Denning Swamp – A Ghost Story

John T. Gaffield


Published by John T. Gaffield at Smashwords.com
Copyright 2011 John T. Gaffield

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The din from crickets and frogs from the nearby swamp echoed in Jack’s room through the open window. He stared at the ceiling from his bed, unable to fall asleep for some unknown reason. Beads of sweat accumulated on his brow from the heat. Suddenly a high pitched wail pierced through the other noises from outside. Startled, he slowly sat up in bed and gazed toward the window. Since the sound had an echo, it likely was not too close to the house. With no moon and cloudy skies that night, there was not much to see outside other than rough forms of dark gray and black. He slowly closed his eyes to focus on sounds. Save the occasional low pitch croak from a bullfrog, the noise was fairly constant. He was able to calm down.
A louder lower pitch howl jolted him again. Not as muffled as the first sound, it was apparently closer. Something strange could be heard over the ambient sounds. It was similar to footsteps, but almost like someone sloshing through mud. The slow cadence gradually got louder. Was it approaching the house? At the point the sound seemed to be emanating just outside his open window, it stopped. He tried to listen very close despite the croaks and the pulsating blood flowing through his ears. He did not hear any similar sounds. With his heart rate steadily returning to normal, he lay down again and stared at the ceiling. 

A call from a red wing blackbird stirred him awake. The damp air filtered in through the open window. Jack opened his eyes to the muted morning light. Turning toward the window, Jack could see the cloudy gray skies and a light fog hovering over the swamp. His body ached as he planted his feet on the floor. This was likely due to only getting a few hours of sleep and the overtime he spent at the hardware store the previous day.
With a slow inhale and exhale, he stood up from the bed. Wanting to further investigate the sounds he heard, he approached the open window. Peering out of the window to the ground below, he examined the long grass that came up to the house. He could see the packed down path he occasionally used to get to the edge of the swamp. Except for the path, no other vegetation appeared disturbed. Relieved, he stepped away from the window and faced the closet. He would need his work clothes, since he was scheduled to work again that Friday.

After dressing, he opened his bedroom door into the unlit upstairs hallway. The daylight filtering through the glass in the front door on the first floor provided enough light to help guide his way down the steps. Still trying to awaken, he started to yawn near the bottom of the steps. He paused mid-yawn. Something glistened on the wooden floor beneath him. Kneeling down for a better look, he became aware that the wet shapes appeared to be footprints from a pair of boots. Rubbing his finger in one of the spots and examining it told him that the footprints were muddy. 
Puzzled, he stood up and reached for the nearby front door. It was locked. He followed the footprints down the first floor hallway to the back door. It also was locked, though the prints indicated someone had passed through the doorway. Was someone still in the house? 
Concerned, he stepped into the kitchen and retrieved a large knife from one of the drawers. Retracing the footprints, he walked back to the foot of the stairs. The footprints ended at the base of the steps. The last prints were together, as if someone stood at there for a moment to look up the stairs. Gripping the knife tightly in his hand, Jack trembled slightly as he frantically looked around the room. It was quiet. He could not hear any unknown noises.
“Who’s here?” he asked aloud.
No answer.
“I know someone’s in here,” he tried again, as he slowly stepped toward the living room.
The living room had been undisturbed and was silent. He stepped back into the foyer. With the knife at the ready, he quickly opened the coat closet near the door. Using the knife, he probed the hanging coats. No one was in there.
“Damn!” he said in frustration.
After another minute standing in the foyer, he slowly started making his way back to the kitchen for breakfast. As he walked, he considered calling the sheriff. He was not sure what they could do however. All he knew was that there appeared to be strange footprints inside his locked house, and that he did not know how they got there. He decided to wait. He would clean them up. If the footprints returned the next day, he would make the call. He then started making his breakfast.

