Scary Stories II

[baha]

1. The Ghost that Followed Me Home
2. Never Mind Them Watermelons
3. Piece-by-Piece
4. Wait Until Emmet Comes
5. You can't get out
6. The Doctor and the Ghost
7. The Ghosts of Ringwood Manor
8. The Ghost Pilots of Times Square
9. The Grave
10. I'm All Right
11. The Lady in Lace
12. The Lady in Red
13. Ocean-Born Mary
14. Palatine
15. The Phantom Lovers of Dismal Swamp
16. Spuyten Duyvil
17. The Trapper's Ghost
18. The White Horse
19. The White House Ghosts
20. The White Lady
21. Who Calls?
22. Bloody Bones
23. Bloody Mary
24. Cow's Head
25. Dancing with the Devil
26. The Death Waltz
27. The Devil On Washington Rock
28. The Goblin of Easton
29. The Melt Shop
30. Moll DeGrow
All by S.E. Schlosser

[baha]

The Ghost That Followed Me Home
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


I have a fascination with genealogy, which is what started all the trouble. My next-door neighbor and I were fellow hobbyists, and we often supported each others search for long-lost ancestors. We would spend hours pouring over stacks of dusty country records, wandering through poison-ivy strewn graveyards, and getting lost on back lanes trying to find the homes of retirees who remembered what our forbearers were like way back when.

On this particular day, we were traveling to a distant graveyard which conveniently happened to contain the graves of ancestors from both of our (completely unrelated) families. Cheryl's great-great-aunt and her other kin were quite easy to find, but we had to search high and low before we found the tomb of my third-cousin-once-removed, one Samuel Beauregard Smith. I took a rubbing, recorded his information into one of my copious notebooks, and then stood examining the fancy stone for a few moments.

"No expense spared here," I said to Cheryl.

"Either someone really loved him, or someone was glad to see him go," Cheryl agreed with a grin. "Do you have any idea which it was?"

"Nope. I just found out about his existence last Friday," I replied.

We packed up our stuff after that, lunched at a quaint little tea house in the vicinity, and then went home. The early evening proceeded normally; at least, it did until I heard the squeak the front door made when it opened. I knew I had shut the door firmly when I came in, and I was pretty sure I'd locked it, but when I went into the hallway, the door was wide open, as if someone had just walked in.

Behind me Soot, my black cat, started to purr. She walked delicately toward the front door and started twining herself around and around, as if she were rubbing against someone's legs in greeting. But there was no one there. My arms broke out in goose bumps, and I hastily shooed Soot away and closed the door. The cat continued to purr and leisurely walked into the living room, as if she were dogging the footsteps of some invisible presence.

In the living room, Terry, my ancient fox terrier, huffed a greeting to a very-empty-looking spot in the middle of the room, thumping his tail a few times before settling back down in his basket to snooze. I hurried away to the kitchen to do something normal - like the supper dishes - and then went right to bed, telling myself I was being over imaginative and silly.

The next morning, some of the cabinets were open, as if someone had been searching through them, looking for breakfast food. Pretending that I must have left them open last night (I hadn't), I closed them, and ignored Soot's purred greeting to someone who just happened to be occupying the empty chair across from mine as I ate some cold cereal and got ready for work. I also pretended not to see the unfolded newspaper on the kitchen table as I grabbed my keys and I absolutely did not see one of the pages start to turn as I walked out the back door.

For almost two weeks, I ignored the invisible person living in the house with me, although he (it felt like a he) drove me crazy, leaving cabinets open, scuffling up the rugs, rearranging the furniture to suit his fancies, and forgetting to turn off lights. But when he started whistling off-key, I'd had enough.

I'd told Cheryl about my unwanted guest. She'd been reluctant to believe me, until she came over one morning and found someone invisibly reading the newspaper. After that, she gave me the name of a psychic, and I gave the woman a call.

Cheryl wanted to be here when the psychic arrived, but she was called over to her daughter's house to baby sit, and so she missed out on the grand entrance. The psychic was a nice, normal looking brunette who stiffened as soon as she entered the house and said: "Yes, you do have a ghost," before I'd even had a chance to take her coat.

