The Inn on Goat Bog Lane

By Chanuga Rollins

 

It was the night before “Halloween” when Nick decided to leave the party early. The Halloween party was hosted by the Manahawkin chapter of the “Nomads” motorcycle club. 40 to 50 of his fellow brother bikers were still getting shit-faced inside. 

His friend Spider walked Nick out to his bike. Why are you leaving so early, Spider asked. Work, tomorrow’s Monday, Nick said. Besides we’ve been here since Friday, I think I drank myself sober Nick said. But why aren’t you leaving with me, Nick asked. Spider smiled because I don’t have a job, and they both laughed.

I’m going to stay here another night, I’m too wired to ride right now anyway Spider said, watch your ass going home my friend, don’t forget we have enemies.

The Nomads motorcycle club is a one percenter club with about 80 full-patched members and 30 prospects. The club has three chapters in New Jersey and growing. Within the last few months, the club has been having some issues over territory with some rival motorcycle clubs leading to several skirmishes, one of those involving a shooting.

Nick got on his bike and started it, then Spider asked him to hold on and ran over to his own motorcycle. Here take this Spider said, it was a 9mm pistol. No, I can’t, Nick said, but thank you, I’ll be ok. With that, the two men hugged, and Nick hit the road.  

A light rain was already falling when Nick got on the main highway and headed East. He hated the rain it was the one annoying thing about riding a motorcycle. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, and hopefully, in a little over an hour, he’ll be taking a hot shower at home.

Because daylight savings time ended over a week ago, it was already dark by the time Nick hit the pine barrens. He preferred sticking to the main highways but unfortunately, the rain has started to pick up and was making visibility a little bit more challenging.

Nick had to make a decision: If he stuck to the highway, he was more visible, so getting help would be easier if something happened. But there would also be more traffic, and people run over bikers all the time, especially in the rain.

But if he choose to go through the pine barrens there would be less traffic, in fact, this time of evening he would be pretty much alone on the road. The downside was going through the pine lands was dark and the roads were slippery, there were very few streetlights, and you also had to look out for wildlife, hard to do in the dark and the rain. But fuck it, Nick choose to go through the pines.

By now it was pouring rain as Nick took the Chatsworth exit. Chatsworth, New Jersey was your typical tiny town in the pine barrens. Where you could be through the town before you knew you were even in it.

Coming out of Chatsworth, Nick started to look for someplace where he could hold up for a while and get out of the rain, it was really coming down now and he was saturated.  

 Unfortunately, this area was very rural, and not many places to take refuge. The few homes that there were sat way back off the main road, and their owners wouldn’t take kindly to trespassers, especially ones that wore motorcycle club attire, bikers were not loved in these tiny communities. 

As Nick came around a bend in the road, he caught a glimpse of a sign that said, “Goat’s Bog Inn.” Less than a quarter mile down the road was another sign that said “Inn” with an arrow pointing down a tiny dirt road. A smaller sign that was nailed to a tree said, “Goat’s Bog Lane,” Nick thought to himself what the hell kind of name was that for a road? 

Trees on both sides lined the dirt road all the way up the hill making it a lot darker than it already was. Well fuck it Nick thought, this should be interesting as he made his way up the small dark dirt road.  

At the top of the hill was another sign, this one was bigger, and it said, “Welcome to the Goat’s Bog Inn.” The Inn of course was closed, and by the looks of it, it’s been closed for a few decades.

Nick circled the Inn on his motorcycle, the building was very rundown and overgrown with all kinds of vegetation. The doors and windows on the whole lower level were all boarded up so Nick couldn’t go inside. 

The front entrance of the Inn had a big circular driveway and to Nick’s surprise a temporary cover from the rain. Across the driveway was a three-sided shed that might have been used for storing firewood. It was in poor condition but at least the roof didn’t leak, Nick and his motorcycle fit into the space perfectly.        

He needed to get warm, so he ran into the woods to try and find something that he could burn, and just for a second, he looked up and admired the beauty of the Inn. Boy, I bet you were a beauty back in your day Nick thought. 

