The Garrison Diaries (Part One)

"Stop smoking in my car, Candace!", the loud voice of Russell Fryoux echoed within, waking me from my thoughts. "It's the only place I CAN smoke Russell since the thought hasn't crossed your mind to stop anywhere in the past 7 hours", retorted Candace Warren. Russell had no comeback for this. Russell Fryoux had been my best friend since high school, and since high school, it seemed that Russell had set out to disprove every paranormal story that reached his ears. Candace had been his girlfriend of almost 3 years now, and both had begged me to accompany them on this trip to Vermont with them. Having been back in New Orleans only two months after returning from a trip to California, I couldn't imagine how they'd both managed to talk me into going on this trip. Candace was charming, Russell was... just Russell, and I knew he wouldn't be quiet until I agreed. I told myself all along the way I was probably just along for the ride to keep the peace. Being as open minded as everyone else thought I was, maybe it was a good idea. But in a few short hours, my open mindedness would come back to kick me in the seat of my pants. And Russell Fryoux's vision of disproving paranormal anomalies would come to an abrupt halt.



As we entered into the state of Vermont, the rain kept pouring down through the overcast skies as if God, or the devil or one of the angels had cut a huge gash in all of the clouds. The only difference was, in Vermont, things seemed to have gotten more quiet, but the scenic view as we drove through the urban countryside was more than captivating. I had always loved the fall season, although in Louisiana we came to recognize the change between two seasons; summer, and Summer- version 10.0. I decided to go over the story Russell had told me about the Garrison house in my head. Earl Garrison, family man. All American. I chuckled to myself for a moment, thinking the name alone just seemed "all- American." Earl Garrison was a carpenter, a husband, and father of three. His family was well known throughout certain vestiges of rural Vermont. He was honest, hard working, a church going family man and for all intent and purpose, Earl Garrison was dead. According to Russell by his own hand. Garrison had built a large wood framed house along the quiet roadside of Rural Route 9 in Vermont earlier in the 1950's as a birthday and/or Christmas present for his wife, Julia Garrison. He was aware of the cemetery acreage behind which he was building his home, but it didn't seem to bother Earl. Earl Garrison was the type of man who didn't have time for superstitions, or rattling chains or ghosts. "A lot like Russell and myself", I stopped and thought for a moment. Earl had finished his home and his shop, which was located behind the house, directly beside the cemetery. I still couldn't figure out why any man would want to build close to a cemetery, lest it were in the form of a church. I shrugged it off. "Maybe things are done differently up here", I thought to myself again. At least it gave Earl's kids plenty of room to play, as witnessed accounts said they did quite often, always smiling, always seeming to be very happy.



In 1968, something must have definitely made Earl Garrison change his mind. Looking down at a copy of the police report, I shifted through the papers and found the account given by one neighbor who reportedly had been told by Earl Garrison that he had begun to hear voices while working the long hours in his shop. The account went on to say that Earl was afraid to tell anyone else, especially his family members, for fear of them thinking ol' Earl might be a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. And by any measure of reason, Garrison was probably right in thinking so. But by 1968 Earl Garrison and his wife, Julia had three beautiful children, the youngest, born just that year. Julia had become quite a busybody herself, making quilts and pies and selling them off at town bazaars and church functions, and the Garrisons by all accounts given, did not miss church. But one Sunday they did, and not too many people gave it much thought. Surely the Garrisons were entitled to stay home if someone in the family were sick, or perhaps a death in the family had occurred. But the next Sunday, when the Garrisons were absent from church again, people began to worry. William Safien, a neighbor whose home was close to the Garrison home, said he'd stop by Earl's place the next day to check on the Garrison's. His wife volunteered to go with him, as she and Julia usually attended the town bazaars and church functions together, taking turns using the Safien and Garrison family cars to drive into town. The next day after work, Safien went home, picked up his wife and they drove out to the Garrison home. He immediately knew something was wrong as they arrived. In Safien's report to the police, all of the lights in the Garrison home were turned off, and the cars sat in the driveway, looking as if they hadn't moved for at least several days. With a little reluctance Mr. and Mrs. Safien got out of the car and headed to the front door to knock. William Safien happened to glance upwards at the second story of the Garrison house, where he spied one of Earl's young daughters peering out of the window at him. This made him feel somewhat better, but uncomfortable all at the same time. Mr. Safien claims he and his wife knocked on Earl Garrison's door for what seemed like a half hour, but to no avail. They immediately drove home and called the police. William Safien never said a word to his wife about seeing the girl looking out of the window at him as they walked up the front lawn.



