I, of course, do not own the story of the Bell witch but I have taken creative liberties here. Much liberties seeing as I don't know if a Mrs. Bell grew hyacinths...maybe it's pansies. One will never know lol.

Hope you enjoy this! I'd love any feed back.

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There is a legend passed down through the families of Adams, Tennessee, that close to two centuries ago the Bell family was plagued by a series of mysterious events. The family was said to be plagued by a creature with the body of dog and the head of a rabbit (thought to be a witch's familiar). After John Bell Sr. had shot the creature one night, the family began experiencing strange scratching and growling noises at night. Several nights afterwards their youngest daughter, Betsy Bell, started to experience noises in her bedroom. The spirit started getting stronger and stronger as the nights grew on. It had gotten to a point that the family had to call in a local priest but that only seemed to provoke the spirit. It started to harass Betsy by moving and throwing various objects in her room. Sadly the family didn't believe her tales and screams of horror during the night to be true and the priest was present only to try to force the daughter to see that she was just imagining the ordeal. One night her screams became too much for the family to bare and they rushed into the room only to find Betsy hanging from the ceiling. Hanging as though a tall man was holding her by the wrists. Only there was no man, there was only Betsy in the room. Her mother suddenly collapsed to the floor, not able to believe the sight of an invisible hand that slaps her daughter's face over and over again. Soon after the family moved Betsy down into the family room so they may watch over her. Sadly that didn't seem to help. Betsy went into fits as soon as night fell and the strange scratching and growls could be heard throughout the house. One night Mr. Bell grabbed his gun out of desperation and ran out of the door determined to hunt down the creature that was tormenting his family. That was the last time they ever saw him alive.

They say that during the funeral the Bell Witch laughed and taunted the pastor. So much so that the ceremony was the last he did before leaving the town of Adams as quickly as he could, in fear of bringing the Bell curse upon himself.

Now the story is but a tale that mothers tell their children if they misbehave. Tales of how the Bell Witch would steal them away at night and do terrible things to them. And it's just a story, right?

It was 1935 and the descendants of the Bells still lived on the estate of course. It had been in the family for generations and all was peaceful. They knew that something besides living was in the house due to the odd thing being taken from one room and showing up in another. Sometimes even chairs moved around of their own accord in the dinning-room. That was…until Mrs. Bell found some bones of what she thought was a dog buried in the garden she was tending to. Just thinking it was an old pet, she found a clean cloth and took all the bones she could find and made a little bundle. Later that night she showed the bones to her husband saying that she couldn't stand the thought of her hyacinths growing over top of this poor creature and asked Mr. Bell to take the bones to a local pet cemetery.

Not wanting to argue he did just that the next day on his way to work. He dropped off the bones at the cemetery and described how his wife had come across it. The grounds keeper took the box Mr. Bell had placed the bones in gingerly, asking if that's what he really wanted to do. Perplexed by old Mr. Watson's hesitation he said that he didn't really care what he did with the bones. As long as they were off his property and away from his wife's garden he didn't really care. Mr. Watson stood looking at the box, a slight tremor in his body. Before he was able to discuss further Mr. Bell left saying he should mark the new grave with a small cross. Enough to show respect but nothing too fancy.

Left to his own devises old Mr. Watson took the bundle as far as he could on the plot of land that was his cemetery and buried it with the utmost respect. Making sure to leave plenty of light left in the day to make it home safely.

That night the Bells were eating dinner when they started hearing this odd growling outside. Mr. Bell took it upon himself to check it out, if only for their peace of mind. He couldn't find any creature though, even though it sounded like it was just outside. The nights that followed only got worst. The growls grew louder and something started scratching on the door and windows at night. Soon after objects started flying towards the couple at night. Mr. Bell bought a few groceries and was driving home in his old truck one night and he could have sworn that as soon as he hit the property he could hear this otherworldly laugh. It just didn't sound right. Didn't sound entirely human.

That night was the last night that any one ever saw the Bells. Rumors have it that they killed themselves in desperation to rid themselves of the spirits. Others say it's the spirit of the Bell Witch who killed them. No bodies were ever found and no rational cause of their disappearance was ever found by the local authorities.

Even now no one really knows what happened that fateful night. The house, as well as the property, has fallen into disarray. The house looks like it's barely held together. No one has been willing to live on that property since the "accident". And the legend that is Bell Witch has slowly left the minds of the people of Adams, Tennessee. Only the odd thrill seeker or claimed ghost hunter has dared walk near the house. They say that even now, late at night, one can hear the cackle of the Witch deep within the forest on windy nights on the Bell Estate.

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Well there you go. The prologue to this story. Hope you guys like it, and I thought I'd throw in a bit of Chapter 1 so you guys have a bit more to chew on until I'm able to update again.

Chapter 1

"…one can hear the cackle of the Witch deep within the forest on windy nights on the Bell Estate." Chris finished reading his submission to Mr. Wallace, G for George, Wilconson, the chef and editor of the Sunset Herald. "Well how do you like that?" He looked up at Wallace, taking a swig from the glass of water that was on Mr. G's desk.

Taking one look at Chris would say that he's nervous, but nervous wouldn't describe what he was really feeling. It was more like a mixture of nervousness and fear. He hated Wallace's room because it always made him feel this way. Mr. G always had this way of making sure that everything was spotless and in its place. He was probably Tide or Swiffer's Man of the Year (If they had such a reward). The place was too neat, too perfect. It always reminded him of a hospital room more than an editor of the local newspaper's room. Though it probably didn't help that he had spent the last week trying to come up with a good topic and spent writing and re-writing his submission. Chris ran a hand through his dirty brown hair. He had stayed up the whole night trying to make his work perfect enough but it felt like he had a couple of anvils resting on his eyes.

"Well I'm not going to lie to you Chris," Wallace started.

Uh huh, this isn't going to be good.

"The over all concept is fine but I'm just not feeling the story. You know what I mean right?"

"I thought I presented it finely. To the point, covers the story without killing it-"

"But does it really draw people in?" Wallace cut in, "It's great and all that you pulled out Wikipedia and a few websites you found on Google but you don't have any quotes. Nothing here from first hand experience. Nothing."

Chris leaned back in his chair; "I get the feeling this is going somewhere."

"I'll get Emily to make a few calls and send you out to this witch place as soon as possible."

Chris perked up a bit hearing her name. He had spent a couple of not so lonely nights with her and the feelings came flooding back to him. That was until he remembered hearing Wallace here getting it on with her in this very room late one night. "What ever you say, pooky."

Wallace slammed his hands down hard on the table, knocking Chris's glass of water over. "You're walking on a fine line there Chris. You know as much as I that I don't particularly like you. But I have no choice but to publish you're new-age, mumbo jumbo, garbage because you're Dad is the head of the company. If it were up to me you're sorry ass would be out on that curb. But I digress. You just keep that mouth of yours closed and get a decent story."

Chris rose from his chair calmly and picked up his coat and bag, " I'll be waiting for that call there. But remember that I'm not the only one walking on thin ice." With that he left Wallace's perfect little office.