Ghost Shadows (21 page)

The bottom line was, the workers didn't take well to Jonas running the operation, as they looked at him as having been privileged
and
being given everything as a result of the hard work of his father's success. They all respected and had great admiration for William
,
as he was not only hardworking and intelligent but was generous to a fault. He always put the welfare of his workers before profit.
 

Such was not the case for Jonas. He knew how his employees felt about him, but he didn't care. So instead of trying to win the workers over and gain their respect, Jonas took a firm, autocratic approach, driving his workers with an iron fist, firing anyone who gave him even the slightest provocation. The economy was not prosperous in the poor rural Pennsylvania community, as was often the case in such areas, so the employees had little choice but to put up with Jonas's tyranny or starve. The
y
may have started out disliking Jonas, but soon they despised him.
 

Jonas never married or had any children. He took over the family homestead, a large farmhouse on the same parcel of land, but located several hundred yards in the woods behind the mill. His mother, Greta, lived in the house with him until she died of cancer, then known as
“the waste of life
,
” around 1925. Jonas soon found himself alone, in the big house and did not consider the isolation comforting.
 

Locals rumored
that
his mental decline started after his mother's death. Many said the spirits of the dead parents haunted the homestead, tormenting Jonas relentlessly because of his poor treatment of the workforce. That particular rumor was probably started by a group of irate workers who hated Jonas and simply wished deep inside, such an impossible phenomenon might actually have occurred.
 

Others, who dared to be so vulgar, hinted about an unnatural intimate relationship between Jonas and his mother after his father's death, which caused him to go mad with grief following her subsequent passing. Whatever the reason, after a number of years alone in the “big house
,
” as it was known, Jonas started to act irrationally and could often be seen carrying on conversations with people who were not present
;
some said he was speaking  with his dead mother and father. This probably helped to fuel the ghost rumors as well.
 

Eventually, for whatever reason
,
Jonas lost his mind completely
.
 
 Unfortunately, no one realized the extent of his insanity until it was much too late. Until then, most of his employees simply thought of him as being a bit “off
,
” and chose to ignore his steady mental decline in order to
remain
gainfully employed at the mill.
 

Then one day it happened. After the long workday had ended and most of the workers had gone home, Jonas was hunched over his desk in his office, mumbling to himself as usual, working on the business's books. A group of four obviously angry workers approached him demanding to speak to him about the working conditions. When he refused to talk with the men, they told
Jonas
they were in the process of forming a labor union and he would either have to give in to their demands or they would be forced to call a strike and would shut the mill down.
 

Even though most of what they said was simply bluster,
they had started talking among themselves about the possibility of forming a union. Though they
were actually years away from making it a reality
,
Hanson was unaware of this. And in his deteriorated mental state he couldn't distinguish between what portion of their threat
was real and what might be contrived.
 

He snapped. While the four men were spelling out their demands he reached into the top drawer of his desk, retrieved a Smith and Wesson
.
38 special revolver and proceeded to shoot each of them without a second of forethought. One of the men died instantly when the bullet entered just above his right eye, blowing out the back of his skull and spattering his blood and bits of skull and brain all over the back wall of the office.
 

One of the men took one through the neck and lay on the floor gasping for several long minutes as his severed carotid artery pumped his lifeblood onto the floor where it pooled about him
,
soaking into the planking. The other two workers were not so lucky. Though one was shot once and the other twice their wounds were crippling but not fatal. In reality, they would have been much better off had they died instantly like their partners. The two men screamed in agony and tried to crawl toward the door desperately struggling to get away from the homicidal mad man.
 

Unfortunately, they didn't see him grab a souvenir baseball bat, which was presented to him by a customer and company that purchased his lumber to make their sports equipment.
 
 He shattered both of their legs so they couldn't escape
,
then broke their arms
and
dislocated their shoulders so they could not fight back. Whether he originally planned to kill them with the bat or whether he changed his mind during the process no one would ever know for certain. But the result was he only knocked them both unconscious.
 

When the men finally regain
ed
consciousness they found themselves inside the sawmill, strapped to the huge saw table, legs spread as the belts above the table spun on their pulleys, powering the enormous saw blade, causing it to whirr above the table directly in front of them. Then the blade began its journey down toward them preparing to split them from crotch
es
to their skulls, and within a few moments the screaming and thrashing was over, as each half of
the
workers separated and collapsed to the table top, which became slick with their blood, entrails
,
and stomach contents.
 

Apparently, Jonas had saved one bullet for himself
,
and after his gruesome work was completed he went back to his office, sat behind his desk
,
put the barrel of the gun
into his mouth
and
pulled the trigger
 
 The police investigating the crime scene were sickened by the manner in which he fell face-forward on top of his desk, his sodden brains oozing out onto a photo of his parents
,
which had fallen over and lay beneath his ruined skull.
 

