One day, for some reason we got on the subject of ghosts. I asked if anyone had a story to relate, but no one seemed to have one, at least at first. Then, slowly, deliberately, Jim placed the three pound hoagie he was eating on top of a pile of top soil, looked me hard in the eyes, and in his usual dry voice said, "Boy, do I have a story for you Sherlock!"

This is that story as best I remember it after all these years:

It seems that when Jim was younger and single, he played in a rock band from time to time. At that time, he lived way out in the country in a farmhouse that sat on a high hill. It was near the Jersey pine barons, isolated and lonely. The old lady who owned the house had turned the upstairs into a private apartment which had an iron staircase running down the side of the house as a private entrance. Here, Jim found what he thought was the perfect place to live.

One Friday evening, the old lady had decided to go to her daughters for the weekend and asked Jim if he would watch the house. Jim agreed, and that night decided he would go to sleep early, and forget band practice. It was perfect weather; clear and with the full moon breaking through Jim's bedroom window, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Unknown to Jim, his fellow band members had decided to pay him a late-night vist. Earlier in the day he had mentioned to one of them that the old lady was going to her daughter's for the weekend, and armed with this imformation, they all decided they might sneak over to the old farmhouse later that night and surprise Jim. Far out in the country, with no neighbors to complain, they could jam the night away with no worries that the "fuzz" would come knocking at the door to haul them all off for disturbing the peace.

It was around two in the morning when they finally reached the old fram house. As they drove up the winding road to the house, the full moon shone through the Fall leaves in a silver splendor, filling the scene before them with patches of brillant light, and dark shadows that stretched across the front lawn of the old farmhouse like long, bony fingers. Suddenly, out of the shadows -to the left of the house- they saw two figures, one large male, and a smaller figure, rolling and fighting across the front lawn in what seemed to them a desperate fight to the death. There was no sound coming from either contestant, but the battle seemed real enough. They feared the worst. Jim must surely be in trouble, possibly with some sinister intruder. The driver floored the gas pedal and drove off the road onto the lawn in a desperete attempt to reach the two figures. He slammed on the brakes, and everyone abandoned the car, racing pell-mell to the spot where the two mysterious figures were last seen. Viola! Nothing there, not even a footprint.

In a panic, they then turned their attention toward Jim's darkened upstairs apartment. Jim stated that between the clamor of five pairs of feet and the wild yelling, even the dead would have awakened from their eternal sleep. It sure enough woke Jim up. As he opened the door with its flimsy chain lock, the weight of the whole band pushing against it broke it completely off, spilling every friendly acquiantance he had in the known world onto the floor of his tiny bedroom. Everyone tried to speak at once and it took Jim some time to calm the whole bunch down. Later, they all went outside and looked around, but found nothing.

Weeks passed, and Jim pondered on the mysterious visiters. Finally, he decided to go to the local historical society and try to shed some light on the history of the old house. He found that the house was over two hundred years old and was standing when this area was wilderness and savage Indians still roamed the countryside. He also found out that a family, including women and children, were massacred in front of the old house on the very lawn that his friends had witnessed the paranormal event! Jim stated that he never really slept well in that house after that.