We sat down in the living room, and the psychic quickly made contact with the spirit. And what do you know? It was Samuel Beauregard Smith. Apparently, he'd seen me visiting the graveyard, and decided I reminded him of his first wife, so he'd followed me home.

"I'm flattered," I said carefully, "but it isn't seemly for a widow to be sharing her home with a bachelor such as yourself."

As the psychic relayed my message to the ghost, I heard Cheryl's car pulling into her driveway, and knew she would be over any minute.

"Samuel has agreed to leave the house," the psychic said. I wondered where his spirit usually resided, but decided it would not be appropriate to ask such a personal question. A moment later, a feeling of emptiness filled the room. "Samuel is gone," the psychic told me.

After thanking the psychic and paying her for her services, I escorted her to the front door, just in time to see Cheryl hurrying up the front walk. The two women nodded to each other as they passed, and then Cheryl burst into the hallway.

"Was that the psychic? What did she say? And who was the old-fashioned man with the white mustache who came out your front door just as I was pulling into my driveway?"

My mouth dropped open in shock. Closing it, I swallowed and sat down rather abruptly.

"What is it? What did I say?" asked Cheryl, alarmed by my pallor.

"Nothing," I said, slowly beginning to grin. "You just saw Samuel Beauregard Smith leaving the house at my request."

Now it was Cheryl's turn to sit abruptly. "Samuel Beauregard Smith?" she asked incredulously. "That third cousin of yours with the fancy tombstone?"

I nodded.

"I just saw his ghost?" she said.

"You just saw his ghost," I confirmed.

For the first time since we'd met, Cheryl was speechless.

I laughed suddenly and got up. "It will be nice to have my house to myself again," I told her, and went to the kitchen to make us some tea.

[baha]

Never Mind Them Watermelons
retold by

S. E. Schlosser


Well now, old Sam Gibb, he didn't believe in ghosts. Not one bit. Everyone in town knew the old log cabin back in the woods was haunted, but Sam Gibb just laughed whenever folks talked about it. Finally, the blacksmith dared Sam Gibb to spend the night in the haunted log cabin. If he stayed there until dawn, the blacksmith would buy him a whole cartload of watermelons. Sam was delighted. Watermelon was Sam's absolute favorite fruit. He accepted the dare at once, packed some matches and his pipe, and went right over to the log cabin to spend the night.

Sam went into the old log cabin, started a fire, lit his pipe, and settled into a rickety old chair with yesterday's newspaper. As he was reading, he heard a creaking sound. Looking up, he saw that a gnarled little creature with glowing red eyes had taken the seat beside him. It had a long, forked tail, two horns on its head, claws at the ends of its hands, and sharp teeth that poked right through its large lips.

"There ain't nobody here tonight except you and me," the creature said to old Sam Gibb. It had a voice like the hiss of flames. Sam's heart nearly stopped with fright. He leapt to his feet.

"There ain't going to be nobody here but you in a minute," Sam Gibb told the gnarled creature. He leapt straight for the nearest exit - which happened to be the window - and hi-tailed it down the lane lickety-split. He ran so fast he overtook two rabbits being chased by a coyote. But it wasn't long before he heard the pounding of little hooves, and the gnarled creature with the red eyes caught up with him.

"You're making pretty good speed for an old man," said the creature to old Sam Gibb.

"Oh, I can run much faster than this," Sam Gibb told it. He took off like a bolt of lightning, leaving the gnarled creature in the dust. As he ran passed the smithy, the blacksmith came flying out of the forge to see what was wrong.

"Never mind about them watermelons," Sam Gibb shouted to the blacksmith without breaking his stride.

Old Sam Gibb ran all the way home and hid under his bed for the rest of the night. After that, he was a firm believer in ghosts and spooks, and he refused to go anywhere near the old cabin in the woods.

[baha]

Piece-by-Piece
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


There once was a crazy ghost over Poughkeepsie way that got folks so plumb scared that nobody would stay more than one night in its house. It was a nice old place, or was, until the ghost began making its presence known. It got so no one would enter the house, not even kids on a dare, and you know what they are like!

