Mechanic Falls High School - Pilot Yearbook (Mechanic Falls, ME)

Page 32 text:

30 M. F. H. Much to her surprise, standing there was a timid looking boy whom she recognized as one of the Freshman boys at the nearby college. After questioning the boy the girls found that his friends had sent him to this place to spend the night, as an initiation into their fraternity. They had also told him the story of how the old woman's spirit was supposed to walk. He said his name was Aaron Slushbottom. The girls found that he was very much in the habit of stuttering. Lillian, about to ask Aaron a question, was interrupted by a low moan coming from behind her. They turned in time to see dark grimy hands clutch Belinda by the neck and draw her into the darkness of the shed. The three could not move. They seemed to be rooted to the floor. Joyce slowly regained her poise, and started to' ward the door through which Belinda had disappeared. Aaron jumped in front of her and begged her not to go near the door. IfIfIf you gfgffgo nfnear tfthat dfdoor s-something wfwill gfgrab y-you tftool Joyce paid no attention to him, thinking more of Belinda than what might happen to herself. She opened the door, shining her flashlight around and calling Belinda! Belinda ! No answer came, she called again, but still no answer. Then things really started to happen! The light flickered and almost went out, as if it had been blown by some invisible person. A blood curdling scream came from the stairway. Strange tappings were heard as if someone were in the walls. A banging was heard coming from the fire' place. All eyes were pinned to that spot. A bloody hatchet fell from the chimney. A withered face with long strangling white hair appeared at the window, screaming as if in pain. During these happenings the S. PILOT girls had been clinging to each other. Aaron had been standing rigid in one cor' ner of the room, too scared to move. Now he managed to stammer: IfI cfcan't s-sfstand anfanfanymoref' Weakly he fell to the floor in a dead faint. The girls tried to revive him, and sud- denly became aware of footsteps coming from the shed. Belinda entered followed by a rather good looking middlefaged man. Aaron had recovered enough to see him. He jumped to his feet. UfUncle, wfwhat afare y-yfyou dfdfdof ing hfhere? Well, son, I will tell you. But first I must thank these girls for coming here to' night. Although I hadn't planned on them, they helped put this over in a big way. IfI dfdon't kfknow w-w-what yfyour tftftftalking about. HI hired people to make the noises and the different happenings to cure you of the habit of reading detective stories. And now that I have you cured, I would like to give you anything you want. DfDfDo yfyou mfmean yfyou wfw'will gfgfgive mfme afanything tftftfthat IfI afask fffor? Yes, anything. Wfwell tfthen IfI w-wfant a s-s-sfsubf scription tfto a dfdfdetective mfmfmagaf zine. BARBARA LANE '47 SIR ROGER RETURNS My usually serene and complacent grand- mother looked up from her book, half amused, half annoyed. I was the reason. Good gracious, Elaine , she asked, L'can't you just sit in the chair for awhile? With your feet on the floor?

Page 31 text:

M. F. H. s. PILOT 29 Q 1 erG0'5e Hnzxtoflfi for.,5. an is su. ' wiv- - sfs WSL TH A J TE CURING AARON On a stormy evening in October, three figures could be seen cautiously approaching a dismal looking old mill tavern. Joyce Wilsoii, her younger sister, Lillian, and their colored maid, Belinda, were on their way to look the building over with the idea of buying it and turning it into a tea room. As they drew near they could see no lights, which was not surprising as the structure had been deserted for three years. The story was that three years ago on this night an old woman had committed suicide in this very tavern, because of a crime that she had committed many years before. The girls were aware of this fact, but did not know that her spirit was sup' posed to haunt the place! And so, unaware of what strange hapf penings they might be running into, the three cautiously approached the battered weather-worn door. Not heeding the pleas of her sister and Belinda, who wanted to wait until daylight, Joyce was determined that she was going to look the place over immediately. Throwing the beam of her small flashlight over the door, Joyce found the latch, opened the door, and peered in. Assured that every' thing was all right, and that no one was there, she entered and motioned for her sis' ter and Belinda to follow. Joyce flashed the light quickly around the room and spied an oil lamp on the table. The light from the lamp cast dim shadows over the room. The girls noticed that it was practically devoid of furniture. One large table stood against the further wall, with three straight backed chairs grouped around it. On the left side of the room there was a wobbley staircase probably leading to a small attic. To the right was a large brick fireplace, covering practically the entire wall. There was only one window in the room, it looked out on the walk. Two doors led from the roomg through one they had just come from outdoors. Upon investigating, they found that the other one lcd into what they thought must be a shed. The two girls became very much en' grossed in planning how they would attracf tively refdecorate the room. Belinda looked about, talking to herselfg she wished she had never come to this placeg she was sure something dreadful was going to happen very soon, for she could feel it in her bones . As she approached the window and looked out, she saw a face looking in at her. Eyes popping open with fright, she uttered a muffled scream, backed away from the window and ran towards thc girls. I know'd we ncber should hah come to dis place. I just saw de mos' terrible face a lookin' in dat winder at me! As Joyce tried to tell her that she was just imagining things, she was interrupted by a light rap at the door. The three ex' changed glances. Belinda grabbed Joyce imploring her not to open it. Nevertheless Joyce slowly opened the door, and jumped back into the room.

Page 33 text:

M. F. H. s. PILOT 31 just how, I groaned, do you expect a normal person to take this stuff calmly? What 'stuif', dear? Lit., English Lit. But I thought you liked literature, Elaine! Ch, I conceded, lots of the stories are swell! And even Shakespeare's okay. But those darned essays! Oh---essays. And do they let us off just by reading them? 'They do not! We have to write an essay about the old duffer, too! Gran often has trouble following me, but now she was completely baffled. What old duffer? The one the essay's about. Sir Roger de Coverley! Sir Roger de Coverley-the charming old country squire, the very es' sence of England, thel Startled, I broke off, as Gran's hook slid from her knees and thumped, leaves plopping, to the floor. Sir Roger de Covcrleyf' she repeated. Sir Roger de Coverley! Sir Roger, again! MSU you've met him too, I sympathized. Many times in literature, and- And where else, Gran? I teased. Gran hesitated. Then, slowly. At Fan' ny Gradburn's Hallowe'en masquerade. The ball that Fanny Gradburn gave every October was one of the social events of Evansville. Everyone was invited, and everybody went. Only a death could keep a person away, and deaths were rare at this time of year. People just didn't die before the Gradburn's dance was held. An air of mystery prevailed over the entire village. All were, of course, going in costume, and the very air was electric with secret. Why, girls hardly dared call on each other! To interrupt a tryingfon might mean the loss of a friend. Early in September my sisters and I had locked ourselves in our rooms to begin our mysterious sewing, and henceforth all doors were barred to one and all, save Mother, who was in on all our secrets. Poor Moth' er! Such a fall as she put in! trying simultaneously to hang skirts, lay hems, pin tucks, and decide who was to use the sewing machine, and when. It was on the afternoon of the dance that I slipped out of my Cinderella-atfthe'Ball dress, and carefully hung it in the closet. In five hours I could don those lovely rose taffeta lengths! The hours just before a big event, I think, should be sacred to dayfdreaming. That, I do best while working. You can just imagine what my room looked like after two months of continuous sewing! So I cleaned it. This Cinderella wasn't going to have to return to her 'ashes' when the ball was over! Little did I know---but I am getting ahead of myself. This masquerade was not an unusual one. A bevy of characters, ranging from a rotund Napoleon, to angular Essie Perkins, who tried hard to adopt the mannerisms of a coy Little Bo-Peep. The usual speculaf tions: 'Is that Guy I'Iilton?' or 'Ellen Goldman does make a pretty good witch, doesn't she?' The dancing, music, good comaraderie, general good fun. just an ordinary party. Until eleven o'clock, that is. Our group had gathered in a corner, breathless from the last dance. Couples on the floor were swaying in and out to the music of the 'Sir Roger de Coverly'. We watched. All at once we noticed a dapper little gentleman, dressed in the garb of the early 1700's who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He was a unique figure in the