The GHOST OF SULFUR SPRINGS

 

CHAPTER 1

 

Thursday, September 3, 1965

A small farm in Central Kentucky

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     A cold wind escaped from an opening in the craggy rocks atop a bluff. In the light of a half-moon, the wind whisked deep into a ravine and wrapped around a napping bobcat that was lounging on a limb in a hickory tree. The cat laid back his ears and spatted, and he smacked his claws at a dark shadow. With an angry scream, the feline leapt from his perch and padded off to find a more suitable place for its midnight snooze.

     Continuing its journey, the wind crashed into the creek at the bottom of the ravine and raced to follow the twists and turns through the dense woods. Decaying leaves on the banks flew into the air and the tree branches rattled in fear.

     The wind became colder and more powerful. It picked up the foul smell of sulfur that moved with the water that came from a spring hidden beneath the bluff. The creek flowed through a narrow tunnel that years of erosion had carved through a limestone rock wall.

     Once through the opening, the wind was more powerful than before. It turned from the creek and gushed upward and over another rocky bluff. It had escaped the confines of the ravine and into an open barnyard. The cold wind was free.

     Two guernsey cows shivered and stomped their hooves in protest as the cold wind whipped around them in the dark of night. A bull lowered his broad head and bellowed when the wind approached him. The wind turned and tore through an old milk barn and hovered in a stall to the rear.

     The stall had once been of interest when he had been Elroy Hindle. That was before he had become the wind, but there was nothing for him in the barn at this time.

     A rocky road guided the wind down a small hill. It raced past sprawling grapevines suspended on cedar posts connected with a thick wire. The wind gusted through the cracks of an empty outhouse, and the rank stench joined the powerful smell of sulfur.

     The wind moved through a small cherry orchard and reached its destination. It raced around a small, unpainted farmhouse that was surrounded by large shade trees. Colored leaves still clinging to branches tried to flee, but the limbs refused to release them.

     An old Dodge that had seen better days sat in the gravel driveway, and the wind swirled around the rusty car. It then made its way to the rear of the house. To call it a house was generous. It was barely more than a rickety shack with four walls and a leaky roof, but it was a loving home for a young couple desperately working to raise eight children. Times were tough for the young family, but their lives were full of hope and promise.

     The rankness from the outhouse combined with the smell of sulfur was very strong, stronger than normal for the wind from the ravine. But this wind was not a normal wind. This wind was cold and angry, and he was hungry. There were eight children inside the house, and the wind was eager to claim one of their souls as his own.

     The foul, cold wind climbed the rotting wood steps onto the screened-in back porch. A galvanized washtub for bathing sat on one end of the porch, and a hand operated clothes washing machine sat on the other. The backdoor of the small house was shut, but the door did not fit well. The wind whistled through the cracks. He hovered in the bare kitchen for just a moment and searched.

     Two boys slept on a pullout couch in the cramped living room, thin blankets barely covering their bodies. The oldest of the boys slept on a cot behind a wood stove against the wall. There was no fire burning in the stove on this warm late summer night.

     One of the boys on the pullout couch was not fully asleep. His blonde hair was tousled, and he was restless. A quiet whisper from the wind that spoke no words stirred the boy from his restless sleep, and he sat up.

     The whisper grew louder, and the boy was urged to get up. The strong need to go the outhouse came over the boy, but he ignored it. Going to the outhouse in the middle of the night required him to get up. He was nice and warm, and he would rather pee in his bed than visit the outhouse. The boy yawned and laid his head back on his worn pillow.

     Disappointed, the wind drifted into a bedroom that was occupied by four girls laying on two beds. The warm air of the small room was pushed away and replaced by an evil chill.

     The girls were all asleep, all but one. She was the youngest of the four girls, but not the youngest of the eight children. The girl had felt the cold wind enter the room. Her small hands reached down and pulled her blanket higher, and then she froze. Her scared eyes had found a dark form hovering overhead against the ceiling.

     The shadow grew closer, and there was a whisper into the ear of the young girl. She could hear the whispers, and she knew what the whisper said. She was paralyzed with terror. She clenched her eyes together and trembled. The whispers became screams, and she tried her best to ignore them.