Now when my friend Joe heard a fancy old house in Poughkeepsie was selling dirt cheap, he decided to go have a look. He asked me about it and I told him about the spook, but Joe just laughed. "I don't believe in ghosts," he said and went to visit the agent selling the house.

Well, the agent gave Joe a key, but refused to look at the old house with him, which should have told Joe something. But Joe's a stubborn man who won't listen to reason. He even waited until after dark to visit the house for the first time, just to prove his point.

Joe got to the house around nine p.m. and he entered the front hallway. It was a large entrance and well-proportioned, but neglected-looking, with creepy cobwebs and dust everywhere. As Joe paused near the door to get his bearings, he heard a thump from the top of the staircase facing him. A glowing leg appeared out of nowhere and rolled down the steps, landing right next to Joe's feet. Joe gasped out loud and stood frozen to the spot. An arm appeared and rolled down to meet the leg. Next came a foot, then another arm, then a hand. Glowing pieces of body kept popping into existence and plummeting down the steps towards Joe.

Joe held his ground a lot longer than anyone else ever had, but when a screaming head appeared at the top of the steps and started rolling towards him, Joe had had enough. With a shriek that could wake the dead - those that weren't already up and haunting the house that is - Joe ran for his life; out of the house, out of the street, and right out of town, leaving his car behind him.

He called me the next day and asked me to drive his car down to the hotel where he had spent the night. Joe was headed back to Manhattan and refused to come within fifty miles of Poughkeepsie ever again. The agent gave up trying to sell the house after that, and the house fell into ruin and was eventually torn down.

[baha]

Wait Until Emmet Comes
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


A preacher was riding to one of the churches on his circuit when darkness fell. It was about to storm, and the only house nearby was an old mansion which was reputed to be haunted. The preacher clutched his Bible and said: "The Lawd will take care o' me".

He went into the mansion just as the storm broke. He put his horse into the barn and made his way into the house. The door was unlocked. He went into a large room which contained a fireplace that filled one wall. There was wood laid for a fire. He laid a match to it. Then the preacher sat down to read his Bible.

Gradually, the fire burnt down to a heap of coals as the storm howled around the mansion. The preacher was roused from his reading by a sound. He looked up from his Bible. A very large, black cat was stretching itself. Then it walked to the fire and sat down among the red hot coals. It picked a coal up in its paw and licked it slowly. The cat got up, shook of the ashes, and walked to the foot of the preacher's chair. It fixed blazing yellow eyes upon him, black tail lashing and said quietly: "Wait until Emmet comes".

The preacher jumped from Genesis to Matthew in shock. He had never heard of a cat talking before. Nervously he kept reading his Bible, muttering to himself, "The Lawd will take care o' me."

Two minutes later, another cat came into the room. It was black as midnight, and as large as the biggest dog. It lay down among the red-hot coals, lazily batting them with enormous paws. Then it walked over to the other cat and said: "What shall we do with him?"

The first cat replied: "We should not do anything until Emmet comes".



The two cats, black as midnight, sat watching the preacher, who read through the Gospels at top speed, aware of blazing yellow eyes watching him.

A third cat, big as a tiger, entered the room. It went to the fire full of red-hot coals and rolled among them, chewing them and spitting them out. Then it came to the other two cats facing the preacher in the chair.

"What shall we do with him?" it growled to the others.

"We should not do anything until Emmet comes," the other cats replied together.

The preacher flipped to Revelation, looking furtively around the room. He closed the Bible and stood up.

"Goo'night cats. I is glad of yo' company, but when Emmet comes, you done tell him I been heah and went."

[baha]

You can't get out
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


One dark, windy night, the town drunk was meandering his way home after the bar closed. Somehow he got turned around and ended up walking through the churchyard instead of taking the road home.


The wind picked up and he thought he could hear a voice calling his name. Suddenly, the ground opened up in front of him, and he fell down, down into an open grave! He could hear the voice clearer now, calling to him. He knew it was the devil, coming for him just like the preacher said, on account of him being the town drunk.


