Frances Kermeen Ghostly Encounters (v4.0) (pdf)

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Her horrified lover looked on in fear.
An ironic twist to this true tale is that the gun used
in this murder belonged to Van Buren s presiding
mayor, Alan Ray Toothacker. He had loaned out his
squirrel gun years before, and had never got it back.
Another owner of the gothic building is rumored
to have kept his wife locked upstairs in the attic,
claiming she was crazy.
OLD VAN BUREN INN 345
A female apparition haunts the upstairs of the old
bank, as do several other entities. Although their
identity is not known for sure, it s suspected that the
female ghost is one of these two pathetic characters,
though why they would want to stay on is unclear.
Though its wild days are long gone, the original
door, complete with peephole, still hangs. As recently
as 1984, the old dance hall upstairs was rented out to
local clubs for parties; the Masons used it for square
dancing.
The old bank has been host to a menagerie of
floundering businesses, including a flower shop, an-
tique shop, coin shop, T-shirt shop, and dance studio.
It then stood vacant for over a year until it was
claimed in 1988 by a vivacious Californian, Jackie Hen-
ningsen. She was visiting in town, saw the ailing
building, and bought it the very next day. She made
the room-size vault into her office and opened a
restaurant downstairs, then opened two guest rooms
on the second floor and made the speakeasy into a
large suite for herself.
There are two bedrooms upstairs in the old Craw-
ford County Bank building, the Green Room and the
Cranberry Room. Guests share a full bath with two
claw-foot tubs. Another half-bath is in the hall. A full
home-cooked breakfast is included.
Dining
The downstairs is now a charming caf�, with oak and
ice-cream-parlor chairs and tables, and an assortment
346 GHOSTLY ENCOUNTERS
of antiques and collectables on the walls. The stained-
glass windows reflect a dancing rainbow over the
room. Jackie serves lunch and dinner Wednesday
through Saturday, and a scrumptious Sunday brunch.
Don t Miss
Catch the Ozark Scenic Railway for a one-day round-
trip ride from Van Buren to Winslow, which offers you
spectacular views of the Ozark Mountains from the
plush velvet bench of a restored 1920s mahogany-
paneled passenger car. Embarking from the meticu-
lously restored historic Old Frisco Depot, the train
travels over towering trestles and through a remark-
able man-made tunnel.
Old Van Buren Inn
633 Main Street
Van Buren, AR 72956
501-474-4202
Epilogue
Wherever You Go, There They Are

IT S TRYING TO KILL ME! I shrieked, as I frantically
pounded on the door of Mike Scheck, the assistant manager,
salty smoke, sweat, and tears stinging my face. Hurry! I
screamed. My apartment is on fire!
It was my first night in the summer beachfront apartment.
A foul, acidic odor woke me from a deeply groggy state,
slowly arousing me to semiconsciousness. I thought the
owners must have used some strong oven cleaners or other
toxic chemicals when they were cleaning the apartment.
When I finally opened my eyes, the room was hazy, and I re-
alized it was filled with waves of smoke. I jumped up to run
outside and lost my breath, as if someone had struck me in
the stomach. I staggered to the door, gasping for air. I
wanted to lie on the ground outside, but I knew I had to get
help. When I was able, I ran downstairs for help.
Mike looked groggy as he peered out his door, slinging it
wide open when he finally comprehended what I was
screaming. He darted out and up the stairs ahead of me to
348 EPILOGUE
Apartment 9. Billows of gray smoke were pouring out from
the front door, which I had left open. Mike grabbed the
bottom of his T-shirt, covered his mouth, and raced in. I took
a deep breath, held it, and followed him into the kitchen
area. Two of the stove burners were glowing deep red. A
charred box of kitchen items next to the burners was still
blazing. Remnants of a tape measure I had used earlier that
day were slowly smoldering, melting away fiber by fiber.
Mike and I glanced at the controls, then back at each other
in horror. ALL OF THE BURNERS WERE OFF!
I ran out of the apartment, screaming. Mike bravely
grabbed the box and the tiny bits of remaining tape measure
and tossed them into the sink, dousing them with water.
Tragedy had been averted, but I was hysterical. There was
no way the burners could have turned on by themselves. I
had almost died from smoke inhalation. Whoever was here
was trying to kill me. Then Mike told me that the owners of
the apartment had lost their son in a horrible fire. He died
from smoke inhalation in that very apartment!
It might be better if you don t tell the owners about the
ghost, Mike said. We will just tell them that the burners go
on by themselves. That morning, the owner brought in an
electrician to check the burners. One was a little hard to
turn, so it was replaced. The others, he claimed, worked
fine.
I thought about moving out, but I doubted I would be
able to get my deposit back. I had waited several months to
get this incredible, though somewhat old and tattered, studio
at Santa Cruz Beach. It has the most fantastic panoramic
280-degree view of the ocean, the pier, the Santa Cruz
Boardwalk, the mission, and the mountains. The building
sits high on a cliff above the San Lorenzo River, where the
EPILOGUE 349
river meets the ocean. Harbor seals with their cubs bask on
the rocks right under my balcony. My biggest fear, until
then, had been of earthquakes.
I called my friend Paul Manouvrier in New Orleans.
They are trying to kill me, I cried. It s happening again.
What can I do? I told Paul about the strange blazing
burners, and how I had barely escaped suffocation from
smoke inhalation, gasping and choking for air. I also told
him about the owner s son, who had died in that apartment.
Did you stop to think that maybe he is not trying to kill
you, but he is just trying to get your attention? Paul asked.
Maybe he has something he wants to say.
I don t care if he s trying to get my attention or trying to
kill me if I m dead, I m dead, I snapped back.
Don t you think if he wanted to kill you, he could
have? Paul questioned. I don t know the answer to that. All
I knew was that I was sharing my apartment with an unin-
vited roommate.
Maybe you should talk to him, find out what he wants
you to know. I was much too upset at the time to do any-
thing at all.
That evening, a guy named Jason was visiting a couple in
an apartment downstairs. He had lived in Apartment 9 for
two years. He asked me how I liked the apartment. I told
him I didn t like it at all, and I told him about the fire.
Oh, you met the ghost, Jason smiled. Of course, I
couldn t let him stop there. I questioned him incessantly
until he told me every last thing that had happened to him.
He said many nights he would catch a glimpse of a guy
standing in shadow. He would look again, and it would be
gone.
Yeah, it was pretty creepy. Things would just float
350 EPILOGUE
across the room. Other things would disappear. I think he
liked beer, cause I would buy a six-pack, and one or two
would be missing. Lots of my friends were scared to come
over.
It was of little comfort to me to hear the stories. It took a
few nights before I could sleep soundly. I kept my cell
phone on my pillow. Maybe I would try talking to him one
day and find out what he wanted, but it wouldn t be soon.
The scenario by now was a familiar one to me. When I
bought the Myrtles Plantation, things started happening
right away too. You try to explain them away, make a prac-
tical explanation out of an unexplainable event, but there re-
ally is no logical explanation.
You might have heard the adage, Wherever you go,
there you are. It seemed for me it was, Wherever I go,
there THEY are. Looking back, I have been encountering
spirits all my life, without realizing it. Even when I was a
little girl of three or four, I had an imaginary friend named
Mr. Sitarumia. I had always believed that my childhood
imagination created him, that as a child, I made him up, but [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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