August 14, 2025 • 12 mins
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Ghost of Buckstown Inn by Arnold M. Anderson. Several travel
worn drummers sat in the lobby, exchanging yarns. It was
Rodney Green's turn, and he looked wise and began his tale.
I don't claim by any means that the belief in
(00:22):
ghosts is a general thing in Arkansas, but I do
say that I had an experience out there a few
years ago. It was late in the fall, and I
happened to be in the village of Buckstown, which desecrates
a very limited portion of the state. The town is
about as small and dirty a place as ever I saw,
(00:45):
and the Buckstown Inn is not much above the general
character of the place. The region is inhabited by natives
who still cling to all sorts of foolish superstitions. The inn,
in the ante bellum days was kept by one who
was said to be the meanest and most crabbed of mortals.
(01:07):
The old demon was as miserly as he was mean,
and all his narrow life he hoarded his filthy lucre
with fiendish greed. Report had it also that he had
even murdered his patrons in their beds for their money.
What the facts actually were, I don't know, but even
(01:27):
to this day the old inn is held in suspicion.
A lingering effect of former horrors still clouds its memory.
The present proprietor, Bunk Watson his real name is Bunker,
I believe, is an altogether different sort of chap, a
(01:48):
Southern type, in fact, one of those shiftless, heedless, happy
go lucky mortals who love strong whiskey, and who choose
an enormous quid of black tobacco and smokes a corn
cob pipe. At the same time, when the former keeper
shuffled off, his property fell to a distant relative, the
(02:10):
present keeper, who with his family immediately moved in from
a neighboring hamlet and took possession. It was well known
that the old proprietor had accumulated considerable wealth during his
sojourn among the living, but all efforts to discover any
treasure upon the premises had failed, and now the idea
(02:33):
of ever finding it was practically given up. As far
as Bunk was concerned, the matter troubled him little. He
had a hard working wife who ran things the best
she could under the circumstances, and saw that his meals
were forthcoming at their respective intervals. What more could he wish?
(02:54):
Why should he care if there was a treasure buried
upon his place? Indeed, it would have been in a
sore puzzle for him to know what to do with
a fortune, unless perhaps his wife came to his aid.
Among the stories that hovered in the history of the
Buckstown Inn was one which involved the ghost in the
(03:14):
room where the former keeper had died. Peculiar noises were
heard at unearthly hours, sighing, moaning, and in fact all
the other indications which point to the existence of ghosts
were said to be present. On account of this, the
chamber had long since been abandoned. I listened with keen
(03:37):
interest to the wonderful tales about the haunted room, and
then suddenly resolved to investigate, to sleep in that chamber
that very night and see for myself all that was
to be seen. I told Buck of my purpose. He
shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, but instead of warning
(03:57):
me and offering a flood of protests, as I expected,
he merely took his pipe from his mouth, let fly
a quart or so of yellowish juice from between a
pair of brown stained lips, and opening one corner of
his wide mouth, lazily called out Jane. His wife appeared,
(04:18):
and he animated that I should settle the matter with
the old woman. The prospect of a fee persuaded the wife,
and off she went to arrange for my bed in
that ill faded room. At nine o'clock that evening, I
bid the family good night, took my candle, ascended the
rickety stairs, and entered the Chamber of horrors. The atmosphere
(04:41):
was heavy and had a peculiar odor that was not
at all pleasing. However, I latched the door and was
soon in bed. Having propped myself up with pillows, I
was prepared to await the coming of the ghost. Overhead,
the dusty rafters, which once had experienced the sensation of
(05:03):
being whitewashed, but which were now a dirty yellowish color,
were hung with a fantastic array of cobwebs. The flickering
light of the candle reflected upon the walls and against
the ceiling a pyramid of grotesque shapes, and with this
effect being continually disturbed by the swinging cobwebs, the whole
(05:25):
caused the room to appear rather ghostly after all, and
especially so to an imaginative mind. I waited and waited
for hours, it seemed, but still no ghost. Perhaps it
was afraid of my candle light, so I blew it out.
No sooner had I done this and settled back in
(05:47):
bed again, than a white hand appeared through the door,
than a whole figure. At last, the ghost had come,
a white and sheeted ghost. It had come right through
the door, although it was locked, And now it advanced
toward the bed, raising its long white arm. It pointed
(06:08):
a bony finger at me and then commanded, come with me.