The hole was very deep and inside it was pitch black. His eyes adjusted to the darkness after a few moments, and he made out a form sitting in the darkness with him. It called his name, and he scrambled away in fear, trying to climb out of that terrible grave. Then the figure spoke. "You can't get out," it said.


The drunk gave a shout of pure terror and leapt straight up more than six feet. He caught the edge of the hole in his hands, scrambled out, and ran for home as fast as he could go.


Inside the open grave, his neighbor Charlie sighed in resignation. He'd fallen into the hole a few minutes before his friend and had thought that together they might help each other climb out. Now he was going to have to wait until morning and get the mortician to bring him a ladder.

[baha]

The Doctor and the Ghost
retold by
S. E. Schlosser

Little Simeon came running into the surgery. He bent over, winded, and gasped desperately several times before he could speak.

"Doc. Doc! My paw got strychnine poison in his thumb. We amputated it right away, but the poison is still moving up his arm. You gotta come quick!"

The doctor grabbed his medical bag and hustled out the door immediately. It took but a moment to saddle the mare, and he swung the boy up in front of him and galloped out of the yard and down the road towards the Houd place, which was two miles away.

Simeon the elder was lying on his bed being attended by his wives and a large number of his children.

"Doctor, you must help me," Simeon gasped, waving the stump of his thumb at the doctor. "The strychnine is up to my shoulder. If it gets in my vitals, I will die."

His wives started wailing, and all the children echoed them so there was a tremendous noise in the room. The doctor held up his hands and shouted: "Be assured my sisters and brothers, that God has sent me in good time to cure Brother Simeon. With my Thomsonian medicines to aid his recovery, Brother Simeon will soon be well."

His words calmed the family. After repeated reassurances, Simeon's wives bustled out of the room followed by the children, leaving the doctor room to work. As the doctor treated Simeon with the first dose of medicine, he could smell dinner being prepared and hear the voices of Simeon's children doing their homework around the kitchen table.

When the doctor descended the stairs, Simeon's wives came out of the kitchen, and asked him to stay to dinner. He declined regretfully, having other patients to see that evening. But before he left he gave them careful instructions on the care of Simeon, and told them he would be by tomorrow to give Simeon another dose of the special tonics.

The doctor visited Simeon every morning and night for four days, giving him a thorough case of Thomsonian medicines each visit. By the fourth day, Simeon was so much better that the doctor determined that the poison had been checked. Deciding that no more treatment was necessary, he declared Simeon well and went home, well satisfied with the successful recovery of his patient.

Two nights later, the doctor was awakened from a deep sleep by a bright light shining right in his eyes. He sat up quickly, shading his eyes. At first he thought that he had overslept. But the light was not coming from the window. As his eyes adjusted to the brilliance, he saw a woman dressed in white standing at the foot of the bed. She was surrounded by a heavenly light, and she glowed within as well. The doctor gasped in fear and huddled underneath his bedclothes.

"Do not be afraid," the spirit said in a kind voice. The doctor took heart at her words. He withdrew his head from the covers and looked right at the glowing woman.

"I have been sent to you from the other world," the woman said.

"Who are you?" The doctor asked.

"In life, I was called Sally Ann. I was a cousin to Sisters Thompson and Smith."

"Why have you been sent here?" asked the doctor.

"I have been sent to tell you that Brother Simeon will die of strychnine poisoning if you do not double your diligence."

The doctor swallowed guiltily, remembering his pride in having cured Brother Simeon. One of the earliest lessons he had learned was how pride goeth before destruction. Yet here he was falling into the same trap.

He thanked the ghost for her warning and promised to go to Brother Simeon at daybreak. Satisfied, the ghost vanished and the room was in darkness once more.

The next morning the doctor went to Brother Simeon's house and recommenced his treatment. Simeon confessed to the doctor that he had begun having trouble with his arm again, but was unsure whether or not it was serious enough to call him out. The doctor continued dosing his patient with the Thomsonian medicine until Simeon was completely well.

Brother Simeon lived for another twenty-five years in good health, for which he credited the doctor and his Thomsonian medicine. As for Sisters Thomson and Smith, they recognized the doctor's description of the ghost at once. It was their cousin Sally Ann Chamberlain from Nauvoo, who had died fourteen years before.

