Tattooed Hearts: Ep1 The Inn

Episode 1: The Inn (Part 1)

1

Cynthia struggled to inscribe their names into the guest book with a pen that had long since run its course of usefulness. As she scratched out barely visible ink strokes, she heard a voice behind her call: "Welcome to the Farnsworth Inn."

She and her husband, Tom, turned their heads to the center of the front desk and stared blankly at the innkeeper that had seemingly risen out of nowhere to greet them. "Checking in?" the innkeeper persisted, barely altering the tenor of her voice. Wendy Williams was a demure woman in her late 50s. She had been working at the Farnsworth for the better part of three decades, and in all that time, she had grown quite accustomed to the various inn goers that graced the stoop of her establishment. Nothing much phased her anymore, and the sight of a seemingly average couple checking in was just a routine day, even though the date was October 31st.

"Yes, we are," replied Tom. "Last name is Princett." He paused, waiting for the more petite older woman behind the counter to type the name into her computer as she confirmed the reservation.

"Ah, yes, here we are. I have you here for two nights in the Sara Black room." Wendy barely raised an eye to look at them. "Are you here for the paranormal night," she continued to ask.

Tom and Cynthia exchanged glances and affirmed that, indeed, they were. It was a guilty little pleasure of theirs. To seek the thrill of ghost hunting, hoping to find something extraordinary, spooky, or, dare they say, demonic, was the focus of many of their weekend getaways.

"First visit to our little inn?" Wendy questioned as her fingers clicked through the necessary screens on the computer to complete the check-in.

Cynthia answered, "It is." She paused briefly before going on as her eyes darted around the reception area, taking in the elaborate wood workings and Victorian-era paintings and artwork, "Been on our bucket list ever since we saw that special on the..."

"Travel Channel, yes, I know," Wendy finished for her. "That little show has done more for our business than anything else ever has." Her voice displayed the sentiment that she could not have been happier, albeit giving away the slight air of deceit.

"So, is... is any of it true?" Cynthia persisted. She had caught the undertone of Wendy's previous response and grew slightly concerned that they may be chasing another red herring. To date, they had witnessed zero actual hauntings despite the promise from every establishment they had visited. For her, skepticism was slowly taking over the belief that something could exist beyond the grave.

Wendy's fingers stopped typing on the keyboard. Summoning her best acting skills, she paused slightly, took a deep breath, and looked up – staring her two new patrons right in their eyes. "Oh yes, yes, it's all true. This is the most haunted inn in America. Hard for it not to be considering all the death and strife that had enveloped this town in July of '63". Even though the year was 2018, there was no need to specify the century with the date – everyone coming to Gettysburg, PA, knew what '63 meant. "But," she blathered on, "there's nothing to be afraid of. All our spirits are kind. And you both have picked the best room in the house. The Sara Black room is our most active."

"Have you personally seen anything go on in there," Tom asked anxiously. Of the two, he was perhaps the most ambitious regarding wanting to see a spirit.

Wendy wasted no time in affirming that she had as she encouraged them to have a safe and pleasant stay at the inn. Her right-hand extended, proffering Tom a key. "Room is at the top of the stairs. Have a great time at the paranormal ghost hunt tonight. Should be pretty active, being Halloween and all."

A wane smile spread across her face as the couple left the front desk and proceeded up the stairs.

2

Cynthia dropped her rucksack onto the red bedspread of the canopy bed. She looked around the small room, taking in every bit of the decor as if memorizing the layout. The old brick fireplace with cherry-stained mantel stood sentinel in the corner of the room adjacent to a closet that creaked open on old hinges. Two sets of windows fronted the room to the Baltimore Street below, the sidewalk abuzz with town revelers, ghost hunting enthusiasts, and Civil War re-enactors alike. A small flat-screen TV was placed on a dresser in between the windows. She entered the connected bathroom and found the room spacious yet discomforting simultaneously. Directly across from the toilet was another door that led into the hallway outside their room, and while the door was locked, she could clearly and articulately hear the other inn guests as they made their way across the landing. "Not much privacy," she whispered to herself. She turned to look into the mirror, fixing her appearance. The mirror, mounted on blue Victorian-style wallpaper, reflected an image of creepy cherub angels mounted in a gold frame on the adjacent wall. The angle of the reflection made it appear as if they were watching her from over her right shoulder. For whatever reason, she suddenly felt ill at ease in the room.

