THE LITTLE GIRL WHO FELL DOWN THE HOLE

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Three young ghost-hunters set alive the long-deserted room with a flame. Then they lit another candle, and another, until a dozen candles cast their shifting shadows on the walls. A candle’s flame can reveal the presence of a spirit, much as an indicator test reveals the presence of some chemical in a laboratory test tube. This is what these young investigators believed they were doing here tonight; science. And once the candles were lit they unzipped their bag of toys and deliberately placed each valuable high-tech tool of measurement and detection in its proper place on the master bedroom floor.

Sadie, Josie, and Bill were fresh new members of the Rincoln County Paranormal Investigators, whose lead detective had chosen this 19th century homestead for their final exam. Tonight, these novices would prove how well they had absorbed their training, so that they could become professional paranormal investigators (PPIs). They did not yet know that the Elverson Homestead was considered more of a hazing than a final exam in the ghost hunting community, designed to turn the faint-of-heart away from ghost-hunting careers.

The Elverson family built their homestead sometime in the early 1800s, and occupied it for over a century, never updating it with electricity or plumbing. The outhouse stood at the end of a short path from the back door. The path was paved with flagstones that Neglect has decadently upholstered with moss. Nowadays, a pedestrian would have to navigate a web of lilac branches to follow the path to the latrine. The Eversons planted lilac along the path so floral perfume intercepted fecal odor before it could enter the homestead.

The Elversons, a sturdy salt-of-the-earth family, abandoned the home in 1954, not because they wanted to live with modern amenities, but because of a terrible tragedy that took place in that lilac-decked outhouse. Though children of 3 years and up had safely and independently sat upon the latrine for over a 100 years, one hot June night little 5 year old Emily fell down the hole into the quicksand of human excrement below.

Little Emily had been an independent girl, too eager to grow up. She woke one night while her family slept, and instead of waking her mother or father, she determined to go poo by herself like a big girl. She told no one of her departure out the back door and down the flagstone path, which was at that time still clear of moss. The flagstones shone smooth and white in the moonlight, guiding her way through the lilac trees to the house of eye burning stench which was to be her grave. No one was awake to hear her cries as she sank into the sludge.

The next morning the family searched desperately for Emily when they found her not in her bed. It was when her brother, David, left the search party for a bathroom break that he noticed her long blond braid laying like a snake across the top of the muck before it plunged beneath the surface where it attached to Emily’s unmoving head. David, in horror, called for his parents. When their mother learned what had become of her daughter she plunged after her into the feces, though it was obviously too late.

Once inserted fully in the muck she pulled on her daughter's braid, attempting to bring her body to the surface. But the sludge held her tight, like a giant suction cup from the tentacle of a putrid Kraken. Rather than pull her daughter up, she only pulled herself down. She ran her hands down her daughter’s braid until she found her little head, and pulled it towards her breast, but still she sunk before her daughter rose. Hysterical, she would not assist her husband in her own rescue. Before long, she too had sunk beneath the surface of the revolting gastral mud. Her husband sent David running to the neighbors for help with her excavation, but by the time they arrived it was too late. The mother shared the fate of the daughter.

Some say the excavation of their bodies never happened, and that Emily and her mother still rest beneath the toilet seat. Maybe the Eversons left them there because the excavation was too dirty. Or perhaps the Eversons preferred not to see and smell so plainly the gruesome details of Emily and her mother’s final moments. Or maybe they did excavate the mother and child and buried them in a private funeral on the Everson property to avoid having to explain the embarrassing nature of their deaths to the whole community. What is certain is that no public funeral was held, and no cemetery includes a stone for Emily Everson and her mother.

The Eversons abandoned their homestead shortly thereafter. Certainly the tragedy had made the necessary act of elimination impossible for them. Perhaps they suddenly found themselves partial to modern amenities after all, especially toilets that flush and don’t require one to perch precariously over a dark pit of stench. Over the following decades the property, which includes 103 acres, changed hands a number of times. Sometimes it was owned by one individual or another who lived out of state and used it as a hunting property. But no one ever kept it long, and it kept changing hands. The final owner had been Robin Hood Summer Camp, an overnight nature camp where kids learned things like archery and how to use a compass. In 1977, Robin Hood Summer Camp built several lean-tos in the old pasture along the edge of the woods for the kids, and used the homestead as a mess hall. But they had trouble retaining both campers and camp counselors through even the first summer. Rumors of hauntings spread like wildfire, and three years later the homestead was again abandoned.

No one had set foot inside that house for 40 years when Sadie, Josie, and Bill arrived. But our three up-and-coming ghost hunters knew nothing of this story. They had not been briefed by the Rincoln County Paranormal Investigators, and they were too green to know the importance of doing their research in advance of their investigation. So there they were, lighting their indicator candles in the master bedroom, and never considering the outhouse.

