Yeah, Im going on vacation soon and I'd like to hear the end... Oh Where Oh Where is my little Arnie, oh where oh where could he be???? :(

Okay everyone. Let's face it. Arnie is out of ideas. You did know he was spinning a tale, right? You'll have to use your own imaginations to come up with an ending.<BR>

Get it: We got it - we didn't care - Arnie is an excellent story-teller. We miss him. Rest in peace, Arnie.

I was enjoying Arnie's tale, but does anyone else think it's cheating to change the rules of the story's universe midway through? First the ghost can't see or hear Lisa, then he can. Tsk, tsk.

Why have you not finished your story Arnie? Are you enjoying all this? All we want is to hear the end of your gripping story. So hurry up Arnie!

Arnie -<BR><BR>I've gone on vacation and came home...and I am STILL waiting for your conclusion on the story...can you finish it pppppplllllleeeeeeaaaaassssseeeee?<BR><BR>I'm real anxious for the conclusion.<BR><BR>Thanks.

I guess Arnie retired!

It's called, tricordian .

Dearest people:<BR><BR>I cannot apologize enough for having brought you this far and then, seemingly, abandoned you; I assure you this was never my intention. Without going into detail, please believe me when I tell you that my recent absence was unavoidable.<BR><BR>I am back now and I plan to finish the story within the next couple of days. I don't blame those of you who have given up on me. Those of you still here, may wish to refresh your memories by re-reading the end of the previous installment. Again, my apologies.<BR><BR>"Lisa knew she was running out of time. With her back against the wall and the pickaxe rising in front of her, Lisa’s left hand found what she believed to be the molding on the side of the doorway through which she had entered this unwelcoming room. She wanted to look to her side and make sure the molding lead to the doorway this time, but Lisa didn’t dare take her eyes off the stranger for fear he would end her life with one blow.<BR><BR>Suddenly and without warning the stranger took a step toward her. He let out a bellowing cry and began bringing the pickaxe downward in one swift motion. Lisa was ready, however, and the moment he took his step, she clasped the molding firmly and—in one motion--used it to pull her body to the left and swing through where she prayed the doorway was. As she spun around, Lisa felt the axe whoosh by her ear in its downward search for her skull. Continuing in her full-body spin, she shot through the doorway and back into the hallway—just in time to hear the axe “thuk” into the wall directly where she had been standing only a second before. Her momentum getting the best of her, Lisa fell forward across the short width of the hallway and, once again, cracked her head into the wall opposite. <BR><BR>Red and white dots danced before Lisa’s eyes as she struggled to remain conscious. Knowing that her life was on the line, Lisa struggled to clear her head enough to stand up and run: Run from this stranger, run from this house, run and run and run. Somehow she managed to rise to her knees before being overcome by nausea. Fighting against the pain, nausea and the pinpoints of light in her eyes, Lisa gathered up all that remained of her strength and stood to her feet. Slowly, she turned around—only to see the grinning man standing just on the other side of the doorway leading back to the strange room. <BR><BR>Lisa tried to will herself to move but the second blow to her head was taking its toll. She felt she was losing consciousness and gravely understood the ramifications if she did. Lisa shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it; as she did, she saw the pinpoints of light begin to fade—she was blacking out. Lisa began sliding down the wall toward oblivion. Although she could make out the vague shape of the stranger across the hall, for some reason he was no longer moving toward her. Finally, unable to hold on any longer, Lisa passed out--but not before the faint image of the stranger opening his mouth to laugh managed to burn itself into her brain.<BR><BR>When Lisa came to, all she knew was she had to get up and out of there, fast. No sooner did she begin to sit up when she felt a pair of hands against her shoulders pressing her back down. “Oh my God,” she thought, “it’s too late, he’s on me.” <BR>

Welcome back, Arnie!

