seeing a very odd flash of light out the corner of my eye, then as I say, everything was different. For the life of me I can’t fathom how it all happened but I found myself walking on a dirt road for what seemed hours looking for my car.” He paused. “Now that I think of it, I did come across a man on horseback but when I yelled out to him he wouldn’t even look in my direction, which I thought very peculiar.”

  There was a knowing glint in the eye of the old man but he remained silent, his face only gesturing in a feign mask of sympathy. Realizing how parched he had become, the man fully drained his drink in one long breath and wiped his sleeve across his face.

  “Thank God I finally saw your light, barkeep!”

  “Yes, the good Lord be praised alright, but don’t you worry none lad, you’re in good hands now; this is the best Inn this side of Barstone and after a good night’s rest I’m sure that…ah… that thing of yours will turn up.”

  “My car you mean?”

  “Yes, yes that’s it!”

  The moment was interrupted by the sound of a hatchet striking down hard at the opposite end of the room and a momentary flutter of white filled the air then became motionless. Startled, the stranger jumped in his seat. On one end of the counter stood an elderly man of diminutive stature and as thin as a stalk of grain. He was holding a hatchet in one hand and a freshly decapitated chicken in the other. The blood oozed over the counter and dripped steadily to the floor below.

  The old man gave a look of exasperation then turned to the stranger. “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, ol’ Pete over there has never been one for manners, what say I get us a few more drafts and I’ll have a bit of word with him.”

  “How strange all this is!” the man thought to himself as he looked around the room, from the rustic interior to the food that was served him, and there was also the archaic manner of dress the two men sported, especially the barkeep who wore a shirt with a thick ruffled collar that was buttoned high to the jaw line. “That has to be terribly uncomfortable!” he thought, but of course everything appeared peculiar and out of place.

  Within a few minutes, the barkeep returned to the table with two more drinks. The man pulled out his wallet from his coat pocket and inspected its contents. “I should ask if you accept credit cards, I hope you understand that I wasn’t expecting all this to happen to me so I’m a little short on cash but I do think that I have a gold card here somewhere.”

  The old man looked perplexed at the question but the light of understanding soon swept over him, “Oh no… no Sir! We have no use for your gold or silver!” He laughed out loud. “What we want from you is a good tale!”

  The stranger gave a befuddled look. “A good tale you say? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s like this,” said the old man. “Unfortunately we don’t get many visitors these days and me and ol’ Pete just love to hear a good frightening tale, the scarier the better. Of course, the story must be based in truth or else it loses its flavor… if you get my meanin’ Sir. So what say you, stranger… got a good tale for us?” The fat bartender leaned in with childlike enthusiasm as did old Pete who swept his way closer for a better hear.

  The man thought the request quite insane but he was contentedly warm once again and quite relaxed as a result of a strong fire and an even stronger drink. He looked at the two morbid figures with curiosity, a loneliness exuded from them both and the better part of him relented, he would give them what they wanted.

  “A tale you say, based in fact nonetheless.”

  “Yes! Yes! And scary!” added the barkeep.

  “Well, it seems to me that I do recall something that happened to me when I was a boy that quite frankly I cannot explain, even to this day. I was probably just nine years old at the time. My family lived in a modest house at the end of a winding gravel road and my maternal grandparents lived close by in an old two story vine draped home. Every day I would have to pass by their house on my way to school which always caused me great anxiety, for the house itself was frightening enough because of a dark aura that seemed to be imposed there but more importantly, I was deathly afraid of my grandmother. I had many a dream where I would see her staring at me from the second floor window as I passed by, a solitary figure with no movement or smile, just and evil stare attempting it seemed to destroy a small boy’s sanity. I would often redirect my route across a nearby gully that was rife with snakes and other creeping nasties just to avoid passing by that interminable nightmare of
a house.

  “My grandfather was a rotund and jolly sort of fellow. I remember him as being great fun to be around but as for my grandmother, truth be told, she always reminded me of a living spook! She elicited in me a fear that I could never come to terms with. She was a woman of small stature and conservative dress with long hoary hair that was always pinned up tight in the back. My grandfather and her were complete opposites, he was an outgoing and boisterous type of fellow but she was very quiet and sullen. Come to think of it, I don’t even recall what her voice sounded like, perhaps that added to the frightening mystique of the woman.

  “But there was one feature of hers above all else that to this day sends a chill down my spine when I think of it…. her eyes! Dark and penetrating were those eyes of hers; they could look right through your very soul and lay all your hidden secrets bare to the world. I came to believe that they were two spheres of evil, originally intended to be bestowed upon an unworldly form, a sinister form, not that of an old woman. I have seen pictures of her in her youth and her eyes were soft and gentle, gleaming the brightest of blue, but somewhere, somehow, they had changed. The light in them was now gone and her maddening glare would continue to haunt my dreams even after they were extinguished forever!