Thereupon it turned to the door. While instantly I jumped
out of bed to follow. Some unseen power compelled me
to obey. The door flew open, and the ghost led
me down the stairs, through long halls into the cellar,
(06:31):
through mysterious underground corridors, upstairs again, in and out rooms
which I never dreamed were to be found in that
old rambling inn. Finally, through a small door in the rear,
we left the house. I was in my sleeping garments,
but no matter. I had to follow the white form
(06:55):
with a slow and measured tread, and as silent as death,
led the way into the orchard. There under a tree
at the farther end. It pointed to the ground, and
in the same ghostly tones before used, said, here you
will find a great treasure. Buried the ghost and disappeared,
(07:18):
and I saw it no more. I stood dazed and trembling.
Upon recovering my wits, I started to dig, but the
chill of the night air and the scantiness of my
night robes made such labor impracticable, so I decided to
leave some mark to identify the place and come round
again at daybreak. I reached up and broke off a limb.
(07:44):
Overcome with my night's exertions, I slept the next morning
until a loud rapping on my door and a croaking
voice warned me that it was noon. I had intended
to leave Buckstown in that day, but prompted by curiosity
and anxious to investigate, I unpacked my gripsack for a
(08:06):
comfortable stay. You must understand that this was my first
experience with a ghost, and I feared I might never
see another. At breakfast, my landlady waited on me in silence,
though once I detected her eyes following me with a
peculiar expression. She wanted to ask me how I enjoyed
(08:29):
the night, but I would not gratify her by volunteering
a word. My host was more outspoken. Reckon, you didn't
get much sleep, said he with a queer smile. Did
you hear anything? I asked, Well, I did, yees, he
(08:50):
said with a drawl. But you didn't disturb me any.
I knew you'd have trouble when ye went in that
room to sleep. That afternoon, I slipped out to the tree,
but to my amazement, I found that the twig I
had broken from the branches was gone. Finally, I found
(09:11):
under the lower trunk of an apple tree an open
place from which a small branch had evidently been rested.
But on looking further, I discovered that every apple tree
in the orchard had been similarly disfigured. More mysterious than ever,
I said, But to night shall decide. That night I
(09:34):
pleaded weariness, which no one seemed inclined to question, and
sought my couch earlier. Going ter try it again, asked
my host, Yes, and I'll stay all winter. But what
I'll get even with that ghost? I said? That night,
I kept the candle burning until midnight, when I blew
(09:56):
it out. Instantly the room was flooded with a so light,
and at the foot of the bed stood my ghost,
the identical ghost of last night. Again, the bony finger
beckoned and a sepulchral voice whispered follow me. I sprang
from the bed, but the figure darted ahead of me.
(10:18):
It flew through the doorway and down the stairs, and
I after it. At the foot of the staircase, an
unseen hand reached forward and caught my foot, and I fell,
sprawling headlong. But in a second I was on my
feet and pursuing the ghost. It had gained on me
a few yards, but I was quicker, and just as
(10:41):
we reached the outside door, I nearly touched its robes.
They sent a chill through my frame, and I nearly
gave up the pursuit. As it passed through the doorway,
it turned and gave me one look, and I caught
the same malignant light in its eyes that I remembered
from the night before in the open orchard. I felt
(11:01):
sure I could catch it, but my ghost had no
intention of allowing me any such opportunity. To my disgust,
it darted backward and into the house, slamming the door
in my face. In my frenzy of fear, and chagrin,
I threw myself against the oaken door with such force
(11:22):
that its rusty old hinges yielded, and I landed in
the big front room of the inn, just in time
to see the white skirts of the ghosts flit up
the stairs stairs. I flew after it and into an
old chamber. There, huddled in a corner, I saw it
in the minute's delay. It had secured a lighted candle,
(11:44):
and as I entered, it advanced to daunt me with
bony arm appraised to a great height. Caught, I cried,
throwing my arms around the figure, and I had made
the acquaintance of a real live The white robes fell,
and I saw revealed my hostess of Buckstown Inn. Next morning,
(12:07):
when I threatened to call the police, she confessed to
me that she masqueraded as a ghost to draw visitors
to the out of the way old place, and that
she found its tale of being haunted highly profitable to her,
and of ghost of Buckstown Inn
Ghost of Buckstown Inn by Arnold M. Anderson. Several travel
worn drummers sat in the lobby, exchanging yarns. It was
Rodney Green's turn, and he looked wise and began his tale.
