Well with Halloween being tomorrow, I thought I might share one of my ghost stories with you. I wrote this one some years ago, based on a story that was passed around by high school students when I was just a young child. A place on an old country road dubbed Hook Arms house due to these rumors actually existed, but has long since been torn down.
This story was published once on Yahoo Contributor when I was writing for them, before they closed down the site, so there is some chance you may have seen it before. If you are from my small town, you have probably heard the original rumors before, but now here’s the whole story. Hope you enjoy a good spook story. Happy All Hallows Eve Eve. I will have another original ghost story for you for tomorrow.
Hook Arm’s House
In the 1970’s, a series of unfortunate events, hurled a small Hill Country, rural town, into a ghost story, never forgotten.
Because of the trouble that ensued at the time this story broke, I am not allowed to tell you exactly what road, what town, or even any real names that are in any way connected to this tale. It has taken more than 30 years, to restore the peace around this area, which can only be kept by keeping thrill seekers away. He is now, just a forgotten legend, and for everyone’s safety, that is best. But, I haven’t forgotten, thus, I share his tale.
He returned from the war, with a hook in the place of his left arm, and adopted the name, Hook Arm, whether he wanted it or not. He lived alone in a meager two room shack that stood 100 yards off the county road just outside of town at the end of a short country lane, lined with trees. A grove of trees stood behind the shack as well, and one large and very old tree stood just to the left of it, giving shade to the small abode.
Hook stayed mostly to himself, haunted by the memories of war, and the family he had lost. In the beginning he did nothing to warrant the fear people had for him and his hook, but then one summer, quite by mistake, that all changed.
A family with a little girl, about seven, moved into the cabin in the field, across the county road. Neighbors immediately warned the family to stay away from the man who lived in the nearby shack. They told terrifying stories of Hook Arm, though he had never harmed anyone.
The girl often rode her bike down the county road. She would waive to Hook Arm tending his garden, and he would wave back. One day, she fell from her bike, around the curve just out of sight of her house, but still close enough for Hook to see her from his garden. He went to her. Her legs were scraped, she was crying, and could not ride her bike like she was. He carried her back to her house, walking her bike alongside him. Her parents were afraid, and thanked him, but quickly sent him away, warning the girl to stay away from him.
In spite of her parents’ warnings, the little girl was not afraid, and would ride down to his house to visit him, bringing him biscuits and things she snuck from her mother’s table. They became fast friends. He would often tell her stories of the little girl that he had lost.
One day the little girl arrived at his house, with a basket of muffins, and found that he was not home. Wanting to leave the muffins anyway, she left her bike leaning against the big tree at the side of the shack, and tried to find a way in. She wandered around the back of the shack and fell into an old, shallow hand dug well, when she stepped through its rotten plywood cover. That evening a storm came and the well quickly filled with water.
It was after dark and raining when Hook Arm returned and he did not see her bike leaning against the tree.
The little girl’s parents became alarmed when she did not return home before dark. They enlisted the neighbors to search the road for her, but did not find her or her bike.
From his kitchen window, in a flash of lightning, Hook Arm saw the bike leaning on the tree. He went out into the storm with a flash light, looking for his little friend. In the back yard, he found a piece of her torn dress on the collapsed plywood well cover. Shining the light into the well, he could barely see her face beneath the water. He knew she was gone. He laid in the mud, and stretched out his arms, barely able to reach her and drag her to the surface.
When he laid her down, he saw that there was a large gash in her head, and her leg was broken. He knew then that she had been knocked unconscious and drowned. He picked her up and carried her all the way back to the road. He wailed so loudly that his anguished screams were heard by the search party out looking for the girl. When they saw Hook Arm carrying her, they attacked him, assuming the worst. He tried to explain that he had found her and was too late to save her, but their fear turned to instant blame, and the neighbors became an angry mob. They chased Hook Arm back to his house, where he tried to barricade himself in, but they broke in and beat him until he could no longer fight back. Then they hung him from the large tree in his yard, left him to die, and set fire to his shack.
The storm became tremendously vicious that evening. When morning broke, his body was gone from the tree, never to be found, though the noose still hangs there, and his house though scorched and blackened still stands.
According to legend, he bargained with the Devil, who set him free, and allowed him to seek revenge on mankind for hating him. Many mysterious deaths occurred, including one by one each of the neighbors who helped to hang him.
The story made headlines, causing countless groups of fun seekers to travel to Hook Arm’s House to see where this happened, as well as to see if they could glimpse him roaming the grounds. Often an old, soaking wet, disheveled man, with a hook arm, and a bent neck, twisted from hanging is seen walking the dirt road leading down to his shack.
Almost all who return tell stories of running for their lives from a wet, dirty man with a hook arm but even more have gone, and never returned.
Occasionally, the missing thrill seekers are found brutally beaten and hanging from the tree by the house, while others appear to be drowned in the old well. The trees on his land are scarred with slashes from his hook, left behind from when he exacted his revenge on his attackers. But for each new person he catches, a new slash appears on one of his trees, and to date, there are many.
Often Hook Arm is seen tending his garden next to be blackened house. It grows beautifully ever year. He waves at passers-by; be sure to wave back, but don’t ever stop!
On the Wings of Angels 