[baha]

The Ghosts of Ringwood Manor
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


Ringwood Manor you say? A lovely old house. But no place, my child, to go on a dark night with no moon. Built in the 1700's, the original house was a collection of smaller buildings patched together to create a Manor. The current Manor House was built by Martin Ryerson in 1807.

Ringwood Manor was the home of General Erskine, who ran the Iron Works. General Erskine was a Geographer and Surveyor-General for General George Washington during the Revolutionary War. What does that mean? It means, dear, that he made maps. General Erskine died of pneumonia during the war and was buried at the Manor.

Ringwood Manor overlooks a small pond. It is surrounded by truly lovely grounds, which are perfect for a ramble - in the daytime.

But at night…

Well, love, it is at night that the ghost's walk.

Where? My, you are a curious child! Well, there are three different places that are said to be haunted. If you wander the halls of the Manor House at night, you might meet the ghost of a housemaid who haunts a small bedroom on the second floor. They say she was beaten to death in this room. Whether there is any truth to it, I don't know. But my friends tell me they have heard noises coming from the empty room - footsteps, sounds of heavy objects dropping, soft crying. And they keep finding the bedroom door ajar and the bed rumpled.

The other ghosts? Well, back behind the Manor pond is the grave where General Erskine is buried. The local people are afraid to come to this place because at dusk General Erskine can be seen sitting on his grave gazing across the pond.

And it is said there is an unmarked grave filled with the remains of French soldiers who fought with Rochambeau during the Revolutionary War. During the day, all you can see is a depression in the grass near the General's grave. But after dark, the dead come to the Manor pond to walk along the shore. Sometimes, you can hear soft, sad voices speaking in French.

So go ahead and visit Ringwood Manor. Ramble its lovely grounds and explore all you want. Just be sure to be home before dark.

[baha]

The Ghost Pilots of Times Square
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


He had just graduated from Harvard University and was living in Manhattan. He loved the city and was beginning to feel at home on its streets. World War II was raging in Europe, and like all other good citizens, he followed the headlines daily and did his part for the boys overseas.

Hugging his jacket close, he stood shivering at the corner, waiting for the light to change and wondering where his enlisted friends might be staying on that cold winter night. He hoped they were safe. He shivered, only partially from the cold, and looked around him at the bright lights of Times Square. He never tired of this glittering scene.

His eye was caught by two men who were dressed in the uniforms of the Royal Air Force of England. They must be on leave, he thought. The men stopped beside him, glanced quickly at their watches, and then nodded and grinned at him. The taller of the two asked him, in the clipped accent of the British, if this was Times Square. He suppressed a smile at such a touristy question and said that it was.

The light changed, and the two RAF pilots fell into step with the Harvard graduate as he crossed the street. The three men fell into conversation together as they meandered along the shining streets. The Brits were thrilled to be in Times Square after all they had suffered in the war. They didn't go into detail about their wartime experiences, and he didn't press them. He just enjoyed their pleasure in the scene, which was marred only by the frequent checking of their watches. Finally, he asked if they had someplace to be, but they said they were free for the evening. He promptly invited them to have dinner with him at the Harvard Club, and the RAF pilots accepted with alacrity.

The three men repaired immediately to the Harvard Club, where they dined leisurely and chatted late into the evening. The RAF pilots were good company and told many stories, although they glossed over their experiences in the war. They continued to check their watches frequently throughout the night, but he decided it was just a nervous habit they had picked up somewhere - possibly in the air force.

As midnight approached, the two RAF pilots excused themselves are rose from the table. They thanked the Harvard man for a memorable evening and started for the door. Then the tall pilot turned back and told their host that they had always wanted to visit Times Square, but never had the opportunity. It was strange, the pilot added, that they had to wait until after they were dead - killed in action when their planes were shot down the night before over Berlin - to fulfill this dream.

The Harvard man stiffened, his eyes widening incredulously and his mouth falling open in shock. He gasped but could not speak. The phantom RAF pilot smiled sardonically at him, nodded, and joined his friend in the doorway. Then the pilots vanished before the astonished man's eyes, just at the stroke of twelve midnight.

