(The true stories about Bump City, Oregon,
as compiled in the Bump City daily newspaper,
Bump In The Night (BIT'N)
Included in this edition: · Die Laughing

Die Laughing
(The truth be told about the death of Lydia Wolfe!)
The 1st BIT'N File

Prologue:

       When I was two years old my parents were killed in a plane crash. Orphaned, I was raised here by my great aunt, Lydia Wolfe. At that time aunt Lydia owned and operated a newspaper in Bump City, Oregon. The paper was aptly named Bump In The Night, the BIT'N News. The Wolfe family had owned and edited the paper ever since my great, great grandfather homesteaded here in 1872.
       Nestled in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, Bump City is bordered on the north and west of town by an odd ridge of rock some 200 feet tall. Bump City is one of the oldest towns in Oregon, having been founded in 1868 by Otis Sutter, an organizer of wagon trains from Saint Joseph, Missouri. After twelve dangerous trips, Otis settled down here at the site of the traditional last stop on the long journey from the east. "This place," he was often quoted as saying, "stands out like a bump on a log." Accordingly he named the campsite soon to become a township, Bump City. As time went on other folks joined Otis here, and the town thrived.

        Now, over a hundred years later, Bump City is a wonderful place to live -- but only in the daytime when you can see things clearly.

        When the sun goes down and the shadows lengthen, things happen in Bump that folks are hard pressed to explain -- scary things -- very scary things.

        There is a local children's rhyme that goes, "Do what you will when in the light, but never go out in Bump, in the night!"

        Growing up that was my rule, not a rhyme!

        I spent most of my childhood scared spittless -- my mouth so dry my tongue would stick to my teeth. It was only by a sick twist of fate that I ended up living with my Aunt Lydia, who loved everything that I loathed. She loved every scary, freaky thing about Bump City. Like the natural reporter she was, she would personally report on every story that had to do with things weird or spooky. It didn't matter whether it was a story about a ghost in the old Wigget Building or somebody messing with witchcraft out near Farragut County Park, Lydia would be there.
       For over 60 years she typed detailed notes about any and all the spooky things she saw. She archived the notes in individual, leather-bound folders etched with the letters B-I-T-N and then named the file after the case she was working on.
        I never read them, not even one, though she often asked me to. I wanted nothing to do with any of the scary things that happened in Bump, in the night!

       I left Bump City when I was eighteen, pledging never to return. I loved my great aunt but I just couldn't live in fear anymore. I went to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, where I received a degree in journalism, and then got a job working for a small newspaper in Sergeant's Bluff, Iowa, where I have safely hid away for these past three years.
       During that time I often talked with Lydia on the phone, and wrote to her constantly. Whenever she traveled away from Bump City, I would meet her and we would spend a day or two together. She never stopped asking me to come back and involve myself in her research.

        Admittedly then I was too scared to go back, even though I missed her terribly, and now, it was too late!

       Lydia was dead!

       I received a phone call from her attorney, David Stagghorn. He told me that she had died earlier that evening under mysterious circumstances -- mysterious enough that her death was being investigated by Chief Knight of the Bump City Police Department.

       I was shaken beyond belief!

       I told Mr. Stagghorn that I would fly out there immediately. He had already made arrangements for the funeral to be held at Grimm's Happy Valley Cemetery out near Sutter's Mill.
       Just the thought of old man Grimm, the mortician, sent chills up my spine. When I was a boy, Lydia told me stories about him that I still have nightmares about. The thought of that scrawny, evil old man handling my aunt's funeral did little to soothe my fears in returning to Bump City.

       "At least it will be a short trip," I muttered to myself as I settled into my seat on the airplane. I planned to take care of Lydia's personal affairs, sell the newspaper and the old mansion and return to Canada within a week.

       My wish for a short trip was not to be granted.

       Fearful things come to those who fear most!

Thadd L. Wolfe

    Chapter One  

Do what you will,
when in the light,
but never go out,
in Bump, in the night!

       Anyone who had ever lived in Bump City, Oregon knew the rhyme. Ever since the little town was first founded in 1868, children while jumping rope or playing other games had sung the rhyme.

