HALLOWEEN STORIES
The Blue Rock
A Massachusetts Ghost Story
retold by
S.E. Schlosser
The story was told furtively, in lowered voices. Buried treasure. Near the blue rock. A long time ago, an unknown ship dropped anchor in the surf near Wasque Bluff. A small boat carrying a mysterious figure, six sailors, and a large box landed on the beach. The sailors dug a deep hole inland near the blue rock, and the box was lowered into it. As the sailors stepped back, their leader threw a small green package onto the box. With a huge crash and a flash of blinding green light, the hole disappeared! The silent group walked back to the boat, leaving behind scorched, blackened earth.
After hearing several whispered versions of the story, two adventurers decided to have a go at the treasure. They would meet at the rock at midnight. The first chap arrived early. Tired out from his long walk, he leaned against the large stone and closed his eyes. A sound from the waters jerked him awake. Turning around, the treasure hunter could just make out the lines of a very large ship, sails set, coming in fast toward shore. There was no one moving on deck, and no one stood at the wheel. Yet the ship dodged the shoals and shallows as expertly as any fisherman on the island. Just when it seemed she would run aground, every sail dropped instantly and the ship drifted gently forward until her keel lightly touched the sandy shore. And then, with a horrible shout, the hatch crashed open and a group of glowing skeletons came swarming out onto the deck. They were a merry crew, joking and laughing as they handed around spades and shovels. Then they came filing down the plank, carrying a dead body.
The skeletons came right toward the rock. They stopped a few yards from the treasure hunter and started to dig. Almost instantly there was a deep hole, and the spades rang as they hit metal. The treasure hunter caught a glimpse of a large box filled with gold and silver, onto which the corpse was tumbled. As the hole was refilled, one of the skeletons looked toward the blue rock. It spotted the intruder and came for him, followed by its ghastly crewmates.
The treasure hunter was so stiff with fear that he couldn’t run. The skeletons swarmed around him like bees and lifted him up, bearing him back toward the hole. Realizing that they intended to bury him alive with the corpse, the treasure hunter gave an almighty screech that frightened even these terrible ghosts. They dropped him, and his head fell with a bang against a rock.
For a moment he saw stars. But fear overcame dizziness, and he pushed himself up and turned to find that the phantoms were gone. No skeletons, no ship, no corpse, not even any treasure could be seen in the dim light of the moon.
The treasure hunter was so stiff with fear that he couldn’t run. The skeletons swarmed around him like bees and lifted him up, bearing him back toward the hole. Realizing that they intended to bury him alive with the corpse, the treasure hunter gave an almighty screech that frightened even these terrible ghosts. They dropped him, and his head fell with a bang against a rock.
For a moment he saw stars. But fear overcame dizziness, and he pushed himself up and turned to find that the phantoms were gone. No skeletons, no ship, no corpse, not even any treasure could be seen in the dim light of the moon.
This scared the treasure hunter even worse than the phantoms, and he hightailed it for home. When his friend arrived at the blue rock a little after midnight, all was dark and lonely. Quizzed the next day about his defection, the treasure hunter reluctantly told his friend the story. His unfeeling friend clapped him on the shoulder and said: “Better you than me.” But somehow, neither of them ever went back to look for the treasure.
La Corriveau
retold by
S.E. Schlosser
Marie-Josephte Corriveau was a beautiful but ruthless woman. She married a good-looking man but soon grew bored with him. So late one evening, she stunned her husband with a blow to the head, then took a whip to his horse, which trampled him to death. The death was ruled an accident and La Corriveau was free to marry again.
She was happy with her new love, at first. But her heart was fickle, and in time she cast her eyes on a handsome newcomer. So she took an axe to her second husband. But this time, she was caught in her deed and sentenced to death. La Corriveau was hung for her wicked deed, and her dead body was put in a cage and displayed prominently along the highly trafficked river road.
Ah, but what the authorities did not guess, mon ami, was that the spirit of this evil woman would not die as it should. No. It was tied to her shackled, withering flesh. At night, La Corriveau’s eyes would open of their own accord and her decaying hands would reach toward passing travelers as she whispered the travelers’ names through a tangle of stringy locks.
Soon, no one would use the river road after dark, so the authorities took the corpse and buried it deep beneath the ground, hoping to silence the evil creature. But their hopes were in vain; for many a night La Corriveau would arise from her grave and walk back and forth along the river road, accosting travelers.