I don't claim by any means that the belief in
(00:22):
ghosts is a general thing in Arkansas, but I do
say that I had an experience out there a few
years ago. It was late in the fall, and I
happened to be in the village of Buckstown, which desecrates
a very limited portion of the state. The town is
about as small and dirty a place as ever I saw,
(00:45):
and the Buckstown Inn is not much above the general
character of the place. The region is inhabited by natives
who still cling to all sorts of foolish superstitions. The inn,
in the ante bellum days was kept by one who
was said to be the meanest and most crabbed of mortals.
(01:07):
The old demon was as miserly as he was mean,
and all his narrow life he hoarded his filthy lucre
with fiendish greed. Report had it also that he had
even murdered his patrons in their beds for their money.
What the facts actually were, I don't know, but even
(01:27):
to this day the old inn is held in suspicion.
A lingering effect of former horrors still clouds its memory.
The present proprietor, Bunk Watson his real name is Bunker,
I believe, is an altogether different sort of chap, a
(01:48):
Southern type, in fact, one of those shiftless, heedless, happy
go lucky mortals who love strong whiskey, and who choose
an enormous quid of black tobacco and smokes a corn
cob pipe. At the same time, when the former keeper
shuffled off, his property fell to a distant relative, the
(02:10):
present keeper, who with his family immediately moved in from
a neighboring hamlet and took possession. It was well known
that the old proprietor had accumulated considerable wealth during his
sojourn among the living, but all efforts to discover any
treasure upon the premises had failed, and now the idea
(02:33):
of ever finding it was practically given up. As far
as Bunk was concerned, the matter troubled him little. He
had a hard working wife who ran things the best
she could under the circumstances, and saw that his meals
were forthcoming at their respective intervals. What more could he wish?
(02:54):
Why should he care if there was a treasure buried
upon his place? Indeed, it would have been in a
sore puzzle for him to know what to do with
a fortune, unless perhaps his wife came to his aid.
Among the stories that hovered in the history of the
Buckstown Inn was one which involved the ghost in the
(03:14):
room where the former keeper had died. Peculiar noises were
heard at unearthly hours, sighing, moaning, and in fact all
the other indications which point to the existence of ghosts
were said to be present. On account of this, the
chamber had long since been abandoned. I listened with keen
(03:37):
interest to the wonderful tales about the haunted room, and
then suddenly resolved to investigate, to sleep in that chamber
that very night and see for myself all that was
to be seen. I told Buck of my purpose. He
shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, but instead of warning
(03:57):
me and offering a flood of protests, as I expected,
he merely took his pipe from his mouth, let fly
a quart or so of yellowish juice from between a
pair of brown stained lips, and opening one corner of
his wide mouth, lazily called out Jane. His wife appeared,
(04:18):
and he animated that I should settle the matter with
the old woman. The prospect of a fee persuaded the wife,
and off she went to arrange for my bed in
that ill faded room. At nine o'clock that evening, I
bid the family good night, took my candle, ascended the
rickety stairs, and entered the Chamber of horrors. The atmosphere
(04:41):
was heavy and had a peculiar odor that was not
at all pleasing. However, I latched the door and was
soon in bed. Having propped myself up with pillows, I
was prepared to await the coming of the ghost. Overhead,
the dusty rafters, which once had experienced the sensation of
(05:03):
being whitewashed, but which were now a dirty yellowish color,
were hung with a fantastic array of cobwebs. The flickering
light of the candle reflected upon the walls and against
the ceiling a pyramid of grotesque shapes, and with this
effect being continually disturbed by the swinging cobwebs, the whole
(05:25):
caused the room to appear rather ghostly after all, and
especially so to an imaginative mind. I waited and waited
for hours, it seemed, but still no ghost. Perhaps it
was afraid of my candle light, so I blew it out.
No sooner had I done this and settled back in
(05:47):
bed again, than a white hand appeared through the door,
than a whole figure. At last, the ghost had come,
a white and sheeted ghost. It had come right through
the door, although it was locked, And now it advanced
toward the bed, raising its long white arm. It pointed
(06:08):
a bony finger at me and then commanded, come with me.
