Coffin Hollow and Other Ghost Tales (15 page)

“I declare, Bertha,” she told grandmother, “it's just plain spooky the way those animals are acting, so quiet and all.” My grandmother knew what Charley had told grandfather, but she kept quiet, knowing that if Charley had wanted his wife to know, he would have told her himself.

“And Charley,” Mrs. Hardesty went on, “now
he's
the biggest mystery of all. I have been nagging at him for years to fix that leaky roof, and my garden fence, but here in this last week he must have thought I meant my threat of no more food till they were fixed. And he's told me about all the things that need to be done this winter, and who would be the best buyer for our products later in the summer.”

On Wednesday morning, grandfather had just finished his chores and was leaving for the fields. Grandmother was starting to the house with the eggs when they both looked up and saw Mrs. Hardesty driving the team and wagon across the little bridge at breakneck speed. They both knew at once what must be the matter.

After the first flood of tears, Mrs. Hardesty calmed down and told them what had happened. Charley had taken longer than usual to eat his breakfast that morning, and before leaving to do his chores he had told her to keep well and safe and had kissed her forehead. Addressing an “I'm ready now” to seemingly no one, he had gone.

She had been waiting for him to bring the cream so she could make butter and noted that it was taking Charley an unusually long time to finish the milking. Glancing out the window, she saw all the animals grouped around the barn door, strangely quiet. Even the chickens had stopped their squabbling and were standing motionless.

Mrs. Hardesty said that some strange fear gripped her as she walked to the barn. Then she saw Charley. He was lying on the floor, just as he had slipped from the milking stool. The cow was standing motionless and stiff, half leaning against the opposite wall. Charley had a slight peaceful smile on his face and she knew somehow that he was dead.

The animals still acted strangely, standing forlornly about until after the funeral services were over. And the cow had to be milked outside after that, refusing to go into the stall where her master had died.

My grandparents still wonder about it. How did the animals know what was happening? And what were the strange voices Charley had heard?

69: The Fortune-Teller's Prophecy

A young man and his wife who had come to West Virginia from Italy were expecting their first child, and as was the custom in the old country, they consulted a fortune-teller about the sex and future of their child. The Italians believed that Gypsy women possessed the powers of black magic, so it was with awe and fear that the young couple approached the fortune-teller's hut.

After they had “crossed her palm with silver,” the woman told them that they would have a son. But she soon dispelled their joy with the announcement that their son would be born with a knife in his hand, and that he would slay his parents. Frightened out of their wits, they hurried away.

But as the months went by, they began to look forward to the coming of their first child, and not even the Gypsy's warning disturbed them. In due time their son was born with a strange pointed object clasped in his little fist. The prophecy rushed back into their minds. Although it nearly broke their hearts, they gave the child to the young wife's cousin, who was moving to another state to find work. The boy was raised as the cousin's son, and it was only after he married and brought his beautiful wife back to the mining country of West Virginia that he was told who his real parents were.

Wanting to surprise her husband, the young wife sent a letter to his parents, asking them to come and visit. Now very old, they walked forty miles to the little mining community where their son lived. Their daughter-in-law greeted them, and since they were very tired, she gave them her bed to rest up in while she went to tell her husband, who was at work.

The foreman had let the men off early that day, and the young man approached his home a few minutes after his wife had left. Looking into the small darkened room, he saw two figures in the bed. Thinking his wife had a lover, he stepped noiselessly into the kitchen and back into the bedroom with a butcher knife.

When his wife came back she found him sitting on the edge of the bed with the knife, looking with grief and bewilderment into the faces of the parents he never knew. Thus the fortune-teller's prophecy was fulfilled.

70: The Warning Light

On August 12, 1919, something happened to me that I have never forgotten and never will forget as long as I live.

I had been dating a good-looking young man who lived in the community. The only way I was able to see him at first was to sneak out behind my mother's back, because she objected to this young man. She told me that he was not a good man and would bring much sorrow to my life, but I did not listen. I went on seeing him in secret places, without her knowing it.

My mother died the next year and was buried in the small country church cemetery in our community.

After two years I was still dating the same young man. About three months before we were to be married, we had just started home from a church festival in our buggy. About three hundred yards from the church — just below the cemetery where my mother was buried — the horses began to shy and prance and rear up in the air. My boyfriend jumped out of the buggy, grabbed the horses by the bits, and held them until I could get out of the buggy. Just as I got out, the horses jerked out of his hands and ran down the road as if the devil himself were in them. There we stood with no way to get home but to walk.

As we started down the road, I saw a light in the cemetery about the size of a bushel basket. It was not a bright light — just a dim glow. It was about three feet above the ground and was moving slowly through the cemetery. It stopped and moved down into the ground, disappearing in front of my mother's grave, which was about twenty feet in front of us. I was so frightened that I began crying and shaking. It was all I could do to make it home. When we finally reached my house, I told my boyfriend good night and went inside.

I stayed in the house for about a week, trying to figure out what had happened. I finally came to the conclusion that the glow was a warning from my mother for me to break off with this young man, and that is what I did. I never again had any acquaintance with him.

Later on, my long-forgotten boyfriend married another woman, and they lived together for four years. He began to drink heavily and when he was drunk, he would beat his wife. One morning his wife's body was found. She had been stabbed to death, and her husband had disappeared.

