Old Lady Ketchel's Revenge: The Slaughter Minnesota Horror Series Book 1

No one truly escapes their childhood unscathed. Particularly if you grew up in the 1960s and 70s in Slaughter, Minnesota. A sleepy little burg on the Iron Range just outside Grand Rapids.

While the town’s name may sound like a horror film setting or conjure up images of stockyards, it began as nothing more than an encampment for loggers. It eventually evolved into a mining community, like just about every other village, town, or city along the Mesabi Range – the largest of four iron-ore mining districts in those parts.

Slaughter was named after self-proclaimed mining tycoon Enoch Slaughter. In the 1890s, Enoch saw the potential fortune to be made from iron ore. Tycoon was a bit of a stretch, as you will learn later. But there was no doubt that iron ore enabled him to buy and develop a tract of land, which he christened with his surname. And then promptly appointed himself Mayor. While Enoch’s colorful and compelling story has a place in this tale, this isn’t about Enoch Slaughter. This saga is about the reign of terror instigated by one resident – Ms. Hagatha Ketchel.

No one knew her or called her by that name, however. People most often referred to her as Old Lady Ketchel. That had been her moniker for at least two generations of Slaughter residents. Hagatha Ketchel was one of those people that folks remembered as always being old. Yet, somehow never seemed to get older. The school kids had more creative and taunting nicknames for her – Ms. Witchel, Old Lady Bitchel, Old Lady Catch-Hell, and Old Lady Crotch Smell. If there was ever a Mr. Ketchel, no one in Slaughter, Minnesota in 1968 knew anything about him.

Old Lady Ketchel lived in a small, rundown one-story white clapboard house on Tailings Way. The house had four windows in the front – two on each side of the front door that stood under a makeshift sheet metal awning attached amateurishly to the roof. The windows were notable only because they were frequently broken – the result of mischievous kids who dared to fling rocks at the house from the sidewalk. The stones that missed their mark left the clapboards pockmarked and cracked.

No one befriended her, but virtually everyone in town knew of her. While her house displayed damage and disrepair, she was unusually obsessed with the pathways within the bounds of her property. She was that crazy lady that swept her walkway, the sidewalk, and the street in front of her house. Not only occasionally, but every day – and sometimes twice. And she swept them with such vigor and urgency. You would think she was trying to sweep away something toxic. She even swept them in the winter until the snow became too deep, and then she seemed to go into hibernation. Giving the community and the school kids a reprieve from her daily attacks.

She always wore the same thing - an old, faded floral print house dress with brown leather boots that looked like vintage army boots. Her gray hair was pulled back severely to a bun, which stretched the thin skin on her face to such an extent as to make her look positively skeletal. Her piercing blue eyes behind wire-frame spectacles would have been stunning on anyone else but deeply disturbing on her. And she was never seen without that corn bristle broom that she wielded like a weapon when she wasn’t using it for its intended purpose. While she looked skinny and frail, she was remarkably spry and quick. Just ask the schoolkids who dared walk past her house. More than a few had been whacked by that broom and narrowly escaped her clutches. Those who did get close enough to her claimed she had an earthy, death-like smell, contributing to a rumor that her home had dirt floors.

Unlike everyone else in town, who had the need to regularly pick up groceries or supplies, Old Lady Ketchel never did. She never strayed beyond the street in front of her home or beyond the boundaries of her property. Someone once said that she lived off eating dirt, bugs, rodents, and dead bodies, and somehow that rumor stuck. This, in turn, fueled the nightmares and fears that every schoolchild had of being caught by Old Lady Ketchel.

Of course, most school kids were either too bright or too afraid to test their luck and gave Old Lady Ketchel’s home wide-berth when passing it – even when she wasn’t outside. This didn’t hold true for Bobby Briars, who always seemed to be getting himself into trouble.

What 10-year old Bobby lacked in physical size, he more than made up for in confidence. He fancied himself as the fastest, most elusive, most daring kid, not only in his grade but in the entirety of Slaughter Elementary. His arrogance didn’t endear him to many, and when he set out to prove his claims, many hoped he would get his comeuppance. And sometimes he did.

There was the time when he challenged Dick Kreutzer, a 7th grader and star little league baseball player, to try to swing a baseball bat fast enough to hit him. Dick gladly accepted the challenge, and while Bobby successfully ducked his first swing. Bobby was laid out cold on Dick’s second swing, which connected with the back of Bobby’s head as he was celebrating his success. Unfortunately, he had failed to tell Dick he only got one swing.

Then there’s the time he invited Mary Wallace to go swimming with him in the Prairie River, and she accepted. Mary was in the 6th grade, one grade ahead of him. She had suddenly become very popular at school because that summer, her body had blossomed well beyond that of her female peers. Now, her uniform top strained to hold back her burgeoning womanhood. Not only did the 6th and 7th-grade boys take notice, but they fell over each other, trying to get Mary to go out with them. But she dismissed all of their advances - all except Bobby’s.