***

Paul Simmons was a twenty-first century transplant to the area, but knew about the history of the mill, having heard local children discussing it while they played in the streets of his nearby suburban neighborhood. H
e
and his wife, Laura
, had only recently
built their split-level home,
having completed
it several months earlier. Theirs was one of the last lots remaining in an already established development. Paul and Laura were both professionals, referred to as D.I.N.K.s by their coworkers; double income—no kids. They both wanted to have children someday
,
but so far they had not attempted to conceive.
 

During the workweek, they both attended a nearby gym and fitness center, but on the weekends, weather permitting, they enjoyed walking along the country roads near their new neighborhood. They would leave the development and head east on Abington Lane until they reached Sawmill. Then they would walk the half-mile length of the road, past the sawmill; unconsciously keeping their distance from the ruins. Next they would turn right on Prescott Road and follow it until it intersected with the very steep Dairy Road, which eventually met back up with Abington Lane on the other side of their development, completing about a two mile circle.

Often, when he would walk by the mill, Paul would deliberately stare at the structure, thinking about the stories surrounding the mill's history. He suspected
that
what he had heard might be close to what really happened although it
was
likely that
the truth
had been blown way out of proportion throughout the years. He often
felt
a strange
,
uneasy sensation in his stomach when passing the mill. Sometimes he even imagined that there might be some unearthly force calling to him; urging him to come inside the mill and investigate.
 

Most of the locals believed or wanted to believe the place was haunted. Many stories suggested
that
the ghost of J. J. Hanson wandered about the inside the mill, his spirit still insane and looking for another victim to saw in
two. Paul, of course, refused to allow himself to even consider believing in such local folklore, thinking it ridiculous. Even the nickname “Saw-Kill” sounded juvenile and corny to him. In fact, he was fairly sure once, several years ago, when he and Laura had lived in California, he had seen a sign in a seasonal Halloween store reading “Saw-Kill
R
oad.
”
 

As he recalled it was one of those cheap foam or cardboard road signs, probably mass-produced in China or some other low-cost country, for a US company eager for cheap labor. The sign had been designed with a green background and reflective white lettering, just like a typical road sign would be. It read “Saw Mill Road
,
” however the “Mill” portion of the sign was obscured by the scribbled word “KILL” done in a way to appear to be written with dripping blood. Paul was fairly certain neither the workers in China, the businessmen in the United States
,
or even the designers who created the idea for the sign had any prior knowledge of this particular Sawmill Road in Pennsylvania, or any knowledge of its ominous history.
 

In fact, there were probably hundreds of Sawmill Roads around the country. Then he suddenly thought for a moment about a line he remembered from the promotion of the horror movie, “Nightmare on Elm St
reet,
” which read, “There's an Elm Street in every town.” Paul figured there must also be a Sawmill Road in almost every rural community as well. Hence, the popularity of the novelty sign, he supposed.
 

 

As Paul became more familiar with the area he began to feel less apprehensive about the dilapidated building and eventually had no trouble walking past it. In fact, the previous day he had taken the walk alone
as
Laura was not feeling well
.
H
e deliberately slowed down as he got to the mill, bold enough to leave the road and walk up to the structure and stand within a few feet of its battered and rotted front stairs.
 

Now, a day later, he
sat at the kitchen table having just finished his Sunday evening dinner and asked Laura if she was up for a walk; he suspected she might not yet be ready for one, as she hadn't seemed to eat very much at dinner.
 

“No.” She replied, “I'm still not feeling so well in my stomach. It must just be a bug or something. If I don't feel
much better by tomorrow morning, I suspect I'll have to stay
h
ome from work and go to the doctor.”
 

Paul thought how odd it was to hear Laura consider staying home since she rarely missed work no matter how sick she might be. “If you feel that bad, do you think we ought to take you to the emergency room?”

“No thanks
,
”
s
he said with a sarcastic laugh
.
“I would rather lie around here all night than spend five or six hours in a room full of sick and injured weekend warriors. You know how poor people always flock to the hospital for their medical needs. Do you remember the last time we were there? It seemed like
most
of the families knew each other; like it is a party they all go to every weekend or something.”
 

“Yeah. I remember
,
” Paul said, thinking about how about two months ago he had cut his finger doing yard work and Laura had to drive him into the hospital for stitches. It was a four-hour snore-fest before the physician's assistant even had an opportunity to look at his injury. “You're probably right.”
 

“I think I'll just go in and lie down on the couch for a while and watch TV
,
” Laura said.
 

“Would you mind if I took our Sawmill walk alone?” he asked. Laura looked out the window and noticed the sun was beginning to set. “Are you sure you want to do that?” she suggested, not wanting to express her apprehension about the waning light too strongly, feeling somewhat foolish at the thought of doing so.

Sure
,
”
h
e said
.
“In fact, I might even run part of the way to make sure I get back before dark. Don't worry, I'll be fine.”
 

“I suppose, if you say so
,
” Laura replied with discomfort. “Take your cell phone along with you in case you trip and fall or get hit by a car or something.”