Slightly Odd Fitchburg

  “Let the storm increase! I will see home tonight in spite of the last tempest, or I may never see home!" Those were the last words ever spoken in anger by Peter Rugg. A man short of temper, but long on rage, his white wig flopped about on his head, matching time with his furious gesticulation. With the pleas to wait out the storm by his friend silenced, this soon to be unfortunate soul climbed into his one horse carriage and drove off into the night with his young daughter, Jenny, seated next to him. The two were fated to never reach their Boston home alive. The Never-ending Ride of Peter Rugg With so many of us preparing to travel for the holidays, it only seems right to spend a little time on the story of Peter Rugg. This was a man foolhardy enough to challenge nature itself and refuse the kind offer of safe haven at a time when just driving down the street had a 50/50 chance of survival. His anger and stubbornness are still known, these many years later, and his fin

I'm BAAAA-AAACCKKK!!!!! Let me ask you a question: Who is a haunting for? That might seem silly, but just think about it for a second. Is a haunting for the haunter or the haunted? If you were to do die tomorrow, why would you haunt someone? Would it be for your sake or for theirs? Just consider what's going on. You're dead and you're never coming back. Your Earthly coil has been shed. None of it affects you anymore. Time, space, ailments, old age, it's all gone. The length and breadth of the universe is yours. Eternity is yours. What do you do? You're a celestial being now. Does anything that happened in life matter to you? Let's say you were murdered. So what? Why would you care? You can see the endless reality of the stars ahead of you. Why would the transgressions of an evolved ape against your former meat vessel, all those breathless eons ago, matter to you? Well, maybe we can delve into that question with a look at the S.K. Pierce mansi

The S.K. Pierce Mansion She made her money on her back and that was just fine by her. She was tough and knew what it took to make a living in this world and no one was gonna get in her way. That massive old Victorian was an eyesore, anyway. Who cared if one of the boarders in this rundown shithole brought her Johns in to seal the deal? The Red Room was HER room and she could do as she pleased. She didn’t bother no one and no one bothered her. Then she felt his fingers close around her throat. They were thick and calloused and crushed her windpipe like a steel vise. That’s what you get when you sell yourself to the factory workers just outside the door. She never knew when one would lose his mind and assault her before leaving her with no money for her time. There was no telling what set this one off. Maybe she rushed him or maybe he just couldn’t get it up and wanted to take it out on her. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the heaving of her chest as her body screamed for air.

There are two sides to every story and two sides to every person. There’s the story you get publicly, with all of its embellishments and inaccuracies, and the story that’s actually true. It’s just like the public persona a person puts out and the private individual with his or her own thoughts and motivations. Such is the case with Arthur Blood and Lancaster Town Forest. Talk to some people and you’ll hear the story of a kindly old gentleman who donated his private land so his town could have a public, wooded area to explore. Talk to other people and you’ll hear the tale of a murderous psychopath who slashed his way through the local populace after he lost his mind. Which story is true? Well, we may never know. One thing is clear, though: Blood Town Forest will always be a great place to take a hike!   Nothing creepy to see here! The Hauntings This is a story that’s best to start off at the final result. Camp or hike through Blood Forest and you might just run into a few victi