[baha]

The Grave
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


A young woman lay suffering on her deathbed, her stillborn baby lying against her chest. Her young husband crouched close, stricken with grief. His beautiful wife crooned a lullaby to her dead baby, her voice growing fainter as death drew near. Finally, she looked at her husband and asked him to bury her back East, beside her dead mother. Choked with grief, the young husband agreed.

But after his wife lay still in death, her husband could not bear to be parted from her and their dead child. He had them buried together beneath a lonely pine tree on a gently sloping knoll near their home, where he could visit the grave. As spring drew near, fragrant wildflowers bloomed across the knoll and the small grave.

One night, the husband threw himself across the flower-strewn grave, head buried in his arms as he tried to control his grief. As he lay there, the stillness of the night seemed to deepen. A light breeze tousled his hair and swayed the branches of the pine tree. At that moment, he heard a soft voice crooning a lullaby. He started upright, searching about for his wife. He heard a gurgle from an infant, a happy sound of contentment. Then the breeze died away, and the branches of the pine tree stilled. Then a shining light seemed to descend from the dark sky and hover over the young husband and the small grave under the tree. The husband heard the singing again, and the happy laugh of a small child. And then there was darkness. The husband went home that night with peace in his heart for the first time since the death of his wife.

People say that on dark, summery nights you can still hear the young mother singing a lullaby, and hear the happy chuckles of her tiny child.

[baha]

I'm All Right
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


We knew right from the start that Johnny was going to be a soldier. Even as a child, all his concentration was on the military. So we weren't surprised when he joined the Marines right out of high school.


Johnny excelled in his chosen career. He was so happy to be serving his country. I could see it in his face every time he came home on leave. He was itching to get into some "real action", something that - as a mother - frightened me. He was my only son, and I didn't want to lose him. But he was also a grown man with a wife and a baby on the way. I was very proud of the way he was living his life.

Then came the terrible day in September when everything in our world changed. I knew as soon as I saw events unfolding on the television that Johnny was going to get the action he craved. And I started praying: "Please God, keep him safe."

Johnny went to the Middle East and I started sending weekly care packages and checking my email several times a day. The tone of his communications was always cheerful, if a little strained. He was in danger many times, but somehow he always made it through unscathed, although he lost a few friends along the way. This deepened him and I saw a new maturity in my son that made an already proud mother even prouder.

My relief was intense when Johnny came home. I ran to him and almost knocked him over in my excitement when he stepped out of the car. He hugged me tightly, and then reached into the backseat to remove his little daughter from her car seat and show her off to us.

I tried to conceal my fear when he told us a few months later that he would be going back to the Middle East. But Johnny knew me pretty well. On his last leave before deployment, he took my hand, kissed me on the cheek, and said: "I love you, Mom. We'll be together again real soon." I held back the tears until he was gone. Then I wept like a child.

Johnny's emails on this trip were sporadic and his tone was grim. Things were tough over there, although he did not say much about it. He just spoke of little things like the rapid growth of his beautiful girl and the many activities of the wonderful woman who was her mother and his wife.

One night, late in August, I awoke from a deep sleep, certain that I had heard Johnny's voice.

"Mom," Johnny said again.

I turned over and blinked in the dim light coming from the streetlamp outside our window. Johnny was standing beside the bed, gazing down on me tenderly. I sat up immediately.

"Johnny," I gasped.

He smiled and sat down beside me, as he had often done when he was little. He took my hand and said: "I want you to know how much I appreciate you and Dad. It couldn't have been easy, raising a head-strong boy like me, but you did a wonderful job."

Johnny's words filled me with a great joy and a terrible fear. Tears sprang to my eyes. He gently wiped one away with his finger. "I came to tell you that I am all right. Take care of my girls for me."

"We will," I managed to say, realizing at last what this visit meant.

"I love you, Mom. We'll be together again real soon," Johnny said. He leaned forward, kissed me on the cheek, and then he was gone.

I fell back against the pillows, too stunned even to weep. My husband, who was a heavy sleeper, woke when he felt the bed jerk. He rolled over and mumbled: "Are you all right?"

