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Scene #75
Crumbled stone walls. Rusty doors. Ancient cots. A cemetery
filled with bodies of killers, thieves and rapists.
These were the remnants of Oak Hills Penitentiary, closed down
nearly thirty years ago when the upkeep outweighed the benefits of
keeping it open. For a century, hardened criminals lived behind
these walls. Several riots had occurred. Many convicts and guards
had lost their lives on these grounds. While it was
open, stories circulated of ghosts pulling harmless pranks on the
employees. Things moved on their own. Lights went on and off.
Apparitions were seen. It would appear that there were several
spirits roaming the building, out to frighten those who were
present. In reality, it was only one spirit - Mad Dog Mathers.
Mad Dog was the epitome of evil. Between 1891 and 1898, he
led a gang of ruthless killers through eighteen train robberies.
Thirty-two innocent victims died at the hands of unstoppable foes.
A posse of lawmakers pursued Mad Dog's group. In a
brutal shootout, Mad Dog was the only desperado left alive, wounded
severely, but too stubborn to die. He was sentenced to Oak Hills.
Guards tortured him. Mad Dog, consumed by rage against the prison
personnel who dished out and condoned his horrible treatment, was
hanged after a mere six weeks. Twenty years after the
prison closed, a wealthy buyer bought the property to run tours
through the well-known facility. A few groups passed through each
day. The owner made a great deal of money from his venture.
Often, little things would happen to those who worked alone. A
door opened or closed, an unexplained shadow moved about. These
moments were selling points for the tours. Word spread that the
penitentiary was haunted and more people came to see ghosts for
their selves. Max, twenty-two years old, was the newest
tour guide. He was a little leery of taking the job with the ghost
stories he heard, but after two months, he could happily say he had
never experienced any paranormal activity. People wasted fifteen
bucks for adults and seven for children under twelve for a chance
to experience supernatural occurrences. It was Saturday
afternoon. Max, dressed in his tour guide uniform, finished his
mid-day tour. His group, nine adults and three children, were
disappointed. They had not seen any ghosts, or happenings of the
extraordinary type. That was the main reason all had taken the
tour; just that chance they might see something unusual.
Max led his group down a hall, lit by scattered overhead lights.
"I hope you enjoyed your tour," he announced, sounding like he was
reading straight out of a training manual. "Are there any
questions?" A little boy, nine years old, geekish
glasses, a genius type, spoke up. "I didn't see any ghosts."
Max stopped the group. This was a question he heard on
every tour and it started to weigh heavily on his nerves. "That's
not a question," Max stated, "and where did you hear that?"
"From my friends," the boy answered. "I find that
hard to believe." "That there are ghosts?"
"No, that you have friends." While Max laughed at his
own humor, no one else did in the crowd. Max straightened.
"Completely false," he told the boy. He was supposed to play on
the whole ghost thing, but felt it would be more fun to deny the
rumors to this know-it-all child. "Sure, there are unexplainable
noises sometimes, but the building is nearly a hundred and fifty
years old." Max led his group to double exit doors at
the end of the hall and unlocked one with a key. "Be sure to tell
your friends," he said as he pushed open the door. As
the group passed by to exit, a man mumbled, "What a rip-off."
Max waved briefly. "Come again!" He closed the door, his
fake enthusiasm fading to distaste for his career choice. "This
job sucks." A loud clank down the hall startled Max. It
was normal to hear such noises during the day when workers were
doing various tasks, but now that he stood alone in the eerie
surroundings, his imagination soared. "Billy?" he asked
as he wandered slowly down the hall. Billy was a janitor assigned
to the area so it was possible he had knocked over his cart or a
metal trashcan. No verbal response came, but another clank was
even louder than the first. Max continues on his course,
eyes glued to a bend in the hall just down from him. Scuffling
became audible. Max's heart beat hard within his chest, but he
continued. Curiosity was truly a dangerous thing. The
scuffling was even closer now. The source sounded like it was
right around the corner. A dark shadow, void of any real
shape, crept across the floor, heading in his direction. There was
something about the way it seemed to float. Something unnatural.
A chill swept up Max's spine. The area felt cold
suddenly. Fear took over. Not just fear, but panic. Max fled
down the hall to the exit doors. The eerie shadow raced after him.
Max's hand quivered as he searched his pocket for the
correct key. Once he had it, he trembled as he tried to fit it
into the lock. The shadow was almost upon him. Max
unlocked one door and opened it. Looking back, he fled down the
sidewalk, never to return. He would be fired for leaving his post.
That did not matter at the moment. His life meant much more to
him. The door closed as the shadow arrived. In the
limited light, the dark abomination seemed to bump into the metal
surface, instantly stopping. The shadow loomed there as a maniacal
laughing seemed to accompany it. A lunatic's laughter.
The floor swallowed the dark shadowy presence, the eerie cackling
with it. The hall was quiet, too quiet. The evil presence left
behind an air of unease that would be felt by the next tour group
passing through in less than an hour...
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