When the Owl Hoots and the Calf Rolls

We island folk are a superstitious and deeply spiritual lot. It's not surprising when you look at where our ancestors come from. Africans, Europeans and Asians all contributed various beliefs, leading to a true hodgepodge of superstitions and things that go bump in the night. I thought it might be... well... not fun exactly, but perhaps interesting to take you on a little walk with a man I'll call Johnny Dread, who's having what is quite possibly the worse night of his life, Jamaican style. (Words marked with * are explained a little more in the glossary after the story.)

Johnny and the Rollin' Calf

Johnny got off the minibus at the intersection, and stood watching it drive away. It was after one o'clock in the morning, and when the sound of the revving motor faded away all he could hear was the rustle of leaves and animals in the bush at the side of the road. There were no streetlights on the narrow country road leading the the village of Stone Heart, but the moon was full, lighting his way. Hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, Johnny turned to begin the five mile walk toward his grandmother's house. Just as he took the first step, a white form took flight from a nearby mango tree and soared across the road above his head, letting out a long, loud WOO...

"Bumboclaat*!" Johnny dropped down, stooping as low as possible, covering his head with his arms. "Patoo*!"

The owl seemed to understand the words, circling back over Johnny, hooting again. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, and in complete silence, it was gone.

Legs shaking, clutching his bag to his chest, Johnny got up and stared up into the trees, trying to figure out where the owl had gone. This was bad. Raasclaat*, this was bad-bad-bad. He knew he shouldn't have come, but his mother had begged him to help her clean out Uncle Juckoo's house. He had missed the funeral, and had heard the people in the village suspected someone had worked Obeah* on Juckoo, but he hoped it wasn't true. If the Obeah woman had stolen his spirit, the rest of the family was in big trouble since it would be used against them. Worst of all, there had been no ninth-night* gathering. At least if they'd had a ninth-night, there was a chance his spirit might appear, be captured in the water bowl and then set free outside. Seeing the patoo was a bad omen. Now it seemed Johnny himself was walking into danger. Was Juckoo's duppy already being used against him?

The quicker he got to the village, the better, so Johnny started jogging down the narrow asphalt road, hoping a car would come along and the driver would stop to give him a lift. The road dipped into a little valley, and Johnny started running, using the slope to gain momentum. Just as he got to the bottom something moved in the bush at the side of the road and, seeing two points of light shining out from among the leaves, Johnny skidded and almost fell. He tried to shout, but fear caught the sound in his throat and it came out as a strangled moan. With a mwraw! a black cat jumped out of the bush and streaked across the road.

"Oh, Lawd..."

First the patoo, and now a black puss*? Could it get worse?

He was shaking so much now, it was a struggle to get up the hill, but finally he was at the top and, in the distance, could see the village. Not too much farther now, especially if he ran all the way. Galloping like a mule, his bag slapping against his side, Johnny made a break for it. Down into the next shallow valley, then up again. All he could hear were his own footsteps and the rasp of his breathing. One more hill, and he would almost be in Stone Heart.

Suddenly, without any warning, Johnny found himself in fog. Not the light mist that sometimes came down into the hollows during the night, but a thick, blinding white covering. Barely able to see the road ahead, Johnny stumbled to a walk, but didn't stop. It felt as if the fog had gone into his ears, because he could no longer hear his footsteps. Even his breathing seemed to be coming from far away, and was accompanied by a rattling sound he'd never heard before in his life. Then he realized the sound was coming from behind him, getting louder, as whatever was making it came closer.

Ignoring the fog, he started to run again, ignoring the potholes, just wanting to get away. But now he could hear a deep, demonic snorting sound mixed in with the metallic rattle of chains and the rapid tuc-a-tuc, tuc-a-tuc, tuc-a-tuc of hooves. He didn't want to look back. If he could stop himself looking back, maybe the rolling calf* would just go past...

But he couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder as he ran.

A huge, black bull, wrapped in chains, wreathed in fire, charged toward him. Fire also blazed from the beast's eyes and, in what seemed to be the last moment of Johnny Dread's life, he found the strength to scream...

Next morning it was the sun that woke him, as he lay between the roots of a huge old cotton tree*, covered in mud and shivering in the cool morning air. It took a moment to figure out where he was and what had happened. When he did, Johnny stumbled to his feet and took off running, not stopping until he got back to the main road, where he could catch a minibus back to Kingston.