  “As it happened, the old woman was diagnosed with cancer and passed away not long after. A great relief came upon me which I was sensible enough to keep to myself. During her short battle with the disease I found excuse not to visit her in the hospital and when she finally died I was overjoyed in thinking that my troubles were now over. Despite my previous manipulations, my mother made certain that I did not squirm out of attending the funeral and before we left for the funeral home that dreary morning both me and my little sister were instructed to bring along a personal keepsake that would be placed in the casket with my grandmother for all eternity. I remember the old woman lying on display in her wooden chamber with a delicate repose as if she was only lost in a deep slumber, soon to awaken at any moment to resume my nightmare. But that of course was pure nonsense, anyone could plainly see that the old broad was stone cold dead!”

  “With my mother holding her hand, my little sister bravely placed a small stuffed bear in the casket as tears trickled down her cheeks. My mother gave me a sympathetic look then they both exited the viewing parlor. I was now all alone with the old woman. I nervously pulled a small bible from my coat pocket. Earlier that morning I scribbled a message on the inside cover that was childishly disrespectful in hindsight but was certainly the way I felt at the time. It read, ‘I‘m so glad you‘re dead! Stay that way old woman!’

  “I tossed it into the coffin and was about to turn when I noticed something odd. I took a small step closer and stared at her cold lifeless face. “Could it be?“ I thought to myself. “yes!“ A chill ran through me as I discerned that her eyelids were only partially closed, there was a small sliver of darkness peeking out from behind them! I was frozen, unable to move or avert my stare. I looked on with horror as I perceived the slightest lifting of the lids as if they were struggling against a great weight. Slowly, very slowly they endeavored to open so that I could glimpse into the dark portals of hell itself! Yes, they were opening, I was certain of it now! My terror was at its peak when suddenly I heard my mother calling out my name which broke the terrifying spell and I ran from the room never to speak of what occurred that day.

  “My anxiety lessened as the years passed, as did my nightmares. My grandfather died soon after his wife and their old house remained vacant and unused for years. The shroud of green vine eventually enveloped the entirety of its rotting structure as if attempting to hide its sinister secrets from the rest of the world. After many years, the house was finally scheduled for demolition and I decided to pay it one last visit. My grandfather had always been a voracious reader and over many years he had garnered a huge collection of books that I hoped still remained in the house, I was determined to pick through them to find any treasures there might be.

  “I arrived at the house very apprehensive, having not seen or even thought about it in years. Its dilapidated state was a bit mournful to me even in spite of my past history with it. I entered through the front door and made my way to the second floor where my grandfather had kept his collection. The rooms were now in complete disarray and a moldy smell permeated the entire structure. Looters had thoroughly pilfered anything of value in the house and I was saddened to see how the old man’s books were scattered about the place, soggy and rife with mold, totally useless now. Having found nothing of worth, I was about to leave when I realized something that stopped me dead in my tracks. My nightmares were of that very room!

  “Not ten feet in front of me was the draped window in which many times I dreamt of seeing my grandmother staring out at me as I passed by the house. That old feeling of panic renewed itself but I somehow found the courage to maintain my composure. ‘After all…I am an adult,’ I thought to myself, ‘and all that terror I experienced was a result of a child’s wild imagination!’ I reasoned it all out in my mind and was quite satisfied with my mature take on it. But a second later I noticed something sitting on the window sill. I walked over and picked it up. It looked strangely familiar, then my stomach began to feel queasy. I turned over the front cover to the book and there upon its first page I saw the words…‘I’m so glad you’re dead! Stay that way old woman!‘ I stared in horror because below those words, in a shaky hand was written, ‘WE SHALL SEE MY DEAR … WE SHALL SEE!’

  The old barkeep slapped his knee and a huge grin beamed across his face. “That’s a pure dilly my boy, a pure dilly!” he cried out as he raised his mug in salute. Old Pete nodded his agreement then went back to his sweeping.

  “He doesn’t say much, does he?” asked the stranger.

  “No sir, he doesn’t,” replied the old man hanging his head. “Not for a very long time now.”

 

  The old man suddenly perked up again. “Well, one good tale deserves another and ol’ Tom’s in the mood to tell it, so sit back and enjoy your Lager while I regale you with a tale of a place just like this one many, many years ago…

  “There once was a very lively and prosperous Inn situated at the halfway point between two busy trading towns. The Inn at that time was called ‘THE ROOST’ and it was frequented by all different character types and vocation of men. Trappers were the most common but there were gamblers, homesteaders, sailors, traders, salesmen, and a whole host of others that passed through its doors… mostly folk of ill repute it could be truthfully said. The Inn keeper there was an honest but stern fellow, he made it a point to keep the peace in his establishment and he did this with the help of a blunderbuss he kept hidden behind the bar. The only other employee there was an old servant who performed most of the cooking and cleaning chores and together over time they developed quite a reputation for themselves as a place where you could have a drink and spin a good yarn in confidence. The customers at that time were a lively bunch, full of spit and vinegar as they say, telling the wildest of tales which stretched the imagination and oh how the Innkeeper loved to hear their tales!

