"We called him Ol' Book," he said. If you listen close you might still hear him weeping by the old elm."
The intrusive repetition of her slow, hollow gate echoes in the stairwell while residents enjoy their evening meal.
Footsteps can be heard pacing the grand stage, performing a show that hasn't been played since 1983.
The Gray Curse wouldn't end with a fire, or with the turn of the 21st century.
The Lady in White paces the bridge that joins the places her purity and life were stolen from her on a summer night in 1935.
She stands in the window like the Mona Lisa in her frame—her glow shining at dusk, proclaiming her tragic end to all who see her.
He waits—he watches for her car to drive down his lane—though she is only a soul that no longer breathes and never will again.
While her peers enjoyed their spring vacation, she hung alone in the bathroom stall.
Mrs. Morron was very particular about her home decor, and still critiques the work of tour guides to this day.
The appeal of whiskey on ice still attracts the deceased brakeman with a lantern at Martini's Bar.
