The Haunting at Midnight

The old man walked gingerly down the dim lighted back

alley official known as Keegan Street. Once a bustling

commercial area of Porterville, the old street was now in a

state of decay and long forgotten by most people living in

the area.  He walked silently, head down, much like any

other man in his late 80’s. But Argus McKane was not like

other men.  That’s for sure.

McKane stopped at an old grey door with peeling paint and

fumbled for his keys. Argus had lived at 105 Keegan Street

for longer than he could remember and could walk the area

almost blindfolded. Which was good given his failing eye

sight and feeble condition.

The old man opened the door and went inside.  The stairs

immediately behind the front door took McKane up to a

modest one bedroom apartment that he was renting. Over

the years, Argus had paid enough in rent to actually own the

whole building if he had just been wise enough to purchase

it over 31 years old.  But that had not been the case and

Argus didn’t care.

McKane went up the stairs and entered the small kitchen

area.  He turned on the old stove and started to prepare a

can of soup for dinner. He didn’t eat much and tended to

have the same meals on most days.  Canned soup and

white bread.  It made shopping easy for Argus.

People in Porterville had a hard time remembering Argus

even though he had lived in the area all his life. He was a

quiet man, a man of few words. In fact, many people had

trouble remembering anything that he had said. He

generally just nodded or grunted if approached by anyone in

town.

But Argus had a history, a long forgotten history that he had

successfully covered up for years.  In truth, Argus had once

been a successful businessman, operating a mill which had

once been located at the eastern most end of Keegan

Street.  The mill had once dominated wheat processing in

southwestern Ohio. McKane had established the business

with his best friend, Jonathan Grugen. Together, the two

men worked long hours and through their sweat, they built a

milling empire which at its peak had employed 215 men.

But over the years, the mill started to falter and employment

cuts had to be made to keep the business solvent.  Then

there was the fire that largely consumed the mill building.

What was left of the old structure was shuttered and

ultimately torn down in favor of new development. Over the

years, the business that had provided growth for the small

town that became Porterville was largely forgotten.

McKane put his hot soup on a snack table in the living room

area of the apartment and turned on the radio. Argus was

too cheap to have a TV.  He did have a set a number of

years ago.  An old Zenith black and white set with vacuum

tubes. But when the TV failed and Argus found no stores in

southwestern Ohio which carried vacuum tubes any longer,

he just decided not to bother replacing the old Zenith.  That

was back in 1984.

The old radio was not in much better condition than the

Zenith but at least it still worked.  Argus had the radio tuned

to an AM station that he listened to for news. The dial was

never changed so he didn’t have to deal with finding another

channel with failing eye sight.

The radio news for this evening was boring and

monotonous so soon Argus was dosing off. His sleep;

however, was interrupted by a familiar voice that seemed to

come from the radio.

“Argus, Argus” the voice called out as the old man woke in

a start.  “Argus why did you kill me?”  The voice was initially

calm but became shrill as the words “kill me” came forth.

“Who, who’s there?” asked the old man as he nervously

looked around the modestly furnished room in a state of

fear.

“You know damn well who’s here” came the reply which

seemed to emanate from the radio.

Argus rose from his chair and walked nervously around the

room. It couldn’t be. There is no way this could be

happening.

“Jonathan, is that you?”

“Yes, Argus.  I have come to see you. I have come back to

find out why you left me to die in that fire.”

The old man started to sweat as he continued to walk

around the room. “You can’t be here. You’re dead.  You

died in the mill fire.”

“Did I?  My body was never found Argus. How can you be

so sure?”

The old man continued to move around the room in an

effort to find any actual corporal being within his

apartment. No one was around.

“Jonathan, I didn’t kill you. I, I tried to find you but the fire

was too strong.”

“Liar! You knew where I was. I was calling for your help

and you ignored me.”

“Jonathan, that’s not true. You have always been my

friend. I cared about you.  I still care about you…”

“You only cared about the money. That is why you started

the fire. The money. The insurance we had on the mill.”

“No Jonathan.  That’s not true.”

“Argus, where is the money? Where have you hidden our

money?”

The old man was perspiring more than ever as his eyes

darted around the room. This just couldn’t be happening.

The fire was nearly 50 years ago.

“I, I haven’t spent any. I can’t….” The old man stuttered as

he tried to reply.  He turned the volume knob on the old

radio to “off” but the voice still continued.

“You can’t spend it because you worship having it. It’s your

god. You can’t tolerate the thought of spending any of it.”

The old man looked around, not knowing what to say in

reply. Then the voice spoke again.

“Argus, you know what you must do. It’s been too long.

You must make amends….”

As if in a stupor, the old man walked into the kitchen and

picked up a pen.  The note was short since there was not

much to say. He put the pen down and walked to the old

gas stove.  As if in a trance, Argus turned on all of the

burners and let the gas fill the room. He fell to the ground

and sat against the wall of the room.  Would he finally have

peace?

Epilogue

The fire department and police came to 105 Keegan Street

early the next morning when a 911 call came in for a gas

odor at the building.  The gas to the building was turned off

and when the firemen entered, they found the limp body of

the old man.  The note on the stove seemed strange but

after investigating scene, the police decided that the wishes

outlined in the note should be honored.

Emily Grugen, the only child of the late Jonathan Grugen,

seemed puzzled when summoned to the Porterville Police

Department.  She explained to the officer that she did not

know of anyone named Argus McKane and to be honest,

she had barely even known her biological father. As she

explained, her father had been killed in an unfortunate fire

many, many years ago and as a result, she had been raised

by her mother and stepfather.

The officer escorted Emily to the Porterville Community

Bank where she was handed the key to safe deposit box

#34 and then ultimately shown to a private room. Inside the

room, Emily opened the box that once had belonged to

Argus McKane and shuffled through the papers.  To her

astonishment, she found cash inside multiple unmarked

envelopes which totaled $530,000.  The cash was in crisp,

uncirculated bills which were all dated in September 1965.

A yellowed newspaper article tucked inside the safe deposit

box provided a brief story about a 1964 fire which had

occurred at the McKane-Grugen Mill and how Jonathan

Grugen had presumably perished in the fire. The article

stated that the old mill had been in decline for years and

how it was unlikely that the surviving partner, Argus

McKane, would rebuild the business.  The estimate business

loss quoted in the article was a value of approximate one

half a million dollars. Nothing else was in the safe deposit

box.