This only caused Bobby’s schoolmates to dislike and envy him even more. But only as Bobby could do, he went a bit too far. While they were swimming, Bobby claimed he saw a leech on Mary’s back and offered to remove it. Mary, who was very squeamish about leeches and all manner of creepy, crawly things, shrieked and was more than happy to let him remove it. But there was no leech. As she bounced up and down anxiously, he undid her bikini top, causing her womanly orbs to fall out of their restraint, giving Bobby an eyeful. As he stood mesmerized, Mary hauled off and punched him in the nose. Needless to say, that abbreviated their outing, and when Bobby came to school the next day, he looked like a raccoon with two black eyes and a swollen nose.

But far and away, Bobby’s most hair-brained stunt was reserved for the unthinkable – allowing Old Lady Ketchel to catch him. This elicited a chorus of warnings and requests for him to not do it from the dwindling number of classmates who still called Bobby a friend. Others, who were less sympathetic to his health, encouraged him or claimed he’d never do it. The combined effect of these two groups guaranteed that Bobby would follow through.

So on one balmy day after school, Bobby strolled up Old Lady Ketchel’s walkway and knocked on her door as a gaggle of classmates looked on. Some cringed out of fear for Bobby’s life. Others stood in restless anticipation, hoping Bobby would finally pay the price for his cockiness. As Bobby stood at the door, he didn’t realize that Old Lady Ketchel was approaching him from the side of the house, broom in hand. She had been in the back of the house, and seeing the kids out front infuriated her. A few of the kids called out to Bobby in warning, but it was too late. As Old Lady Ketchel came around the corner and saw Bobby at her door, the onlookers took a collective inhale, fearing the worst was about to occur. Even Bobby, who was now cornered, went pale.

You will regret this day for the rest of your life Bobby Briars, she said ominously.

Bobby cowered, expecting her to clock him with the broom she was wielding. Instead, she put her hand on his right shoulder.

Behold, the scab spreadeth in the skin, she whispered. Now go, never to return.

Bobby didn’t have to be told twice. Though he willed himself to run, his legs felt like they were filled with concrete. He trudged down the walkway towards the audience who, thinking he had survived the encounter, let out a collective sigh – some out of relief, others out of disappointment.

When Bobby got home, he was exhausted. Instead of changing out of his school uniform and into jeans and a t-shirt, he crawled into bed and promptly fell asleep. His mother woke him at dinner time. He plodded to the bathroom and noticed a red spot on his right shoulder. Thinking nothing of it, he dressed and went down to dinner.

Are you feeling sick, honey? You never take a nap after school, his mother exclaimed while putting her palm on his forehead to check if he was feverish.

Aw, just a little tired, Mom. I’ll be all right, he replied, trying to reassure her.

You feel a little warm. I think you should stay in tonight.

Okay, Bobby responded while moving his food around on the plate.

That her son had acquiesced so readily to her restriction told her that there must be something wrong. It was a rare occasion when her son wasn’t running all over the neighborhood after school and after dinner. She had a hard enough time getting him to come home at night.

Aren’t you hungry? his mother asked. Maybe if you eat something, you’ll feel better.

Bobby forced a few forkfuls of food into his mouth before he was interrupted by his mother’s hysterics.

Oh my God, what’s that crawling up your neck, she cried. Earl, do something, she said to her husband, who was too busy gnawing on his corn on the cob to notice his family around him, let alone whatever it was on his son’s neck.

Ah, relax, Edith, it’s probably just a hickey, he said, launching a few kernels of corn from his mouth across the table in the process.

Earl, you’re such a pig. And it’s not a hickey. He’s 10, for Christ's sake. Don’t give him ideas. Look at it. It’s spreading and throbbing, she screamed, getting up from her seat.

Bobby’s eyelids started to flutter, and his eyes rolled like the wheels in a slot machine.

Oh my God, do something, Earl! she screamed as Bobby began to tip to one side and fell out of his chair.

His head hit the floor with a resounding and sickening thud. By now, the throbbing red rash had invaded his face. Bobby coughed, spewing a fountain of blood onto his mother’s blouse.

Earl! Get the car! she screamed.

Earl, unable to see what was transpiring from his vantage point, still wasn’t convinced he should abandon his corn on the cob. Then he stood up.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Edith, he needs to go to the hospital! Earl shouted, finally recognizing the gravity of the situation but still clinging tenaciously to the corn cob. In response, Edith made a mental note to spend some quality time after this emergency to seriously question the sanity of remaining married to her dolt of a husband.

The 9-1-1 emergency system was still years from being established, so the quickest way to get to the hospital in Grand Rapids was by personal vehicle. Earl finally released his grip on the corn and hoisted his son into his arms. Depositing him in the back of his 1964 Buick LeSabre, they sped to the hospital.