“Jack, are you okay?” Rob asked.
“Huh? Oh yes, I was thinking about something,” Jack replied.
“You look tired,” Rob noticed.
“Not enough sleep last night, you know,” Jack commented.
“Something keeping you up?” Rob asked.
“Well, I was having trouble sleeping anyway, but I heard some strange noises last night,” Jack answered.
“What kind of noises?” Rob asked.
“Some kind of howl or wail outside the house,” Jack responded.
“Some type of animal?” Rob inquired for more detail.
“Not anything I’ve heard near the swamp before I moved into the house. Heard it the past few nights,” Jack answered.
“Maybe you should close the window,” Rob said with a smile.
“It’s stuffy enough without A. C. in the house as it is,” Jack answered.
“Bet you’d have A. C. if Suzy was in the house,” Rob commented.
“Had to bring that up, didn’t you. She cheated, I broke the engagement. At least I still have the house,” Jack responded.
“Yeah, you might not if you followed, through,” Rob commented.
“That’s true. I know I did the right thing there. Just not sure what to do about the weird stuff going on at night,” Jack added.
“You had to get the old fixer upper near the swamp, didn’t you?” Rob said.
“Well, the price was right and it’s peaceful there most of the time,” Jack replied.
“There are all sorts of weird critters in the swamp, though. Who knows what could be out there?” Rob commented.
 “Well if it were just outside, I’d be okay. Problem is I think something may have been in the house last night,” Jack replied.
“How so?” Rob asked.
“Found muddy footprints downstairs. All the doors were still locked when I checked this morning,” Jack answered.
Rob was silent for a moment.
“Who’d you piss off, Jack?” Rob asked.
“What were you doing last night, Rob?” Jack asked in reply.
“Fine, fine. I’ll just get back to work. I was at home with Maggie last night, by the way. At least I have someone at home,” Rob replied, as he started to walk away from the coffee area.
“See you, Rob,” Jack said.
“Later, Jack,” Rob replied, continuing to leave the back room for the floor of the hardware store.
As Jack followed Rob back to the main part of the hardware store, he thought about what Rob had said. Could there be someone after him? Who was mad enough at him that they would do something like this to him? Was it Suzy or someone she knew trying to scare him? Could the whole thing just be in his mind? Maybe it was the overly hot sleepless nights that were just getting to him. Then he remembered the footprints were not in his mind. He just did not know.

The overcast sky darkened with the approaching night as Jack stood at the bedroom window. Would he be able to fall asleep? Knowing how much he needed sleep, he had to try. He slowly made his way to his bedside making at least two glances back to the window. With his nightclothes on, he got into the bed.  Prying his eyes away from the window, he found himself staring at the ceiling once again. He knew it would be another night of little sleep.
His thoughts went back to what he knew about the house. It had been abandoned for several years before he bought it and it needed a fair amount of work. He was only about halfway done fixing it up. The one question he did not think to ask the realtor when he bought the house was why the house was vacant for so long. Was it that the house was in great need of repair, or was something else causing the lack of interest in the house?