Turning back to the bedroom, she saw Tom lying back on the bed, staring up at the picture of Sara Black above the headboard. "Kind of creepy," he stated matter-of-factly.

Cynthia groaned in soft agreement.

Tom sat up on the bed and stared at his wife. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you're already spooked."

"No, well... not really. Just that damned Travel Channel special getting into my head. You know, where they showed those ghostly images in this room. And just now, in the bathroom..." she broke off.

"What?" Tom persisted.

"It's nothing, stupid, really."

Tom laughed a bit. "Come on, Cyn, did the little ghost boy Jeremy peep in at you in a private moment?" He couldn't help but chuckle.

Cynthia raised a hand and slapped him playfully. "No, you pervert, nothing like that. I don't know, just wigged out a bit, that's all."

Tom continued to laugh. "Look, it's all in good fun, and being wigged out is exactly what that old woman at the desk wanted you to feel; it's how they build their brand. What do you say we venture out and see what's what in this sleepy little ghost town?" He gave his wife a tickle and a little boo-ha-ha spooky laugh to get her motivated. "Jeremy and the others will be here waiting for you when we get back tonight." A chill ran down Cynthia's spine at the thought of it.

As the couple departed the room, a pair of ashen eyes watched them from a place that blended in with the fireplace.

3

When leaving the Farnsworth Inn on Baltimore Street, a person will find themselves a good stone's throw away from the split with Steinwehr Avenue to the right and just shy of a half-mile away from Lincoln Square to the left. Retracing the path they drove in, Tom and Cynthia elected to walk back up towards Steinwehr Avenue. On their way in, they noticed several cute small shops they wanted to visit. As they made their way up the sidewalk, they were amazed to see the number of tourists in town on the cool and breezy autumn day. Pumpkins and haybales adorned many of the porches and doorsteps. Ghosts hung from the street lights and telephone lines crossing the streets. Everywhere one turned, it was easy to see that a town renowned for being haunted embraced wholeheartedly the dark holiday that was fast coming upon them. Even some of the wartime re-enactors were getting into the thick of things as they switched up their standard traditional garb for a more zombie-like appearance. Soldiers rose from the graves. Fitting since many of the ghost stories Tom and Cynthia had researched about Gettysburg featured one unknown soldier or another.

The road they were walking ran parallel to a place in town called Cemetery Ridge. Legends make out that area of town to be highly haunted despite, or perhaps in spite of, the fact that it is the site of the National Military Cemetery. Local guides sell tickets to walk the streets at night, telling patrons about the ghostly doings of spirits lurking there. In autumn, as dusk settles on the town, small tour group contingents were already out and about as Tom and Cynthia made their way along the Avenue. They could hear bits and pieces of the legends as they passed, both of them smiling. They loved that kind of stuff.

Their journey took them to a local pub called O'Rourke's. A large crowd inside the pub made it difficult for Tom and Cynthia to find the last two seats at the large wooden bar. The makings of the start of a haunted pub crawl were taking off. Early twenty-somethings from the local college were talking in a din of noise excitedly about the pub crawl and some new local haunt that opened up in Biglerville, just up the road from Gettysburg. Amidst all the bluster, Tom and Cynthia took their seats, grabbed the bartender's attention, and placed their orders. Turning to each other, they began to discuss the excitement of the upcoming evening plans.

"So Cyn, what do you think," Tom asked Cynthia. "Are we going to have an encounter tonight?"

She shrugged her shoulders in a casual response. "Honestly, I don't want to get my hopes up. We've been on so many of these tours all over the country, and what have we actually found on one of these hunts?" She knew she sounded like a Debbie downer, but she couldn't help it; sometimes, Tom's overly anxious and excited nature for this paranormal stuff got under her skin. "From Waverly Hills to the Stanley Hotel, we've been all over, yet not one encounter. Right about now, I'd sleep stark naked in the middle of the damned Myrtles Plantation if it were to help prove anything."

"Man, it sounds like you've given up on this. Got to have some faith Cyn."

She let out a breath of exasperation. "I do, I do, Tom. I just don't want to get my hopes up this time. This seems so commercialized. And besides, you saw that woman that checked us in. She is clearly playing it like a huckster selling tickets to a carnival show. I just don't know. Even if the place was haunted, wouldn't all the foot traffic from the living have driven off the ghosts?"