       Even thirteen-year-old Cindy Finney knew it by heart, but now she was breaking that rule in the worst of ways.
       It was nearly ten o'clock at night, and she wasn't safe at home with her mother watching television or even doing her homework for that matter. Instead, she was huddled all alone in the middle of the cold, scratchy hedge that bordered the old Wolfe mansion.
       Cindy was miserable. She pulled the drawstrings on her hooded sweatshirt and tugged the hood tight around her face. Her denim jeans were wet, stretched tight across her legs, cutting off the circulation and making her knees ache.
       Crouching in the hedge, Cindy felt the hint of a light, cool breeze tickle the damp hair dangling in her face. Clutching her mother's camera in her hand, she stared at the darkened windows of the old, spooky three-story house.
       All of this was happening because of an initiation into a school club - a writers club called the Word Whackers. Ever since Cindy had started going to Lewis and Clark Junior High, she had wanted more than anything to join the elite newspaper club, but the club president, Muffy Gilmore, had blocked her membership.
       Muffy and Cindy had been enemies since the third grade, when Cindy's mom forgot to invite Muffy to her birthday party. Muffy had never forgiven Cindy, and to this day made Cindy's life miserable whenever she could.
       Again this year the same as last year, Cindy was attempting to join the club by way of the initiation, which was to write a story that had been assigned by the membership committee. As president of the Word Whackers, Muffy controlled the committee, and nobody joined the club unless Muffy said it was okay.
       Last year Muffy had given Cindy the initiation assignment of writing a story about the President of the United States that had to include a picture of Cindy standing with the President. Cindy worked hard and surprisingly ended up with a personal interview with the First Lady as she was touring a childcare facility in Portland, Oregon, but that was not good enough for Muffy. Cindy was denied membership.
       This year, Muffy had told everyone at the 'new members meeting' that she was going to go easy on Cindy because she had worked so hard last year and hadn't made it! "This year," Muffy announced with a smirk at the meeting, "Cindy's membership assignment is to interview and have her picture taken with a ghost!"
       Even Kimberly Fleming, Muffy's best friend, said that this time she had gone too far.
       When Cindy was four, she had caught scarlet fever and almost died. Ever since then, she sometimes heard voices when nobody was there and even thought she saw ghostly images out of the corner of her eye. At a third grade slumber party, Cindy told Muffy that she thought she could see ghosts. Now Cindy was supposed to take a picture of one.
       For three days in a row, right after school, she had wandered around Bump City looking for the impossible - a ghost to interview and photograph. Only nothing floated past or even so much as said Boo. She had even gone into the old deserted Johnson Building on Second and Mercantile -- the one all the kids called the Crypt. But there wasn't anything there except cobwebs and dust. It was spooky enough, but she never saw anything resembling a ghost.

       Today as she rode home from school on the bus, she remembered the old Wolfe estate across from the park. It seemed to her that if there were any ghosts to be found in Bump City, they would be there.
       That's how she ended up hiding in the hedge.

        Old Lydia Wolfe, the owner and editor of the newspaper, owned the mansion. From the stories in the paper, there were more ghosts around the mansion than anywhere in town, even the cemetery.
       So now she sat hiding in the bushes, teeth chattering more from the cold than fear. She had been here for over two hours, but so far she hadn't seen a thing. But then again, Cindy was patient. After all, she had actually met the First Lady and interviewed her by following her all over Portland.
       If there was a ghost in the old mansion, Cindy would meet it, greet it, and then take a picture for proof.
       Somewhere down the street a dog howled.

   Chapter Two

       Soft whispers fluttered down the long hall.

       A ghost-like shape hovered above a faded oriental rug that stretched like an abandoned highway down the halls of the dark old house. It moved to the top of a stairway and then started down. Slowly working its way to the main floor below, the misty shape was looking for the woman.
       "Tonight," it moaned, "old Lydia will lose this game of hide and seek. Tonight I will find her at last!"
       Then the ghost laughed, a throaty, whispery laugh that echoed throughout the house.