A loud shriek, from outside, startled Jack from his semi-sleep state later that night. Once again, fog obscured the ground of the swamp outside his window. Was he hearing the sound of something slowly sloshing through the water? With the variety of other noises outside, he was unsure. The sloshing sound stopped. He was initially relieved, but then realized that something may have reached the shore. Concerned, he arose from bed and stepped to the window. The clouded night sky and fog near the ground did not allow him to see if anything was approaching the house. He could not see any movement or hear any additional sounds above the din for the next minute.
A low creaking sound filtered up from below his room. His gaze shifted toward the bedroom door. He shuddered when he heard the next groan; it was the familiar sound of the stairs. The sounds continued a few seconds apart. Who or what was after him? Panicked, he looked around the darkened room for something to defend himself. He settled on a wooden rod that he had left on the floor to replace the warped clothes hanging rod in the closet. With it firmly in both hands, he slowly approached the door. As he stood in front of the door, the floor just outside it creaked under some type of weight. Wanting the element of surprise, he reached for the door. Quickly pulling it open into the room, he grasped the rod with both hands again and swung it forcefully into the air in the hallway. It struck the floor. He lifted it, and swung it to the right of the door. Hitting nothing again, he pulled it back to the left. Again it hit nothing but air.
“Who’s out here?” Jack yelled.
The hallway was silent. He let one hand go of the rod, and turned on the hallway light. He looked right and left in the hallway, but did not see anyone. Confused, he lowered his gaze. He was stunned to see a muddy puddle of water below the doorway. Examining the floor closer, he could see other wet footprints leading to the stairs. What had left the footprints and where did it go? Clutching the wooden rod, he slowly made his way toward the stairs. The muddy footprints were on each step from the first floor. Based on the orientation of the prints, someone had only travelled up the steps, and not back down. Jack went down to the middle of the stairs. Scanning the foyer, there was no one visible. A low moan came from above him.
He turned around and looked upward. A wet brown patch of water was on the ceiling in front of his bedroom door. As he went back up the stairs, he could see a drop of water fall from the ceiling to the puddle on the floor. He approached the puddle, and extended the wooden rod to the wet stain on the ceiling. The pole touched the area, but it felt firm and solid. Another creak emanated from the bedroom ceiling. 
He slowly entered the room, carefully looking around before each step. Unsure where the sound came from, he stopped near his bed and listened. The room was silent, except for the swamp creatures outside the window. His heart pounded as he continued to pay attention to the sights and sounds. Something light grazed his hair and shoulder. Startled, he quickly looked behind his back. Nothing was there. He was puzzled. He felt something contact the top of his head. Reaching up with a free hand, he felt the wetness in his hair with something grainy in it. As he lifted his head to examine the ceiling above him, he could see a dark spot developing. He nervously stepped back a few steps, and stared at the growing spot. It was no longer flat against the ceiling. Something was extending downward, but what was it? He shook as a dark wet figure slowly formed before him. Unable to move, his only option was to watch. The rough shape appeared to resemble a cloaked man that oozed mud from some hidden source. All he was able to do was to step backwards away from the mass. It started to get closer to him. His back contacted the wall. The doorway was at least six feet away and the figure was blocking his path. Trapped, he watched the approaching menace. Trying to think fast, he swung the rod horizontally toward the form. It sloshed through it, but did not contact anything solid. The form did not stop moving closer to him. Now face to face with a ghastly being from the swamp, Jack opened his mouth ready to speak.
Only able to whisper, he asked “who are you?”
No response.
“Do I know you?” Jack tried again.
There was a moment of silence. Then the form responded in a low calm garbled voice “no.”
Jack was very confused as he became engulfed in wet mud from contact with figure. A lump formed in his throat. As he spit it out, he realized it was mud. His throat filled up again, this time with much more volume. He was no longer able to breathe as the mass fully engulfed his head.

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About the Author:

John T. Gaffield is an automotive engineer in southeast Michigan with a wife and two children. He published his first novel, "Heir to Winston Manor," in October 2010 as an ebook. "Heir to Winston Manor" is story of a large haunted house set on the west coast of Michigan. John has a second ebook, "The Wahl House Curse," this time set in mid-Michigan, was published in January 2011. John also has three free short stories available on Smashwords.com called “Slow Down”, “The Ghost of Birch River Cabin,” and “Winter Visitor.”

John’s third full length horror novel, “Alone Again,” is now available as of fall 2011.

John uses his past memories and his local knowledge combined with his engineering sense of detail to create realistic ghost stories. He has an interest in ghost stories and creepy old haunted houses. 


Other Titles by John T. Gaffield available on Smashwords.com include:

The Wahl House Curse
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/36134
Peter Corbin was in need of a change with his job as a realtor in a busy Michigan suburb. A chance to transfer to a small town in mid-Michigan seemed to be what he and his wife Sarah needed. They purchased an old house for a bargain price without much regard for the troubled past. This proved to be something he would soon regret. The restless ghosts quickly made their presence known. (about 59,000 words).

Alone Again
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91756
Emily Sutton had been an outgoing happy person when they had married. Her husband, David struggled to understand what changed once they moved into the old suburban house that a builder had fixed up after it had stood abandoned for a few years. Emily was only a shadow of her former self. She had become withdrawn and thought something in the house was trying to harm her. With her health suffering and delusions increasing, tragedy was inevitable. A coworker of David's befriended him to help him cope. Increasing strange occurrences in the house caused him to question whether the cause of Emily's death was as obvious as he thought.

Alone Again is about 43,000 words and contains some mature content.


Connect with me online (for more novels and short stories):

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JohnTGaffield

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4548666.John_Gaffield