April 22, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 22, 1930.

I smelled the smoke before I saw it. A terrible, familiar odor I wished I could forget. With the memory of the woman in the farmhouse fresh in my mind, I followed the trail of smoke with weariness and resolve.

I need not have worried.

A massive chimney stood alone, wreathed in smoke and stinking of death. No other evidence of the building remained, but I didn’t need any. I knew the chimney. Had, in fact, laid some of the bricks myself when I was younger.

In desperation, I wandered around through the smoke, seeking signs of life. Yet there was nothing. Neither clothing nor furniture. Not a cracked cup or a charred book. Nothing remained of the building I remembered.

Once, the house had stood on Washington Street in Cross. In 1859, it vanished during an April thunderstorm. The home was torn from its foundations, the family within disappearing with it. For years, I hoped in vain to find some trace of them, and as the decades passed, I tried to forget.

But how do you forget the woman you loved and hoped to marry?

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

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April 21, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 21, 1930.

Who he was and why he shot at me, I will never know.

I must confess, however, that I do not care either.

The man opened fire at me from a concealed position, his rounds well-placed and close enough to crease the folds of my coat. It took me nearly an hour to work out where he was and then to out-flank him.

But I did it.

I had no sympathy when I found him. No pity for him either. I emptied the cylinders of each Colt into the man, and had I not needed the rounds for later, I would have reloaded and shot him again.

I have no love for sharpshooters.

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

 

April 18, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 18, 1930.

I am not quite sure how I came upon the necropolis, or how it came to be in Gods’ Hollow. Then again, I should have learned by now not to question anything about the Hollow. I found the necropolis, and that should suffice.

For hours, I wandered among headstones and mausoleums, crypts and half-forgotten graves. A short time before the sun began its descent, I discovered the boneyard. Acres of excavated human bones spread out before me, a drear reminder of the fate that awaits us all. As I stood on the boneyard’s edge, I heard a curious sound. It was reminiscent of branches rattling against one another in a winter breeze, of boys dragging sticks along the sides of a fence.

My attention turned toward the center of the boneyard, where the noise seemed to originate from. In silence, I watched as a small wave of bones was created. It pushed out from the center and spread, like the ripple on a pond’s surface. As the wave of bones drew nearer, I understood suddenly that there was something beneath the bones. Something coming for me.

With my Colts gripped futilely in my hands, I retreated from the boneyard, and I prayed that whatever was beneath the bones would not leave the safety of the dead.

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

April 7, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 7, 1930.

I came upon the ruins shortly after sunrise. A chill emanated from them and set my teeth to chattering.

I knew the sensation from old when the sepulchers would open in Old Cross Cemetery and spew forth the dead.

My Colts were cleaned and loaded, but I would have no need for them.

Someone had come before me and dispatched the dead with a firm, unyielding hand.

I found the bodies within the ruins, each corpse trussed up and hanged by the neck from the cornices of Corinthian pillars.

Men and women, children and dogs, all long dead and recently destroyed. Their heads were smashed and what little remained of their brains dripped in a nauseating rhythm to the mossy stones beneath their feet.

In the end, I counted forty-seven bodies, and when I reached the last – the corpse of a middle-aged woman with sickly yellow hair – I found a note.

Destroyed this day, April 6, 1930. Duncan Blood.

I did not know whether to be comforted or frightened by the knowledge that another version of myself was wandering Gods’ Hollow.

I put the question from my mind and made certain my pistols were loaded.

The weapons stayed in my hands.

I know how fast I am.

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

March 30, 1911

Darkness can lurk within the heart of anyone, even within the bosoms of the most stalwart of individuals.

Three of Cross’ earliest heroes were members of the Cross Fire Department, men who operated the Royal 6 fire engine.

Howard, Daniel, and Radcliff Bray were all first cousins, and each had the desire to serve their fellow man. They dedicated their lives to the protection of Cross’ citizens. Rarely was a house lost when the Bray cousins answered the call, and no one died. Even when a barn burned, none of the animals were lost.

