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I can't believe Arnie's tale has spanned 2 months! Come on Arnie finish it off already well ya! PS I only just logged on to this tale today by chance.

Stan. That was a really good story. Thank you for sharing.

YAAAAAY FOR ARNIE!! welcome back!! We are waiting ever so patiently for the ending, so please don't leave us hangin'!!! WE really enjoy your storytelling. Thanks for sharing your "story" here!!!

topping for mr arnie

we are waiting arnie!!!

So annoyed! I have been seeing this post in the top 50 for weeks now so I figured I would click on it and see what the big deal was. So I am reading this great story by Arnie and I am thinking, by the thrid instalment, ha ha I get to read the whole thing. Okay, I still have to wait for the end like the rest of you! Whatever!

Let's go Arnie-Your fans await

Forget Arnie...lets hear more from Stan. While I enjoy Arnie's story, I am getting a little ticked off by his procrastination!

Oh I know! And the story's a bore to boot! You people waiting with bated breath need to buy a book.

Hi folks, To reward your patience I have included the next two installments back to back. Hope you enjoy them. Sorry for the wait and thank you. This should be finished by Monday. “Take it easy,” a voice above the pressing hands said. “Don’t get up so fast, you’ve received quite a nasty bump.” Lisa recognized the voice but couldn’t yet focus enough to see the face it belonged to or place it. “Just rest there a moment and I’ll get you some water,” the voice continued. Finally Lisa recognized the owner of the voice, it belonged to Mr. Van Der Hout. Gradually, Lisa began to regain her bearings. She was still sitting in the hallway, exactly where she had fallen, and the moon was still up. As her eyesight adjusted and she began to remember what had happened she screamed. Mr. Van Der Hout came running back and asked her what was wrong. “Please, please don’t leave me,” she gasped, “he may still be here.” “Who?” Asked Mr. Van Der Hout, a perplexed look on his face, “who might still be here?” It was then that Lisa realized something was different—or rather NOT different. Propped against the wall, she looked herself up and down and saw no wounds of any kind. The stranger had her cornered and yet hadn’t harmed her: how could that be? Then she began to notice that the light was somehow different than before. “What time is it?” She asked. “five-fifteen,” answered Mr. Van Der Hout—still looking perplexed. “In the MORNING!?” Lisa asked. “Why, yes,” answered Mr. Van Der Hout. That was it. That was the answer. The moon wasn’t out at all; the sun was rising; she had remained unconscious, sitting in the hallway for God knows how many hours. Lisa sat up straighter and stared across the hallway to the doorway she had narrowly escaped through: only, it wasn’t there. She looked frantically to her left and right thinking that, once again, she had lost her bearings: no doorway—just the hallway leading to the front door and the living room. “Are you alright, Mrs. Smith?” Inquired Mr. Van Der Hout, a worried look on his face. Getting slowly to her feet, Lisa crossed the width of the hallway and felt the wall—as if expecting to feel an invisible door there. “It was right here,” she said, “I’m positive it was RIGHT HERE!” “What was right there?” Asked Mr. Van Der Hout. And so she told him. Told him about the antique clock; told him about the full moon; told him about Terry being gone and the bed being made; about the unlocked door…and then, realizing how receptive he was being, Lisa told him about the stranger, and the room, and the pickaxe and—well—everything. Then, she cried. Mr. Van Der Hout sat and listened attentively throughout Lisa’s entire story. When she was finished, Mr. Van Der Hout just stared at her. It wasn’t the kind of stare you give when you don’t believe someone, but rather the kind where you’re sizing up and evaluating that person. After a lengthy pause Mr. Van Der Hout said, “come in to the living room and sit down, I wish to tell you something.” Sitting in the living room, Mr. Van Der Hout proceeded to tell Lisa the history of the house. He told her about Syrus Aeckney and his family--and the stories that surrounded them. Finally, he told her about the murders and about how they had found Syrus’ brothers and wife, but never Syrus himself or even the weapon he used. “What kind of weapon was it?’ Asked Lisa. Mr. Van Der Hout hesitated a moment and then replied, “by the marks on the bodies, they believe it was a pickaxe.”

And here is part nine... “Are you quite sure you haven’t heard or read anything about the history of this house before?” Asked Mr. Van Der Hout. “Absolutely not,” said Lisa, “if I had, believe you me we never would have stayed here.” Mr. Van Der Hout studied her for another moment and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. He stood up from the couch and said, “do you feel up to showing me exactly where this door was, and again describing the room you were in?” So they went back into the short hallway and Lisa showed him where she remembered the door being. She then recounted the events that transpired—but in much more detail. Once again Mr. Van Der Hout listened most attentively to her story. When she was finished, he looked to the spot where he found her on the floor and then moved his eyes slowly up the wall directly above it. He raised his hand to an uneven but circular indentation in the wall about three feet off the ground and roughly three inches in diameter. “I’ll bet you navy beans to doughnuts this matches the top of your head, “ he said. In its center the dent was almost an inch deep. Mr. Van Der Hout turned to face Lisa and then raised his hand up past his forehead, palm down. At first Lisa thought he was saluting her for some strange reason, but then he thrust his hand forward to the top of her head and she realized he was measuring their respective heights. “Close enough,” he said and then turned back to the wall. He backed up to where she had showed him the door was and placed his heels flat against that wall. Looking at the dented wall opposite, he then fell forward—putting his hands out in front of him to prevent him from hitting his own head on the wall. There he stood at an angle across the three-foot width of the hallway—his heels against the wall with the invisible door and his palms resting on the wall opposite. Gradually, he relaxed his arms and leaned forward until his head was resting against the dented wall, as if he were doing some odd type of push-up. With the top of his head touching the wall, Mr. Van Der Hout looked straight down toward the dent: it was about two feet below where his head was touching. That was when he suspected she was telling the truth. “There is no way you could have made this dent—head on—from across this narrow hallway, “ he said. Lisa started to protest but Mr. Van Der Hout raised his hand, palm outward, to quell her speech. He then got down on his knees and looked very closely into the dent. Within its crater, Mr. Van Der Hout could see tiny brownish specks against the white plaster. Returning to his feet, he asked to see the top of Lisa’s head: Lisa tilted her head forward to oblige. On the crown of her head were many tiny spots, reddish-brown in color: dried blood. “What I started to say,” resumed Mr. Van Der Hout, “was that in order for you to have made this dent, you must been moving at a brisk speed, traveling head-on and have started falling from two or three feet BEHIND where this doorless wall is.” “ I don’t know how to explain it,” he continued, “but that’s what it looks like…and there’s one way to prove it.”

Yea Arnie!! Keep them coming!

D ATTENTION: on't make the same mistake I did. I read part nine first and didn't realize there was a part eight right above it. He's got two together and 9 didn't make sense without 8.

Thanks for the double-dose Arnie. Good wind-down so far.

Okay Arnie, Today is Monday....looking forward to the rest of this story......

For God's sake, I don't have all day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Arnie, are you going to finish up today????