The Inn was an old farmhouse in the “Queen Anne Style,” it had three floors, and the place was huge. The Inn was also surrounded by woods, this place must have cost a fortune back in the day, he thought. Nick would have loved to go inside and explore the old building, but that was out of the question.

After gathering up some wood he got a good fire going and just laid-back waiting for the rain to stop. The old Inn looked creepy as hell, but he felt comfortable here as the fire crackled. Sitting down and leaning against his motorcycle Nick drifted off to sleep. 

When Nick woke up, he could hear music coming from inside the farmhouse, the song was “Penny Lane” by the Beatles, and it just kept playing over, and over again.

Nick stood up to find the farmhouse completely normal, no boards on the windows or on the doors, and the house was completely lit up, on all three floors. 

What the fuck is going on here, Nick thought out loud… But then he thought that maybe this place was a mob-run after-hours club or some shit like that.

It was time for him to go, the rain stopped but for some reason, Nick couldn’t find the keys to his motorcycle.

Where are my fucking keys, he said out loud getting frustrated, that’s when he heard loud arguing coming from inside the farmhouse, then he heard blood-curdling screams from a women.

Then he heard people running around the inn, lots of smacking sounds, things breaking, then more arguing and screaming. At this point, Nick just wanted to get the hell off of this property and back on the road, but his keys were nowhere to be found. 

What he heard next were people running down some steps, Nick looked up just in time to see the front doors of the farmhouse burst open and a young woman in a white flowing gown came running out of the inn and right towards Nick. As the young woman got closer, he could see blood.

Because it was so dark and overcast Nick could barely make out a second figure right behind the young woman it looked like a man, he was hitting her with something. As both figures got closer Nick could see that the man was dressed in all black and wearing what appeared to be a cape. What the fuck is this Nick thought.

The young woman came to rest right at Nick’s feet, her back was a bloody mess. As Nick’s eyes adjusted he could see the man’s face and what he was holding, it was an axe, and he raised it over his head walking towards Nick.

Hold on mother fucker, Nick screamed as he pulled out his Bowie knife, this however didn’t deter the man from approaching Nick. At this point Nick said fuck this and ran into the woods and down the hill leaving his beloved motorcycle behind. Running as fast as he could in the dark, Nick ignored the tree branches that were tearing up his clothes and his flesh. The only thing he cared about for the moment was getting as far away from that Inn as he could.

It seemed like it took forever for Nick to get to the bottom of that fucking hill where this nightmare began, he still couldn’t believe what he witnessed. Nick was wandering around on the roadway wondering what to do next when a New Jersey State Trooper came along and spotted him. Awe fuck, he muttered as the trooper put his overhead lights on.

The trooper jumped out of his car and drew his firearm, show me your hands he ordered! Ok, relax Nick told the trooper, putting his hands high in the air. Step towards my car and put your hands on the hood, the trooper ordered as he removed his handcuffs from his belt. Don’t move as he patted Nick down, what’s this tough guy removing the Bowie knife from its sheath.  It’s a fucking computer, what’s it look like Nick said. The non-smiling state trooper handcuffed Nick just as another trooper was pulling up.

The second trooper was a Sergeant, he was a little older more streetwise than the first one, who looked like he just got out of high school. How are you doing this evening Mr. May the trooper said reading his name off of his license, or do you prefer Nick? I’m good with Nick. Good, I’m Sergeant R.J. Salle, well Nick do you want to tell me why your all cut up.

Nick, although still shaken up proceeded to tell the sergeant about the murder that he just witnessed at the inn, and about him leaving his motorcycle at the Inn. The first trooper standing off to the side shook his head, bullshit, come on serge, this guy is probably high as a kite.

The Sergeant turned to the younger trooper giving him a cold stare, have you gone up there, the Sergeant asked? No, no I haven’t the Trooper replied. Well perhaps you should, the Sergeant said, have another unit meet you up there, I’ll take him to the station. Nick was searched then loaded into the  sergeant’s car and taken to the Tabernacle barracks.