He'd never go back to Stone Heart again...

Glossary
'Bumboclaat' and 'Raasclaat' - Jamaican swear words.

'Patoo' - The name given to an owl, usually a barn owl. Seeing a white-faced owl is considered a sign of extreme bad luck or death.

'Obeah' - A religion brought from West Africa, connected to the god Obi and closely connected to Myalism. It is believed an Obeah practitioner can draw the spirit from a person and trap it in a cotton tree. Eventually the person whose spirit has been stolen will die, if no one can be found to "dig out" the spirit and bring it back. If the person dies, the spirit can be used by its thief to bedevil the rest of the family.

'Ninth-night/Nine-night' -  A ceremony that takes place on the ninth night after the funeral. It is believed that on the third day after the funeral the spirit of the deceased rises and goes back to the residence to wander among its possessions. On the ninth night after the funeral the family and friends gather to sing and dance, giving the spirit a farewell party, so to speak. In years gone by, a person adept in seeing and capturing spirits would 'catch' the spirit and trap it in a bowl of water, which is then thrown out the window, releasing the spirit.

'Black puss/cat' - Cats are viewed with suspicion and fear by many Jamaicans, as they are said to sit on babies chests and suck the air from their lungs (perhaps an explanation for SIDS?). A black cat is particularly feared, as the color black is associated with the devil. Fully black dogs fare little better than cats.

Rollin' Calf - The name is said to derive from "Roaring Calf' but while this evil spirit is usually described as taking the shape of a bull, it also is said to take a number of other shapes, and can shift from small creatures (cats and dogs, always black) to large (bulls and horses). It rarely attacks people, but often is reported chasing them, or lying in wait for them at crossroads.

'Cotton tree' - This tree, along with bamboo clumps, is said to be the home or haunt of the rolling calf and also of the spirits stolen by Obeah men and women. Finding himself at the root of one of these trees would confirm for Johnny that he hadn't dreamt the encounter.

Duppy, Rolling Calf and a White Witch

My country of birth and heart, Jamaica, is filled with “duppy” (ghost) stories. Tales such as that of River Muma, who sits on a rock combing her hair with a golden comb, luring the enchanted to a watery grave abound. Another Jamaican spectre you may encounter as it races along lonely country roads is the Rolling Calf, covered in hellfire and bound with rattling chains, coming to scare you into madness, or to death.

Obeah, the remnants of African spirituality brought to the island with the slaves, doesn’t produce zombies like Voodoo is reputed to. Instead, the Obeah Woman or Man steals a person`s spirit, hiding it in a cotton tree and using it to make mischief and bring misery to others. In the meantime the person whose spirit was stolen slowly withers away and dies, unless someone with the knowledge and spiritual strength can “dig out” the obeah, freeing the spirit and returning it to its owner.

Ironically enough, probably the most famous Jamaican ghost story involves not the work of an Obeah practitioner, but of a woman alleged to be well versed in the art of Voodoo—Annie Palmer, the White Witch of Rose Hall.

Rose Hall is a plantation house located east of Montego Bay, on the northern coast of Jamaica. Legend has it that the owner of the planation, John Palmer, married Annie, a woman who was well versed in Voodoo. Annie is reputed to have murdered not only John, but also her next three husbands, all of whom died under mysterious circumstances. Apparently not content with a handful of husbands, Annie also had a tendency to take to her bed any slave who caught her fancy, eventually murdering them too.

She in turn is said to have been murdered by her butler, a slave and one of her many lovers. Some legends say he murdered her because he knew if he didn’t, she would kill him in turn. Others say he killed her because she caused the death of his daughter’s lover.

After her death, it’s said that the next owners of the house had a series of unfortunate incidents that culminated with their housekeeper falling to her death from the balcony Annie would stand on each morning to issue instructions to the slave. The house was eventually deserted, and fell into ruin. It was restored in the 1960s and then, in the 1970s, was refurbished and opened to the public for tours.

There is little, if any, historical fact to back up the legend of Annie Palmer. There are no records showing she ever existed and so many variations on the story exist, making it hard to decide which is more likely. Some stories are set in the 1700s, others in the 1800s. Some say she was born of mixed English/Irish heritage but raised on Haiti, where Voodoo is practised, others have her born in France and being taught Voodoo in Jamaica, by the very slaves she used it to terrify and control. She is said to have tortured, maimed and killed slaves without mercy and remained at the house even after death to continue her reign of terror.