From there, what happened to the Briars family was a mystery. They didn’t come back. Hospital representatives were tight-lipped, and neighbors were just as baffled. Even the Briars’ relatives in town were bewildered as to their whereabouts. Their home stood empty for months. Issues of the Grand Rapids Herald-Review piled up on their doorstep. Their mail formed a small mountain on the inside of the front door.

Eventually, the bank started the foreclosure process on the property. When the Briars failed to respond to correspondence, the bank foreclosed on the home. After auctioning the household belongings, the bank put the house on the market. But the house didn’t sell. No one even came to see the property when they had Open House events. Given the mysterious circumstances of the Briars’ sudden disappearance, it was now considered hexed and haunted. Little did the good town folk of Slaughter know, but it wasn’t the house that was the problem.

Chapter 2

As things do in small towns, life carried on. While the Briars’ relatives continued to look for their kin, the rest of the townfolk forgot about the mystery. That is until someone dared to buy the Briars’ haunted abode. The someone was Ms. Karen Garber, a perky 23-year old woman hired by Slaughter Elementary as their new 7th-grade teacher.

Townspeople quickly learned that Ms. Garber was from the big city, as the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul were known as in those parts. And being from the big city was rarely a ringing endorsement. Slaughter valued its small-town ways, and even the presence of one metropolitan-minded individual was considered a threat. Ms. Garber did nothing to assuage those concerns. As if she had a choice in the matter, her first mistake was that she was attractive – too attractive. Her second mistake was that she did nothing to hide that fact.

On her first day of school, she had the audacity to wear a mini-skirt, which had all the 7th-grade boys trying to get a glimpse under it by dropping their pencils as she passed by when she walked down the rows. Or craning their necks in unison when her skirt would ride up tantalizingly as she bent over to write something near the bottom of the chalkboard. At recess, Paul Altemeyer almost caused a riot when he claimed she wasn’t wearing any panties. By virtue of alphabetical seating and last name, Paul occupied the front seat in the first row.

I’m serious, Paul gushed while surrounded by all the 7th-grade boys. I swear when she bent over during our lesson about Gandi, I saw her pubes!

Ah, you’re full of it, Altemeyer. How could you see her pubes? Wouldn’t you just see her ass crack? What color were they? asked Lee Brandon, who sat at the end of the first row and didn’t have Paul’s vantage point.

The same color as her hair, dark brown. And I saw her ass crack too, he replied.

I didn’t see anything, and I sit right behind you, Mark Belson countered.

That’s cuz Becky Christian’s big head was probably in your way, Paul responded, referring to the girl who sat in the first seat in the second row who had a puffy bouffant hair-do.

When Mark didn’t refute this assertion, Paul’s claim gained more credibility. Needless to say, the urgency of the boys’ efforts to verify what Paul saw rose to a fever pitch. Some boys started to polish their shoes daily, hoping to buff them to a shine that might act as a mirror, reflecting up her skirt when she walked by or when they stood close to her. When this didn’t work, there was talk about strategically placing mirrors in the room.

The 7th-grade girls, on the other hand, were not impressed. Ms. Garber’s fashion choices made the girls’ school uniforms look frumpy. Even Mary Wallace, who had been all the rage, suffered a severe decline in male attention. In addition, some of the female teachers marched on Principal Markson’s office to complain. But Principal Fred Markson had just as many male teachers coming to him and praising his eye for talent in hiring Ms. Garber. Plus, the 7th-grade boys had perfect attendance since Ms. Garber started. Wasn’t that unassailable evidence to the wisdom of his decision even if her choice of clothing was a bit more fashion-forward, as he termed it? She dressed like a street-walker to the female teachers, and in the teacher’s lounge, they not so secretly referred to her as that hussy.

The only salvation felt by those opposed to Ms. Garber was that she lived in the haunted Briars house. Guaranteeing, or so they thought, that she would eventually be unceremoniously dispatched as Edith, Earl, and Bobby Briars had been. But day after day, week after week, passed with no ill-effects to Ms. Garber.

The Northern Minnesota autumn finally convinced Ms. Garber to abandon her mini-skirts for more thermal fashion choices. Her form-fitting jeans and fuzzy angora sweaters were only marginally less mesmerizing to the 7th-grade boys whose perfect attendance streak remained intact. Threatened only by the time Joey Bezinski vomited during the annual Spelling Bee contest. Joey took pride in being the best speller at Slaughter Elementary. He had narrowly missed an invitation to the State Spelling Bee contest last year when he came in 2nd in the regional competition.

