The Brick House

I
In the year 1898 there was a magnificent brick house located in the sleepy hamlet of Halfmoon. At that time Philip S. Clark, a famous businessman, owned it. Philip inherited it from his father, Randolph Emerson Clark, who in turn had inherited it from his father, Henry Clark. None of Clark’s many buildings had the notoriety, nor even the bad name that the brick house endured. The rooms were spacious and furnished. The walls and moldings were of bright colors. But, for a variety of reasons, it had a horrible reputation and an unhealthy air.
Rather than live in this house, Clark rented it out. None of the tenants stayed very long. Giving one excuse or another, they would move out. The Robertson family complained it was too drafty. At night they could feel the frosty north wind blow through the cracks, causing shivers and requiring heavy woolen blankets.
The Evans family complained bitterly about the noise in the neighborhood and around the house. They reported that, in the silence of the night, they could hear the sound of metal clashing. And, if you listened more closely, you could make out the clanking of chains. At first it seemed to come from far off, then it sounded very close by. It sounded like someone was using chains to tow a car or a tractor.
More recently, the Harris family claimed that a ghost appeared. They jokingly referred to it as a phantom. He was described as an old man, emaciated and filthy, with a long beard and hair that was tangled and greasy. It looked as if he had been left out in a rain, wind and hailstorm. Mr. Harris thought that he had what appeared to be shackles on his legs and chains on his wrists. And they shook as he walked.
Anyone who lived in this house spent many long nights lying awake in fear. Many became ill. Eventually one occupant, Jeremy Rheingold, died of complications stemming from sheer exhaustion due to a lack of sleep and his increasing fear and anxiety. Eventually the house remained deserted and condemned to solitude, left entirely to the ghost. But Clark, wanting it off his hands, advertised the house as being for sale, in case someone, unaware of its evil history, wished to buy or rent it.
II
Like his forebears, Philip owned several buildings, some vacant land and a fleet of boats. With his large income and even larger influence, he could bend many things to his liking, except this one building. The brick house sat in front of an old Indian burial ground. Maybe, he thought, one of the long dead warriors was causing his present woes. After the Harris family vacated the house, leaving behind their tale of a haunting, Clark told the story to his cousin, Samuel Knight.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” scoffed Samuel. “I’ll live in the house and prove that the idea of ghosts and hauntings is pure nonsense.” Besides, he needed a solitary place to live in while he completed his writing.
The first night he stayed there, he set up a bed in a room at the front of the house. He gathered together some writing tablets, a pen, and a lamp. He then concentrated his mind, eyes, and hand on his writing. If I keep writing, I won’t have any foolish fears and I won’t imagine things, he thought.
After he finished a bit of his writing, he turned out the light, got into bed and pulled up the covers. Just after dozing off, the blankets slipped mysteriously off the bed.
Probably a draft, he surmised. He remembered that the Robertsons had complained that the house was drafty and thus very cold. He repositioned the blankets and sleep reclaimed him. Suddenly once again the blankets slid off the bed. This continued throughout the night.
On the second night that Samuel spent in the house, he decided to close the bedroom door. Maybe that will keep out the Robertsons’ draft. He smiled to himself. That night and each successive night the door swung open with a creak. It was as if someone had entered to do a nocturnal search.
On the third night he nailed the door shut. Once again, the blankets slipped to the floor. The cool night air raised goosebumps along his arms and legs. This must be what a battle of wills is like, he imagined.
On the fourth evening, at first there was only the nightly quietude. Samuel kept on writing into the late hours. Then came the sound of iron clashing and chains clanking. He did not put down his pen. Instead he concentrated his attention on his work. Then the din grew even louder. And now it was inside the room with him! Samuel raised his eyes, turned, and saw the apparition. It was the ghost who had been described by the Harrises.
III
It was standing there, beckoning to him with its finger as if calling to him. The specter seemed nonviolent. Rather than answering the earnest summons, Samuel motioned with his hand that the ghost should wait a while, and he turned back to his writing. The ghost continued rattling its chains right over his head. After several minutes, Samuel looked around again. Sure enough, the ghost was still there, beckoning as before. With no further delay, the writer picked up his lamp and followed the phantom. The specter walked very slowly, as if weighed down by the chains. It dragged its way to the yard in front of the house. Suddenly Samuel had a waking dream, unbidden, in which the ghost revealed himself to be Henry Clark, his cousin Philip's grandfather. It was as if the name popped into his mind. Did the ghost communicate that, he thought.
Henry the ghost spoke to Samuel, "I was held a prisoner in chains. My captor, a man from Halfmoon by the name of David Brady, demanded that my family pay a ransom. When they wouldn't or couldn't, he stabbed me and buried me here. Help me!" Abruptly Henry vanished, abandoning Samuel, who picked some grass and leaves and set them over the spot to mark where the ghost had disappeared.
When he awakened after a night of fitful sleep, he went to the local sheriff and told him all he knew about the story. The sheriff shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.
"Sheriff, I think you should dig up that spot that I identified."
Sheriff Jones retorted, "Now why should I do that?"
"Everyone deserves a decent burial in a proper grave," was the best reason Samuel could offer. "Our family, the Clarks, will pay any expense." This reason pleased the sheriff who hired some grave diggers to begin the excavation the next day. Bones were found, entwined with chains. The skeleton of the body, rotted by time and earth, was bare and corroded by the chains.
The remains were gathered up and given a decent public burial by the Clarks in their family plot. After these rites had been performed the brick house was no longer troubled by spirits. Samuel never hesitated to narrate the story of how he solved an age-old murder and put an end to the ghost’s unfinished business. He never mentioned that he had once been a non-believer of ghosts.