"Something has happened to Johnny," I said, too grief-stricken to be tactful. "I think he's dead."

My husband jerked awake. "What?!" he exclaimed fearfully.

I started sobbing then, and told him about Johnny's visit. We held each other close for the rest of that long night, waiting for dawn and the news which would surely come with it.

The days following the official notification of Johnny's death -- killed in action in the Middle East -- were mind-numbing. I clung to the words my boy had spoken to me in the moments right after he died. Johnny had said he was all right, and I believed him. My son's body was gone, but his essence, his soul, everything that made him my Johnny was safe and well. And we would be together again real soon.

[baha]

The Lady in Lace
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


There is a ghost that walks along the Seventeen Mile Drive on foggy nights. She is called the Lady in Lace. People say she is the ghost of Dona Maria del Carmen Barreto, the woman who used to own much of the land on that stretch of the California coast, returned to keep watch over her land. Others disagree. The claim that the white, flowing gown of lace in which the ghost appears resembles a wedding gown. They think that she might be the ghost of a jilted bride who was left standing at the altar.


Travelers encountering the ghost of the Lady in Lace as they drive down the Seventeen Mile Drive on foggy nights say that she looks very sad and lonely, as if she were about to cry. They see her walking slowly along the road, her shoulders drooping a bit as if she were carrying a heavy burden of grief or pain. When they draw close to her, she disappears.

One night, a courting couple went out to sit on the rocks at Pescadero Point overlooking the sea. It was a bright night, and they were whispering together and watching the moonlight sparkle on the water when the Lady in Lace appeared right before there eyes. As they watched in astonishment and fear, she walked passed them, her form glowing in the moonlight. Slowly, her face set and sad, she wandered down to the beach. Then she vanished into thin air. Needless to say, that was the last time that couple went courting at Pescadero Point!

[baha]

The Lady in Red
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


We didn't believe in ghosts, so when the fellow checking us in warned us that our room on the sixth floor was haunted, we just laughed. There were a lot of crazy people out there who believed in ghosts and wanted to stay in a haunted hotel, but Marie and I weren't two of them. I'd chosen the Mizpah for our weekend getaway because I'd like the description of the hotel and it amenities, not because it had a phantom.


Just for kicks, Marie asked the fellow who was supposed to haunt our room. He told us that it was a ghost called "The Lady in Red". She was a prostitute who was strangled by a jealous boyfriend and her tormented spirit still lingered in the hotel. She was said to follow guests around, and to play with the gaming equipment in the casino.


"A gambling ghost?" I asked laughingly. The boy glared at me, and I was sorry for making a joke about something he obviously believed in. We said a hasty good-night and went up to the sixth floor.


As we neared our room, Marie gasped and grabbed my arm. I stopped and looked at her. She pointed, wide-eyed, toward the far end of the hallway. Before our eyes, the glowing figure of a woman came hurrying toward us. I shivered superstitiously, my skin prickling in the sudden cold as she rushed passed us and walked right through the wall next to our room.

"Good lord, there really is a ghost in our room!" I gasped.


"I am not going in there," Marie said firmly. Her face was pale and her black eyes were wide with fear. "No way."


I didn't much feel like going in there either, but we had gotten a special deal for two nights, paid in advance and non-refundable. I didn't want to waste our money. In the end, I wrenched open the door, turned on the light, and investigated every corner, looking for the Lady in Red. She was gone.


Marie absolutely refused to set foot in the haunted room. In the end, I had to go down to the desk and request a room on another floor. The boy didn't say much when I told him we had seen the Lady in Red, but he gave me a know-it-all smirk that made me want to smack him, and assigned us to a room on another floor. Marie barely got a wink of sleep that night. She kept waking up, afraid that the Lady in Red would come walking through the wall and do terrible things to us. We were up at dawn and had checked out of the Mizpah by breakfast time the next day.


From that day on, Marie always booked our hotels, and she always made sure that there were no ghosts anywhere on the premises before she made a reservation.

[baha]

Ocean-Born Mary
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


Elizabeth and James Wilson were Irish immigrants from Londonderry, Ireland. In 1720 they set sail for America. They had been granted some land in Londonderry, New Hampshire, and were hoping to start a new life there.