Thereupon it turned to the door. While instantly I jumped
out of bed to follow. Some unseen power compelled me
to obey. The door flew open, and the ghost led
me down the stairs, through long halls into the cellar,
(06:31):
through mysterious underground corridors, upstairs again, in and out rooms
which I never dreamed were to be found in that
old rambling inn. Finally, through a small door in the rear,
we left the house. I was in my sleeping garments,
but no matter. I had to follow the white form
(06:55):
with a slow and measured tread, and as silent as death,
led the way into the orchard. There under a tree
at the farther end. It pointed to the ground, and
in the same ghostly tones before used, said, here you
will find a great treasure. Buried the ghost and disappeared,
(07:18):
and I saw it no more. I stood dazed and trembling.
Upon recovering my wits, I started to dig, but the
chill of the night air and the scantiness of my
night robes made such labor impracticable, so I decided to
leave some mark to identify the place and come round
again at daybreak. I reached up and broke off a limb.
(07:44):
Overcome with my night's exertions, I slept the next morning
until a loud rapping on my door and a croaking
voice warned me that it was noon. I had intended
to leave Buckstown in that day, but prompted by curiosity
and anxious to investigate, I unpacked my gripsack for a
(08:06):
comfortable stay. You must understand that this was my first
experience with a ghost, and I feared I might never
see another. At breakfast, my landlady waited on me in silence,
though once I detected her eyes following me with a
peculiar expression. She wanted to ask me how I enjoyed
(08:29):
the night, but I would not gratify her by volunteering
a word. My host was more outspoken. Reckon, you didn't
get much sleep, said he with a queer smile. Did
you hear anything? I asked, Well, I did, yees, he
(08:50):
said with a drawl. But you didn't disturb me any.
I knew you'd have trouble when ye went in that
room to sleep. That afternoon, I slipped out to the tree,
but to my amazement, I found that the twig I
had broken from the branches was gone. Finally, I found
(09:11):
under the lower trunk of an apple tree an open
place from which a small branch had evidently been rested.
But on looking further, I discovered that every apple tree
in the orchard had been similarly disfigured. More mysterious than ever,
I said, But to night shall decide. That night I
(09:34):
pleaded weariness, which no one seemed inclined to question, and
sought my couch earlier. Going ter try it again, asked
my host, Yes, and I'll stay all winter. But what
I'll get even with that ghost? I said? That night,
I kept the candle burning until midnight, when I blew
(09:56):
it out. Instantly the room was flooded with a so light,
and at the foot of the bed stood my ghost,
the identical ghost of last night. Again, the bony finger
beckoned and a sepulchral voice whispered follow me. I sprang
from the bed, but the figure darted ahead of me.
(10:18):
It flew through the doorway and down the stairs, and
I after it. At the foot of the staircase, an
unseen hand reached forward and caught my foot, and I fell,
sprawling headlong. But in a second I was on my
feet and pursuing the ghost. It had gained on me
a few yards, but I was quicker, and just as
(10:41):
we reached the outside door, I nearly touched its robes.
They sent a chill through my frame, and I nearly
gave up the pursuit. As it passed through the doorway,
it turned and gave me one look, and I caught
the same malignant light in its eyes that I remembered
from the night before in the open orchard. I felt
(11:01):
sure I could catch it, but my ghost had no
intention of allowing me any such opportunity. To my disgust,
it darted backward and into the house, slamming the door
in my face. In my frenzy of fear, and chagrin,
I threw myself against the oaken door with such force
(11:22):
that its rusty old hinges yielded, and I landed in
the big front room of the inn, just in time
to see the white skirts of the ghosts flit up
the stairs stairs. I flew after it and into an
old chamber. There, huddled in a corner, I saw it
in the minute's delay. It had secured a lighted candle,
(11:44):
and as I entered, it advanced to daunt me with
bony arm appraised to a great height. Caught, I cried,
throwing my arms around the figure, and I had made
the acquaintance of a real live The white robes fell,
and I saw revealed my hostess of Buckstown Inn. Next morning,
(12:07):
when I threatened to call the police, she confessed to
me that she masqueraded as a ghost to draw visitors
to the out of the way old place, and that
she found its tale of being haunted highly profitable to her,
and of ghost of Buckstown Inn
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