Cemetery Street

Count nodded at the wrecked house. "They were murdered. All but one, and he blames himself."

"Way cool," I commented, foraging through the remains. "When? Why?" I asked.

"The 40's, give or take." Count answered. He squatted, investigating whatever it was that caught his attention. "Why?" Count looked up. "The old coon says he heard the banshee's wail. Says he knew it was coming. Says he didn't do nothing to stop it. He was walking through the tunnel one foggy morning. He always walked the tunnel; it's how he got to work. He worked at Diamond glass, way before they shut her down. Walked all the way to town from here, careful to time his trip through the tunnel, didn't want to get caught in the tunnel with the early eastbound freight. That morning wasn't any different. In the middle of the tunnel, the cries of the banshee and the clanking of her chains surprised him. He didn't see it coming - you know, the fog lurks in the tunnel to. He dove out of its way just in time. He lay in muck beneath the fog gazing up as thirteen palls passed. Thirteen sets of clanking chains overpowered his whimpers.

"Banshee Smamshee, What a dumb story," I said.

"That's what I said…" Count stood behind the dead campfire, his arms outstretched, like a condor riding thermals. "… until I found out how many people lived here."

"Let me guess - thirteen," I said.

"Fourteen," Shannie said. I turned to her, she sat upon a fallen tree outside the crumbled front wall. "He was the sole survivor."

"Who?" I asked.

"Russell," Shannie replied disappearing behind the wall. A breeze rustled the treetops, in the distance, water tumbled over Blackrock dam.

"Bullshit!" I said.

"Think so?" she asked emerging from behind the wall. "Ask him, see what he says."

A few weeks later I asked Russell what's the curse of the tunnel. Leaning on his broom in front of Wally's, he warned, "Don't be caught in there when a train comes. Wicked things happen to people you love. Now excuse me, I has to get back to work."

"It's still a dumb story," I avoided Shannie's glare.

"How can people do this?" Shannie protested kicking strewn garbage. "This is hallowed ground."

"Maybe for you," Count said. "For everyone else, it's just some dumb coon's old house."