The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders

“You know why this place has been empty for the last thirty years?” Mark Stevens asked the realtor. He knew the reason but wanted to see how honest the man was.

The twitchy, tall, pale realtor, a man named Lewis, flipped through several documents. Nervously, he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens, I don’t think I have that information,” he replied.

Mark nodded his head in understanding. He looked up, surprised, when Lewis moved quickly closer.

Lewis dropped his voice, speaking very conspiratorially. “But I have heard the place is haunted.” He swallowed anxiously.

A smile appeared on Mark’s face. This was what he had been hoping for. “Really? What have you heard?” His voice was equally low.

“Well.” Lewis seemed both terrified and thrilled to tell the tale. “Apparently, old man Van Tassel had a beautiful wife and an adorable daughter. They lived happily together for years.” Lewis paused to look around. Mark wondered who he could possibly be looking out for. “The thing is,” Lewis continued, “Van Tassel had a taste for killing. He fought in the Civil War then the Red River War.”

Mark took a step back. “I’m sorry? The what?”

Lewis was enjoying himself now. “The Red River War, back in eighteen seventy. Henry, that was the husband’s name.” Mark nodded at this unnecessary explanation, motioning for the man to continue. “He joined the army.” Lewis thought for a moment. “He fought several battles in the Civil War, I don’t remember which ones. Anyway, it was out west where he got the thirst for killing. The Red River War was fought against the Comanche, Kiowa, Southern Cheyenne, and Arapaho Indian tribes.” He took a breath, watching the interest on Mark’s face. “Well, the army moved them, the Indians, to reservations, and you know some didn’t want to go.” Lewis looked pointedly at Mark. Mark simply returned his look with interest. “From what I heard, ole Captain Henry led many raids to slaughter women and children. I heard he really liked to kill the children. Made sport of them running away.” Lewis shook his head in sadness, but Mark could tell this part of the story did not bother the man at all. “Once he returned back east, Henry got married to his childhood sweetheart and moved his family to this manor.”

“How did he make his fortune?” Mark interrupted.

Lewis looked stumped for a moment, then something apparently came to him, because he continued, “I think he married into money. It was his wife’s fortune that allowed him to buy the estate.”

“Ok, so what happened?” Mark asked as the two made their way toward the house.

With obvious excitement, Lewis continued the tale. “Well, everything was good for years. They had a daughter. Emily was her name. I don’t remember what the wife’s name was. Anyway, once the little girl turned twelve, things changed. Henry was always watching the girl. Servants in the house told the police he had an unnatural attachment to her.”

Again, Lewis gave a look that Mark thought was meant to explain it all. Mark’s face turned to disgust.

Unperturbed, Lewis went on, “Apparently, the mother started to realize what was going on. From what was reported, she confronted her husband. Henry went mad with rage. His old bloodlust returned and he killed her. No one is certain if little Emily witnessed the murder or if Henry just couldn’t control himself.” Lewis gave a dramatic sigh. “In the end the police reported that Henry killed little Emily right after he thought he had dispatched his wife.”

“But?” Mark knew the pause was simply for effect.

“Well, the wife wasn’t as dead as he thought. She grabbed a letter opener and stabbed him in the back. Must have punctured a lung, as the report says he drowned in his own blood.” Lewis suddenly realized they were at the front door.

“Sad, but it is an interesting story.” Mark nodded. “Shall we go in and have a look around? I don’t intend to buy the place until I’ve seen the entire property.”

Lewis fumbled with the keys. His nervousness had obviously returned. “Yes, yes of course.” The keys jingled on the ring as his hand shook.

Mark watched him for a moment then tried the door. It was unlocked. “Hmm, I don’t think I like that.” He frowned. “Who knows what’s been going on in here.” Stepping into the front entryway, he looked around. Lewis followed, a step behind. The sun outside was bright and the day was warm, but inside the house it was chilly. “It’s damn cold in here.” Mark said, rubbing his arms for warmth. He could see his breath. He took one more step and froze, but not because of the chill in the air.

Dust began to swirl as if caught in a wind neither Mark or Lewis could feel. It was pulled in from the floor, the covered furniture, and the walls. Before their eyes, it solidified into the form of a man. “Leave this house at once,” the dustman howled.

Lewis did not need telling twice. He was gone. Mark turned to glimpse him running down the long drive. Mark stood his ground.

The face that stared at him was gaunt. It looked like someone who had been dead, forgotten, and left to rot. It started stalking toward Mark. “Get out of this house,” it shouted, sending furniture flying.

Several small items slammed into Mark and he felt a pain in his head. He brushed away something warm and sticky running down his face. He was bleeding.

A knife flew from the hall into the hand of the specter. “Get out!”

As Mark ran, blood half blinding him, he thought he heard a young girl’s voice ask, “Daddy, why?” followed by a scream of agony.