Even Tom had to admit that the infamous haunted spots in America quickly became tourist traps. Their recent trip to Waverly Hills was so crowded that it was hard to find a quiet area of the old sanitorium to conduct their hunt. It was discouraging, for sure. All the ghost hunter-type shows on the cable networks were starting to flood the market with wanna-be paranormal detectives, and if he was being honest, that included them as well. Still, he kept his faith that they would find something real one day. After all, wasn't that why they were so interested in all the stories to begin with.

"I just want us to go into this tonight with an open mind. We know the tickets were limited for this hunt, so it shouldn't be overly crowded. And we always have our room to retreat to when it's over. It's the most active room in the place," Tom persisted.

"Must be staying down at the Farnsworth," a voice from the barstool next to Cynthia chimed in. "Sara Black room no less."

Tom and Cynthia stared at the man on the stool that jumped into their conversation. He was a middle-aged man with long stringy, dirty blonde hair peeking out from under a weathered fedora hat. An unkempt beard adorned the man's face, which contained a single living eye – the other glass eye was fixed to the front. There was an air about the man that said he belonged to the place he sat, like a living fixture of the bar.

Turning to the young couple, the man continued. "I'm sorry for butting in. You sit here as long as I do, and sometimes it's hard not to just jump in on conversations. My name is Jonah. Your first night in town?"

Tom and Cynthia muttered a quick yes to Jonah's question, followed by their introduction. It was a fact of life when one is apt to meet all kinds of new people at a bar. The best thing to do was just to go with the flow.

"First night, Halloween night. Great night to be in the village of the damned," Jonah chuckled.

"Village of the damned," Tom queried Jonah. "Why do you say that?"

"It's nothing. You become cynical when you live among all these ghosts in a town like Gettysburg. I mean, you see all those tours out there clogging Baltimore street. Too many phonies are preying on the sucker factor of our tourists. Those so-called tour guides are just regurgitating the same ghost stories you could read for yourself from any book. Nothing original. Nothing of substance." Jonah stopped to pull a long swig from the beer bottle he had wrapped his hand around.

Cynthia understood where Jonah was coming from. She and Tom had been on numerous ghost tours in various towns, and while they were entertaining, the similarities in the stories sometimes became too uncanny. And Tom wanted to know why she was becoming a skeptic in this pursuit of the dead.

"Yes, plenty of amateurs are looking for cheap thrills and folks willing to separate them from their ten bucks to give it to them. But I tell you one thing..." he paused again, taking another sip from his beer, "if you want the real thing, I can point you in the right direction."

"How so," Tom began.

"Tom, no," Cynthia countered. She had been tracking what Jonah was selling up to that point, but her bullshit meter was now running deep in the red. Without a doubt, this man runs his own tour company, and he's in the bar, just trying to poach tourists from other tour companies as they wait for their evening events to start.

"Look, I get it. You don't know me," Jonah said, speaking directly to Cynthia. "No reason to trust what I say. But look, I'm not in the business. I don't take a dime for any of this, and I'm not your tour guide. But look, you're in town for Samhain, and this is an event for that one night only. Let me just say, if you're interested, follow the road out of town to Pumping Station Road and look for the Sachs Covered Bridge. By 11:30 this evening, you should see a bonfire going out in the field near the footpath to the bridge. Talk to the man in black out there. He will hook you up; tell him I sent you. It's invitation-only, so you'll need a name drop to get you in."

Cynthia was shaking her head at Tom. "Thanks, Mr. Jonah, but we have plans tonight." This whole thing sounded too clandestine for her tastes, but before she could beg off too much, Tom jumped back into the conversation with renewed interest.

"Cyn, look, what's the big deal. Let's go check it out and see what's going on. Jonah, what are they doing out there? Got to be more than just telling stories, right?" Tom asked this last question with the pitch of hopefulness that told Jonah they were hooked.

Jonah finished swallowing the last of his beer, placed the bottle on the bar's deck, and stood from his stool. As he peeled off a twenty and laid it on the bar, he murmured a simple "Maybe." His lone living eye scanned Tom's face, and as he saw the twinkle of hope fade just a bit, he baited the hook some more. "Maybe, and you didn't hear anything from me, maybe there will be a bit of a conjuring out there tonight. Just maybe."

Tom could barely believe what he was hearing. It was the one thing that he felt confident would bring them face to face with the real thing. He had to go. He had to convince Cynthia to go. As the couple left O'Rourke's, they were still arguing over the evening plans. Little did they know the same ashen eyes that had spied them earlier were once again peering at them from the wooden bench in the entryway.

