His grave was hidden to save the lives of his wife, son and daughter. Old Tobias Brand was seventy-two years old when his Maker called him home.
Tobias, his wife, Alloya, son Simeon and daughter Davonne, were all born in Georgia before Lincoln became president.
They lived on the Brand plantation in a wood planked shack. Alloya was cook at the Big House, a fact she felt proud of. Alloya could make catfish taste like a prime cut of beef. She was glad to be out of the plantation fields and hot Georgia sun.
Brand was the name of the plantation owner. Tobias never did know his real surname, if ever he had one. Leland Evans Brand had made a name for himself among the wealthy of Georgia for his tobacco plantation that produced rich, aromatic tobacco, the choice of men of money in those days.
None of the plantation slaves were allowed to leave the plantation...ever. Such was the fear of plantation slave owners of losing their free labor.
Still, Tobias would come to a place where he wished he hadn't seen what he did.
He loved fishing the creek that ran along the back of the long line of slave shacks. The water in that creek was so pure, fish could be seen swimming past clearly. Tobias knew a half dozen fish for dinner was a easy meal Davonne could prepare.
Alloya was only allowed to visit the family shack after the last meal at the Big House was cleared away. She was usually so tired from twelve hours of preparing meals that cooking for Tobias, Simeon and Davonne was more than she could manage. Tobias understood...so long as his beloved could share his bed every night, it was fine by him.
When autumn came in the year 1846, James K. "Bucky" Polk was president. Whispers were that the country was going to war with Mexico. Land known to some folk as "Washington DC" went back and forth being ceded to Virginia, unceded and then receded.
Times were hard for men like Tobias. Their lives were lived in an invisible rat trap held in place by a leg iron. Try to run and you ended up dead. Plantation owners felt a dead slave was better than wasting money trying to capture them.
"Alloya, I know what'll happin' if I run," Tobias said, one night lying beside his wife.
"Oh Toby, don't even whispuh it," Alloya said.
"I'm jes sayin' it's in my mind ...runnin'. Maybe, hop a freight goin' north or west," he said, in a whisper.
"What about me and the chillun'?"
"Maybe, I could get settled in and make enuf' money to send for you and them," Tobias said.
Alloya hugged her husband tightly. Rightfully, she feared for his life and her children. There were plantation bosses who lurked around slave shacks at night looking to overhear plans of runners. Alloya worried all the next day about Tobias.
She felt relief when she returned the next night. But, Tobias had a tale to tell she wouldn't forget any time too soon.
They made a habit of sitting on the top step of their porch to catch the cool of the evening. Tobias liked to whittle wood while Alloya tended to the family's mending. Some evenings they sat in silence just looking at the swaying of the moss on the huge trees that separated their shacks from the Big House.
"I went fishin' after sundown. Caught a batch of porgies. Davonne cooked 'em up nice," Tobias said.
Alloya knew her husband well. He was a man of few words and many facial expressions she "read" easily.
"Something more to tell?" she asked.
"Yes m'am" Tobias replied.
"Massa's been sneakin' round to Ella's shack. Saw 'im plain as day. He looked over his shoulder twice a'fore he entered the shack. No good goin' on in there," Tobias said.
"Toby, you didn't see nuthin'" Alloya warned.
Tobias shook his head.
"Saw 'im I say" he insisted.
"nuhuh" she answered disapprovingly.
"Did Massa see you?" she asked.
"Don't 'spect so. He looked too werried Missus was watching from the veranda," Tobias said.
"Who'da think Massa would have such werries" Alloya added.
"What y'all mean?" Tobias asked.
"She, being so uppity, cain't put a comb through her hair. Who'd think she care what Massa does?"
Sherlene McClintock Brand was a celebrated Georgia beauty of the kind men have midnight fantasies about. Her beauty could be called ethereal. She had skin white as porcelain and a waistline barely more than four inches wide. Course, the rest of her was concealed by those huge balloon gowns real southern belles wore.
"Missus changes her gowns four times in a day, 'ccordin' to her maid," Alloya said.
"You been spendin' too much time nosing around part of the Big House you got no business in," Tobias answered.
Alloya knew Tobias was getting his mean in for her earlier disapproval. She ignored it.
Life on Brand Plantation went on in endless hours of hard work, oppressive humidity and burning sunlight by day and retreat down the long dirt path back to their shacks by eight every evening.
"Davonne, I'm goin' down to da fishin' hole. We'll be needin' suppah," Tobias said.