One night, a prominent citizen named Dubé was walking home to his new bride. As he passed the place where the cage of La Corriveau once stood, his eye was caught by a scene of wild, demonic figures dancing around the blue light across the river. “Madre de Dios,” he gasped in fear—and then he screamed as a pair of bony, withered hands clutched his throat from behind.
“Take me across the river, Dubé,” La Corriveau whispered into his ear, her greasy hair caressing his cheek. He flinched at the feel of her slimy skin. “I cannot pass the blessed waters of the Saint Lawrence unless a Christian man carries me.”
Fear leant Dubé a strength he did not normally possess. He dropped to his knees, ripping at the creature’s hands and flinching as he felt dry flesh tearing away from La Corriveau’s bones.
“In the name of the blessed Saint Anne, leave me,” Dubé shrieked as the wicked thing bent over him. Then he fainted and knew no more until the morning, when his frantic wife found him by the roadside and woke him with her sobs.
The story of Dubé’s attack spread through the city, and finally the authorities were forced to call in the holy Curés to exorcise the foul spirit and free the citizens from her evil spells.
She was happy with her new love, at first. But her heart was fickle, and in time she cast her eyes on a handsome newcomer. So she took an axe to her second husband. But this time, she was caught in her deed and sentenced to death. La Corriveau was hung for her wicked deed, and her dead body was put in a cage and displayed prominently along the highly trafficked river road.
Ah, but what the authorities did not guess, mon ami, was that the spirit of this evil woman would not die as it should. No. It was tied to her shackled, withering flesh. At night, La Corriveau’s eyes would open of their own accord and her decaying hands would reach toward passing travelers as she whispered the travelers’ names through a tangle of stringy locks.
Soon, no one would use the river road after dark, so the authorities took the corpse and buried it deep beneath the ground, hoping to silence the evil creature. But their hopes were in vain; for many a night La Corriveau would arise from her grave and walk back and forth along the river road, accosting travelers.
One night, a prominent citizen named Dubé was walking home to his new bride. As he passed the place where the cage of La Corriveau once stood, his eye was caught by a scene of wild, demonic figures dancing around the blue light across the river. “Madre de Dios,” he gasped in fear—and then he screamed as a pair of bony, withered hands clutched his throat from behind.
“Take me across the river, Dubé,” La Corriveau whispered into his ear, her greasy hair caressing his cheek. He flinched at the feel of her slimy skin. “I cannot pass the blessed waters of the Saint Lawrence unless a Christian man carries me.”
Fear leant Dubé a strength he did not normally possess. He dropped to his knees, ripping at the creature’s hands and flinching as he felt dry flesh tearing away from La Corriveau’s bones.
“In the name of the blessed Saint Anne, leave me,” Dubé shrieked as the wicked thing bent over him. Then he fainted and knew no more until the morning, when his frantic wife found him by the roadside and woke him with her sobs.
The story of Dubé’s attack spread through the city, and finally the authorities were forced to call in the holy Curés to exorcise the foul spirit and free the citizens from her evil spells.
Hold Him, Tabb
retold by
S.E. Schlosser
Yep, I remember what it was like before the railroad came through these parts. I used to earn my living by carting supplies from town to town on horse-drawn wagons. Not easy work, no sir. Especially in winter. One cold December day, I was traveling with my buddy Tabb, when it began to snow. Gee wilikers, it was cold! We needed to find shelter quick, and I was delighted when I spotted an abandoned house.
We thought we were real lucky, finding such a good shelter. As we unhitched the horses, a fellow stopped by to talk to us. Claimed he was the owner of the property. Told us we were welcome to stay but the house was haunted.
The owner said that no one who had ever stayed in that house had made it out alive. That was good enough for me. I hitched Ol’ Betsy back up to the wagon and moved up the road to a stand of trees that offered some shelter from the snow. Tabb said he wasn’t afraid of no ghosts, and he didn’t plan on perishing in the snow. I wasn’t about to risk my neck in a haunted house. I built a fire as best I could and waited through the long night, wondering a couple of times if Tabb wasn’t the smart one.