The house was drafty, and the candles flickered and dimmed. Now and then a candle went out, and the novices bickered heatedly about whether it was because of the wind or a ghost. Bill picked up the EMF (electromagnetic field) meter, and slowly, methodically, wandered the room with it. The readings were disappointingly low. Lower than they had ever seen during their training. This was their first house that lacked electric wiring, and all the background electromagnetic radiation modern amenities produce.

“It’s the draft blowing out those candles,” Bill said definitively. “There are no paranormal readings here. Let’s move to another room.”

“A kids room!” Exclaimed Sadie. “This old homestead was probably stuffed full of kids once. Who knows how the parents treated them. Maybe a child has something to tell us about their death.”

Sadie grabbed a couple candles, Josie carried a flashlight, and Bill carried the EMF meter and the EVP recorder (which stands for electronic voice phenomenon, and is used to detect and record the staticky voices of ghosts). They left the rest of the candles and equipment in the master bedroom for the time being.

There were four more doors upstairs; one to a linen closet and three to other bedrooms. The old hardwood floors were dusty and creaked as they walked alongside the banister. Moths fluttered in Josie’s face, attracted by her flashlight, and one Kamikaze moth dove into Sadie’s candle, creating a brilliant flash of light that made her cry out in surprise. An observant visitor could clearly notice mouse and centipede tracks through the dust, but the three were not looking at what was on the floor. Bill turned on the EVP recorder, and their attention became consumed by the static as they strained to make sense of any message encoded within it.

After they had carefully explored two of the children’s bedrooms, failing to obtain any ghostly data, Sadie wondered out loud how the previous residents had gone to the bathroom, as there appeared to be no bathroom inside.

“There has to be an outhouse,” said Josie. “I grew up in Amish country. They don’t have plumbing so there are no toilets inside, but they all have outhouses.”

So Sadie excused herself to go on a search for the outhouse in the night.

“Take the flashlight,” said Bill.

“No, you keep it. I’ll take these two candles. If they hint at any ghosts on the way, I’ll give you a call.”

"Look for lilac trees!" Josie called after her. "The Amish plant lilac trees around them to make them smell better!"

Sadie placed her candles in glass candle sleeves, and slowly descended the unusually steep stairway, taking care not to let them blow out. She had not noticed an outhouse when they entered through the front, so Sadie turned towards the back of the house where the kitchen was. On the outer edge of the kitchen was the back door, which was locked with an iron bolt. She set down a candle to unbolt the door and opened it. The wind blew in and instantly blew out both her candles. A jolt of surprise shot through her body and set her gut churning like a pile of snakes.

But she said to herself, “It's just the draft from opening the door.” She took out a lighter from her pocket and fumbled to light the candles in the dark while holding the door open with her foot. (The draft seemed to want to close it now that it had opened it.) Once the candles were lit the snakes in her belly settled down, but they stirred again once she stepped outside and her candles dimmed, becoming two very small, deep blue flames.

“How am I supposed to tell if this is the cause of a ghost, or the night breeze blowing across the top of the candle sleeve?” She asked herself. She remembered that Rincoln County Paranormal Investigators would only confirm the presence of a ghost if it was detected with at least three tools. Candles counted as one, only. Josie and Bill would have to bring their equipment down to confirm the candle results. But right now, she was desperate for the bathroom and couldn’t wait for Bill and Josie, so she continued on to the outhouse.

The moon did not light the path for her the way it had for Emily, the white stones having become shrouded in dark moss. Her candle flames had become such a deep blue that they hardly provided any light at all. She had to feel her way along flagstones with her feet. She soon met with the web of lilac branches, and recalling what Josie had said about lilac, knew she was on the right track. But she found no easy way to follow the path through them with the candles. She considered squatting in the woods, but felt nervous and vulnerable on this particular night. So she very slowly picked her way through the lilac trees, careful not to overturn the glass sleeves, all the while her bladder stretching to the point of emergency.

Finally she neared the end of the row of trees, and could vaguely made out the rectangular profile of the outhouse in her dimming candlelight. Once she obtained the outhouse door she did not bother to shut or lock it, her urgency was so great. But no sooner had she positioned herself upon the rustic toilet seat, which was no more than a hole in a plank of wood, then the flames of both candles again went out.

There she sat on the toilet, waiting in fear and silence, listening to the sound of urine falling down the sides of the hole beneath her. She felt the snakes in her belly again, and tried to calm them. Was the smell intensifying, or was it her imagination? She felt as if a cloud of toxic stench was swelling up from beneath her, burning her eyes until they watered. She closed them tight and held her breath. Then suddenly she felt two slippery arms reach up from the darkness below and wrap around her thighs. She had only a brief moment to let out a scream before they aggressively pulled her down. She was jackknifed, scraping both spine and calves against the wooden rim as she was dragged into the vile sludge.

“Sadie’s been gone an obscenely long time,” asserted Josie when they had finished investigating the final child’s room.

“Maybe she had to go number 2,” replied Bill, unconcernedly.