The shacks formed an odd curved line with several acres, mostly heavy with trees, of land behind them. The trees started on flat ground and ended on a hill. The creek where Tobias fished ran along the foot of the hill. A man fishing was pretty much covered by brush at the edge of the creek. Most saplings and scrub were thick with foliage the year round.
Tobias had his favorite place picked out. It was a slight inlet where he could dangle his line and where fish came for his bait...crickets and cicadas he collected and attached to his hook. His bait worked every time. He could usually count on at least four or more fish the size and fatness of a small log.
This particular night, Alloya was still working up at the Big House. Simeon was busy patching a knot hole in the wall of the shack and Davonne was cooking up greens and fat back.
All was a peaceful Georgia night until Tobias thought he heard an odd sound. He remained stock still. He wouldn't be punished for fishing. He would be punished for seeing something he shouldn't have.
He saw Leland Brand carrying something heavy. He nearly rose to his feet to ask if the Massa wanted his help, until he realized the heavy thing he was toting was wrapped in an old blanket. Instead, he stayed still and didn't even dare breathe.
He saw the Massa tie two long ropes on either end of the blanket. Then, he tied two heavy stones on the ends. He dropped it quick as he could into the creek. He started to hurry off. Then, he thought he heard something. He stopped again and look around. Seeing nothing, he hurried back to his mansion.
Tobias waited about forty-five minutes before he stood up and walked back to his shack.
Leland Brand sat taking in the evening breeze on the second floor veranda, cigar in one hand and whiskey glass in the other watching his slave Tobias walk to his shack with a mess of fish and his makeshift fishing pole.
Alloya returned from her day's work. They sat on the shack steps, as was their habit.
"Massa and the Missus sure did have a real dust up at dinner tonight. Right in front of company too," Alloya said.
"Wouldn't guess the Massa would let her get two words in," Tobias said.
"She was frightful that one. Never before heard her speak more'n two words at dinner. This night, she was in a pure white heat rage. He made his apologies to their guests and grabbed Missus by her arms and hauled her firm, up the stairs. Sounded like glass breakin' up there. When her maid came downstairs, she said the Massa was sending for the doctor. He told her maid Missus was having a bad "spell."
Several days later, Leland Brand came out to review the work on his land. He stopped where Tobias was standing, with an armload of tobacco leaves and the hanging bag he wore on his left shoulder so full, it made Tobias appear he was standing tilted to his right.
The Massa tipped his hat at the plantation boss. Tobias didn't like the glances the Massa and plantation boss exchanged. It meant trouble. Tobias couldn't figure out what he could have done to be on Massa's wrong side.
Tobias finished out the day as usual. He heard Alloya on the steps of the shack. Then, they both heard heavy footsteps and the shack door slam open. It was Sam Hardle, the plantation boss.
"Tobias, come with me!" Hardle demanded.
"Boss, what'd I do?" Tobias said.
Hardle yanked Tobias roughly by the arm, out the door of the shack.
"You been fishin' the creek lately?" Hardle asked.
"Yessuh. The Massa say we kin fish for our suppahs," Tobias said meekly.
"You see any trespassuhs while you wuz fishin?" Hardle asked.
"No suh. I seen none of them what shouldn't be on Massa's land," Tobias said.
"You seen any of them who should?" Hardle asked.
Tobias knew what Hardle wanted him to say.
"No suh, Boss. I fish late evenin'. No one but me, de fish and da trees," Tobias said.
"If you did see someone, anyone, who don't seem to belong, you'd say, right?" Hardle asked.
"Yessuh, Boss. I sure would," Tobias answered.
"To make sure you do, I'll help you," Hardle answered.
Hardle removed the long leather strop he wore attached to his belt. He used it to hurry the field slaves and to get them to fear him more than they feared dying from heat exposure or exhaustion.
"Turn around!"
"But Boss..." Tobias started to say.
"Turn around, I say or would you rather be blinded first?" Hardle said.
Tobias knew what was coming. He steeled himself for the blows with the strop. He heard Alloya in the shack doorway crying. He heard Davonne scream and Simeon yelling, "NO!"
When the beating was over, Hardle rode off. Alloya, Davonne and Simeon helped Tobias back into their shack as the rest of the slaves remained inside their squalid living quarters.
Tobias felt a rage inside him. He knew the Massa sent Hardle to keep Tobias quiet.
"Why'd Massa send Hardle?" Alloya asked.
"I won't say jes now."
