Old man Crenshaw's place....

 

Youngster Jeff loved being on his bike and pedaling around the neighborhood....

except there was one place he tried to avoid. The house where Old man Crenshaw

lived.....it was down right spooky and broken down. From time to time Jeff would

see the old man standing in an upstairs window with a rolled newspaper tucked 

under his arm...what was that about? One day in late May as Jeff made his way 

up the hill and past the house....he stopped the bike and peered ahead to see both

a Sheriffs car and ambulance parked at the bottom of the drive. 

This is story 19 in Tales Unleashed (Amazon) 

Old Man Crenshaw’s Place

When most kids loved riding their bikes to school, Jeffery Adams was just the opposite. His six-minute ride to and from his rural farm house was down an old dirt road, up a steep incline and past Old Man Crenshaw’s place, a dilapidated two-story building that seemed to reach out for him every time he passed it. What was there about this house?  His father had told him many times about its owner, Ebenezer Crenshaw, a cranky old man that had worked at the newspaper for many years. It was rumored that Ebenezer was a conjuror . . . sitting by the light of a single lantern, reading tea leaves and cards, and casting spells on those he didn’t care for. Could it be true? Perhaps. Jeffery cranked the pedals as hard as he could every time he passed the Crenshaw place, kicking up cinders and dust as he would fly by the front porch and walk.

Once, he had seen the man in jeans and tee shirt, with a rolled-up newspaper under his arm, standing in an upstairs bedroom window. This place was creepy, very creepy . . . the kind of creep that sneaks into your bedroom at  night, slithering through that slightly opened window you had left before retiring. 

It was one afternoon after school in late May that Jeffery, on the way home was just coming up to the Crenshaw house. In front of the house was the Sheriff’s car and an ambulance, neither of which had their emergency lights flashing. A deputy stood in the middle of the road, presumably directing traffic to slow up a bit as it approached. Jeffery rolled up to the deputy, stopped his bike, and asked the officer, “What’s going on in there anyway?”

The deputy replied with, “Looks like Old Man Crenshaw has died. Someone stopped earlier in the day for some reason and found him inside. Now move along, son. Nothing else to see here.” 

With that Jeffery started pedaling homeward again. Geez, now Crenshaw’s would be creepy… him being dead and all. What would happen to this place? He pondered that question as he continued the journey home.

A couple of weeks passed. Crenshaw had been buried in the local cemetery not too far down the road from Jeffery’s house, and things seemed pretty normal again in his part of town. One night sitting out front of his house with his dad, Jeffery remarked to him, “You know dad, I saw Old Man Crenshaw one day. He was standing in an upstairs bedroom window in jeans and a tee shirt with a rolled-up newspaper under his arm.”

“Is that so?” replied his father. “Interesting, I heard that as a kid he delivered newspapers all over town. Did it for many years I think. Later on, he was actually employed by the same paper company for many years. Seems like he always had a newspaper on him.”

Two days later, Jeffery and his best friend Will were pedaling around town when they happened to pedal into the Whispering Pines Cemetery. It was the place where Old Man Crenshaw had been buried two weeks before.

“Why are we here?” asked Will of Jeffery.

“I don’t really know for sure,” replied Jeffery. “It’s just . . . I just want to see where he ended up.”

As they rounded the corner in the cemetery road, straight ahead they could make out a newly dug grave with a couple of wilted flower pieces laying on top.

“That must be it!” exclaimed Jeffery as he pushed the pedals to get a little closer.

Within ten feet of the spot, Jeffery slammed on the bike’s brakes and dug his feet into the soft ground. On top of the grave amongst the brown flower pieces was one rolled-up newspaper, its ink starting to run from the rain since the interment. 

“What is it with the newspaper?” asked Will.

“I’m not really sure. But I’d bet you a million dollars his obituary is in that edition. I’d bet you a million dollars . And I know one thing for sure—it’s his last newspaper.”

 And so Old Man Crenshaw had gone on. His newspaper delivery days were long past him now, and his abandoned house would sit and continue to wither away in the months and years ahead. Someday, when someone would buy that house and start renovating, do you know what they would find in those walls? Yes, one of the best old stand-by insulations ever invented: newspapers.