Dearest people:<BR><BR>I cannot apologize enough for having brought you this far and then, seemingly, abandoned you; I assure you this was never my intention. Without going into detail, please believe me when I tell you that my recent absence was unavoidable.<BR><BR>I am back now and I plan to finish the story within the next couple of days. I don't blame those of you who have given up on me. Those of you still here, may wish to refresh your memories by re-reading the end of the previous installment. Again, my apologies.<BR><BR>"Lisa knew she was running out of time. With her back against the wall and the pickaxe rising in front of her, Lisa’s left hand found what she believed to be the molding on the side of the doorway through which she had entered this unwelcoming room. She wanted to look to her side and make sure the molding lead to the doorway this time, but Lisa didn’t dare take her eyes off the stranger for fear he would end her life with one blow.<BR><BR>Suddenly and without warning the stranger took a step toward her. He let out a bellowing cry and began bringing the pickaxe downward in one swift motion. Lisa was ready, however, and the moment he took his step, she clasped the molding firmly and—in one motion--used it to pull her body to the left and swing through where she prayed the doorway was. As she spun around, Lisa felt the axe whoosh by her ear in its downward search for her skull. Continuing in her full-body spin, she shot through the doorway and back into the hallway—just in time to hear the axe “thuk” into the wall directly where she had been standing only a second before. Her momentum getting the best of her, Lisa fell forward across the short width of the hallway and, once again, cracked her head into the wall opposite. <BR><BR>Red and white dots danced before Lisa’s eyes as she struggled to remain conscious. Knowing that her life was on the line, Lisa struggled to clear her head enough to stand up and run: Run from this stranger, run from this house, run and run and run. Somehow she managed to rise to her knees before being overcome by nausea. Fighting against the pain, nausea and the pinpoints of light in her eyes, Lisa gathered up all that remained of her strength and stood to her feet. Slowly, she turned around—only to see the grinning man standing just on the other side of the doorway leading back to the strange room. <BR><BR>Lisa tried to will herself to move but the second blow to her head was taking its toll. She felt she was losing consciousness and gravely understood the ramifications if she did. Lisa shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it; as she did, she saw the pinpoints of light begin to fade—she was blacking out. Lisa began sliding down the wall toward oblivion. Although she could make out the vague shape of the stranger across the hall, for some reason he was no longer moving toward her. Finally, unable to hold on any longer, Lisa passed out--but not before the faint image of the stranger opening his mouth to laugh managed to burn itself into her brain.<BR><BR>When Lisa came to, all she knew was she had to get up and out of there, fast. No sooner did she begin to sit up when she felt a pair of hands against her shoulders pressing her back down. “Oh my God,” she thought, “it’s too late, he’s on me.” <BR>

Arnie<BR><BR>How about some answers.<BR><BR>Checked on the internet - didn't find anything on Syrus Aeckney Inn in Maine.<BR><BR>Did you run out of ideas for your tale, or what?<BR>Message: Since I was at the library last night doing research anyway, I decided to look up any references to Syrus Aeckey and his place. I had just about given up when I came across a listing in the archives for a book written in 1950, titled: "Unholy Evil: The Awful Truth Behind Syrus Aeckney".<BR><BR>Unfortunately, my library doesn't have a copy of this and says it is no longer in print. The publisher is listed as "Partisan Publishing" and the author is listed as "A. Norman". <BR><BR>If any of you out there are interested in this and happen to locate a copy would you please e-mail me?<BR><BR>Thanks,<BR><BR>Natalie <BR>Message: Arnie (and others who seem to know about Syrus Aeckney)<BR><BR>After reading Katerina's post that she could find nothing on the internet, I did a search as well. I also did a search on the book title, author and publishing company Natalie posted about - again -- Nothing.<BR><BR>Checked Maine library re: haunted houses, etc. Nothing. <BR><BR>So I'm curious, where in Maine did this take place? The coast is fairly broad.<BR><BR>Oh, and was it the Jerome Kern, composer?<BR><BR>We're all waiting for your story to continue.<BR> Natalie / Arnie<BR><BR>Notice you didn't defend yourself. Guess that's the same as admitting that you made up "Unholy Evil....."<BR><BR>How many other personalities do you have? Sybil or Syrus hiding in there?<BR>I dare someone (anyone) to come up with a legitimate website, or book currently in print, that says ANYTHING about Syrus Aeckney. Arnie says he was at Syrus Aeckney Inn 10 years ago. Why does absolutely nothing come up when doing a search.<BR><BR>I have some swampland for you, if you are interested.<BR>Message: Ok. I had a friend of mine who works at the NY Public Library research this and she came up with ..... NOTHING! This place DOES NOT exist.<BR>Message: Thanks Michelle. That's what I've been trying to day all along, but No Doubting, Natalie, Boo, Tam and a few others seem to be buying it.<BR><BR>Oh well, as P.T.Barnum said, there's one born every minute.<BR>Message: I was enjoying Arnie's tale, but does anyone else think it's cheating to change the rules of the story's universe midway through? First the ghost can't see or hear Lisa, then he can. Tsk, tsk.<BR><BR>How about a response, Arnie.