I’ve been to Rose Hall, and it’s a beautiful, interesting place, and will say whoever sourced the items displayed in that house did a masterful job when they acquired a particular portrait, billed as being of Annie. Since I can honestly say I don’t think she ever even existed, and know the house and most likely all contents were destroyed by fire during a slave rebellion, I’m sure it wasn’t her in the painting. Yet I stood there, feet glued to the floor, staring and staring, feeling the woman in the picture staring back at me, her black-eyed gaze burning its way into my soul. It took all my energy to turn away.

And to this day that painting haunts me, a lingering, malevolent shadow, the most vivid reminder of my trip to the rebuilt plantation house. Whatever ghosts live at Rose Hall, I bet they found a happy, haunted home in that portrait…

Bumps in the night

Have you seen a shadow move?  Have you heard an odd noise -- maybe a voice from nowhere?  Have you ever felt as if you were being watched? Followed?

Those somewhat creepy, eerie sensations seem affect a lot of people. Is it merely an overactive imagination? A trick of the light or dark? Maybe. But I think many of us suspect that there is more to life than meets the eye.

Ghost stories have existed all over the world for many centuries. As human beings, we seem to enjoy being scared. That little bit of adrenaline rush, followed by relief and maybe laughter. It feels good. Otherwise, why would things such as horror stories/movies and roller-coasters be such an integral part of our culture?

My youngest daughter and I love watching Ghost Hunters together. Now before you scoff, they do manage to catch quite a few interesting bits of evidence with their high-tech gadgets. Early in 2011, the TAPS team visited a nearby famous haunt when they investigated the Homestead Carnegie Library here in Pennsylvania. Their time was well-spent. My daughter immediately wanted to go there and experience the haunting for herself. :)

More locally, there are stories of a nearby diner being haunted by the spirit of an older woman. Not that frightening, really, unless you're easily spooked.  ;)  I'm also fairly certain a small cemetary we pass frequently has its own lingering energy. No, I don't tend to think tombstones are haunted. Ghosts would probably have more interesting places to hover.

I've grown up with ghost stories from within my own family -- it seems we have a genetic 'gift' when it comes to experiences with the afterlife. Personally, I've been on the fringes: watched, but not spoken to; jumping at shadows and shapes that move in and out of my peripheral vision; having things moved -- hidden it seems -- and then put back in place. Which is kind of how I like it. :)  I prefer that little adrenaline rush to full-blown screaming terror. How about you?

~~Meg Allison
Indulge your senses...
http://www.megallisonauthor.com

Who Believes in the Bell Witch?

This month at BTV in honor of spooky October, many of us will be talking about ghost stories and local haunted house tales. I live in Tennessee, and one of the most prominent Tennessee Tales of Terror is the story of the Bell Witch. In fact, the Bell Witch cave is only a couple miles from the house of a crit partner of mine, though neither of us have ever been.

Growing up, the main thing I knew about the Bell Witch was that if you went into the bathroom after dark, closed your eyes, chanted, "I believe in the Bell Witch" 3 or 10 or 13 times, and then opened your eyes, you would see her in the mirror. Right there, scary as any retinal adjustment to a change in illumination *heh*. I don't think I ever made it to 13 times.

The legend itself doesn't appear to stem from some horrific witch-burning incident or ax murdering psycho, as so many haunting tales do. No, it was some ticked off neighbor lady named Kate who took offense to the Bell family and poltergeisted them (in particular the dad and one of the girls) for a number of years.

Naturally my writer's mind wanted to make sense of it (She had an affair with the dad! The girl was engaged to her half-brother, unbeknownst to her!), which apparently isn't a rare reaction, as a number of movies, books and stories revolve around the legend. The About.com page suggests the girl's teacher was in love with her and wanted to scare off her fiance, who did eventually leave, and the girl ended up married to the teacher.
(http://paranormal.about.com/od/trueghoststories/a/aa041706.htm)

According to the official website, tales of the Bell Witch stretch back to 1817. According to the Wiki, movies it inspired include The Bell Witch Haunting, The Bell Witch, An American Haunting and the Blair Witch Project. I don't think I've ever seen any of those, either, since I'm not a huge fan of horror. Nor have I heard the "2 piece doom band" with the name Bell Witch: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bell-Witch/136264673108884  (I know, right??) Also tons of books and such at Amazon, which are too numerous to list.