At the State Police barracks the Sergeant asked Nick to have a seat, I trust if I take them cuffs off your going to be a gentleman. Of course, Sergeant I never was looking for trouble, Nick said. Nick glanced at the clock on the wall, it was after one in the morning, damn how long did I fall sleep for he thought.

The barracks was just one big room with about five desks divided into cubicles, there was also a hallway and several more doors. He was guessing interrogation rooms, maybe offices and I’m sure holding cells somewhere.   

 Nick couldn’t help but notice an old man occasionally staring at him, but when Nick stared back the old guy put his head down. How are you doing tonight Mr. May, I’m Detective Mark Hepner, can you come with me please, he took Nick to one of those rooms in the hallway.

I know that you already told sergeant Salle your story, but can you retell it to me. Nick once again went over what happened at the inn. So, let me get this straight you went up to the Inn to get out of the rain, fell asleep, then witnessed a murder, the detective paused.

The troopers that went up to the Inn found nothing there but your motorcycle, don’t you find that strange? The detective asked, ok let’s go back out here Nick, he lead him back out to the big room. Out there was the first trooper who handcuffed him, his name was Dangler, thanks for wasting our fucking time trooper Dangler said, I’m charging you with trespassing.

Relax trooper, how are you doing Mr. May, I’m Lieutenant Keaton, Detective Hepner told me what happened to you tonight, that’s quite an amazing story Mr. May especially since nothing was disturbed at the Inn, it’s boarded up just like it’s been for decades.

Come on level with us Nick, was it a gang thing, did your club try to kill you? Was that it? That’s it, Nick stood up, I’m not answering any more questions without a lawyer.

That’s when the old man who up until now was sitting quietly in the corner, got up and walked over to everyone, six state police officers, and Nick.

Gentleman, this guy is telling you the truth, we use to keep all the files in the back, but I know you don’t do that anymore or I would tell you to go get file 1967-8305. That’s my report on the “Goat’s Bog Inn.”

The old man turned to face everyone in the room, one or two of you know me but to the ones that don’t, I’m Mike. I’m a retired New Jersey state trooper. What Nick here is telling you is the truth.

I got out of the academy in March 1967, I was shuffled around the state filling in here and there, then an opening came up right here at the Tabernacle barracks. It was a lot closer to my home, so I took it. This station back then consisted of giving out speeding tickets, dealing with drunk drivers, accidents, and the occasional bar fight. 

But on October 30, 1967, I’ll never forget the date, most of the other troopers were busy that night. Heavy rain was creating havoc on the roads, and accidents were everywhere. I was the only one free to take the call to go to 13 Goat Bog Lane, the “Goats Bog Inn.” 

There wasn’t a whole lot of information to go on, it wasn’t like today, so I didn’t know what I was getting into. But as soon as I got to the bottom of the hill, right where they picked you up Nick, I could hear the song “Penny Lane” by the Beatles, that song played repeatedly. Yes, that’s the song that was playing when I woke up Nick said. As I approached the Inn, it was lit up like a freaking Christmas tree, but there was no visible sign of movement in the inn.  

Slowly I turned into the circular driveway, and that’s when I saw a pile of something on the ground. From in the car, I couldn’t make it out because of the rain so I put the patrol car in park and exited the vehicle. With my flashlight in one hand and my firearm in the other, I approached the pile, and slowly I started to make out what it was in front of me. What I saw almost made me throw up, the first victim was a female. The back of her head was almost caved in, and her rear torso was mutilated beyond belief. The second victim was a male, he was covered in blood and laying on the side of the female with an axe protruding from his forehead. 

I reported what I found and proceeded to go into the farmhouse looking for suspects. The farmhouse was in disarray, things broken and thrown all over, even the furniture. Within a few minutes, my backup showed up, and I immediately had the feeling that this was a domestic dispute that got out of control. But I kept my thoughts to myself, being new, I let the experts do their jobs. And a week later sure as shit I was right, it was ruled a murder/suicide.