Well, just about dawn, I gave up trying to sleep and went back down the road to see how Tabb had fared for the night. I peeked through the windows on the first floor. I saw Tabb snoozing peacefully in a big bed. He looked warm and happy. Then I saw a movement on the ceiling. I looked up, and there was a large man dressed all in white, floating flat against the ceiling. The man was right over Tabb, looking down on him.
“Tabb,” I hissed, tapping at the window. ‘Tabb, get out of there you fool!’
Tabb woke, but instead of looking toward the window, he looked straight up and saw the man on the ceiling. Tabb gave an awful yell, but before he could move out of bed that man fell and landed right on top of him. Now Tabb was a big, strong fellow, but that ghost was powerful. They wrestled back and forth on the bed. I gave a shout and smashed the glass in the window, shouting ‘Hold him, Tabb, hold him!’
Just then, the ghost flung himself and Tabb right at me, knocking me back out of the window and into the snow. The ghost levitated himself and Tabb onto the roof of the front porch. I kept shouting, ‘Hold him, Tabb. Hold him!’ The ghost and Tabb were wrestling frantically on the porch roof. The ghost gave a mighty leap and threw Tabb onto the roof of the house.
“ Hold him Tabb,” I shouted. “Hold him!” Then the ghost lifted Tabb right into the air.
“ I got him,” Tabb cried. “But he got me too!”
They were floating a few feet off the roof, still grappling with each other. And then the ghost carried Tabb straight up into the air and they vanished. I never saw Tabb again.
We thought we were real lucky, finding such a good shelter. As we unhitched the horses, a fellow stopped by to talk to us. Claimed he was the owner of the property. Told us we were welcome to stay but the house was haunted.
The owner said that no one who had ever stayed in that house had made it out alive. That was good enough for me. I hitched Ol’ Betsy back up to the wagon and moved up the road to a stand of trees that offered some shelter from the snow. Tabb said he wasn’t afraid of no ghosts, and he didn’t plan on perishing in the snow. I wasn’t about to risk my neck in a haunted house. I built a fire as best I could and waited through the long night, wondering a couple of times if Tabb wasn’t the smart one.
Well, just about dawn, I gave up trying to sleep and went back down the road to see how Tabb had fared for the night. I peeked through the windows on the first floor. I saw Tabb snoozing peacefully in a big bed. He looked warm and happy. Then I saw a movement on the ceiling. I looked up, and there was a large man dressed all in white, floating flat against the ceiling. The man was right over Tabb, looking down on him.
“Tabb,” I hissed, tapping at the window. ‘Tabb, get out of there you fool!’
Tabb woke, but instead of looking toward the window, he looked straight up and saw the man on the ceiling. Tabb gave an awful yell, but before he could move out of bed that man fell and landed right on top of him. Now Tabb was a big, strong fellow, but that ghost was powerful. They wrestled back and forth on the bed. I gave a shout and smashed the glass in the window, shouting ‘Hold him, Tabb, hold him!’
Just then, the ghost flung himself and Tabb right at me, knocking me back out of the window and into the snow. The ghost levitated himself and Tabb onto the roof of the front porch. I kept shouting, ‘Hold him, Tabb. Hold him!’ The ghost and Tabb were wrestling frantically on the porch roof. The ghost gave a mighty leap and threw Tabb onto the roof of the house.
“ Hold him Tabb,” I shouted. “Hold him!” Then the ghost lifted Tabb right into the air.
“ I got him,” Tabb cried. “But he got me too!”
They were floating a few feet off the roof, still grappling with each other. And then the ghost carried Tabb straight up into the air and they vanished. I never saw Tabb again.
Rattlesnake Ridge
A Texas Folktale
retold by
S.E. Schlosser
Adam Gimble was the very best fiddler in Texas. Folks came from miles around to the weekly barn dance, just to hear Adam play. Adam was right proud of his reputation. He liked to boast of his prowess with the fiddle and often said that he could charm rattlesnakes out of their dens. One evening, upon hearing this boast, a dark stranger spoke up from the far end of the bar.
“Charm rattlesnakes out of their dens? That’s a mighty big boast,” the dark-haired man said. “I’m a pretty good fiddle player myself, and fifty dollars says I can charm more rattlesnakes than you.”
“I’ll bet you anything you like,” Adam said defiantly.
“Done!” said the dark stranger with a devilish grin, and he arranged to meet Adam the next evening at dusk at Rattler Ridge.
