On All Hallows Eve, people at Murphy’s Tavern were having a pint of ale and enjoyed telling tales about how they came close to disaster at the hands of the Phantom of the Hollow. Their talk evoked shivers in some folk despite the warmth of the tavern. Some half-believed their friends’ tales.
The Phantom was said to be a man turned ghoul, dressed in black, who materialized from the depths of the night, perhaps from the very vapors that rose from the stream in the nearby hollow.
This evening, beyond the chatter and warmth of the tavern in the hills of Pennsylvania, the wind was up. Its chill threatened to devour any sense of comfort on that darkening night. Brian McBruggle, a man of middling age and height, pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Brian and his friends had been raising their glasses and toasting those who had recently departed. He had decided to leave the pleasant camaraderie of his lumber mill workmates early because he wanted to get home to his wife, Peg, and the children.
Brian would have stayed later, but his wife Peg would be waiting at home for him. She would chide him, saying, “Brian McBruggle, You’re half an hour late for supper again. The stew needs heatin’. The young’uns missed their dad.” Peg had already put them to bed after they all had eaten. Brian put on his brown wool cap and buttoned up his navy pea jacket for his journey to his small clapboard house. It was located near the far end of the hollow near their home. Sometimes, he and his young’uns fished in the pleasant stream not far from their home.
He bid his friends a good evening and stepped out the door. He heard it bang shut behind him before he could close it. The wind was fierce that night and threatened to devour any sense of comfort for those who ventured out into its darkness. Brian pulled out a small flashlight from his coat and turned it on to show the way on the county road. He walked at a quick pace though his mind continued to revisit the events of the past hour he had spent with his mates, Mark, Tim, and Jamie.
Ned Smithers had come by their table. He had chuckled and sneered when they asked him to contribute to the pot for Sean McNeil’s widow. Sean had been Ned’s darts game partner. He had routinely lost part of his wages to Ned. Sean had been unfortunate in a far worse way. Two weeks earlier, he had been killed crossing a railroad track in town after sunset.
Sean had left his widow and children destitute, His family barely managed to pay their monthly bills for their company home and groceries. Any extra cash they might have saved ended up in Ned’s pocket after Sean lost a night of playing darts. There was never enough saved for what events might come to plague Sean’s family. Ned showed no respect for the living or the dead.
Before he sauntered away, he said, “As we all know, a fool and his money are soon parted. That’s how it was with Sean.”
Brian and their mates had decided to help Sean’s widow. It had been payday at the mill, and each of them put added a few dollars into a pool of money. When Brian took out his wad of cash, everyone admired the fancy bright metal money clip that held his wage dollars from the mill.
“The clip was for me birthday. Peg surprised me,” said Brian with a bit of pride in his mellow voice.
As he continued walking towards home, he saw the clouds gathering around the full moon parted enough to spare the use of his flashlight. He put it back in his coat pocket. The moonlight illuminated the weeds and trees on the banks of the stream that ran through the hollow. The glow embraced the skeletal oaks and maples. Their branches cast slanted hobgoblin shadows on the road and grasses.
“I’m a modern man,” said Brian aloud to himself and anyone in the vicinity. He took off his cap and wiped his sandy brown hair off his face. “It is 1955, modern times in Pennsylvania. I don’t care if others fear the Phantom of the Holler. He is myth and legend for young’uns,” he declared.
Earlier that evening, his mates had joked about the terrible deeds done by the phantom of the hollow. He was said to bring harm to any mortal going about on this night when the dead and living drew closer to each other while prayers were said on the behalf of departed.
An owl hooted in the distance. Some said its hoot portended misfortune, even a death. Brian dismissed superstitions attached to the owl’s hoot. The bird might only be resting from his nightly search for mice and voles. He gave little credence to tales of ill omens and continued on his way. Clouds gathered again about the moon again and hid its light. Darkness engulfed the landscape. Brian reached into his pea coat’s right pocket to get out his flashlight. Before he could turn it on, something knocked it out of his hand. He was shoved down into the moist grasses and weeds on the banks of the hollow’s stream. He could hear the water swirling angrily around the rocks.