“Well then she’s sick. I promise you she’s not lounging for fun in a dark outhouse. I’m going to check on her,” retorted Josie. She was frustrated by their lack of success. The candles were unreliable, nothing could be detected via the EMF reader, and nothing could be deciphered on the EVP recorder. It was already late and they were failing this stupid test. And more than that, the constant sound of static was becoming intolerable. She huffed out of the room with the flashlight.

“Hey!” Cried Bill angrily. “At least get me some candles!”

Sadie brought one candle in from the master bedroom. “Get the rest yourself,” she said curtly, and huffed down the stairs.

Because she had a flashlight, Sadie’s footprints were easy to follow through the dust. Josie quickly followed them out the backdoor. The moss covered flagstone pathway was also easy to follow by flashlight. Unburdened by candles and glass candle sleeve, she decisively plowed through the lilac branches, walking the stone path directly to the outhouse door.

She knocked, and of course heard no answer. She knocked again, “Sadie? What the hell is taking you so long?”

Again no answer.

She opened the door and was surprised to find the outhouse empty.

“What the heck, Sadie? Where did you go?” She closed the door and turned away, ducking her head as she began to plough back through the lilac trees. But then she heard a faint, high-pitched moaning.

“Mmmmorrmmaammr.”

Josie stopped and listened. “Sadie?” She called out. “Where are you?”

Then she swore she heard it again. She turned back towards the outhouse.

“Mmmmorrmmaammr,” seemed to emerge from within the modest wooden box.

“Sadie, stop fooling, it isn’t funny. Come out, we need your help inside.” She open wide the door again and shone her light in every corner. Noticing the candles Sadie had left on the outhouse floor, she stepped inside to collect them, and the door slammed shut behind her. She cried out in surprise, dropping her flashlight. Down the toilet hole it went, and was extinguished as it sank in the noxious mud.

“Ugh! Sadie now look what you’ve done! Now we have to FEEL our way back to the house!” She tried to open the outhouse door again, but it seemed to be locked.

“Sadie! Sadie ok, I’m scared now, not cool. Let me out!” She banged and banged on the door, her panic rising. Not a pinch of starlight entered through the outhouse and she could see nothing at all.

Then the smell of fecal matter began to overwhelm her. It seemed to rise in a tangible cloud, too thick to breath. She gagged and pulled her shirt up over her mouth and nose. Crying and panic-stricken she desperately felt the edges of the door, searching for a latch or a hook that might release it.

Then she felt as if someone stood behind her. She could hear something; a slow drip, drip as if mud were dripping on the hollow wooden floor. The smell had become unbearable, she felt she could barely breath. Then, she felt a wet arm wrap around her waist, soaking through her shirt. She was too petrified to even scream.

Then she heard a long wailing cry, as if from far away, “Mooooommmmmmy!” And the arm responded by dragging her with an inhuman strength through the toilet seat, following the cry into the putrid earth.

Bill was irritated about being the brunt of Josie’s frustration, so didn’t bother himself to worry about what had happened to her for a good long while. He wasted time playing with the paranormal detection equipment they had set up in the master bedroom, postponing his next encounter with the girls. But eventually he got bored sitting alone, so put on night vision goggles and took the EMF meter and EVP recorder down the steep and creaking stairway.

He made sure to take his time, and explored every room downstairs before following the girl’s footprints through the kitchen and out the backdoor. As he stood on the flagstone pathway, the LED lights on the EMF meter changed color from green to yellow. Something was happening! The noises on the EVP recorder began to crackle and change in volume. He fought his way through the lilac branches until he reached the outhouse on the other side. The EMF meter was now lit up as red as could be, indicating extremely high electromagnetic activity! And the EVP recorder was going wild.

Bill sat in the dark beside the outhouse and pressed “record.” He had apparently lost all thought of where the girls had gone. He failed to reflect upon the fact that they had both left him in search of this very outhouse, and that neither had returned from this search. He was far too absorbed with the exciting activities of the EMF meter and EVP recorder. He sat and listened intently to the static. It sounded so like speech, but he couldn’t decipher a word. He thought about how he would analyze the recording back at headquarters, and how he’d graduate to PPI (Professional Paranormal Investigator) after collecting this evidence. He lost track of time, and sat there monitoring his equipment until dawn arrived. When he noticed that the sky was brightening he realized he had to pee, and that he still didn’t know what had happened to the girls.

“Probably got tired and fell asleep somewhere,” he thought, taking off his night goggles. “I’ll just make a quick pit stop before I go bust their chops for giving up too soon and missing all the fun!”

And onto the loo he hopped. And you know what happened next.

The recording equipment was collected by the lead paranormal investigator the next day, but the bodies of Sarah, Josie, and Bill were never discovered. Their skeletons float just beneath the shiny surface of excrement, picked clean of flesh by a bustling bacterial metropolis. And there they wait for the next person to choose to have a bowel movement in this old, abandoned outhouse.