71: Vision in the Snow

One day in the 1930s my father hailed the cab driven by his friend Karl. The big robust man with the heavy crop of reddish brown hair was strangely silent. Gone was the smile that usually spread from ear to ear. In the depths of the Depression, the cab company had put him on probation for picking up passengers who could not afford to pay their fares.

One cold December night not long after this, the office received a call for a cab to be sent to Cross Roads. The company sent Karl, but when he arrived at the designated address, there was no one living in the house. The neighbors told him that it had been vacant for several years. Thinking that some child had played a trick on the cab company, Karl started back to town.

He had driven about a quarter of a mile when he saw a beautiful, black-haired young girl standing in the middle of the road, waving for him to stop. She was oddly dressed for late December; she wore no coat, and her long, sheer, white organdy dress made ripples about her legs as the cold wintry wind blew it close to her body.

When Karl stopped to inquire if anything was wrong, the girl asked if he would give her a ride into town. He was very reluctant to do this, since he knew he might lose his job; nevertheless, he could not bear to leave her standing by the road on such a cold night. During the ride into town, conversation flowed freely. He learned that her name was Karen. She had been to a birthday party and was in a hurry to get home in case her family might be worried. Karl thought that perhaps in her haste she had left her coat at her friend's home.

When they reached their destination, Karl turned to open the door — but the girl was gone. Concerned, he went to the house and asked Karen's parents if she had entered the house. They replied that their daughter had been dead for fifteen years. She had been killed in an automobile accident while returning home from a birthday party at Cross Roads. They explained that many people had seen her on the road, as he had. According to reports, their daughter always tried to return home on her birthday and at Christmas.

When Karl arrived at the office, there was a message for him from Karen, thanking him for his kindness. He was promptly relieved of his position with the cab company — for not charging the passenger fare.

Depressed and dejected, he left the office and walked up the street. When he met my father, he told him the story. In spite of his concern over being jobless, the old contagious smile flashed across his face as he asked, “How can you charge a ghost cab fare?”

72: The Sweater

World War I was just over and celebrations were being held by almost every town in the United States. In Shinnston the postwar celebration consisted of a big dance. My Uncle Joe had just returned from Europe and was in great spirits. He attended the dance with a few friends and neighbors.

While he was standing in the hall watching the others dance, he noticed a very beautiful young lady standing by herself. He had never seen her before, but he walked up and asked her for the next dance. She accepted, and as they danced, he found that her name was Jane McQueen. They danced the entire evening together. It was love at first sight for Uncle Joe.

When the dance was over, he walked her home. Jane's house was about six blocks from the dance hall, and, since it was getting a little chilly, Uncle Joe offered the girl his sweater. She put it over her shoulders and they walked on. When they arrived, he kissed her goodnight and she stepped inside.

Uncle Joe walked back down the street and thought of his pleasant evening. Then he remembered that Jane still had his sweater, and he decided to go back for it.

When he arrived at Jane's house again, he knocked on the door and a man answered. Uncle Joe told him he had come for the sweater Jane wore home.

The man seemed to be surprised and shocked. Tears came to his eyes. “There's some mistake. It
couldn't
have been my daughter. How can you be so foolish and cruel as to come to me on this night? My daughter died on her birthday, a year ago tonight. She's buried only a few blocks from here.”

Stunned beyond words, Uncle Joe turned from the tearful man and proceeded to the graveyard. When he arrived he found his sweater lying on Jane's grave.

73: The Breviary

Late one rainy evening, while driving home from a visit with a parishioner, the good Father Ireland came upon two old ladies walking along a lonely roadside. He took pity upon the two poor souls and offered them a lift. The ladies gratefully accepted the ride, directing him to a large Victorian house several miles down the road.

When the small party arrived, the two women invited the priest to share some hot tea and cake before he continued home. The evening was so cold and dismal that Father Ireland welcomed the invitation. The living room, with its old-fashioned furnishings, was comfortable though dowdy, and the fire in the old open hearth soon made it warm and cozy. Warmed by tea and pleasant conversation, Father Ireland was finally reminded by the fire's dying embers that it was very late. He thanked his hostesses and continued his way home. More than halfway to his destination, he remembered he had left his breviary on the table.

The next day Father Ireland drove back to pick it up — and found the house boarded up as if it had not been occupied for many years. It was unquestionably the same house, since it was the only one around for miles. After a thorough investigation he visited the local real estate agent and inquired about the two old ladies.

Instead of protesting, the agent assumed an air of “this has happened before,” and drove with Father Ireland to the residence. After they pulled the boards away from the door and brushed cobwebs from the entrance, the old keys were fitted in the rusty lock. The door creaked open. A few steps away lay the forgotten breviary, next to some scattered cake crumbs on the table as mute testimony of the previous night's visit. Father Ireland turned to the agent amazed and asked what he knew about his friends.

After a moment's hesitation, the agent explained that the house formerly belonged to two sisters, both old maids, who for many years had invited strangers into their home for tea and respite from traveling. Frequently the two were seen walking down the road and travelers offered them a lift. They always reciprocated the kindness with hospitality. After they died, the house remained vacant. No one seemed to want the home that once had served as a welcome haven to strangers.