The Bray cousins were, by all accounts, heroes in the truest sense of the word. More than one of them had been injured by falling beams and burned by sudden flare-ups.

On the night of March 30, 1911, tragedy struck Cross.

A fire broke out on Olive Street, the blaze starting in the kitchen of a small home.

The Bray cousins, per usual, arrived at the fire and fought it valiantly. As their fellow firefighters helped to beat back the blaze, a piteous screaming began in the house, and all three of the Brays raced in.

Seconds later, the house collapsed, killing all three men.

Since that night, the Brays have appeared around Cross, always at a building where a fire eventually broke out. It soon became apparent that the Brays were somehow responsible for the conflagrations as if they needed to see the flames even after death.

Or perhaps, they merely never lost their love of setting fires.

#CrossMassachusetts #fear #scary #death #dreams #murder #writersofinstagram #nightmare #horror

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March 22, 1899

Ellie Woods loved cats.

At the tender age of five, she was introduced to her first kitten at a neighbor’s house. While she begged and pleaded with her father for a cat of her own, her father would have none of it.

After several weeks, Ellie managed to gain permission from her mother to feed a stray cat. She did this by placing a saucer with milk in the kitchen.

Each day, Ellie would feed the cat.

Soon, the cat was accompanied by a second feline, so Ellie put a dish out for that cat as well.

By the end of February, she had eleven cats coming on a daily basis.

Her mother referred to this as Ellie’s Kitten Parties, and all the mothers in the neighborhood remarked what a wonderfully sweet child she was. Soon, Ellie’s mother and the other women were beseeching Ellie’s father to allow her a cat.

Still, the man refused.

Ellie, he insisted, would not be responsible enough.

On March 22, 1899, as Ellie’s mother and father sat in the parlor, entertaining guests, an ungodly scream tore through the house.

The adults raced toward the sound, which had issued from the kitchen, and there they found Ellie Woods.

Tears of frustration fell from her eyes and saucers were knocked askew, the milk spilled across the floorboards. In her small hands, she held the lifeless body of a large, orange tom cat. Blood splattered her mouth and stained her teeth.

Mr. Woods shook his head, gently removed the cat from her hands and set it on the floor. Then, with surprising tenderness, he picked his daughter up and whispered, “I know. They don’t taste nearly as good as they look.”

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February 16, 1888

No trespassing.

It is a simple statement and one which generally should be followed.

Duncan Blood has been posting signs bearing those two words around his property for decades.

Yet so many people ignore them.

Or, worse still, they believe that they do not have to follow them. This is the case with the surveyors from the Boston and Maine Railroad, who – despite Duncan’s refusal to allow them access to his land – breached his border regardless of his warnings.

On February 16, 1888, ten men of various ages rode up to Duncan’s property where it abuts Gods’ Hollow. With them, they brought their dog, Rex, and they set about the business of planning a new line to pass through Duncan’s land.

Robert Bly, a photographer, accompanied them for a short distance, and when they reached a curious outcropping of rock, he took their picture. Feeling unwell, Robert returned to his horse and rode to his home in nearby Pepperell.

Several days later, members of the police department called upon Robert to ask him if he knew where the men had gone to following their examination of Duncan Blood’s land. He learned, much to his surprise, that none of the men had returned. The dog had shown up at the Cross police department, his paws soaked with blood. Yet the dog was uninjured.

While some witnesses stated they had seen a group of ten or so men riding away from Gods’ Hollow, none of them had returned to their homes in Boston and the surrounding towns. Nor had the horses been seen again.

Duncan, according to the police, hadn’t known the men were on his property.

Years later, Robert Bly bumped into Duncan in Cross. Robert brought up the subject of the still missing men and mentioned how it was curious that it was only the dog that had ever been found.

“Not really,” Duncan had answered. “I’ve never had the desire to kill a dog.”

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