You can find out more about the Bell Witch at the official site: http://www.bellwitchcave.com/

Here's another webpage dedicated to the Bell Witch by author/historician Pat Fitzhugh, who's also written books about the legend: http://www.bellwitch.org/home.htm

Wiki Page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell_Witch

For those of you who aren't wholesale believers in ghosts, here's a skeptical review of the legend: http://mtskeptics.homestead.com/BellWitch.html

And if you're a fan in general, there's a fan site: http://www.bellwitchfansite.com/ which claims it has exclusive pictures and videos, woohoo!

Have you ever been inspired by local haunting tales to write a story?


Jody Wallace and Meankitty
Making the Internet Cattier Since 1999
http://www.meankitty.com * http://www.jodywallace.com

Blogging over on the Samhain blog: "Things that make you wish you'd worn a Depends..."

Carolan

Celebrating Romance in haunted Portland

Next weekend, Feb. 27-28, is one of my very favorite cons - Celebrate Romance. As always, when J.C. Wilder and I travel anywhere together, the first thing we do is research where the paranormal hot spots are. Let's see what's rattling the pipes in Portland:

Pittock Mansion
Built by Henry Pittock, an influential businessman in the early industrial days of the Pacific Northwest. Pittock was a big supporter of Portland's annual Rose Parade, and visitors to the mansion often report the strong smell of roses, though none kept in the house. A picture of one of his children is said to be moved from place to place. Other experiences include an apparition of an old woman, footsteps, and windows that close and latch themselves.

Old Town Pizza
Situated in an historic building that sits atop Portland's Shanghai Tunnels, a frequent guest in this restaurant is Nina (Nigh-nah). Legend has it that she was a victim of the white slavery market, sold into prostitution. She was was convinced to provide information to traveling missionaries who were trying to clean up the town. She was later found dead in this building, having been thrown down and elevator shaft. She is reportedly friendly to diners.

Shanghai Tunnels
As the name suggests, these tunnels were used to smuggle kidnapped men and women out of the city and into a life of slavery. Victims were often lured to sit in specific locations atop trap doors, then either beaten or drugged before being "disappeared."








Lewis and Clark College
If you find yourself near the center of the old campus around 1 a.m., you may hear the screams and yells of an angry mob chasing someone. You might even see apparitions of the mob - and its quarry. (I guess it depends on how many pitchers you've consumed!)



Witch's Castle
Not actually a castle, but the ruins of a stone house at a crossroads. Reportedly was a trading post owned by the first person legally hanged in Oregon. Tales of "ghost wars" that take place here abound. Not so sure about that, but it's a creepy-cool looking place!

There's much more, but that's about all I have time for today! If you're going to be at CR next week, look me up and we'll take a ghost walk. :)

Sources:
www.ghostsandcritters.com
www.oldtownpizza.com
www.theshadowlands.net

Haunted Links

I'm spending the weekend in a hotel, with my windows overlooking the Leadbetter Golf Academy. The view from my window is all green driving range, and blue pools - and the sounds in my ears are "can we go to the pool yet? How about now? Now? When?"

I'm pretty sure the Omni is much to shiney and new to have anything so atmospheric as a resident ghost. But driving over to the course in the pre-dawn fog this morning, it looked much more like the links of Ireland than our American greens. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a ghostly form rise from the misty vapor and cross my path.

There are a few tales of haunted golf courses in America. Aetna Springs - - is said to be haunted by Dominican monks, murdered by rival Franciscan monks in the 1500's. Then there's Victoria Golf Club in Canada, where there have numerous sightings of Doris Davlin, who was murdered there in 1936.

America isn't alone in it's tales of haunted courses. In Europe we'll find more of the most well known haunted links. Golfers at Church Stretton Golf Club on the edge of the South Shropshire hills often find their balls have vanished when they land near the 13th greens. Some may say there's a more mundane explanation - local birds, perhaps - but I link to think the ancients are entertaining themselves on their long watch.

