Legends of The Jail

Our story begins back in the late 1800’s, 1875 to be exact.  The Whitley County Jail was built in the heart of farm country, where morals were high and tolerance was low.  Jump ahead now to 1884.  The first and only execution in Whitley County was soon to happen here, and the word spread of the hanging of Charles Butler.  He was a vile bastard, known for his drinking, his temper, and brawling with weaker souls.  On a dark and unusually angry evening, Butler, in a drunken stupor, began waving his pistol around and calling for his son, when his wife, Abbie, grabbed the child and ran for the door.  Butler was prone to beating both her and the child, and she would have no more.  The boy got through the door, but poor Abbie took a shot to the back.  The force of the impact sent her to the edge of the porch, paralyzed.  She would die three days later.  Charles Butler was picked up and brought to our Jail, where he claimed he would forever escape, and return to haunt the lives of whoever entered his domain.  In fact he did escape, to Ohio, where the good Sheriff Frank P. Allwein, did track the notorious Butler, only to literally trip over the villain’s drunken body as he lay passed out on a set of railroad tracks.

                Here, dear reader, is where it gets interesting.  In May of 1884, (which if you will recall was the time of Custer’s last stand, and Jack the Ripper,) the word of the Hanging Execution of Butler, made its way to the far reaches of Paris, down to the deadly swamps of Louisiana, and up as far north as French Canada.  A French speaking gentleman, rich, educated, and skilled in many arts, made his way north to observe the morbid ceremony.  He was dressed as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes, and spoke with a slight accent.  He had never seen a hanging, and decided that it was time.  It was rumored that he left behind his wife and subjects, as he did not plan to stay long. 

                Tuesday June 10, 1884  Charles Butler the Murderer stood on the gallows, not a remorseful bone in his body, save for being caught.  The Monster stood, hands tied neatly behind his back, the hood over his head, and the noose was placed around his neck.  From out in the crowd, a gentleman began asking the guards too many questions, and they disregarded him quite severely.  The gentleman seemed relentless, though, as if he were not used to being ignored.  The guards then began to beat him and the heat of the day seemed to take its toll on the older gentleman, as he began to lose the fight and fell, unconscious.  He was thrown in the jail, and the execution resumed.

                Butler stepped over the trapdoor that would bring his death, but he was determined not to go easy.  He stood as far back as possible, almost on the hinge of the door.  The moment came, and the door was dropped, but butler, instead of falling quick, to snap the neck, slid downward without the force necessary and slowly began to strangle to death.  A fitting end, some would later say.  Charles Butler would struggle for exactly 10 minutes, gasping and gagging, and emitting the most foul and guttural noises imaginable until there was no more sound or movement.  The crowd was aghast, and would never again allow an execution for the sheer horror of what they had witnessed.  The body was brought inside the Jail and laid on a gurney on the first room in the west wing.  The Doctors were shocked to find that he still had a pulse, however, and it took yet another 3 minutes for that pulse to stop, thus taking a total of 13 minutes to completely die.  The Jail would now harbor the malicious entity known as the ghost of Charles Butler.  But the townsfolk did not know the true horror that was yet to be unleashed upon Whitley County.  For deep in the bowels of the dungeon, was chained a being that was gaining power as the sun fell.  And as his power grew, so did his anger, and he swore with all his might, that he would take revenge on the ‘cattle’ who had imprisoned him, and the townsfolk who had only watched him being beaten.  There was an ancient saying that revenge was a dish best served cold…  the jail was a cold place indeed.  His name was Deimos Nosferato, the king of the clan of Le Masshar de la Nui, and the Apocalypse would begin with the first scream…

 

 

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