As they neared Boston, Elizabeth went into labor and gave birth to a daughter. While she was giving birth, a strange vessel accosted the ship. They were fired upon and were forced to heave to. Their ship was boarded by a band of swarthy pirates. Their leader, a surprisingly young man not yet twenty years of age, was dark, handsome, and ruthless. He was called Don Pedro, and his English was flawless as he ordered all the captives killed.

At this fatal juncture, the cries of a newborn baby could be heard from down in the hold. Startled, Don Pedro ordered the captain to take him to the child. After gazing for a long time at the tiny girl, Don Pedro said to Elizabeth: "If you name this child after my mother - Mary - I will spare the lives of everyone on this ship." Frightened by the fierce pirate, Elizabeth hastily agreed.

Don Pedro sent one of his men back to the pirate ship. When the man returned, he was carrying an armload of gifts. Don Pedro presented these to Elizabeth. Fingering a green brocaded silk with an odd look of tenderness on his ruthless face, he said: "This is for my Mary's wedding dress." Then he and his men returned to their ship and departed.

Soon after their ship landed safely in Boston, James Wilson died. His widow and daughter went to Londonderry to claim the land in his name. Ocean-born Mary grew into a tall, beautiful red-haired woman. In 1742, wearing a green brocade gown made from the silk given to her by Don Pedro, Mary was married to James Wallace. They had five children, four sons and a daughter. Sadly, after the birth of his fourth son, James Wallace died.

Around that time, Don Pedro, having retired from the sea, decided to build a home in New Hampshire. Having never forgotten his little Ocean-born Mary, Don Pedro began seeking to discover what became of her. Finding her a widow in Londonderry, he married her and brought her and her children to live in his grand mansion in Henniker. He gifted Mary with a stately coach and four, in which Mary would often be seen riding around the countryside. One by one, her sons grew up, married, and settled down near Mary.

One day, coming in from an errand to town, Mary saw Don Pedro and one of his retired pirates carrying a large black trunk to the orchard in back. She heard the sounds of digging, and then silence. Don Pedro came back to the house alone, and they never spoke of the matter. But later, he told Mary that when he died, she should bury him and the treasure under the hearthstone. A year later, Mary came home one evening to an empty house. She started searching for her husband and found Don Pedro in the orchard, stabbed to death with a cutlass. Mary buried Don Pedro with his treasure under the hearthstone and there they lay to this day.

After her death in 1814, Mary's ghost began to haunt the house where she had once lived with her pirate-husband. People would see a tall, beautiful red-haired woman come walking down the long staircase. Sometimes, she could be seen standing beside an upper window, or throwing something down the well. Others had witnessed Mary driving in her coach and four up to the front door of the house. The house was finally abandoned and later torn-down, although the house where her son Robert lived still stands and is sometimes called the Ocean-born Mary house.

[baha]

Palatine
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


The Palatine gleamed in the sunlight as she set out with a full crew, a long list of passengers, and a hull full of merchandise for the American Colonies the winter of 1750-1751. Certainly, there was no indication that morning of the destiny fate had in store for her.

It was not until the first of the storms blew the ship off course that the passengers began to sense the trouble brewing under the surface between the captain and his crew. By the time the storms had ended, the captain was dead, murdered by his crew, and the passengers were prisoners. During the days which followed, the sailors forced the passengers to pay exorbitant prices for a bit of bread and some water to drink.

One morning, the passengers awoke to find that the crew had stolen all of their money and stores and had abandoned the ship. Terrified, they could do nothing but ride out the next series of storms sent by the devils which rule the Atlantic in winter.

The Palatine came to ruin just off of Block Island. The shore folk bravely faced the storm to rescue the starving passengers from the wreck. Then they set fire to the ship so that it would not endanger any passing ships. But as the ship burned, the shore folk heard a wild scream. A mad woman, confined on the ship during the voyage, had been left on board!

Every year since then, on the day of the tragedy, the Palatine reappears off the shore and is wrecked and burned before the eyes of any who watch for her.