A few days later, Alloya announced that the Missus left the plantation. The Massa told her maid she would work in the fields. She was no longer needed for the Missus service. All over the Big House, the whispers among the house help spoke of the absence of Sherlene McClintock Brand.
Massa's butler, Ben, hinted the Missus had been put in a special place under a doctor's care. Tobias knew better. He figured out what the heavy bundle was the Massa threw in the creek.
When war came to Georgia, Yankees burned Atlanta and several other cities to the ground. When the new president, Lincoln, set the plantation slaves free, many fled their southern homes. Tobias took Alloya, Davonne and Simeon as far as North Carolina. Always, he and Alloya felt as if they were being followed by one of Hardle's men.
During the war, they called themselves "home rule men." In reality, they simply transferred their violence on the plantations they had bossed for plantation owners, to the poor whites left in abject poverty by the war. Now, no one was safe from these men of cruelty.
The Brand plantation was sold to the US government in 1866. It stood in the way of a proposed railroad. The government men came in and dredged the creek and filled in the traversing part where Tobias had once fished for his family's suppers.
As men shoveled away creek rocks, they found human bones wrapped in an old blanket. The men assumed it was a slave who tried to escape from the plantation. Until they found a strip of lace handkerchief clinging to the inside of the blanket.
"Can't be a slave. That's a woman's body," the government engineer said.
They sent the bones off to the local morgue. No one claimed the body. No one really tried.
An Savannah reporter, John Shockley, found the unclaimed body a huge curiosity. He dug up all the information on the Brand plantation and Leland Evans Brand.
From what he could find, Brand had a wife, but no children. According to several of his sources, Sherlene McClintock Brand, Leland's wife had gone mad and was sent off to an institution to protect the family from the disgrace of mental illness.
Yet, Shockley could find no institution or even a physician who attended Brand's wife. Shockley knew there was a story in this somewhere. He met with several of the Brand house workers who told him Brand's wife had an angry outburst at dinner one night and disappeared the next day. No one asked questions. It was the way in Georgia. Still, Shockley's journalistic experience and sixth sense told him to keep digging.
Now and then, he printed bits and pieces on the Brand plantation and the mysterious disappearance of Brand's wife. Leland Brand caught one of those news releases and threatened a lawsuit. Shockley decided to check the institutions in Georgia and surrounding states. It was unlikely Brand would send his wife up north to any institution. He was well-known for his hatred of the North. He blamed the loss of his plantation on the Yankees. When he was approached by the Yankee government to buy his land, Brand was amused.
"They're buying up Dixie land like it's a gold rush. All they're getting are useless tobacco fields," he laughed.
After he sold his plantation to the government of the Yankees he so hated, Leland opened a bank in North Carolina. He prospered quite well and even considered buying an antebellum mansion near the mountains. He had his agent check out the property. It was perfect, although, it wasn't the hundred acres Brand Plantation had been. Still, it had a wide expanse of woods surrounding it. Leland bought the place and called it, Brand Acres. He raised horses and raced them in Kentucky for which he earned additional income.
His wealth grew so that he could afford to buy the bank he managed. He named it Brand Savings and Mortgage Bank.
One morning, Leland sat in his office. As he studied the bank's asset report, he glance up and noticed a face he knew all too well. He saw the black man sit down at Howard Barnsley's desk. Barnsley was the bank's loan officer. He studied the man to make sure his memory matched the man's name: Tobias Brand. As Barnsley and Brand stood, Tobias stretched out his hand to shake Barnsley's hand.
"We haven't come as far as those Yankees yet," Barnsley said, rejecting Tobias hand.
After Tobias left, Leland went directly to Barnsley's desk.
"That man, what was he doing in heuh? I thought I told you we don't do business with them," Leland said.
"Suh, he has collateral and wants to buy a house up in Parkersburg. I told him we don't do business with "his kind. But, I'd check with you. Odd thing, his last name is "Brand," like yours.
"I know who he is. Did he leave an address?" Leland asked.
"He filled out some government loan application papers. Said that any bank would grant him a loan and if they refuse him, he was told to inform the government," Barnsley said.
"I'll not be held hostage by no Yankee govuhmint," Leland snarled.
"We can't tear up his application. If we do, he'll report our bank and we could be shut down," Barnsley said.
Leland grabbed the application on Barnsley's desk, not without noting the address first. He tore it to shreds.
"That's how little I care what those Yankees do," Leland bellowed.
