The Spooky Adventures of Boo Bangles the Ghost: Book 3 - Witches, Warlocks, and Ghosts, Oh, My!

By Laurence Knighton

Witches, Warlocks, and Ghosts, Oh, My! - Book 3

Unusual things are happening in Far Hollow. Strange shadows move across a clear blue sky, water turns ghastly brown, and unearthly screams have been heard in the woods just outside of town. Most say how it’s only a bizarre coincidence, but is it? All comes to light when the ghostly resident of an old abandoned house is besieged with strange events that can’t be explained, even for a ghost. That’s when Boo Bangles learns he doesn’t have the market cornered on scary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurence Knighton
• Release date: Dec 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781301457588

Laurence Knighton

Born in the Rocky Mountains under a loaf of wry bread, Laurence (Larsky) Knighton is a graphic designer and illustrator by trade, having written and illustrated Disney's 'Donald Duck' syndicated daily comic strip for years before its cancelation in the American market. Still illustrating and writing fun, entertaining stories, he resides in Boise, Idaho with his handsome plush-stuffed black Lab 'Buck' who never sheds, barks, or runs away.

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The Spooky Adventures of Boo Bangles the Ghost – Book 3

Witches, Warlocks, and Ghosts, Oh, My!

by

Laurence Knighton

Smashwords Edition

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PUBLISHED BY:

Laurence Knighton on Smashwords

Witches, Warlocks, and Ghosts, Oh, MY!

Copyright © 2011 by Laurence Knighton

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Chapter 1

As far back as anyone knows, Far Hollow has allows been a remote destination. Even now it’s not easy to find without a good nose for direction. It’s on most maps, though barely mentioned like a polite afterthought.

Tucked away from the more civilized world within the pine-covered hills of Bridger Woods, Far Hollow is one of those places where a person can relax enough to maintain a good sense of balance. It’s a comfortable community, peaceful and quiet. On a windy day one can almost feel tension float away like it shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

Just south of town is a small tributary and what’s left of gold fever that once ravaged through Bridger Woods. Old miner shacks are still there, and weathered sluice boxes, rusted tools and odd machinery with large gears that stopped turning ages ago.

Back then Far Hollow was nothing like it is today. From starry-eyed gold seekers to gamblers, clever hustlers and anyone else looking to cash in on the action, it was a happening place. That is, until all those dreamers of good fortune realized there wasn’t gold in the river or anywhere else for that matter. The only thing of value in those pristine waters was wild cutthroat trout, enough to make a weekend fisherman dream of giving up a good day job for the luxury of counting them all. To some, that was better than gold. But to all those wishful thinkers who spent their last dollar to get to Bridger Woods, it was a terrible disappointment.

In the end all those disgruntled miners got revenge. It was a fool’s river to them. An apt moniker, the name stuck.

Fools River.

Some twenty miles downstream from Far Hollow the river empties into Devils Lake, where mountain lore suggests that witches and warlocks once practiced their devilish craft along the sandy shores. It’s never been proven, of course, but some things never die, if for no other reason than the joy of imagining it to being true.

In the earliest days, when Far Hollow wasn’t a name but only a hollow, civilized men gathered in towns and cities to make a better life. Some looked for a good living elsewhere. Loners, mostly, they were the independent sort, tough and resourceful. Freedom was in their minds and the wilderness in their sights.

They were Mountain Men, trappers and traders who learned best how to survive by following nature’s laws. The laws weren’t written down, yet they were everywhere in the forest, assuming the signs could be seen or heard. Every sound had meaning, should there be sound at all, and if not, the very absence was cause for attention. Each movement was deliberately alert, staged and carried out with cautious haste, always, always, blending with the forest as if not there.

Like a ghost.

Local historians say fur trappers were the first to discover the hollow and held their yearly Rendezvous under the shady pines to trade, compete in trapping games, cheat at cards or swap impossible lies, and most fun of all, wrestle like a hairy grizzly. Jedidiah Smith was said to be one of those, and Joe Meek. Jim Bridger, too, and the very reason Bridger Woods got its name.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any records of those Mountain Man get-togethers, mainly