Brian felt something like a fist striking his face. He shrieked and tumbled down the bank, stopping just at the water’s edge. His cap was dislodged and floated downstream. He tried to fight off whatever was upon him, but he was not as strong as his foe that ripped at his jacket and growled while crying out like a demon. Brian shivered in the cold. He felt a trickle of blood run down his face.
“Help, help,” he screamed after the creature loosed its hold on him and he caught his breath. He heard its heavy steps ambling off into the darkness. Briefly, the moon winked from the clouds. Brian saw a large demonic figure, perhaps caped, dressed all in black. It vanished as it had come, without a word, into the night.
No one at the tavern would have heard his shout, but Brian was reacting to the pain and the mayhem thrust on his being. He thought of his money, held by the fancy clip gifted to him by Peg. He managed to get into his breast pocket. His hand came out empty. Brian’s head ached fierce, but he thought, could his assailant have ripped his cash away? What interest would the likes of a phantom have in taking a man’s earnings?
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. It was Ned’s. Ned was not his mate. He worked as a clerk in the coal mine’s office and was never bought a round of drinks nor offered help to those in need. His smiles were for his own success, often gains gotten at the expense of others, as winning bets and garnering other’s payday dollars. Even that disagreeable man’s voice was welcome at that moment.
Now, Ned was yelling to some people. “Here he is, I found him over here. Quick, looks like he’s been hurt. Aye, it may have been the work of the Phantom of the Holler on a night such as this.” Helping another was out of character for Ned, but it seemed he might have a better side to his personality.
Other voices echoed, “Aye, Brian must have been attacked by the Phantom.”
Brian passed out. The next thing he knew as he opened his eyes the best hecould, he was at Murphy’s tavern. Bess the barmaid was wiping the blood and dirt off his face. She was the young niece of the barkeep. She pushed back her long dark hair from her brow as she asked, “Brian, how’re feelin’? What happened to you?” His mates were gathered around him, calling his name and asking the same question. His mouth hurt and he could do no more than mumble his words. The warm cloth with soap and water stung as Bess continued to clean his face.
He heard people say that the phantom had struck again on All Hallows Eve. A shiver ran through his body. Could that have been, the creature he grappled with was really the phantom?
On one of the chairs, lay his wet dirtied pea coat.
“My money’s gone,” he managed to say to Bess, though his swollen lips pained him and his teeth felt loose.
A sheriff’s deputy, Michael O’Shay, lived close by and was fetched to the tavern. He knelt next to Brian’s side. “Mind if ask some questions, Brian McBruggle?” he queried, getting out a note pad and a pencil. Brian tried to speak again. His mouth ached. His blue eyes were blackened and swelling shut. he tried to look at O’Shay and answer hia questions.
A side door opened. Sid MacTavish strode in. Ignoring the scene, he located Ned and pulled him away into a distant corner. Ned owed him some money from a poker game.
“Okay, Ned Smithers, cough up the money you owe me from a month ago. Don’t give me any excuse about being laid off from clerkin’ at the coal mine. Give it over now!” he demanded, his voice rising.
Ned’s face paled. “Alright, alright,’ he said and pulled out a wad of dollar bills held together with a fancy money clip.
One of Brian’s mates, Mark, a young man with carrot red hair, noticed the transaction. “That’s Brian’s money clip. He’d been showing off what Peg gave him for his birthday. “Ned, how did you get that money clip?” Mark yelled out. Everyone glanced up and stared to where Ned and Sidney MacTavish were standing.
Sidney ran out of the tavern. He wanted none of this kind of attention. The Sheriff’s deputy walked over to where Ned stood and asked.. “Ned, how did you get that?” Ned could not speak. He looked frightened. The deputy said calmly, “I think you should come with me to my office where it is quiet and answer some questions.” Ned for once had no glib comeback, no self-serving quick answer.
As Sheriff O’Shay walked Ned away, all focused their attention to the two men. Mark asked Ned, “Ned, what’s that in your dark coat’s breast pocket? Looks like a shamrock. How did you get such a good luck piece? It’s hard to come by this time of year. Mark continued with a faint smile upon his lips, “Funny, you wearin’ one. You always made fun of your darts partner, Sean, for wearin’ his usual lucky shamrock, especially when he lost money to you. Looks like a shamrock was not lucky for you tonight.”
Wendy N. Bell