 It also turned out that the state police have been to the Inn 12  times all for domestic violence calls. But nothing ever came of it because their respective families were rich and politically connected and no one ever pressed charges. 

This couple fought constantly, not just at home but in public. The couples’ names were Jean Phillips and Brent Knightsburg. Her family owned a 250-acre farm, and her dad was a state senator. If memory serves the Inn is part of those 250 acres, the place was a wedding present. 

The Knightburgs owned and operated “The Car Emporium” one of the biggest car dealerships on the east coast. So, marriage was sort of pushed onto the young couple, even though their relationship was toxic. 

Jean and Brent were married in August, like I said the Inn was a wedding present, Jean had always wanted a bed-and-breakfast. Brent was going to work in his families business. On October 30^th the young couple went to a costume party that was hosted by a friend of theirs. Jean went as a ghost; she wore a huge white flowing gown and a white mask. Brent dressed as Jack the Ripper, black hat, cape, and clothes; he also wore a black mask.   

Brent Knightsburg was considered by all a spoiled brat that was obnoxious, controlling, and extremely jealous of his new bride. She in turn loved getting him all worked up by flirting with other guys right in his face. At the party that night a fight broke out between the couple, a man that Jean was flirting with slapped the shit out of Brent after he hit his wife. 

Brent stormed out of the party leaving his young bride stranded there. Nobody knows for sure where Brent went after the party, but according to witnesses his wife did, in fact, leave with the guy that Brent had encountered. Witnesses also claim that Jean Knightsburg was seen at a local motel with this man from the party, but it’s never been confirmed.

Everything between 9:20pm and 11:00pm is of course speculation… But the first call to the state police came in at 11:15pm, a cousin of Jean’s who was also at the party was concerned that no one at the Inn was answering the phone. That’s when I got the call and went to the Inn and discovered the bodies in the circular driveway. 

It was my first murder/suicide as a state trooper. I stayed on at the Tabernacle station for the next five years or so, and I’ve answered many calls about weird things going on at the Inn after the murders. It’s called a residual hunting, it’s like a movie that just keeps playing. And by the way, Brent Knighsburg wasn’t coming at you with the axe. If you had stuck around, you would have witnessed him committing suicide. But don’t feel bad, nobody ever stuck around to see that part of it, they all hauled ass into the woods just like you did, the old man said with a smile. 

I retired from the state police in 1992, and that night at the Inn was the most gruesome crime scene that I’ve ever witnessed as a state trooper, Mike said.

Nick May, you are free to go, thank Mike here for your charges being dropped. Now go get your motorcycle and go home the Lieutenant said, and after tonight stay away from that Inn.

Mike, bad news, your Grandson is stuck on the Turnpike after a multi-vehicle crash that just occurred. He’s probably going to be stuck out there for the rest of his shift, so you guys may want to catch up another time, the Lieutenant said.

So, what about me, Nick said… What about you what? Trooper Hepner said. Can I get a lift back to the Inn so I can get my motorcycle? Nick asked. No, call a fucking “Uber” trooper Hepner said. What a prick, Nick thought.

Come on kid, I’ll give you a lift Mike said, he and Nick left the station. The two men didn’t really have much to say to one another on the ride to the Inn, it was a long night. Once at the Inn, Nick sat in the old man’s car for a moment… Wow, all that really happened here Nick said. Yep, Mike replied, sometimes things leave bits of their ugly past. 

That couple should have never been married, to begin with, that relationship was toxic right from the beginning Mike said. Thanks for the lift, Nick said, and thanks for getting me out of all that. Don’t mention it, kid, you be safe going home Mike said as he drove off. Oh fuck, my keys, he almost called out for Mike to come back, but there hanging on a nail in the old shed were Nick’s keys, funny thing was that he didn’t remember putting them there. 

He started his motorcycle and as he pulled out of the Inn, he could have sworn that a young woman was staring at him from an upstairs window, fuck this place Nick said as he drove off.

The end.

Copyright 2021