Perhaps the most famous golf course in the world, St. Andrews has hosted many a top tier golf tournament. Tiger Woods won the British Open there in 2005. If I ever make it over to the course, I'll be looking forward to taking the St. Andrews Ghost Tour. Many a suspected witch lost their lives on the rocky cliffs, thrown over to the waves pounding 70 feet below. Those unlucky enough to sink were declared innocent of the charges - although quite dead none the less. Those who floated of course must have been guilty - and these poor souls were condemed to burning at the stake.

The fog here has long since burned off, and the sun is calling us out to play. I'm sure someday my golfing husband will take me near one of these haunted courses (St. Andrews is way up on my list). When we make it there, I'll be keeping my eyes open for more than flying golf balls. I'll be hoping to get a glimpse of some of the areas most ancient residents to round out my travel experiences.

Haunted

I'm taking a road trip next Saturday. My baby sister is visiting, and we're going an hour down the coast to St. Augustine.

The Old City (some call it the Ancient City, but honestly - where but in "The New World" of America would we call something 440 years old "ancient") fascinates me. I can (and have) spend hours wandering around the fort - Castillo de San Marcos - getting lost in the feel of history within those "ancient" stones. It's an impressive site, and one I won't ever get tired of visiting.

And if you wander the narrow streets beyond the fort you'll find plenty to entertain. There's a story on every street corner, and usually a tour that will guide you. I'm going to try out something new to me this trip - a ghost tour.

I'm tired of sticking with the usual - Ripleys Believe It or Not has lost it's ability to bemuse, and the Alligator Farm isn't going to cut it this visit. No, I'm ready to "Saunter with the Spirits from dusk to darkness", and I'm going to tag along with a tour guide to make sure I don't miss a single spectral resident.

There are quite a few to choose from - there'a regular cottage industry of them going on in St. Augustine - but I'm gong to give Ghost Tours of St. Augustine a try. Their website has dozens of pictures taken by visitors. Some of them look like just badly blurred pictures - is that a ghost, or a car driving past? - but there are plenty of other pictures that make me stop and wonder.
I don't know what I really expect to get out of the experience. Not proof. But I'm ready to have my eyes opened by the experts.

I'll let you know how it went after I've had my first taste of St. Augustine's paranormal tours. And I'll be taking many pictures - maybe I'll even have my own contribution to the sightings page to show for it.

If you've ever been on a guided ghost tour, I'd love to hear what you thought of it.

Haunted Vacations

Every couple of years or so the hubby and I plan a trip to some well-known haunted historical site in hopes of having a paranormal experience or catching apparitions on film or digital medium. Last year, our trek took us to haunted Gettysburg where we stayed at the Farnworth House Inn—an known hotbed of paranormal activity.

To step out onto the battlefield and know how many men gave their lives on those three bloody days, and to feel the oppressive energy is enough to knock a sensitive to their knees. I remember one night in particular, when Dave and I stayed on the battlefield near the area where Pickett failed in his desparate charge, cameras at the ready. As we stood and looked off into the rolling hills, fog began to roll in and surround us. Dave began to snap pictures, positive that he'd capture something supernatural on film. Something the naked eye had failed to see.

The next night we climbed the rocks around Devil's Den waiting to see some soldier, trapped in time, defending his post. Again, we snapped picture after picture hoping to take away some proof as a souvenier. Alas, no ghosts were around that night, so we headed back to the hotel to sign up for a ghost walk. And it rained.

Do you see a theme emerging here?

Though I enjoyed the town and the historic sites and spending the week walking around with my hubby, I have to admit to a small amount of disappointment that the only paranormal activity we encountered was on our first afternoon there, after we'd first checked in.

We were given the Custer Room (probably not a good choice for us since my husband is part Cherokee and Blackfoot). The room is not connected to the rest of the inn, but faces a nice little garden and outdoor dining area. It's really was a lovely, comfortable space. So, hubby and I were on the bed, discussing what we wanted to do first, since we'd just drove from NJ in 98 degree heat. We were contemplating if we'd see anything in the hotel room, when Dave said out loud. "I just want to see some ghosts." - The words had barely left his mouth when a knocking on the footboard made us both jump. Now, I know what you're thinking: it came from outside. It came from Dave doing it to scare me. No. A sound from outside would be muffled through the walls, and this was crip. And it came from where neither Dave or I were sitting at the time. We both laughed and knew we'd have a great vacation.