        It would do the woman no good to hide behind doors, for the ghost walked right through them.
       If she was in the house, it would find her, and this time the ghost wouldn't stop until it had finished all that it had set out to do.

       In sheer ecstasy, it whispered gleefully, "Tonight she will be caught and delightfully tortured in a manner befitting the horror of this ghostly game!"

       The silence in the stately old mansion was broken by a raspy, whispering laugh that made even the hanging light fixtures shudder and swing.

       "Lydia! Oh, Lydia! I'm coming for you, Lydia!"

   Chapter Three

       Cold and disappointed, Cindy looked at her watch and decided she would only wait another ten minutes and then go home -- with or without her ghost picture. This whole ghost thing was a bust -- Muffy 's revenge.

       The ten minutes ticked away and she sighed, preparing to leave.
       As she began to move from the hedge to the street, she happened to look back at the old house and her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes snapped to a second floor window and she held her breath. In the farthest window to her left was a glimmer of light.
       Her hand shaking, Cindy lifted the camera to her eye and looked through the zoom lens. The window glowed from the light of a candle that seemed to float in midair.
       Her heart pounding in her chest, she pressed the shutter on the camera until she heard the metallic click. She took another picture, and another, as the light in the window grew brighter. Click! Click!

       Then her fear turned to disappointment and relief. The candle was carried by the only resident of Wolfe mansion, eighty-five year old Lydia Wolfe. She stood in the window, holding a candle and peered out at Bump Park just across the street.
       Cindy scrunched down, as Lydia looked her way. When she looked up, the old woman was gone!
       Cindy stood up in the hedge and looked around. Then, suddenly, before there was any time to hide again, Lydia suddenly appeared in the window directly above Cindy's hiding place.
       She could clearly see the old woman illuminated in the glow of the candle. Cindy had seen Lydia around town all of her life, but never had she seen her look so weak and frail.
       Lydia's wrinkled eyes squinted as she peered out the window and the flickering light made her look even older than her eighty-five plus years. She was wearing a pearl-colored lace nightgown, and her silver hair, normally pulled back into a tidy bun, was loose, cascading wildly around her shoulders.

       As Cindy watched, Lydia turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. Again, the old woman quickly moved from the window.
       Cindy suddenly felt ashamed. She had sneaked into the poor old woman's yard thinking she was on some sort of ghost hunt, and ended up a common peeping tom.
       There wasn't a ghost.
       This was a joke, gone from bad to worse
       Stuffing her mother's camera into her backpack, Cindy turned to crawl out from under the hedge, but she stopped in the middle of her action. Like many times before, from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something move.

       She spun around.

       A silent scream caught in her throat as she stared in wide-eyed horror up at the dark window.

       Floating there was a real ghost!

       And it was chasing Lydia Wolfe!

   Chapter Four

       At last the game was nearly over!

       Just ahead Earlier in the night, the ghost had turned off the power to the old house, but the woman must have found a candle to light her way.

       Now, with or without the candle, Lydia was trapped!

       The ghost was pleased.

       It had been a long hunt, and the old woman had been very crafty.

       But, now the deed would be done!

       Tonight Lydia could not hide from her fate.

