By Celia Latz
On a chilling October night, a young woman from Indianapolis drove into Nashville. Two months earlier she had suffered a concussion when a car knocked her out of her shoes as she crossed Meridian Street. Still skittish from the trauma, she came to Nashville for a weekend of rest.
She regretted leaving Indianapolis so late, to find the town lonely and deserted. The dark streets and sidewalks were empty except for one building down the road that glowed from within like a Jack-o-lantern. Hoping it was the Artist Colony where she had booked a room, she drove closer to read the sign, “Olde Bartley House”. She parked her car, thinking someone in there could give directions to her hotel.
As she stepped onto the porch, she saw the room full of people. Why were they out so late, instead of home in warm beds like everyone else in the town, she wondered. A menu posted by the entrance indicated this was a cafe, but no one had a glass or plate on the table. A man in overalls wearing a canvas hat with holes in it stroked his bushy mustache, grinning like a fox meeting a chicken. In contrast to his rustic outfit, a man in a clean black suit and tie sat with both hands placed side by side, palms down on the table. He smiled amiably at the woman next to him who wore an elaborately designed hat and well-made dress. Next to her sat a sour looking woman with thin lips fixed in a judicial grimace.
The bewildered traveler opened the door. “Can anyone tell me where the Artist Colony is?” she asked. A spry old woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a frumpy hat raised her arm pointing her large work-worn hand toward Van Buren Street. “Cross the road, at the corner”.
“Thank you!” the young woman sang out. With a last glance at the room, she noticed all the walls were decorated with empty picture frames. No one raised their head or said good night as she left.
The young woman finally found herself in a more congenial place as the innkeeper kindly led the way to her room. She felt uneasy about the people across the street, and tried to put the Olde Bartley House experience out of mind.
The next morning, after sleeping as if in a stupor, she awakened rested and ready to amble around the village.
The town was buzzing with tourists as she walked up Van Buren Street to the Nashville House for breakfast. A waiter greeted her when she walked in and before she sat down, she saw the framed black and white photographs hanging over the bar. “I recognize those people!” she garbled. The waiter smiled nervously.
“Was there a play at the theater last night?”
“Uh, no.”
“They were there in costumes, at the Olde Bartley House when I arrived last night a little after 10.”
“The Bartley House closed at 5. You must be thinking of another place. I was here and closed up a bit before 10 and never saw anyone there.”
The manager sensed the tension heightening around the agitated woman and went to see what the problem was. The woman looked at the manager with imploring eyes, pointing at the pictures. “I saw them! Who are they?”
The manager went to a cupboard by the bar and returned with diagrams of the pictures on the wall indicating the names of the people portrayed. “Who did you see? Can you show me?”
The young woman pointed to the portrait of the man in the black suit with his hands placed on the table side by side. “That is John Setser, the ambidextrous schoolmaster” the manager said calmly.
“And that one, with the bushy mustache,” the woman insisted.
“That’s Chris Brummet. He doesn’t look like it, but he was the town clerk of Nashville. Who else?”
“That woman with the fancy hat”
“Lina Taggart. The village dressmaker. And then …?
“The woman with the sour smile”.
“Allie Ferguson, the innkeeper”.
“And that older woman with the glasses and hat, she told me where to find my hotel.”
“That is Grandma Barnes.”
“They were all there last night!” the woman gasped.
The manager sat the woman down. “These pictures were taken by Frank Hohenberger in the 1920s.”
An ambulance soon arrived and escorted the shocked young woman to the hospital in Columbus.
About the author
Celia Latz is a native Hoosier who said she went to Venice, Italy, as an art student and stayed 35 years. She came home and now lives in Nashville “on a beautiful little lake”.
She also is an author, having published a memoir, “A House Without a Roof”, and has a forthcoming novella, “A Song of Love” that she said will be released soon.
For her second-place winning story, Latz will receive a certificate and a $100 prize.
About the contest: The Brown County Democrat asked readers for their scariest, spookiest Halloween stories, and you scared up some real winners! Links to all the winning entries are below and at the end of each of this year’s winning stories.
Read other winning entries
First place: “Halloween Wildflowers”
Third place: “Mr. Scare-No-Crows”
Honorable mention