Adam came striding up to the top of the ridge at the appointed hour to find the stranger perched on a flat-topped rock. He flashed a grin at Adam, and Adam shivered a bit.
Propping his rifle up against the rock, Adam tuned his violin while the stranger pulled out his own violin; his eyes glowed with a red light. “I will mark them as they come out,” he said, grinning at the unease he saw in Adam’s face.
Propping his rifle up against the rock, Adam tuned his violin while the stranger pulled out his own violin; his eyes glowed with a red light. “I will mark them as they come out,” he said, grinning at the unease he saw in Adam’s face.
“How are you going to do that?” Adam asked, swallowing nervously.
“I’m the Devil. I can do anything I please,” the man said. “Rattlers with a yellow dot on their heads responded to your fiddle, and rattlers with a blue dot responded to mine. You start.”
Adam gave a muffled gasp when he realized the dark fellow was the Devil. But, pride came to Adam’s rescue. Raising his head and standing tall, he put his fiddle to his chin and began to play. He started with a jig and then a fast reel. The rattlesnakes came as he played, their triangular heads glowing with large yellow dots that lit up the darkness of night.
Adam played on and on, caught up in his music and he had no idea how long he played before the Devil called a halt and took his turn The Devil began to play, marches and waltzes and slow ballads. Each song was lovelier than the one before, and the far side of the rock gradually lit with the eerie glow of many blue-dotted rattlesnakes.
Then the Devil and Adam played together, fast songs that made the rattlers whirl and slow songs that made them sway gently. It was only in the gray dimness just before sunrise that Adam realized that the strange night was over. Adam pulled the fiddle away from his chin and looked around. To his astonishment, there seemed to be twice as many yellow snakes as blue.
“Well,” said the Devil, “It’s obvious that I must concede the contest to you.” He made a strange half-bowing motion and threw a fifty-dollar bill down on the rock. Then the Devil vanished.
Grinning in triumph, Adam reached down for the fifty-dollar bill—and then froze when he heard a long, drawn-out hiss of a rattlesnake’s warning. The whole ridge rang with the warning of more than a hundred snakes.
The snakes were slowly creeping up the rock toward him as Adam reached desperately behind him toward the rock where he’d propped his rifle. And that’s when he remembered the Devil’s strange bowing motion just before he vanished. The Devil had taken his gun!
Adam gave a muffled gasp when he realized the dark fellow was the Devil. But, pride came to Adam’s rescue. Raising his head and standing tall, he put his fiddle to his chin and began to play. He started with a jig and then a fast reel. The rattlesnakes came as he played, their triangular heads glowing with large yellow dots that lit up the darkness of night.
Adam played on and on, caught up in his music and he had no idea how long he played before the Devil called a halt and took his turn The Devil began to play, marches and waltzes and slow ballads. Each song was lovelier than the one before, and the far side of the rock gradually lit with the eerie glow of many blue-dotted rattlesnakes.
Then the Devil and Adam played together, fast songs that made the rattlers whirl and slow songs that made them sway gently. It was only in the gray dimness just before sunrise that Adam realized that the strange night was over. Adam pulled the fiddle away from his chin and looked around. To his astonishment, there seemed to be twice as many yellow snakes as blue.
“Well,” said the Devil, “It’s obvious that I must concede the contest to you.” He made a strange half-bowing motion and threw a fifty-dollar bill down on the rock. Then the Devil vanished.
Grinning in triumph, Adam reached down for the fifty-dollar bill—and then froze when he heard a long, drawn-out hiss of a rattlesnake’s warning. The whole ridge rang with the warning of more than a hundred snakes.
The snakes were slowly creeping up the rock toward him as Adam reached desperately behind him toward the rock where he’d propped his rifle. And that’s when he remembered the Devil’s strange bowing motion just before he vanished. The Devil had taken his gun!
Going Courting
A Colorado Ghost story
retold by
S.E. Schlosser
J. Dawson had two goals in life: to find a rich vein of gold and to find a bride. So far, he hadn’t had any luck either with the gold or the ladies. His smooth, eastern manners seemed rather sissy and irritating among the rough miners and rowdy residents of a wild western town. He’d courted the schoolteacher, the local farmers’ daughters, and even took to visiting a few of the other entertainers at the saloon. All to no avail.
