Lonesome Pine’s abandoned schoolhouse hasn’t held a class in nearly two hundred years.
Boarded windows.
No trespassing signs hammered into every post.
Doors chained shut since before our grandparents’ grandparents walked these streets.
Most folks avoid it entirely.
Others swear it’s just a building with a bad draft.
But for the past three weeks, townspeople living near the west ridge have reported:
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reverb-heavy drum echoes, the kind with that sharp 80s snap
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a faint synth melody no one recognizes
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footsteps pacing the upper floor
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locker doors slamming though no one is there
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and, strangely enough… a strong smell of weed drifting from broken vents
Several teens passing by claim the music “sounds familiar, like something from an old movie,” though none of them can name it.
Given the increase in reports, the Gazette conducted a formal investigation.
PREPARATIONS AND EQUIPMENT
Following townsfolk recommendations (and Delbert’s insistence), we brought the standard frontier ghost-detection tools:
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an old brass compass that “spins when spirits are about”
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two copper dowsing rods said to twitch near energy
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a cracked lantern with blue glass, rumored to glow brighter around hauntings
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a wooden “spirit board” carved by the blacksmith — townsfolk call it a “wee-gee”
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and a hand-held static detector made by Buck, featuring loose wires, a tin box, and a coal battery that probably isn’t safe
All of it looks questionable at best, but in Lonesome Pine, superstition works twice as hard as science.
We entered the schoolhouse just after sundown.
INSIDE THE SCHOOLHOUSE
Dust thick as wool.
Cobwebs thick enough to snag a boot.
Broken desks stacked in corners.
Lockers rusted shut.
Hallways so cold our breath fogged even with the lantern lit.
The first strange thing we noticed was sound.
The building didn’t creak like old wood normally does.
Instead, the halls carried a distant electronic hum, soft and steady, like a memory replaying itself.
Across the second hallway, something echoed:
BOOM… tchack… BOOM… tchack…
That unmistakable 80s reverb snare, even though no drums existed within a mile of the place.
The compass spun.
The dowsing rods twitched like angry insects.
Buck’s static box clicked so loudly we thought it might burst.
We followed the sound toward the gym.
THE GHOSTLY FIGURES
The gym doors opened on their own.
Inside, we saw:
Seven transparent silhouettes
— faint as cigarette smoke, lit by moonlight through broken windows:
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A janitor with a mop he never finishes pushing
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A stern principal pacing with a clipboard
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Five teenage figures, each hanging around separate corners
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one sitting alone in the bleachers
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one leaning against a wall with crossed arms
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one dancing slowly to the unheard music
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one hunched over a notebook
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one staring directly at us
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None of them spoke.
None of them blinked.
Just lingering echoes of something unfinished.
The smell of weed rolled through the gym.
A door slammed upstairs.
Then the music shifted —
a warm, pulsing melody with that unmistakable 80s uplift, but distant, warped, and faint.
The janitor finally moved.
He looked at Johnny and said, clear as day:
“You’re late.”
The principal glanced over his shoulder:
“Detention’s not over yet.”
Then every figure turned toward us.
We backed out slowly.
THE SPIRIT BOARD SESSION
We decided to try the spirit board in the old cafeteria.
The plan was simple:
Ask who they were.
Ask why they stayed.
Ask what the music meant.
The plan did not go accordingly.
The board spelled out:
D O N T
Y O U
F O R G E T
M E
Then the lantern flickered out.
Footsteps scattered all around us —
too many for just two people to make.
A locker slammed in the next room.
Then another.
Then all of them in sequence, like metallic dominoes.
We left.
Quickly.
WHAT WE CAN CONFIRM
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The schoolhouse is not empty.
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The activity is strongest after sundown.
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The music has the exact reverb-heavy drum tone of an old 80s track — though no source exists.
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The ghostly figures appear to repeat familiar roles: janitor, principal, students.
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Something inside that building remembers people who are long gone.
Whether these are memories, spirits, echoes, or something stranger, we cannot yet say.
ADVICE TO THE TOWN
Do not enter the schoolhouse.
Do not follow the music.
Do not attempt your own investigation.
We will return once we gather more equipment
(and more courage).
Another report will follow soon.
NEXT ISSUE PREVIEW
Several residents near the east ridge say Ozthorn Highrider has been watching the schoolhouse from a distance,
as if waiting for something.
And we’ve begun hearing a new rumor —
something about a hole
in the ground
that isn’t supposed to be there.
Next week’s feature:
A stranger has been calling townsfolk from their sleep, asking if they “stand true” before stepping into the shadows.
We’ll have more on his square-headed hammer soon.
An Investigation Near the Ridge
Stay alert.
Stay aware.
Keep your lamps lit.
— Johnny & Emmy
The Coyote Gazette