Redeye

From: Calystta@aol.com 
Type: Ghost
Location:
Subject: Ghost Stories in Archive X 
 

Reading the stories in your 'ghost story archive X' has made me wish to share my own experience, to ease some of the fear it has embedded in me. please allow me to share this story with you: Redeye

A few years ago I moved into a spacious old house in one of the older suburbs of Marin County, California. The neighbors were extremely gracious in helping me move in and get settled, and by the third day I felt right at home.

One day, my next-door neighbor, a middle-aged woman, invited me over to play cards with herself and her husband. Grateful for any opportunity for friendship, I jumped at the chance and was soon chatting with them in front of their antique fireplace.

The woman's husband was dealing out the third round of gin rummy when I started asking them about the area and it's history. They told me that most of the houses had been built in the early twenties, during a local economic boom that had occurred just a few years before the great depression.

After a few drinks, the conversation was turning silly and I jokingly asked if any of the local houses were "haunted." The woman giggled and began to say something about a "Miller house" when her husband glared at her and sternly shushed her. the rest of the game was played in silence, and I left early and hastily.

The following afternoon, I saw the woman returning from her daily walk. I invited her inside for a refreshment, and immediately inquired about the "Miller house" that she had spoken of. We sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before she leaned over the table and murmured: "you must promise never to speak of this again."

"speak...of what?" I queried nervously.

"Back in the thirties," she began, "when this neighborhood was wealthy and new, a young couple moved into that big white house down the street. Their name was Miller, and they had just gotten married a few months before."

Here she paused, settling back into her chair.

"They moved in when I was just a little girl, and most of what I'm about to tell you is remembrance and hearsay."

I motioned for her to continue, and she did:

"He was very wealthy, having just invested a great deal of money into some bank or another. Both he and his wife were very happy, and their life seemed idyllic for several years.

"Then the crash hit, and all the stocks plummeted. they tried and tried to sell off what they had, but in those times, nobody with an ounce of sense was buying anything but food and clothing for their family.

"My family was pretty hard up, but Mother had a bit of inheritance left so we could pull through. We were very lucky." she added sharply.

"They were struggling to keep afloat, and I guess the wife had all that she could stand. One day she was just gone, left behind a note that said she was at her mother's and would be back when the times were higher."

My new friend paused to light a cigarette. The blue-orange flame of her lighter made her face look sunken and worn in the growing darkness.

"Well, I suppose any man would have been hurt pretty bad after this, but he just couldn't take it. That very night he put a pistol in his mouth and put himself out of his misery. since then the house has been empty. I don't even know if anyone's tried to sell it."

She stood up and began to collect herself.

"that's about all I can tell you. please promise to keep this from my husband. he's very peculiar about ghost stories."

I promised not to say anything and watched her walk back to her own house, partially shrouded in a light evening fog.

A few weeks later I was taking a late evening walk around the neighborhood, taking in the old Victorian-style houses and a spectacular view of the bay bridge. The fog was rolling in across the bay. The city lights were diffused in the thick fog, casting a yellow glow around the bay and the bridge. An alcatraz tour boat slipped in and out of the thick clouds on it's way to the mainland.

As I walked past the "Miller" house I thought, maybe If I peeked in I could see something to ease my curiosity. I tried the windows, but they were covered from the inside. after pacing the front for a while, I decided on a quick peek through the keyhole.

I kneeled down in front of the door, angling my head for a clear view. No matter how many different angles I tried, All I could see was a dark, angry red color. Finally, figuring that there must be a cloth or some paper draped over the knob, I gave up and went home.

A night or two later, I was back at my neighbor's home. This time the woman was out in the city with a friend, so the husband and I were alone. He was reminiscing about his childhood here in Marin County, and I remembered my experience with the Miller house. as he talked, my curiosity grew until I finally blurted out:

"What happened to the Miller house?"

He sat back and regarded me coolly.
"Have you been talking to my wife?"

Ashamed at breaking our trust, I dropped my head and nodded.

"Well, I suppose you really should know," he began, "That house is a kind of "taboo" for everyone in the neighborhood."

"but why?" I questioned eagerly.

"well, I assume you've heard most of it from my wife. But I doubt even she would mention the rest of the story." he paused and glanced around the room.

"when this Miller man shot himself, he did it...differently. You see, he aimed the pistol upwards, into his brain. Now, the brain has so much blood in it, that any wound bleeds heavily. And since this blood had no exit wound to bleed out of, it had to go elsewhere.

"well, the long and short of it is, the blood seeped out into his ears his nose, his mouth--but most of all his eyes. When they found him, so much blood had gathered there that his eyes were completely red. The kids around the block made up a story about him, saying his ghost comes and looks out at them through those red eyes while they're playing. They call him O'l Redeye."

I immediately paled and stammered: "But--but what does he look out of? the windows are covered."

"What else can he look out of? The keyhole of course!" He frowned, puzzled as I quickly excused myself and dashed back to my own house.

My new apartment is in the city, surrounded by newly built houses with no history at all. It's a bit expensive, but it suits me fine. Just fine.

--Calysta Scully at Calystta@aol.com