Then one day, J. Dawson’s lifeless body was found at the bottom of a cliff. He had fallen several hundred feet off the mountain, where he was prospecting for gold. He was buried in Buckskin cemetery with a small service and everyone forgot about him. Until two days after the funeral, the sheriff found the remains of J. Dawson in the local saloon, lying in the bed of a lady of the evening that he had courted a few months back. She had been sleeping off another busy night when she awoke to find J. Dawson’s remains beside her. The sheriff calmed the hysterical woman and then took J. Dawson back to the graveyard to bury him again.
Naturally, no one knew anything. The miners avowed their innocence, and the shopkeepers and businessmen claimed their ignorance. The town treated the matter as a joke, speculating privately on who had dug up poor old J. Dawson. Three days later, J. Dawson was found at the schoolhouse. He was propped against the doorpost, a love note addressed to the teacher in his hand. After being dead a week, he was not a pretty sight. The sheriff removed the corpse a second time, and had the body buried as deeply as possible. He piled heavy stones atop the grave, and J. Dawson remained in his grave for several weeks.
Then came a spate of activity. J. Dawson was found sitting on the porch of the local advocate’s house, clutching flowers with a note addressed to the eldest daughter. Next, he was found sitting on his favorite barstool, with a box of sweets addressed to one of the pretty lady entertainers. He visited several prosperous businessmen’s daughters with love letters and bouquets of wildflowers. Finally, the sheriff hired a couple local boys to watch the grave.
One night the boy roused the sheriff form his bed. “He came up out of the grave! I swear! It was J. Dawson. He came out of the grave and started picking wildflowers.” The boy was hysterical and wouldn’t calm down till the sheriff went to the graveyard and saw for himself that the earth of J. Dawson’s grave was disturbed.
The next morning the sheriff, found the rotting corpse at the home of his own sweetheart. And that was the last straw.
“I have had enough of his shenanigans,” the sheriff said. “If he is going to behave like he belongs in a cesspool, than that is where he belongs!” The sheriff grabbed the moldering body of J. Dawson and dragged it down the road to an old outhouse that stood near an abandoned shanty town. He ripped off the wooden seat and threw J. Dawson down into the muck. Then he tore down the outhouse and buried J. Dawson inside. That was the last time J. Dawson ever went courting.
Axe Murder Hollow
A Pennsylvania Ghost Story
retold by S.E. Schlosser
Susan and Ned were driving through a wooded empty section of highway. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, the sky went dark in the torrential downpour.
“We’d better stop,” said Susan.
Ned nodded his head in agreement. He stepped on the brake, and suddenly the car started to slide on the slick pavement. They plunged off the road and slid to a halt at the bottom of an incline.
Pale and shaking, Ned quickly turned to check if Susan was all right. When she nodded, Ned relaxed and looked through the rain soaked windows.
“I’m going to see how bad it is,” he told Susan, and when out into the storm. She saw his blurry figure in the headlight, walking around the front of the car. A moment later, he jumped in beside her, soaking wet.
“The car’s not badly damaged, but we’re wheel-deep in mud,” he said. “I’m going to have to go for help.”
Susan swallowed nervously. There would be no quick rescue here. He told her to turn off the headlights and lock the doors until he returned.
Axe Murder Hollow. Although Ned hadn’t said the name aloud, they both knew what he had been thinking when he told her to lock the car. This was the place where a man had once taken an axe and hacked his wife to death in a jealous rage over an alleged affair. Supposedly, the axe-wielding spirit of the husband continued to haunt this section of the road.
Outside the car, Susan heard a shriek, a loud thump, and a strange gurgling noise. But she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
Frightened, she shrank down into her seat. She sat in silence for a while, and then she noticed another sound. Bump. Bump. Bump. It was a soft sound, like something being blown by the wind.
Suddenly, the car was illuminated by a bright light. An official sounding voice told her to get out of the car. Ned must have found a police officer. Susan unlocked the door and stepped out of the car. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she saw it.
Hanging by his feet from the tree next to the car was the dead body of Ned. His bloody throat had been cut so deeply that he was nearly decapitated. The wind swung his corpse back and forth so that it thumped against the tree. Bump. Bump. Bump.
