©2019 RAVEN MOON
Ghosts of Raven Farm
Abigail Cooper scrolled through the online classifieds for homes to rent. There wasn’t a single house in the area that appealed to her. As Abigail’s frustration built, she pushed the laptop away then rubbed her temples, trying to ease the throbbing pain the morning had given her. She leaned her head back for a few moments, then rested her eyes before calling it quits. She firmly placed both hands on the table to stand to scoot the chair back, when an ad in the homes for sale section jumped out in bold letters in the morning paper under her laptop. Abigail never thought of looking for a home to buy, but there it was, the home of her dreams for sale at a reasonable price:
Situated On five acres
For more information call Pat at 812-280-1234
“This must be a mistake, a farmhouse on 5-acres? There must be a catch. It must need major repairs.” She thought out loud. In disbelief, she read the ad a couple more times before grabbing her phone. She dialed the number, and a middle-aged woman answered, “Hello, this is Pat Pleasant. How may I help you?”
“Hello, my name is Abigail Cooper. I’m calling about a house you have for sale.”
“I have many homes for sale, dear. Could you be more specific?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m calling about the farmhouse on 5-acres for $100,000.00. That is all the ad says. Is it still available?”
“Let me check. Can I place you on hold?”
“Yes, thank you.” The phone went silent before an oldie’s song played. Her heart raced with anticipation.
“Thank you for holding. That one is available.”
Abigail paced the room as her excitement built, “Where is it located?” Crossing her fingers, she hoped it was in the area she wanted.
“Outskirts of Charlestown in Southern Indiana.” She arched a black brow.
“I’ve searched for homes in that area for rent and nothing. I did find a few homes for sale, but the prices were double that, if not more and without acreage. Is that price a typo?” She asked, trying to remain positive.
Pat laughed, “No, typo. The lady is a widow and is ready to downsize at her ripe old age of 72. She is anxious to sell.”
This house sounds promising. “How many bedrooms and baths? Does it have a basement?”
“It is 3-bedroom and 2-bath home with the possibility of two more rooms added in the upstairs. It doesn’t have a basement but has a cellar. Plus, a large family room. The overall size of the home is 2400 square feet.” Pat took a long pause, “It does have a garage and a small building. There are three fenced lots, and a small stream runs behind the garage. I believe there is also a dog run if you own dogs. There is a garden area too.” She added.
“Wow, that is a lot for the price.” Abigail let out an audible sigh, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with the house? Something terrible must be wrong with it, right? Does it need major repairs, like a new roof, a lousy neighborhood, something.” She bit her bottom lip waiting on Pat’s response and hoped it wasn’t as bad as she presumed.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?”
Pat’s breath quivered as she spoke, “Would you believe me if I told you—it's haunted?”
Abigail chuckled a little too loudly, “I don’t believe in ghosts.” She firmly stated, “If I can’t see it with my eyes, then it is not real.”
“Some people don’t see the colors of the rainbow, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” Pat replied.
“This is true. but seeing is believing.” Abigail retorted.
Pat cleared her throat, “Then you shouldn’t have a problem.”
“Guess not.” she snickered, “When can I see it?”
“Can you meet in an hour?” Pat suggested.
“Perfect. What is the address again?”
“Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“The address is 10523, Chas Beth.”
“Great, I’ll meet you there.” The call ended. Abigail grabbed her keys and locked the door. As she drove the backroads, she noticed the farmland that once thrived in the small rural area now stripped away to make room for businesses and apartments.
What a shame they are taking all the native habitats from the wildlife. No wonder the coyotes are running in the city. Insurance companies most love all wrecks with wildlife. The light turned red; she slammed on the brakes. The man behind her blew his horn with a flip of his finger. She waved out the window then shouted, “Nice gesture.” A young girl is sitting in the lane over laughed. An ambulance sped past, causing Abigail to jump. After getting her heart rate down, she looked at the time and checked the tom-tom. It had her arriving 30 minutes early.
She stopped by a quaint country store. I will ask if they know about the house. Hopefully, they can offer information about the home. She pulled in front of the store. A man held the door open. She smiled, thank you; he returned the smile.
“Hello.” A silver-haired woman said behind the counter. Abigail turned, giving the woman a warm smile, then walked to the coolers in the back of the store and grabbed a few drinks. As she made her way back to the counter, she grabbed some chips and a candy bar.
“Is this all for you today?” The woman asked.
“Yes,” Abigail said. The clerk nodded and scanned the items.
“There is a house for sale around here on Chas Beth road. Do you know anything about it?”
“Do you need a bag?”
“Yes, please,” Abigail said, looking around, waiting to see if the woman had any information. That’s when she noticed a picture of a farmhouse on the wall. A man with small children stood in front. Abigail walked over for a closer look.
“Your total is $15.00.” She turned to the clerk then walked back to pay and grabbed the bag. Abigail gave another smile.
The woman’s eyes held sadness as she talked, “That is Mr. Warren and his children. Bless his heart.” Abigail checked the time then stepped back to the counter.
“What happened?” Abigail asked. The clerk walked from behind the counter to the photo-taking it off the way.
Her expression fell. “They were in a fire. Killed them all.”
“That is sad. How old were the kids?”
A thoughtful frown joined her eyebrows together, “The twin girls were seven and the boy was ten. People have told many stories about what really happened. The latest is that the boy started the fire after locking himself upstairs with his dad and sisters. Some say he wasn’t the nicest kid and had a psychotic break. The Warren’s adopted him when he was four, both parents overdosed. They were young, only 19.”
“What happened to the mother?”
“Oh, Mrs. Warren still lives in the house up the road. She wasn’t home at the time. She never did move from there. People claim she stayed because their spirits linger in that old house.”
Abigail grabbed the bag, “That is horrible.”
The woman’s gaze dropped, “Yes, very.” She said before walking away.
“Thank you. Have a good day.” Abigail waved, her heart heavy. As she opened the door, a burly man barged through without a word nearly toppling her over. She knew the hot and humid summer day played a factor in his attitude. Summers in Indiana were miserable on everyone, and they let it be known.