     Giving up on the girl, but not finished, the cold wind moved on.

     There was one room left in the house, and the door to that room was open. On the bed lay the mother and father of the young family. Between the parents, a small, dark-haired boy three years of age sat staring at the cold wind.  

     Barely awake, he could see the dark shadow hovering against the wall in the dimly lit room, and he could hear the quiet whispers. The wind spoke words the boy could understand. The boy should have been scared, but he was too young to understand what real fear was.

     "Daniel, come with me,” the wind coaxed. The words were soft and comforting. “Don’t you need to go to the outhouse? Come with me. I’ll go with you.”

     The boy was supposed to wake his mother if he needed to go to the outhouse, and he was slightly confused. But again, he was not scared.

     Sensing his hesitation, the wind whispered louder, “Your mother is tired and needs to sleep.” The wind paused, and then continued, “Come with me. I’ll go with you. It’s OK.”

     The boy started to move, and the wind whispered again, “Try not to wake her. She’s tired.”

     Again, the boy thought to himself that he was not supposed to go out without her.

     The wind quickly answered his thoughts, “It’s OK. She’ll be proud of how big you’re getting. Don’t you want to make her proud?”

     The boy did want to make his mother proud. He carefully crawled to the end of the bed and then stumbled slightly as he walked from the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes as he went past his blonde-haired brother sleeping on the pullout couch.

     “Shut the door easy,” the wind said. “You don’t want to wake anyone, do you?”

     Nearly tripping down the back porch steps, the sleepy, three-year-old boy followed the wind through the orchard to the outhouse. He was almost there when the wind said, “Daniel, we need to go to the barn.”

     “But I don’t want to go to the barn,” Daniel said, his words barely audible over the rattling of the leaves on the trees. His thoughts had become very cloudy, almost as if he was in a trance. He glanced over his shoulder and wanted to run back to the house. He wanted to climb back into the warm bed with his mother and father.

     “But your daddy is waiting for you,” the wind urged when the boy hesitated. The whispers had become louder and more demanding.

     Daniel was even more confused. In his mind he wondered why his daddy was waiting for him at the barn.

     The wind quickly answered, “Your daddy sent me to get you. Come with me, now.” A shadowy, bony hand with fingers that looked more like claws reached for the boy.

     The boy took the hand, and he was immediately chilled to the core of his soul. “I’m cold,” Daniel said. He felt like crying, but he fought back the tears. He was too young to understand that this is what terror felt like.

     “Come with me. Now!” the cold wind demanded. “You’ll warm up in the barn. We need to milk the cows.” His voice had softened slightly.

     The cold wind now looked like his father, but then not really. He looked like a very angry version of his father. The boy was worried that if he didn’t do what he was told that his father would be disappointed and mad.

     His bare feet stepped on sharp rocks as he held the cold hand of an angry shadow of his father. The rocks did not bother the young boy. Something about this felt different though. It felt wrong, but he would follow his father anywhere.

     They reached an electric barb wire fence, and the wind said, “Duck under the fence. I don’t want you to get shocked.”

     The cold wind had worked too hard, and he was so close to success. Avoiding the electric fence was critical. He did not want the young boy to be awakened from the trance that he was now under.

     Daniel crawled beneath the fence and walked through the barnyard and past the two guernsey cows. The bull got to his feet and let out a loud bellow and pawed at the ground with his large split-hoof. His ringed nose raked the dry dirt of the barnyard, and he snorted and gave a short lunge forward. He was not threatening the small boy, but the cold shadow that lead him.

     The two cows began bawling as cows do when they think it is time to be fed. It was not actually time to be fed, but the cows were bawling as though it were. In truth, they were concerned about the cold, shadowy presence that was leading the young boy past the barn. The cows moved in the direction of the young boy and continued to bawl. They were trying to get the boy’s attention.

     “Where are we going?” Daniel asked the wind as they walked past the cows and past the barn.

     “Just over here,” the cold wind said as he led the young boy toward the edge of the bluffs behind the barn.

     “But I’m not supposed to go over there,” the young boy said. He had become more frightened, yet he followed.