Martin’s eyes flew open. “No way I’m EVER going in there. Not with Paddy’s ghost in there.”
“There’s probably a logical explanation behind what you heard, just as there is with most things like this. How old is this story?”
“Since body was found,” Joe said.
“When was that?”
“Before my time,” Joe said, “early 1900s.”
“I got it from my grandfather’s brother, when I did a Halloween composition in high school,” Martin said. “I didn’t believe in ghosts before that.”
“What made you a believer then?” Harry asked.
“I’m not sure,” Martin said hesitantly. “Maybe the fact that nobody knew if Paddy died naturally or… if he was killed.”
Harry drew his eyebrows together. “Okay, I want the whole story. Everything your uncle told you about Paddy O’Flynn.”
Martin breathed deeply, then spoke quietly and slowly. “It’s a hole in the side of Otter Hill, three feet wide, maybe ten or twelve feet long, thought to have been blasted out by Paddy in the early 1900s. He was a trapper and a drinker, and when he was drinking, he was very gullible. One night, when Paddy was feeling his drinks, a stranger told him about this hill where the otters liked to slide down into a pond. They hadn’t been caught because they were too smart. Paddy said they wouldn’t outsmart him – because he was Irish! So the stranger told Paddy where to find them.
“Paddy had this weird cart that he used for carrying his supplies; a wooden box with two wagon wheels attached, and two handles so he could pull or push it wherever he went. Apparently he walked fast, kind of half running, and they said it was funny to see him trotting along, pulling the cart behind him.
“The morning after the stranger told him about those otters, Paddy was waiting for the general store to open.
He loaded up his cart, stuffed his sleeping bag in the top, secured it all with rope, and set out. That was the last time Paddy was seen alive.
“Some years later, three hunters found his body on the other side of the otter slide, in what they thought was a shallow cave. They knew it was him because his cart was also there. Out of respect, they buried his remains a short distance away. Then they set his cart on top to mark the spot. When they returned to town, they reported the incident, and refused to talk about it again.”
Harry rubbed his chin. “Why haven’t I heard this story before?”
“You don’t believe,” Joe said.
Martin shrugged. “I doubt if many people remember it anymore.” He stood up. “My wife is waiting to go grocery shopping. If I remember anything else, Mr. Hogan, I’ll call you.”
“Good.” Harry handed him a business card.
“Nice chatting with you.” Martin tucked Harry’s card into his jacket pocket and walked away.
“Strange they refused to talk about it again,” Harry said. “Makes you wonder if they were hiding something.”
“Never know… all dead,” Joe said quietly. “Heard rumours.”