Susan screamed and ran toward the voice and the light. As she drew close, she realized the light was not coming from a flashlight. Standing there was the glowing figure of a man with a smile on his face and a large, solid, and definitely real axe in his hands. She backed away from the glowing figure until she bumped into the car.
“Playing around when my back was turned,” the ghost whispered, stroking the sharp blade of the axe with his fingers. “You’ve been very naughty.”
The last thing she saw was the glint of the axe blade in the eerie, incandescent light.
“We’d better stop,” said Susan.
Ned nodded his head in agreement. He stepped on the brake, and suddenly the car started to slide on the slick pavement. They plunged off the road and slid to a halt at the bottom of an incline.
Pale and shaking, Ned quickly turned to check if Susan was all right. When she nodded, Ned relaxed and looked through the rain soaked windows.
“I’m going to see how bad it is,” he told Susan, and when out into the storm. She saw his blurry figure in the headlight, walking around the front of the car. A moment later, he jumped in beside her, soaking wet.
“The car’s not badly damaged, but we’re wheel-deep in mud,” he said. “I’m going to have to go for help.”
Susan swallowed nervously. There would be no quick rescue here. He told her to turn off the headlights and lock the doors until he returned.
Axe Murder Hollow. Although Ned hadn’t said the name aloud, they both knew what he had been thinking when he told her to lock the car. This was the place where a man had once taken an axe and hacked his wife to death in a jealous rage over an alleged affair. Supposedly, the axe-wielding spirit of the husband continued to haunt this section of the road.
Outside the car, Susan heard a shriek, a loud thump, and a strange gurgling noise. But she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
Frightened, she shrank down into her seat. She sat in silence for a while, and then she noticed another sound. Bump. Bump. Bump. It was a soft sound, like something being blown by the wind.
Suddenly, the car was illuminated by a bright light. An official sounding voice told her to get out of the car. Ned must have found a police officer. Susan unlocked the door and stepped out of the car. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she saw it.
Hanging by his feet from the tree next to the car was the dead body of Ned. His bloody throat had been cut so deeply that he was nearly decapitated. The wind swung his corpse back and forth so that it thumped against the tree. Bump. Bump. Bump.
Susan screamed and ran toward the voice and the light. As she drew close, she realized the light was not coming from a flashlight. Standing there was the glowing figure of a man with a smile on his face and a large, solid, and definitely real axe in his hands. She backed away from the glowing figure until she bumped into the car.
“Playing around when my back was turned,” the ghost whispered, stroking the sharp blade of the axe with his fingers. “You’ve been very naughty.”
The last thing she saw was the glint of the axe blade in the eerie, incandescent light.
Fifty-Cent Piece
A New York Ghost Story
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
There is a story told in Troy and Albany about a couple returning home from a trip to New England. They were driving home in a carriage, and were somewhere near Spiegletown when the light failed and they knew they would have to seek shelter for the night.
The husband spied a light through the trees and turned their horse into a small lane leading up a hill. A pleasant little house stood at the crest, and an old man and his wife met the couple at the door. They were in nightclothes and were obviously about to turn in, but they welcomed the travelers and offered them a room. The old woman bustled about making tea and offering freshly-baked cakes. Then the travelers were shown to their room. The husband wanted to pay the old couple for their lodgings, but the old lady shook her head and the old man refused any payment for such a small service to their fellow New Yorkers.
The travelers awoke early and tiptoed out of the house, leaving a shiny fifty-cent coin in the center of the kitchen table where the old couple could not miss it. The husband hitched up the horse and they went a few miles before they broke their fast at a little restaurant in Spiegletown.
The husband mention the nice old couple to the owner of the restaurant and the man turned pale.
"Where did you say that house was?" he asked. The husband described the location in detail.
"You must be mistaken," said the restaurant owner. "That house was destroyed three years ago by a fire that killed the Brown family."
"I don't believe it," the husband said flatly. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown were alive and well last night."
After debating for a few more minutes, the couple and the restaurant owner drove the carriage back out of town towards the old Brown place. They turned into the lane, which was overgrown with weeds, and climbed the hill to the crest. There they found a burned out shell of a house that had obviously not sheltered anyone for a long time.
"I must have missed the track," said the husband. And then his wife gave a terrified scream and fainted into his arms. As he caught her, the husband looked into the ruin and saw a burnt table with a shiny fifty-cent piece lying in the center.
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