Later that night, policed forced their way into Garrison home, confirming the most horrid of thoughts. Police reports describe a struggle in every room of the house, with dried blood spattered everywhere. Upstairs, they found the bodies of Earl's wife Julia, and Garrison's two eldest daughters. A further search turned up no evidence of Earl Garrison himself, but police investigators outside the home did manage to find Earl Garrison. Ol' Earl... swinging from a tree in the very graveyard he never paid any attention to. How he'd got up the tree and managed to hang his self with a rope is still a mystery today. The body of the infant Garrison wouldn't be found until days later after the place had been cleaned up, by chief detective Maxwell Burns, who came back to the house to take final crime scene photographs . Detective Burns claims as he entered the baby's bedroom upstairs, and began taking pictures of the babies crib, now clean and devoid of any crime that had been committed here, a pool of blood began to form in the crib. He snapped photos rigorously. On his way out, Detective Burns heard what he thought to be a baby crying from down below in the basement. Upon inspection, Maxwell Burns noticed that fresh dirt loitered the basement floor- evidence of a recently dug shallow grave. Within, Burns found the remains of the infant Garrison. A horrible conclusion to the crime summed up by the police as a murder- suicide massacre. When Detective Burns photographs were developed, to his astonishment, the pools of blood that had formed in the crib after the crime lab had already cleaned the Garrison house, were not present in the pictures. A report Maxwell Burns himself was hesitant to file. Looking at the next page of the police report, I saw the name of another former Garrison neighbor- Gerald Brock, who had continued to make his daily walks through the countryside which often brought him around the backside of the cemetery and up to the Garrison home. The report was dated precisely ten years to the day the Garrison's were found. In the report, Brock claimed to had seen something in the graveyard, that apparently shook him up so much, he moved his entire family out of the state shortly thereafter. The account gave no mention of what it was that Mr. Brock saw.



There were other pages in the report that I didn't pay specific attention to, other than one of a young woman named Cindy Miller, who with her husband, bought the house in 1975. They moved out within a week of moving in. In her account, Ms. Miller would see shadows moving along the wall and always seemed to follow her throughout the house. In the few nights that her and her husband stayed there, they could hear a man whispering, as if talking to someone, and in one instance heard the cries of a baby in the room next to theirs.



"Here we are", Russell said, bringing me from my thoughts once again. "Rural Route 9". "Doesn't seem like a very long road." I looked up from the police report to notice the weather had grown worse, and along with the steady downpour of cold rain, lightning flashed across the gray skies, as if it were boldly showing its superiority of the storm. Thunder clapped in the near distant to second the motion. Rural Route 9 wasn't a very long road, and we saw very few homes that all appeared to be vacated, but well kept. Reaching the end of the road, we all gave each other puzzling looks.



And then the inevitable- Russell and Candace began arguing as Russell turned the car around. "This is great Russell," Candace spouted off in her best sarcastic monotone. "Here we are in Somewheresville, Vermont- lost." Russell quickly met her sarcasm. "We're not lost Candy. Obviously we were all lost in thought and just failed to notice the house," as he drove slowly back down Rural Route 9. I knew this could probably continue for the better part of the night, so I headed it off quickly. "I'm sure that's the case. I know my thoughts weren't on finding the house. I was thinking about the story itself." The car grew quiet. I gave a short yawn, making one last remark. "It's got to be up here, but we need to find it soon. The weather isn't getting any better and it'll be dark in a few hours." Who was I kidding? The ongoing storm had made it quite dark enough. A few moments later Russell spoke. "Yeah, very dark." I looked at Russell who's eyes were focused to the left, the car headed straight for a ravine on the right. "For Pete's sake Russell, will you pay attention to the damned road?" Candace said in a loud voice. His attention averted, he focused back on the road and brought the car to a stop on the side of the ravine, careful not to park it where we might get stuck. After all, we weren't in a Land Rover, and the term "Hummer" hadn't been heard of at that time. "What are you doing Russell?", Candace asked, but Russell again just looked off to the left. We followed his glance and saw what Russell had found. There, behind several overgrown shrubs and trees that looked as if they had been growing there for the better part of twenty years, was the outline of a two story home, disturbingly camouflaged in the woods. "Let's go check it out" Russell said, opening the car door. "In the rain?" Candace and myself said in unison. "We'll be inside," Russell argued back as he stepped out of the car. "No, WE won't, Russell Fryoux", Candace quickly commented back to him. Nobody really argued with Candace too much concerning these trips, especially where the paranormal were concerned. Candace was employed at The Myrtles Plantation home, and had seen her fair share of oddities, if not abnormalities. No one could convince her there wasn't any such thing as a ghost. She was a true believer. We looked at each other as we stepped out of the car. "I'll walk across the street to keep an eye on you guys and the car, but that's as far as I'm going." I nodded my head. Catching up with Russell, who was already across the street and at the house I broke the silence. "So this is ol' Earl's house huh?" He just shook his head. He hadn't made one sound since he spotted the old house and walked over to it. The creamy white paint that had once adorned the wood in which Earl Garrison had built the house was long since gone. A few chips remained here and there, but for the most part, weather, wind, rain, and a lot of trees had taken its toll on the old house. It was obvious from the outside the place hadn't been lived in for a long time. "I'm going to walk around back and have a look at this infamous graveyard good ol' Earl built this fine establishment in front of", I said jokingly. Finally words parted Russell's lips. "Okay, I'm going to have a look around inside" as if lost in thought, his fingers nervously fidgeting the camera that was looped around his neck, held by a nylon strap. "See you in a bit then," I replied as I began walking towards the back of the house, as Russell climbed up the porch and opening the creaking door, disappearing inside.