Spooky Stories

-the brick wall~the brother's revenge-

The Brick Wall

A Massachusetts Horror Story

retold by S.E. Schlosser

excerpted from Spooky Massachusetts

Massey was a soldier unfortunate enough to cross me, his commanding officer. He did not live to regret it. There was something very satisfying in the moment when I thrust the tip of my sword into the soldier's heart during our duel. I watched him fall to the ground with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The men under my command seem depressed in the following weeks. They mention Massey frequently, but I ignore their conversations.

One night, I retreat to my chambers to sulk and soon was joined by a delegation of men who were friends of Massey. I am surprised and delighted to learn that they had come to their senses and now saw the impertinent lieutenant for the cheat he really was. We share a round of drinks and laughed together. I'm afraid I drank far too much that evening.

The other soldiers suggested we explore the lower dungeons. That sounded like a fine idea to me. We set off in merry spirits, drinking and singing and laughing, our voices echoing through the narrow passages. Deeper and deeper we went. My head started spinning and my legs felt like rubber after all that drinking. I am afraid I passed out from drunkenness, much to my shame.

When I came to, I was lying on my back with my wrists and ankles shackled to the floor. Drunken men, fooling around, I thought.

"Very funny, lads," I called out. "Now set me free."

The soldiers didn't answer me. A moment passed and Massey's best friend appeared in the doorway, holding mortar and a mason's trowel. The other men began handing him bricks and I realize that the soldiers are bricking up the entrance to the cell in which I lay shackled. "Very funny," I said again.

No one answered me. They worked in silence, laying brick after brick until one row is done, then two. They were playing a nasty joke on me, of course.

Then Massey's best friend paused in his work and looked directly into my eyes. At that moment I realized that this joke is no joke. Scream after scream ripped from my throat as I struggle against my bonds. But the dungeon was too deep within the fort, and no one heard my screams.

They were on the final row of bricks. I was reduced to bribery now, desperately using my wealth in an attempt to escape my fate. But no one listened to my bribes. I watched in heart-thudding horror as the last brick is put in place, as the last chink of light faded from my sight. I have been entombed alive in the deepest, darkest dungeon of the fort. I howled in panic, writhing against the iron manacles binding hands and feet and twisting my body. Eventually I fell back against the floor, my wrists and ankles wet with my own blood.

My fingers were torn and throbbing from their intense scrabbling against the hard floor. I found myself weeping angrily, though I have never shed a tear in my lifetime.

The agony of the thought sent me writhing again in spite of the horrible pain racking my wrists, ankles, and hands. Daylight. I must see daylight again. Just once more.

"Don't leave me here to die alone! Don't leave me!"

But I was alone, and the sheer brutal horror of it overwhelmed me. My eyes strained against the complete and utter darkness, and I wondered if they were even open.

Dear God, I can't get out. I can't get out. I CAN'T GET OUT!

Historical Note: This is a retelling of a story from Fort Independence on Castle Island in Massachusetts. Local lore claimed that an unpopular officer was walled up in the fort's dungeon following a duel in which he killed a more popular man. Edgar Allan Poe learned of the legend when he was posted on Castle Island while serving in the Army. His short story "The Cask of Amontillado," is said to be based upon the incident.

The brother's revenge

A Wisconsin Ghost Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

The blizzard was raging fiercely around them as the brothers stumbled down the long road. they were miles from any farm, and knew they had to seek shelter or freeze to death. So it was with gratitude that the two brothers spotted a saloon and pushed their way through the door.

Every eye in the room turned upon them, as the boys ordered coffee with the last of their money. As the bartender went to fetch the hot drink, most of the regulars returned to their conversations. But one man continued to stare; a massive butcher with a mop of red hair and a long red beard who was the worse for drink.

"You're looking at me funny," the butcher slurred, looming over the two boys.

"We weren't looking at you," said the older boy. "We were just warming ourselves by the fire."

"Are you calling me a liar?" he shouted. Around the room crowd grinned; they loved a good fight.

"We didn't say that," said the older boy quickly, waving his hands and accidentally striking the butcher on the arm. That did it. The butcher grabbed the boy by the collar. "No one hits me and gets away with it," he roared and threw the boy headfirst into the huge fire raging in the hearth.

There was a moment of stunned silence in the saloon, and then the elder boy screamed in agony as the flames engulfed him from head to toe. The younger lad shouted in terror. The older boy stumbled out of the fireplace, as the little brother tried to beat out the fire with his small hands.

The butcher loomed above them, grinning sadistically as the flaming boy lost consciousness, his screams dying away.

"Your turn," the butcher said to his brother. The younger boy gasped in fear and fled for his life out into the raging snow. The boy's little frozen body was not found until the spring.

One evening, a decade after the death of the two young boys, a burly man with a long red beard came strolling down the road one taken by the brothers. The butcher had heard rumors of a ghost but had discarded them as so much poppycock and tavern talk.

As he meandered down the road, he became aware that a silence had fallen. In the odd silence, he heard the footsteps of a large animal. They walked when he walked and stopped when he stopped. Pulse pounding madly, the butcher turned. Behind him, large as an ox, stood a black dog with blazing blue eyes and sharp teeth. The butcher had seen those blue eyes once before, gazing at him from the face of a young boy trying to save his burning brother.

The black dog growled softly and took a step forward. The butcher whirled around to flee and found himself face to face with tall figure covered from head to toe in flames. The burning boy reached out toward the butcher with hands withered and blackened by fire. The butcher gave a terrified scream and fell, blood gushing from eyes and nose. He was dead before he hit the ground.

To this day, the black dog and the flaming figure still appeared in that vicinity to harass travelers and speed them on their way.

Read more Wisconsin ghost stories in Spooky Wisconsin.