The Lost CreepyGrams - A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS

 

Here is another unpublished CreepyGram (a short horror story of 365 words, a two minute read). This is another escapee from The CreepyGram Chronicles, not appearing anywhere else before this. 

A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS

Burton Digby worked at a saw mill. He was working hard to earn enough wage to send for his wife and children back east. He lived in a bunkhouse with eleven other men.

The days were long, but the nights seemed even longer. The bunkhouse had a single potbelly stove that served as the only source of heat. Most men slept in everything but their boots to keep warm.

Burton could take the laborious job without rest and the cold nights without heat. What he had trouble with was the ghost. It kept him from sleeping most nights.

The worse part about the ghost was that it only seemed to haunt Burton. None of the other men could hear it. They all slept soundly in their bunks, refreshed the next day when it was time to work. Not Burton, though. 

Night fell, once again. It was a cold one and Burton could see plumes of mist from his breath. He slid under the modest covers.

Soon, he heard the snores and heavy breathing of everyone in the bunkhouse. He was the last man awake, as usual. He knew, before he even heard, that it was coming soon.

“Why don’t you talk to me tonight?” said a whispering voice.

“You’re not there,” Burton replied quietly.

“Ahh,” the voice continued, “so you do hear me. You can’t ignore me, you know. I know all about you, Burton. Want to know why?”

Burton didn’t reply. He knew it didn’t matter. The ghost was very talkative.

“When you’re a ghost, you just kind of know things about people. Like, I know that you don’t know how to read very well. You get cheated often because of it. Did you know that people call you stupid behind your back?”

“Quiet,” Burton whispered.

“I know you once drowned a cat in an alleyway to keep it from howling,” the ghost whispered.

“I also know that stole money from the Widow Harkins to pay for train fare to get here.”

“Shut up,” Burton pleaded.

“And I know you were afraid of your uncle. Want to know why?”

Every night, it was the same. Burton was haunted by the ghost of his past.