4

An elated Tom and a reserved Cynthia departed the Farnsworth Inn in their car shortly before 11 pm. There was something persuasive in Tom's argument that the curious part of her brain couldn't ignore. Whether it was the man at the bar, Jonah's soft sell on the matter, or simply a lack of anything stimulating on the ghost hunt back at the inn, it was enough for her to break down the barriers of her reservations and relent to getting in the car and driving out to the Sachs Covered Bridge.

As their car skidded to a soft stop on the gravel that lined the sides of Waterworks Road, right before the ninety-degree turn to the bridge, both halves of the couple peered out into the darkness surrounding them. In the distance, from across the bridge, some lights could be seen in the houses that dotted the fields. On their side of the bridge, it was blackness. Cynthia opened her door first and stepped out in the crisp autumn night air. The temperature was getting down low enough that a deep exhale of breath could be seen floating away into the night like a ghost. She fixed up her jacket tight around her chest and neck to protect against the cold, as well as any unwanted spirits.

Tom stood up straight against the car's exterior and surveyed the area. Nothing much moved saved for the babbling ripples of water in the stream below the bridge. He could hear the slap of small waves moving against the rocks. His eyes shifted side to side as she turned around three hundred and sixty degrees.

"There's nobody here," he declared, audibly dismayed. "I can't believe it."

Cynthia didn't have a reply. She just stood there, still canvassing the area for any sign of this alleged man in black that Jonah had spoken of. "Perhaps we're a bit early," she offered, not knowing exactly what time it was, though she suspected it be getting close to 11:30. "Sorry, babe, but maybe this wasn't meant to..."

She stopped speaking. Off in the distance, in the left corner of the field, near what appeared to be a grove of trees, she saw the spark. And shortly after that, that spark became a blaze. The fire's orange and red dancing rhythms caught her attention and soon caught that of her husband's. It was happening after all. As Tom came to her side of the car, they both could make out the tall, broad figure of a man walking out of the shadows backlit by the bonfire. The man loomed larger as he walked closer to them, purposely lumbering at a slow pace. A chill ran down Cynthia's spine, which wasn't from the cold night air. For a flash of an instant, she wanted to leave. A pang of uneasiness set in her stomach with each footfall the man took towards them, his figure growing bigger and stronger. She glanced up at her husband to see if he was feeling the same trepidation as she was, but, to her chagrin, he was not. A broad and seemingly wicked smile of enthusiasm spread wide across his face.

The man in the shadows was so close that they could hear the grass's crunch under his feet. He stopped about twenty feet away from them. Not a word was spoken; he just stared at them, resolute in his stance. Tom made a gesture to grab his attention just in case, but still nothing – the man just continued to stand there in silence.

Cynthia grabbed hard at her husband's elbow when he opened his mouth and uttered a "Hello" to the figure that loomed just at the edge of clear vision and shadow. As she trained her eyes in the darkness, she could begin to make out tiny details about the man. She gauged him to be six foot five, an easy 300lbs. His dark complexion blended evenly with the darkness of his suit, bringing an ominous, sinister demeanor to the figure that was brought forth from the emptiness of the night.

Even after Tom's greeting, the man continued to stare at them like a silent sentinel.

"This is ridiculous," Tom muttered under his breath. Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity, he started to walk toward the stranger despite Cynthia's protestations not to. "Hello," he called out louder again. "We're here for the..." he broke off; he didn't quite know what to name the thing they were there for. "We're here because Jonah sent us."

The tall man standing sentinel motioned for them to come closer. Tom glanced back at Cynthia, elated that the name drop was appearing to get them in the door, so to speak. Cynthia, on the other hand, didn't like it one bit. She didn't like that this man, this guard, this guide, whatever he may be, was not saying anything. She didn't like the fact that there was nobody else around. She also didn't like that just a few minutes ago, there was nothing there, and then out of nowhere, a bonfire was struck, and the man came out of the darkness. She's seen this movie before, hundreds of times. The stupid unsuspecting couple gets pulled into and ends up being sacrificed. But none of that can happen in real life, right? This was just some sort of elaborate Halloween prank. She convinced herself to go along with it all, if not for some of her thrills, at least to support her husband in his thrill-seeking. She pushed herself to move her feet quickly to catch up with her husband, who was standing right in front of the man in black at the edge of the field.

The stranger towered over them.

The ashen eyes bored holes right through them, getting so close the possessor could taste them.