Tobias felt he'd lived an entire lifetime even though he was barely fifty years old. But, he had managed to get a railroad job and earned enough to finally put a roof over his family's head. All he needed was a loan. He applied through the government. He knew no southern bank was going to give him a loan. He and Alloya saved enough to make a down payment. He also knew the home he wanted to buy was deliberately priced so he couldn't afford it.
Leland Brand sensed there was only one man who could ruin him: Tobias Brand. He'd gotten rid of that newsman who was dredging up trouble. Then, one morning as he was sitting in his bank office, he caught a headline and his heart sank. It read,
"Government finds woman's body buried in creek on Brand tobacco plantation."
Leland felt dizzy for a few seconds.
They found the body. It won't be long before that journalist figures out who the body belongs to, Leland thought.
Alloya picked up the morning paper and was startled by the headline.
"Tobias, look at this!" she said, handing him the paper.
Alloya knew the myriad facials expressions she seen over nearly four decades of marriage to Tobias. Never had she seen this one.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Sugar, sit down. Remember the night Boss Hardle came to our shack?" Tobias asked.
"Yes. Who could forget the beating you took from him?" Alloya said.
"There was a reason he did that," Tobias said.
"What reason? You did nuthin'," she answered.
"One evenin' I went fishin'," he said.
"You always did, everyone knew that," she replied.
"Let me finish, woman! Will you?" Tobias said, impatiently.
Alloya looked contrite and sat quietly.
"I went fishin' and heard something while sittin' behind those bushes where that little bend in the creek was. I was scared it was Boss Hardle coming after me. It wasn't. It was Massa Brand. He was carrying a heavy bundle wrapped in an old blanket. He tied it at both ends and then tied to heavy rocks on those ends," Tobias said.
"When was this Tobias?" Alloya asked.
"Before you told me his Missus went missing."
"He must have seen you. That's why he sent Hardle to make sure you kept quiet. You could have been killed. You were the only living witness to what he did to his Missus," Alloya said.
"He musta figgahed so long as he knew where I was, I couldn't do him no harm," Tobias said.
"He just never figgahed we'd all be set free," Alloya said.
"Was that the reason you were in such a hurry to move to North Carolina?" Alloya asked.
"Yes. Once we was freed, Massa Brand would have had one of the home guard boys kill us all," Tobias said.
"Tobias! He owns the bank near Parkersburg where you went to get that loan!" Alloya said.
"I know. I saw him. Don't worry. He won't do bizness with no black man. We'll leave the state now he knows where I am," Tobias said.
"We'd best move where he can't ever find us," Alloya replied.
"Simeon is taking a job in Chicago and Davonne can finished up her studies there. We'll get some property in Beecher. It's rural farm land. We could own a farm and grow all we need to eat and Massa Brand would never find us up there," Tobias said.
"You had this planned all the time Tobias Brand!" Alloya said.
Tobias grinned wide and shrugged his shoulders.
"That's an end to Massa Brand's shadow hanging over us," Alloya added.
But, it wasn't. Not then, anyway.
John Shockley wasn't the man to ever let anything go without closure. For almost four years after that body was found, he scoured every institution in the country, spoke with hundreds of people connected to Brand Plantation and still that lace handkerchief nagged at him like the bunions on his calloused feet from miles of searching for clues. The last, most valuable clue turned up without a search.
He received an anonymous phone call in late spring from someone claiming to have worked for Leland Brand. He wanted to make a deal in exchange for information he had on Brand's missing wife. At first, the caller refused to identify himself. Shockley persisted.
"If you want a reward, I have to have your name," Shockley told the caller.
"It's Hardle. Sam Hardle. I know what happened to Missus Brand," the husky male voice said.
"How do you know the Brand family?" Shockley asked.
"I was his plantation boss," Hardle replied.
"I'll meet you here only at our paper," Shockley told the man.
"I'll be there tomorrow. I want $10,000 for the information," Hardle demanded.
Hardle had become a big time gambler after the war ended. He was in dire straights. He'd heard the rumors about Brand's missing wife. He had a plan. That journalist would pay him $10,000 and he could pay off his gambling debts.
"You only get that if the information you give pans out," Shockley said.
"Fine."
Hardle rang off.
The two men met the next day. Shockley wasn't prepared for the unkempt, six-foot four inch tall man who introduced himself as Sam Hardle. Hardle was expecting Shockley to be a younger man. What he saw before him was a man nearly his own age of fifty with a swath of salt and pepper hair and gray eyes. Shockley didn't like the looks of Hardle. His demeanor was of a man used to bullying others. His hair was practically white and his eyes were an angry blue streaked with red veins, likely from years of boozing and gambling.
