[Wind over empty lot, distant clock ticking stops at 9] So I did some digging. Like Denise did in that basement. Back in Thomaston, Alabama. August 16, 1904. A man named Rufus Lesseur, 24 years old. A woman said a man entered her home and frightened her. Someone said a hat belonged to him. That was enough. No trial. No jury. No justice. They locked him in a little makeshift jail in the woods, and at 3 in the morning, a mob broke in and took him【6904920686178376420†L17-L19】. That's the real record. The one they didn't scratch out all the way. Every town got a clock tower that don't keep time. Every town got a tree that won't grow leaves. Every town got a barren lot where grass won't grow. We tell it as a ghost story so our kids will listen. But the ghost ain't the scary part. The scary part is how easy it was. So this story... Shadows of the Old Courthouse... is for Rufus. And for the ones whose names we lost when they scratched out the files. And for the trees that remembered when people tried to forget. If you ever pass that barren lot where the Trailways used to be... and it's raining... You tip your hat. And you remember. Because some clocks stop at 9... so we never forget what time it was. [10 seconds of silence, then one single clock chime]