   Chapter Five

       Frozen in fear, Cindy watched as the ghost, arms stretched menacingly before it, floated from the room, following the flickering light of Lydia's candle.
       Cindy didn't know what to do. She was scared nearly out of her wits, but she had to help somehow.
       Forcing herself to move, Cindy pulled herself through the wet hedge; sharp, tiny branches tugged at her clothing and hair. Finally free, she yanked the strap of her backpack from the clinging hedge, and ran quickly around the house to the front yard.
       Rounding the corner at full speed, she slowed long enough to catch her breath, then charged up the creaking wooden steps and across the weathered porch.
       She grabbed the cold brass doorknob and tried the front door. To her surprise, it was unlocked. As the hinges squealed noisily, the door slowly swung open. Inside it was dark and deathly still.
       Breathing hard, she stood there and looked inside.
       When Cindy was frightened she talked to herself, and right now she was talking to herself a lot. "What are you doing here, girl?" she asked herself, but she already knew the answer. She must help the old woman!
       Feeling around for a light switch, Cindy slowly moved inside. Her hand touched a switch and she quickly flipped it, but nothing happened! She flipped it again but still no light.
       "So that's why Lydia had the candle," she whispered. "The power is shut off!"
       Slinging the backpack from her shoulder, she dropped it on the floor and fumbled in its side pockets for the flashlight she had packed for just such an emergency. As she clicked it on, a thin shaft of yellow light sliced reassuringly through the black, velvet darkness of the quiet house.
       With her back against the entry door, Cindy scanned the darkness with the flashlight. In front of her a wide staircase wound its way up and into the engulfing dark. Following the steps with the light, she saw the upper landing and the inky beginnings of a hallway leading deeper into the house.
       Working the flashlight back down to the main floor, Cindy cast the light at her feet, moved it around the foyer, and back again to the stairway. To the left of the stairs, a dull reflection of light caught her eye. Cindy moved the flashlight.

       Hanging on the wall was a large, ornate mirror covered in cobwebs. Scrawled in the dust on the mirror was written,

"Old woman, you cannot hide!
You know I'm going to get you!"

   Chapter Six

       The words etched on the mirror were ominous and frightening. Cindy's palms began to sweat and she wondered if she really wanted to belong to the Word Whacker club. Suddenly she wasn't so sure.
       Still the old woman was in danger, and somebody had to help her. Slipping the backpack back onto her shoulders, Cindy stepped away from the door moving deeper into the old house. She breathed deeply; the air smelled musty and stale.
Tiptoeing quietly across the foyer she shined the flashlight ahead of her. The shaft of light washed across a faded Persian rug that covered a thinly varnished oak floor. She looked up the carpeted stairway to the open balcony of the second floor and weakly called out, "Hello?"
       There was no response and Cindy suddenly wasn't sure what to do, an uneasy feeling gripping her stomach like a vise. She was scared and wanted nothing more than to be at home, safe in her room.
       Suddenly, down the hall to the right of the staircase, she heard a heavy thump.        "Oh," she whispered, "what was that?"
Assuming that the ghost and Lydia had moved downstairs, Cindy inched forward, the flashlight casting a path of light in the dark.
       "Thump!"
        The sound came from her right and she turned the flashlight in that direction, illuminating carved double doors. She walked quietly to the doors, and with one hand pushed against them. One of the doors glided silkily into the wall, disappearing from sight. She pushed on the other door, and it too disappeared into its pocket in the wall. Nervously shining the light from side to side, she entered the room, but there was no one there.
       She was in a long, narrow library. The spines of hundreds and hundreds of hardcover books were neatly stacked on the shelves of the floor to ceiling bookcases that lined both walls. Two railed ladders with rubber wheels leaned against the shelves.
       In the middle of the room was a long well polished oak table with a multi-colored Tiffany lamp sitting in the middle. At the far end, open and face down, was an old leather-bound book, along with a large stack of creased, leather file folders fanned out on the table.
       Curiosity urging her on, Cindy aimed the light on the book. Burnished into the cracked leather were gold-leafed letters that read: The Journal of Ottis Sutter.

       Walking to the end of the table, Cindy shined her light on the stack of folders. Each file had the mysterious word BIT'N etched across the top.
       Nervously, Cindy turned to leave, and as she did she noticed a box of stationery, an old fashioned pen and a bottle of ink sitting at the door-end of the long table. Scattered nearby were several sheets of paper with the words Lydia Wolfe embossed across the top. She focused her light on the top sheet of paper. There, on the watermarked sheet, in a shaky hand was written, "My dearest Thadd, I am in horrible pain. Each day becomes worse than the last... I am nearly dead! At this juncture of my life, I need your help desperately! The ghost...."

       That was all! The letter ended in a puddle of fresh, glistening ink.
       Cindy gulped.
       It was obvious that Lydia had been writing when she was scared from the library by the ghost.

       Suddenly, the house echoed with a shrill, terrified scream.

       It was Lydia!

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