On this occasion, as in the previous three Slaughter Elementary contests, it was down to Joey and Mary Jo Johansen. Mary Jo Johansen was an 8th-grader who had come in second every year Joey competed. It was a fierce rivalry. Unbeknownst to everyone except Joey, he woke up that day sicker than a dog. However, nothing was going to stop him from competing in the Spelling Bee. As an added incentive, Ms. Garber had been asked to host the contest. In Joey’s fantasies, he imagined Ms. Garber embracing him when he won and feeling her soft, cushiony breasts pressing into him. He even entertained the thought that maybe she’d fall in love with him when she realized how smart he was. Consequently, Joey dragged himself to school, staving off wave after wave of nausea.

The Spelling Bee was held in the school auditorium. As usual, all the school’s students and all the Spelling Bee participants' parents were in attendance. As luck would have it, the heating system failed, and the auditorium was unusually cold. This worked to Joey’s advantage as he felt like he was burning up from a fever.

When Mary Jo Johansen misspelled malfeasance, all Joey had to do was spell his next word correctly. As he stepped to the podium to receive the next spelling word, he noticed through Ms. Garber’s blouse that her nipples were standing at attention. This had a resulting physiological effect on Joey, who was only too happy to have his excitement shielded by the podium. Then she read the word he needed to spell.

Prophylactic, Ms. Garber said sensually. Causing a wave of giggles from some of the students.

Joey repeated the word and felt himself blush, although his face was already flushed with fever, so no one could tell.

Can I have the definition, please? he asked, triggering another round of laughter.

Prophylactic is an adjective meaning to protect from disease, Ms. Garber replied as her face reddened in anticipation of the inevitable next question.

Can you use it in a sentence, please? Joey inquired as he began to get dizzy.

Many people take aspirin as a prophylactic medicine, Ms. Garber replied.

But Joey, now in a state of delirium from his fever, never heard the sentence. He passed out and fell to the floor. The only evidence that he was still alive being a conspicuous tenting in the crotch area of his corduroy pants. The auditorium erupted, the students in laughter, and the grown-ups with cries of concern.

Ms. Garber was the first to get to Joey. In trying to shield the protrusion in Joey’s pants, she knelt between him and the audience. This only gave the students and parents a birds-eye view of her cute little derriere in her tight jeans. Ms. Garber absent-mindedly tried to push down the bulge in Joey’s pants. To which, he opened his eyes and promptly groaned loudly and spasmodically came in his pants.

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come inside you. We should have used a prophylactic, Joey yelled deliriously for all to hear, thinking they just had unprotected sexual intercourse.

Needless to say, pandemonium ensued.

Isn’t it funny? Joey blathered on in his own little world. I won the Spelling Bee with the word prophylactic, and now I wish I had one? Can we do it again? Ms. Garber was mortified. In a last-ditch effort to silence him, she leaned down to whisper in his ear.

Joey, you need to stop talking. Please, just be quiet, she pleaded.

As she leaned over him, he promptly puked, and a stream of vomitous splattered the front of Ms. Garber’s blouse.

Oh, I’m sorry, Joey apologized, trying to wipe the puke from her blouse. In the process, pawing her breasts a little too long and enthusiastically.

I’ve dreamt of sucking on these boobies, Joey announced, just as Principal Markson arrived on stage.

Ms. Garber, perhaps I should take over here. Why don’t you go and get cleaned up, he suggested.

Mr. Markson finally got Joey to the School Nurse’s office, where he was found to have a 104-degree fever. The nurse surmised he had influenza. Ironically, she gave him some aspirin and packed him in ice packs to reduce his fever.

After giving Mr. Markson an earful about Ms. Garber’s lascivious influence on their son, Joey’s parents picked him up and took him home. Vowing to pull Joey out of Slaughter Elementary if Mr. Markson didn’t remove Ms. Garber.

Joey would never have remembered the embarrassing and humiliating events of the day if there hadn’t been 150 witnesses. Some who not so kindly reminded Joey about what happened regularly and in painful detail. Kids are cruel, and Joey had to endure the stories and taunts for the rest of his schooling. If it wasn’t condoms left on his desk or in his locker, it was the fun they made of him. If that was not enough, he earned the moniker Joey Jizz, which got shortened to JJ.

But that isn’t what bothered Joey most. The greatest insult was that Mary Jo Johansen was awarded as the school’s Spelling Bee Champion and went on to win the Regional contest and finish third at State. Joey never competed in a Spelling Bee again.

Despite the threats from Joey’s parents, Mr. Markson didn’t remove Ms. Garber. Joey’s absence the following day should have ended the 7th-grade boys’ perfect attendance streak. However, the streak was preserved when Principal Markson canceled school because the heating system hadn’t been fixed. In the meantime, Ms. Garber met with Joey’s parents to salvage their trust in her as Joey’s teacher.

After 15 minutes, Mr. Bezinski was convinced that their calls for her ouster had been premature. Mrs. Bezinski was not as forgiving.

"Ms. Garber, could my wife and I have