My great uncle, Lucas ‘Lucky’ Nieman, used to own an Inn. But, the story behind why he became the owner of this particular Inn, is not one of those ‘good ole American dream’ stories. Oh no, it’s one of darkness, and sleepless nights, and pain.
Back in 1928, he was a 17 year old kid, up to no good. But, not the no good you and I are used to, no, he was bat-stinkin’ bad. His evil ways eventually had him sentenced to jail. But not just any jail, no, he went to one for extremely dangerous criminals.
At this time, the state became responsibly for him, and the state was not really interested in rehabilitating their inmates. Criminals were not treated humanely. They were seen as rodents or as vermin. Their treatment was horrendous, but no one cared back then, it was expected, and never challenged.
Eventually, all the jails housing criminals became overcrowded and, the state had to keep outfitting farmhouses and colonial homes to hold these most dangersous inmates. This Inn was one of those jails. It was home to the 7 most criminally accused, at least that is what the state said. One of those 7 people was my great Uncle Lucas.
Oh, but that’s not the scary part – this is: the next year the great depression hit, and people lost their jobs, their homes, and the state had no money. Since these criminals were not considered important, the funding for these outfitted jails was cut. So, the powers that be decided that those particular inmates being housed in those old farmhouses could not be let back on the streets. They would be kept locked up, so everyone would be safe. And, that’s what they did. On the last day this house was staffed, October 31st, 1929, the last staff on-duty handcuffed each person to their bed, boarded up all the doors and windows, and then left– for good.
Thirty days later, the state sent out a clean up crew to dispose of the dead, but when they got here, only 6 bodies were found. The 7th, unaccounted for body was my great uncle, Lucas; and, from that moment on he was known to others as Lucky.
You see, Uncle Lucky, evil as he was, wasn’t stupid. He knew he had to get out or he would die. But how did he escape and and why was no one else that lucky? He couldn’t break the handcuffs, so he finally realized the only way out would be to crush most of the bones in his left hand, so he could slide his hand through the cuffs. It was too late to save anyone else. The torture they had suffered prior to being left to die was just too much on their bodies.
After escaping this place of torture, Uncle Lucky found all the people working at the house for the state that had tortured him and the others, and he returned the favor. Except he did not leave them for dead. He tortured and murdered them. If it was okay for them to do it to him and the other 6 lost souls, then it was okay, in Uncle Lucky's mind, for them to meet their fate the same way. Uncle Lucky had no remorse for his actions. What he did was justified and right.
About 15 years later, he had saved up enough money to buy this old now abandoned house. He wanted to turn this dark place into something positive, and honor those who died years before. He decided to renovate the place and turned it into an Inn, a place where people could come and enjoy life. But this dream of running an Inn would last for only a short time. You see, those 6 old souls never left this building. They haunted Uncle Lucky and convinced him that the people checking into his Inn were out to get him and that anyone who checked in must be done away with or else he too would meet the same fate as they did back in 1929.
We have a room reserved for you at the “Un-Lucky Inn”. We await your arrival.