Now, if I can only find the money to go to haunted England.

-Kat

Haunted history, and yes, some hilarity.

I've bravely gone where no chickenheart has gone before! Alright fine if you must know, this past October, my intrepid and yeah, bossy friend made me go on this haunted walk in the French Quarter of New Orleans. I didn't see anything overtly scary. Of course, I wasn't looking all that closely either. If you haven't figured it out, I'm Scooby Doo and she's Velma of this dippy duo, or terrible trio as we did have a third with us. To protect the guilty, I shall simply call her Shaggina of the frozen north, as she was as scared as me. If something did decide to jump out at us, and say "Les Le Booogity Boogity" well, 'Velma' would have a heavy load to carry is all I'm sayin.

At the beginning of our tour, the guide informed us that if anyone jumped out in a mask and said 'boo' at us, they were not ghosts, they were in fact muggers and we were to look to him for instructions on how and where to run. Ha, very funny, right? Riiight. But, he was full of trivia about the fair city.

The above picture was taken by me, and yes, it sucks. For some reason, my camera which had been acting fine, decided to become the heinous one and darken up. Was it ghosts? I doubt it, more like cheap batteries. Here is the story which I heard third hand and the tour guide got second hand, so I guess it's about fifth hand. So take it with a grain of salt and since it's in New Olreans, some gumbo file` too, cher`. *winks*

This is the house where Julie lived. She was the beautiful octeroon mistress of a wealthy businessman. She was so desperate to marry him that she stayed outside on the roof naked in the middle of December to prove her love. Her lover found her the next morning dead of exposure. A sad tale, and the only one that didn't scare the beejeezus out of me, just made me sniffle. But it is also said that she still haunts The Bottom of the Cup Tea Shop at the bottom of the building which you can't see in the crappy picture. But I like my picture, it's got atmosphere.

So, what did I learn? Just walking around in the dark is scary. No we didn't get mugged, but after the tour was over I was left all by myself with 'Velma' I found out that without the buffer of say Shaggina or perhaps even *coughs* Daphne the Designer Diva, Velma will say things like "jenkies" and drag you to every haunted nook and cranny of New Orleans in search of 'phenomenon'.

Did she forget that I'm Scooby Doo? I don't want to see phenomenon! I want some beads, a few scooby snacks and my nice air conditioned bed, (please recall this is New Orleans air conditioning is a must) not be subjected to dark and scary voodoo shops and creepy corners that make me scream so that people look at me askance. More than usual I mean. I won't even go into the chicken feet incident except to say. "Bok you!" While my own feet were killing me by the end of the night, my horizons had been broadened. I didn' t see any real ghosts, but she delighted in scaring the crap out of me at least ten times. Don't be fooled, by the cartoons yall, 'Velma' is the devil.

Les Le Boogity To Yall Too,

Jenna Leigh

Ghosts and ghoulies and... lamps?

A good friend of mine is currently writing a spooky Halloween story for her publisher. Together on IM, we started looking at "ghost pictures" just to get in the right frame of mind. You know, I've seen some really spooky pictures that claim to show ghosts or spirits, and while I'm not quite sure I believe, they're fun to look at. However, this one takes the cake.

Look carefully at the small, square window beside the scaffolding. What's that just visible there?


Yes, my friends, this is purported to be the ghost of a LAMP. Don't believe me? Here's another photo, showing a close-up view of this grisly, terrifying haunting:


I think the grainy quailty of the photo just adds to the terror, don't you?

So this started me thinking--well, after I stopped laughing. (C'mon, really, how does a lamp haunt you? Is it trapped in this realm because it's enraged at getting knocked out the window?) What's the strangest or silliest "true" ghost story you've ever heard? Before finding this particular one, it was the ghostly pair of pants that haunts a Cambridge shop that Cat Marsters and I were told about during a really great ghost tour there. Ghostly pants! I never thought that one would be topped.

Anyone have a fun ghost story to share?

Local Flavor of the Haunted Variety

I'm packing this morning to attend Lori Foster's annual Readers and Authors Get-Together in Cincinnati this weekend. Lori always plans fabulous events and I'm anticipating a fun weekend in my old stomping grounds.

