22 Days until Halloween
Well here we are, another blog that leaves you asking the question...is this story fact or ficton? What do you think? I am looking foward to your answers. Join me tomorrow to learn the truth about this story, but until then happy reading and I'll blog ya later.
"Deadly Tractor"
By: Stacey L. Bolin
Music to accompany the story
Deep in the cold blustery evening hours on Halloween night in
October 1994, a woman was driving home from a Halloween Party along one of the
back farm roads to elude the possibility of being stopped by police. She had only
had two drinks over the course of the entire evening, but knowing that she had
been at a place that reeked of alcohol, she didn't want to take any chances of
having to take part in a sobriety test. As she drove along a darkened washboard
rhythm dirt road, an image of a man standing in her path of travel came into view.
Her instinct had always been dead on, and it was screaming for her to continue
driving onward, but her compassionate side made her stop to see if he was OK.
She stopped the car and rolled down the window to ask him if there was anything
that she could do to help. The man stood staring down into the car at her. He wore a pair of sun bleached blue month eaten bibbed overalls with a plaid button up shirt and green rubber farm boots. Blood trickled down the side of his head, while what appeared to be a 1954
Chevy truck, was a smoking mangled mess on the side of the road. Clearly he was
suffering from an injury to his head caused by his recent auto accident. She
continued asking him questions so she could call for help - yet he never
replied. "Maybe his head injuries are so severe he doesn't know the
answers, or maybe he can't even speak," she thought to herself.
"Sir, you need help, please let me help
you." but still he didn't reply. Frantically she grabbed her cell phone
from her purse and began to fumble over the buttons to call 911, but with each
time she would hit send, the screen would turn red. "Damn these phones!"
She yelled out, "They never have a signal when you need one!" When
she went to look up at him to ask him if she could take him to the hospital -
he was no longer there. She leaned forward to look out of her driver’s side
window trying to locate where he may have walked off too. "Sir? Sir, are you out there?" by
this time her fear of him being a total stranger had subsided and had turn into
the need to help him. As she leaned back into her seat, a hand with a piece of
paper caught the corner of her eye. "Holy Crap! How did you get in my car?
The doors are locked!" But still
the mystery man never offered a reply. Instead he continued to hold out his
hand with small piece of paper that had an address on it that read, 616 Ravens
Hollow Way - The Manor
Not knowing the area all that well, she put
the address into her GPS and hoped that as she drove, it would get a signal and
tell her where she was taking him. They left the accident scene, following the
directions that her GPS began to display. It was a freakishly quiet ride that
was wrapped with an icy cold air that had found its way inside her car. A
bluish fog accompanied her breath with each sigh she let out. "Something is wrong." she thought.
She had the heat setting on high, but it must have been blowing some major
Arctic air from the air vents. As she continued driving, her cell phone rang.
"Hello?" She said, knowing it was
not a good choice to talk on her phone and drive, but she needed to change the
deathly feeling that loomed.
"Nancy? Nancy is that you?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"It’s Ethan, remember Frankenstein with
running shoes at the party?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Hey I heard you were taking the back
roads to go home and I just wanted you to be aware of the ghost."
"A What?" She replied with a
sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"A ghost. You know - white sheet, says
boo." he laughed.
"Yes I know what it is, I just didn't
know if I heard you correctly. So go on with what you were saying about a ghost?"
"The story has it that in 1954 a man
named Elijah Blooms, a farmer that lived out along the back roads to raise his
livestock, was getting upset with the city boys coming out to play their yearly
Halloween game of chicken, in their trucks, on the road that ran through his
property. Each year, Mr. Blooms would
suffer a loss when cows would be hit and killed by the truck that didn't stay
on the road. The town’s people claim
that when Mr. Bloom was in town one afternoon, two days before Halloween to
pick up grain for his cows, he'd gotten wind that the city boys were once
again, planning to head out into the country for their annual Halloween game of
chicken. Since the police had not done anything to stop this reckless teenage
behavior, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He took an old tractor
and welded many layers of steel on it to make it almost like a tank. Then he
painted it flat black and parked it across the road. Now the object to this
game of chicken had been taken to a new level of danger that year - all headlights had to be off for ten seconds after you step on the gas - Mr. Bloom was not
aware of this."
Six teenagers out of the ten, that had taken
part in this crazy game of chicken, lost their lives that dark night when one
of the trucks had hit the black tractor, that had gone unseen, parked across
the road until seconds after turning their headlights on. Bodies of the four boys riding in the bed of the truck had been strewn all
over the field, and suffered a slow death while the driver and the passenger
in the the truck with him, died on impact. Mr. Blooms, feeling so consumed by a raw and deep feeling of guilt by the thoughts and images of what he
had done, took his own life that night by inflicting a single gun shot to his right temple.
It is said that every Halloween night, Mr. Bloom's ghost is seen standing in the road next to
an old 1954 Chevy truck, that is a smoking mangled mess trying to steer
teenagers away from wanting to play chicken on the road that cuts through his pasture land.
She immediately slammed on her breaks and dropped her phone in her lap when
she heard Ethan's last sentence. She sat in utter silence looking upon the passenger
seat - that was empty.
"Nancy!" shouted Ethan over her
phone, "Nancy! Answer me!"
She slowly brought her phone to her ear, but
still unable to find the ability to speak.
"Nancy! I can hear you breathing! Do you
need help? Don't move - I'll find you!"
He quickly ran his phone application to see
if he could find out where Nancy was located. He couldn't believe his eyes when
the address came up - 616 Ravens Hollow Way - The Manor. It was the cemetery
where Mr. Blooms had been buried 40 years earlier.
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