Waiting: As we have stated all along, we DON'T CARE that Arnie is making this up - he's a wonderful story teller. Get over it and come along for the ride.

Arnie. It is great to have you back with the story. You are a great story teller. Thank you for sharing with all of us who have followed.

Ok, while we wait for Arnie to finish his story, let me tell you what happened to me in the summer of 1969. <BR>I was serving my second tour of duty in Nam. On Aug. 17th my unit was sent out on a mission. We had taken some heavy hits in the previous months and about half my squad was fresh from the states. One PFC, a kid from Mississippi,<BR> we called him "coot" was especially <BR> inept. I kind of took him under my <BR>wing as best I could. It was only a matter of time before he was going to go home in a bodybag. <BR> Anyhow, on this day, we got dropped into a pretty hot LZ, taking heavy fire, we bailed out,,running for the jungle,,about 30 mins into the jungle, we start to get hammered pretty hard,,<BR> I'm about to charge up over this fallen log, when I feel a tug on my belt, pulling me back down. At about the same moment the canopy just above me is just blown away by a hail of machine gun fire. Looking behind me I see Coot, a strange look in his eyes.<BR>Knowing he just saved my ass. I grab his hand. Its like ice cold!! <BR> Another blast of fire and I bury my head under the log. When it lets up I pull my head up slowly. looking around to see if Coot had made cover,,I dont see him...thinking he must of slide back out behind me I crawled back the way I came until it was clear...<BR> Regrouping, we accounted for everyone except Coot, and three other guys. I told everyone how Coot, of all people, had saved my life. Only later did I learn he didnt even make it off the choper......he took one in the head at the get go. No lie!!!

Stan - that was one incredible story. Coot obviously was an angel guiding your path.<BR><BR>Arnie - keep the story coming. Whether it is a true story or not, you are an awesome story teller and i've been a fan since you started this!

Stan - That is a great story, very interesting. <BR><BR>SO glad to see Arnie is finishing the story, will the end come by friday perchance???

Stan: How long did it take to stop shaking? What an unbelievable story that is!

In Key West, you can go on a ghost tour. The island has a reputation for having several haunted buildings. Among them is the La Concha Hotel on Duval. The 5th floor is reported haunted by two spirits, Earnest Hemmingway and also by a man who worked there serving food, etc. He died in the elevators. Also, in Key West, the guest house "The Artist House" is said to be haunted -- quite a scarey story there -- go on the tour to find out. And, there is a guest house called something like "Eaton . . . ." on Eaton street -- don't remember the second part of the name. This is also said to be haunted. Don't miss the ghost tours. Meet at the La Concha Hotel for the tours, I think around 7:00 p.m. The tour guides dress as vampires, carry lanterns, and are very informative with each story for each building they take you to.

So glad to see Arnie back. I was away for @ 11 days & wondered about this post a couple times. Althought he fake Arnie's tale was good nothing beats the orig<BR>Hope tohear more soon

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

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

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!<BR><BR>

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

Hi folks,<BR><BR>To reward your patience I have included the next two installments back to back. Hope you enjoy them.<BR><BR>Sorry for the wait and thank you. This should be finished by Monday.<BR><BR>“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. <BR><BR>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?” <BR><BR>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. <BR><BR>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. <BR><BR>“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. <BR><BR>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.<BR><BR>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.” <BR><BR>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.”<BR>

And here is part nine...<BR><BR>“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?” <BR><BR>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.<BR><BR>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. <BR><BR>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.<BR><BR>“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. <BR><BR>“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.”<BR>

Yea Arnie!! Keep them coming!

D ATTENTION:<BR><BR>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.

Topping for FOA

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

Waiting Arnie...

ttt

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

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