  “But one late evening after everyone had either gone home or bedded down for the night, a stranger came to the Inn looking to satisfy his thirst. He stumbled through the door in a drunken state and yelled out for assistance. Within a few moments the Innkeeper appeared from the back room, bleary eyed and dressed in his night clothes. He explained that there was a bed available but that drinks were no longer being served on account of the late hour. The stranger was about to make an uproar when he realized that he still had a bottle of rum in the pocket of his overcoat. Satisfied with his discovery, he sat down in front of the fireplace and proceeded to ramble on about his immoral exploits. The Innkeeper beckoned the servant to prepare a bed for the stranger as he himself wasted no time in returning to the fire for fear that he might miss out on some tidbit of fascination. Perhaps it was the monotony of Inn keeping or just the envy of men who lived dangerously and sought a
life of adventure that fed his need to absorb their tales, whatever it was he could hardly contain his eagerness for a new story.

  “The stranger boasted many a villainous act but he became most lively when he talked of an evil conquest that took place that very evening. As it was, he and three other men were sailors from the ship ‘Maytu Queen’ that lay anchored in nearby Oak Harbor. It was resupplying itself and was scheduled to set sail by weeks’ end for the long voyage to the Marianas. The crew, however, was on the verge of mutiny as a result of ill treatment by the Captain and his officers. The four hastily hatched a plot to relieve the ship of her gold stores, but when the deed was underway a deck officer walked in on the theft and they had no choice but to soundly slice him to pieces. They managed to make off with a small chest of bullion and when they were far enough away they decided to hide the treasure in an old abandoned barn on the outskirts of Barstone.

  “On a fortnight, after all the commotion had settled, they would again rejoin forces and divvy up the treasure. Men, of course, can never be trusted to stay loyal to one another and sailors are no exception to this; only these fellows were bound to fidelity by an ancient blood oath. As they became brothers with the mixing of their blood, one of them read from a small parchment that applied a most potent curse upon any of which broke its contract. The men were not even to speak a syllable of what had occurred or the curse would wreak havoc upon the unfaithful.

  “All of a sudden, the stranger stopped speaking and stared as if in shock. His eyes were wide and all blood seemed to be drained from his face as he fully realized what he had done. In telling the story he had broken the contract he made earlier. In an act of desperation and part confusion he jumped to his feet and pulled his long saber from its sheath. The blade sang through the air and made fierce contact with the Innkeepers throat. His meaty head separated from his body in a splash of red and thumped loudly against the wooden floor.”

  “A wildness was now aflame in the sailor’s eyes as he turned and spotted the old servant cowering behind the bar. He rushed over, grabbed the servant by the jowls and forced a small dagger into the mouth of the trembling old man thereby relieving him of his tongue. Satisfied now that there would be no one to speak of the night’s atrocity, the sailor grabbed a bottle of rum from behind the counter and made his way to the door for his escape but he stopped suddenly when he heard sounds coming from the loft above. Looking up, he saw faces staring down at him and spewing obscenities, he then realized that there were more witnesses to be dealt with. He looked around and latched on to one of the oil lamps, carrying it to the door then turned and smashed the bottle of rum upon the floor. In one last gesture of evil, he threw down the lamp which burst into flames and soon the entire structure became a raging inferno.

  “Needless to say… no one inside the building escaped that night. As for the sailor… In breaking his sworn oath, he was cursed to wander the Barstone road for all eternity and on the anniversary of that fateful night he must relive the horrible deed that saw the bitter demise of ‘THE ROOST.’ I’m afraid my lad…the anniversary…is this very night!”

  “Bravo, bravo!” shouted the stranger. “I must say that you had me on the edge of my seat, barkeep, and our ghostly surroundings certainly added to the effect!” He laughed. “It was, of course, very frightening and great fun but one thing does bother me…”

  The old man looked puzzled. “What might that be, stranger?”

  “Well, your stipulation of course. Are not our stories to be based in fact? That was one doozy of a yarn but it could hardly be taken seriously. Still, I applaud you for a great story!”

  “Is that so!” said the barkeep giving a quick wink to old Pete who was anxiously standing by. “Perhaps then,” his words were slow and deliberate, “this will suffice in lending some credence to my story!”

  The old man then latched on to a handful of his own hair and gave a swift tug upward. His head instantly separated from his body and remained dangling in the air as a sinister laugh poured forth from the ghastly figure. The old servant Pete joined the hysterics with guttural noises emanating from where his tongue used to be. The stranger fell from his chair in complete horror and made his way half crawling to the door. The laughter resonated even louder as a band of ghoulish figures joined in from the loft area. The stranger managed to make his way outside and ran blindly down the old dirt road.

  Within seconds, an orange glow lit his way from behind and when he looked back he could see that the Inn was fully engulfed in flame. At that moment, a man on a horse galloped furiously passed him and a second later a flash of light temporarily blinded him. He miraculously found himself on the same hill he was taking notes the day before and his car was exactly where he left it. Wasting no time, he was soon miles away.

  As he drove on, the first of morning light came peaking over the hills and he contemplated what to do next. He knew that in most stories like this, the victim would attempt to bring a companion back to try and verify the story in some way. They would probably stop to ask one of the locals about the place in question only to be told that it hasn’t existed in years, if at all. He just shook his head, deciding that the best course of action would be to do what most of us have done when confronted with a gruesome memory from our past. Just tuck it away forever!

  THE LEGEND OF JEDIDIAH CRANE