I grew up in the Dayton area, and spent my share of time in Cincinnati over the years, attending Reds games and eating at Skyline Chili. Wherever I travel, I always surf the Web ahead of time to check out the local flavor, and not just restaurants.

Most historic cities like Cincy have a ghost walk or two. According to Forgotten Ohio, one of the most haunted areas in the Cincinnati area is Buffalo Ridge, a heavily wooded area west of the city near the Indiana border. This is one of those every-town-has-one legends that teenage boys use to scare the bejeezus out of their girlfriends!

"The many legends associated with this creepy wooded road seem to center around an abandoned crematory located somewhere far back on the Ridge, which may or may not have been the site of a cult sacrifice at some point in the past. The ghosts occupy this building and sometimes wander across the road as well.

"An abandoned house with dilapidated barns and junked cars on its lawn is also the site of some scary happenings. Lights are seen there at night even though no one has lived there for years. If you go up the driveway supposedly you will see a witch in one of the windows.

"A park along the road is haunted by the ghost of a little boy who was killed in the road by a hit-and-run driver who was never caught. The stain his mangled body left smeared on the asphalt has never gone away. Possibly associated with this is the malevolent black van with tinted windows that is said to chase unlucky travellers on Buffalo Ridge. Is it the vehicle that ran the little boy down years ago?"

Oooh, creepy! Where's my husband? I need to pretend I'm scared. [wink]

Have a good weekend!

Carolan

Coming Nov. 1 in print: "Wildish Things" in Samhain Publishing's Love and Lore anthology

www.carolanivey.com

Ghosts in the Graveyard

I am haunted.

By words and images that dance in my head. By remembered ghostly tales told on my grandmother's front porch by moonlight. By the occasional glimpse of a beloved, long-dead pet, still sunning herself in her usual spot by the window. By the voice of a loved one, calling my name on the edge of sleep.

As a native of North Carolina with ancestors stretching back into ancient Scotland, Ireland, Wales and Cornwall, I am haunted by history, by the words of great Southern writers, and by music of times long past. So it seems only fitting that I could sing before I could talk, and have been writing since I was old enough to hold a pencil.

Ghosts and ghost stories are a natural part of growing up Tarheel. From Murphy to Manteo, you can trace your way across the state following the trail of legends. I challenge you to find a North Carolina native-born who doesn’t know at least a dozen stories of haints, boogers, disembodies lights, and unexplained mysteries. Say the word “Croatoan” to a North Carolinian and watch their eyes light up. Before you know it, they’ll be telling you the whole story of the strange disappearance of the Lost Colony.

Even childhood games with my cousins leaned decidedly in a paranormal direction. We played a variation of tag called “Ghosts in the Graveyard.” And we really played it in a graveyard, because my ancestors are buried in unmarked graves along the edge of the tobacco fields beside my grandparents’ house. My sister is still convinced that a ghost from that graveyard slammed her Honda’s hatchback down on her head one dark, moonless night!

I asked my grandfather once if having graves so close to the house bothered him. He leaned back in his porch rocker and said placidly, “Nah. Dey rotten.” Ask him about the Haint Mule, though, and he’d shift uncomfortably and change the subject. My sister finally wormed the story out of him, about how he sold a particularly stubborn mule “down the river”, only to have its ghost come back to haunt him by repeatedly thundering around the house and keeping him awake at night.

My first published book, Beaudry’s Ghost, was born of a vacation trip that included Appomattox Battlefield and the most haunted coastline in America, the Outer Banks. Spirits of both these places began whispering in my ear. On the drive home, my brain began to play the writer’s game of “what if?” By the time I got home, a story was born of the ghost of a wrongly dishonored Union soldier seizing a chance for revenge during a modern-day Civil War re-enactment.

I could hold forth on for hours about the legends and lore that shaped me as a writer. But I will save those for another time. Wait’ll you hear the one about the Devil’s Tramping Ground. Hee!

For now, I’m off to watch another episode of “Supernatural” on DVD with my daughter. Well how about that. The title of this episode is... wait for it...

CROATOAN.

What regional ghost stories and supernatural legends do you remember from your childhood? Let's see who can raise those most hairs on the backs of our necks!
~~~
Carolan Ivey
ABHAINN'S KISS, available now from SamhainPublishing.com.
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