No train has run on this railroad since the end of the Civil Warâa railroad built by the servitude to perfect evilâand its trusted tracks run right behind the house. Justin Collier expects his respite in Gast, Tennessee, to be relaxing if not a bit dull, but he will find out soon enough that those same train tracks once led to a place worse than Hell.
Welcome to the Gast House
A historical bed and breakfast or a monument to the obscene? Collier doesnât need to know the buildingâs rich history: women raped to death for sport, slaves beheaded and threshed into the soil, and pregnant teenagers buried alive. Who or what could mitigate such horrors over 150 years ago. And what is the atrocious connection between the old railroad and the house? Each room hides a new, revolting secret. At night, he can smell the mansionâs odors and hear itâs appalling whispers. Little girls giggle where there are no little girls, and out back, when Collier listens closely, he can hear the trainâs whistle and see the things chained up in its clattering prison cars. Little does he know, the mansion and the railroad arenât haunted by ghosts but an unspeakable carnality and a horror as palpable as excited human flesh.
No train has run on this railroad since the end of the Civil Warâa railroad built by the servitude to perfect evilâand its trusted tracks run right behind the house. Justin Collier expects his respite in Gast, Tennessee, to be relaxing if not a bit dull, but he will find out soon enough that those same train tracks once led to a place worse than Hell.
Welcome to the Gast House
A historical bed and breakfast or a monument to the obscene? Collier doesnât need to know the buildingâs rich history: women raped to death for sport, slaves beheaded and threshed into the soil, and pregnant teenagers buried alive. Who or what could mitigate such horrors over 150 years ago. And what is the atrocious connection between the old railroad and the house? Each room hides a new, revolting secret. At night, he can smell the mansionâs odors and hear itâs appalling whispers. Little girls giggle where there are no little girls, and out back, when Collier listens closely, he can hear the trainâs whistle and see the things chained up in its clattering prison cars. Little does he know, the mansion and the railroad arenât haunted by ghosts but an unspeakable carnality and a horror as palpable as excited human flesh.