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The Memory Of Ghost Valley

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“RUN” my instincts told me as the masked figure bolted from around the corner of the old, abandoned jail. This town is empty due to a plague that broke out in 1854. it has been a ghost town ever since. It is haunted by the many people that died. Trapped sols. But one of them holds the others hostage. He is a man with dark powers. He wears a black cloak and a mask to hide his true identity. This is the man that is chasing me. But how did I get here? I am a reporter sent to write a journal on the remains. But could I become part of the remains?


“Common, I need this story Jim. It could save my whole career,” I pleaded to one of my co-workers. “Fine. But you owe me Elena,” Jim said reluctantly. “Oh god, thank you. You won't regret this,” I assured Jim as I ran through the front door of the small, two story building used for creating the daily newspaper. I grabbed the keys from my snake-skin purse as it started to rain lightly, like falling feathers graceful and soft. I quickly got in my small, cherry red Nissan Ultima. Turning my key the car sputtered on. I made my way down the split and curved asphalt road. The highway was full. It would take forever to get there.

Four hours later I saw a very old, and faded sign. It was hard to read but it said “Welcome To Ghost Valley.” But a small patch of graffiti read “Turn Back, Haunted.” “Teenagers” I thought quietly to myself. It was a warning. I approached the town within five minutes. The buildings were made of old, worn bricks, or mildewed, soft wood planks. It would have been a shabby place to live with it's dirt roads. I passed by the Town Hall to come into view of the jail. Feeling adventurous I parked outside of the building and got out. It was a small building with broken windows and small holes in a few of the wood planks on the side of the building. I approach the door to notice splattered blood stains about as high as 6 feet, a tall man or woman. Turning the door knob was a struggle as the medal was rusted to a musty brown. But finally the door opened slowly with an eery creek that sent shivers from the back of my neck down my spine.


I stepped through the doorway into darkness that seemed to glow as if a memory. It was like a flash back or a dream. I slowly walked through. Not paying attention to my surroundings I simply followed my memory back to when faces I recognized filled the cells and a very plump man with dark hair and eyes that seemed to glow red, sat behind the small desk by the square, bared window. It seemed like he was talking to me but I couldn't hear what he was saying. But when sound did escape his mouth, he said a name. “Ms. Angel.” It was a name that cough my attention like he had called my own. I was here for a purpose which I was yet to recognize. I felt like I was beckoned to a small door in the back of the building. The knob had not been exposed to such weather as the first one. Easily I opened it to walk into a bright room. After a moment my blue eyes adjusted to the light and I walked in. it was horrible. Memory's shot into my head. A woman was chained to the wall. Tools hung on the wall. Tools that had been used for torture. I heard screams and I saw a man approach me. I couldn't see his face but when I turned my head I saw a girl. Her face was blurry so I couldn't see her face either.


I busted out of the room and out of the building. My car was gone! I looked up and down the streets. Nothing! I walked up the the road to the saloon. I walked through the dust covered, swinging doors. It was small and the tables and chairs had been flung across the room. I walked up to the opening to step behind the bar. It was covered in cobwebs and spiders. Cups were stacked on small shelves in the hollow of the cupboards hanging on the wall. Barrels of whiskey were pressed against the walls. There was several puddles of water on the floor from the last rain. A leaky roof, I guessed since the building was so old. As I walked around I stepped on a loose board. Curious, I propped it up and looked at the ground under it. The dirt was freshly disturbed and so I dug. A small paper was folded to a perfect triangle. I opened it to see written, burred words. I read it. It said:




“If you are here, you are smart. If you found this, you are curious. If you stay here, you will die. This land is haunted and the shadows are to e watched. To be afraid of the dark is to be wise. Go away, save yourself. We couldn't, you can. He will come for you. Stay away from the town hall. Angel will return to save us all. My darling, Angel.”



I slowly put the note down and remembered what the police officer in the jail had said, “Ms. Angel.” I dug in the hole a little more to find a photo. I froze, chills crawled up my spine. A woman in front of tow men. She wore a cotton, laced gown. It was me! On the back of the picture was three signatures. John, Jake, and Angel. I concentrated hard. “BANG!” A loud sound came from the doorway. A man wearing a black cloak and mask stood there, watching me. I quickly got to my feet. He took a step forward. He seemed familiar but I couldn't put a name to the figure. “Welcome home, Angel” he said. His voice was cold, weak, and hard. Very unwelcoming. The hair on the back of my neck stood as he glided toward me. “My name is not Angel, it is Elena,” I said shakily as I backed up to the wall as far as I could get away from him. He stopped mid-way in the room. I took a deep breath. “Your name is Angel, you do not remember your last life.” It was then that I bolted out the door.


“COME BACK YOU STUPID GIRL” he screamed at me. I ran into the jail and as I got to the door way large, strong hands gripped me around my waists. I was lifted roughly off the ground like a limp rag doll. I kicked and punched but I knew not to scream for there was no point. I was raised over his head and time froze for a split second before my body was smashed to the ground and a sickening crack sounded from my ribs. The pain was unbearable. I was unconscious within the minute.











I woke up to blurry vision and moving shadows. After a moment of waiting my eyes focused. My abdomen had been wrapped in thick gauze. I slowly tried to sit up but got dizzy and laid back once more. That was when I noticed the chains around my wrists and ankles. I gasped in surprise and quickly looked around the room. I recognized it right away. The tools, the chains, the woman. But....where was the man? Suddenly, the door jolted open and there he stood in place, like a statue, or a soldier prepared for war. Then he spoke, “Do you remember now Angel?” I was reliving a nightmare. I thought back to when I had entered the room the first time. The woman in chains..... I moved my arms up and down to hear the medal around my thin wrists, to sound their chilling chime of remembrance. A face was set on that woman in the room, my face. I was Angel I forgot the life I lived in the 20th century to go back to that day in 1854. the man I saw, he was Dr. Morgan. He had gone crazy when the plague hit him and thought all women deserved to die a torturous death. I was his first victim. DR. Morgan was the masked man that stood before me. “Yes, I remember now Dr. Morgan” I whispered. He laughed lightly, and deep.


He walked to the wall of tools and grabbed a saw. Blood stains were already on it, mine in the past, and many other women who died my same fate. But I would face it over again. Another body, another death. “Dr. Morgan, you have already killed me once, must you do it again?” I asked. “My dear Angel, I must finish what I started. What kind of a gentlemen would I be if I did not?” He relied simply. I stayed quit, thinking, remembering, feeling the pain I had felt before he started his evil deed. The was pierced my skin and I screamed. The room seemed to go back in time to that day, blood spattered the walls and it reeked of death. I heard the prisoners in their cells towards the front of the jail wailing of hunger and sickness. I closed my eyes and after the few seconds of torture I passed out.







I woke to sirens and to a concerned, familiar face. It was Jim. The paramedics were bandaging a small stub just under my shoulder. My arm was gone. They had saved me from the death I had before, but it was not the end. This date I died in 1854, this date I will die in 2011. I lay there, motionless, waiting to live, waiting to die. Blood soaking the gauze that wrapped my wound. I saw the people around me willing my life to go on but I knew, I knew on this day before midnight my life would come to it's end. I faded in and out of consciousness till finally I was taken into the emergency ward. Doctors surrounded the bed as I was rushed down the hall to a large surgery room. As sleeping pills were injected into my thin, bluing vain, I looked for the last time at what was once the world I had explored as a young girl. I heard the several machines that surrounded me start a hit-pitched beep. Then my eyes closed forever. But I will return again, to the world of the living. This date I will die 2168. I will come again. I have been Angel, I have been Elena. Who will I be next? Where will I be next?




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