"Sit down, Mr. Hardle," Shockley said.
"Sam..or Hardle...is just fine by me," Hardle snarled.
"Okay, Sam..now what have you got in the way of information about Mrs. Leland Brand?"
"She was killed by a black man, Tobias Brand. They met secretly in the woods where he used to go fishing. She musta done somethin' to cause him to kill her. Probably threatened to tell her old man," Hardle lied.
"Tobias Brand? Is he...was he ...a Brand Plantation slave?" Shockley asked.
"Course. Warn't no black man allowed near a white woman in those days," Hardle said.
"Where can I find this Tobias Brand?" Shockley asked.
"That's what you'll have to find out. I gave you what you wanted. Now, I want my reward," Hardle demanded.
"Well, $10,000 it isn't worth, but...a deal is a deal. Here's your check," Shockley said.
"Check? I thought it was gonna be cash!" Hardle said.
"Sorry, my paper only pays by check. We have to answer to our accountants you know."
Hardle didn't know and didn't really care. He stormed out of the news office with the check gripped tightly in his hand.
So...Tobias Brand, a plantation slave killed Mrs. Brand? Sounds possible. Shockley thought.
He located Tobias through the loan application when Shockley checked out real estate deals. He went to the Brand Savings and Mortgage bank near Parkersburg. To his surprise, he saw the bank's owner, Leland Brand! He knew he had to interview him. He concocted a plan.
"Mr. Brand? I'm John Shockley..." he started.
"I know who you are. I threatened to sue you once. Are you back for more?" Brand asked.
"No. suh. I'm here to ask if you know where to find Tobias Brand, a former slave on your plantation," Shockley said.
"And just why would you be wanting to find Tobias? You best not be on that same old track you were on when I threatened to sue," Brand said.
"No. Actually, I'm looking for him for another article. I haven't quite worked out the angle just yet," Shockley lied.
Brand knew how sly news reporters could be.
"Actually, Tobias was looking to buy a home near Parkersburg. I guess he changed his mind. He never came back to fill out the loan application or work out the loan terms," Brand lied.
"So, he could be anywhere by now," Shockley said.
"I'm sure a sharp eyed news reporter like you knows he has two children, a son, Simeon and a daughter, Davonne. They must be about twenty or so by now," Brand said, slyly.
Shockley thanked Brand for his help and hurried out of the bank like a hurricane was about to hit town. Brand laughed so hard, Barnsley came into his office to ask why.
"The trademark of the Brand family is that we know when ruthlessness is the best tool," Brand said.
Shockley found Tobias and Alloya through their son's work and school records. He took a train out to Chicago to meet with Simeon.
"What do you want with my father?" Simeon asked.
"Just to ask him a few questions about his life on Brand Plantation," Shockley said.
"I can tell you all about Brand Plantation. I worked there too," Simeon said.
"What can you tell me about Mrs. Brand?" Shockley asked.
"Nothing. I wasn't a house worker. I was a field slave," Simeon answered.
"See? That's why I need to speak with your father," Shockley said.
"My father was a field slave too. You might want to speak with my mother. She was a house worker, a cook, actually," Simeon put in.
Simeon foolishly gave Shockley the address of his parents farm in Beecher. It was like no man's land trying to find the place. It was hidden behind walls of huge trees. The only access road was two miles long from a main dirt road that was more mud than soil.
Shockley knocked on the screen door to the porch.
"Simeone? Davonne? That you?" Alloya called out.
"No. Miz. Brand, It's John Shockley. I wonder if I could speak with you," he said.
Alloya came out onto the grey painted wooden porch. She spoke through the screen door.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I'm a news reporter. I'm doing a story on the Brand Plantation. I wonder if you could fill in some blanks I have?" Shockley asked.
"I was only a cook there. I don't have nuthin' for no news reporter anyone would want to read," she said.
"Is your husband around? Maybe, he can help," Shockley said.
"Mah husband is busy working the fields," Alloya said.
"What is it y'all want to know?"
"It's about Mrs. Brand..the other Mrs. Brand...Leland Brand's wife."
"She's in a mental institution. Like as not, dead by now," Alloya said.
"That's just it. Government engineers found a body in the creek. They think it might be Mrs. Brand," Shockley lied.
Alloya tried not to lose her composure. Suddenly, she felt dizzy.
"Did you know a man named Sam Hardle?" Shockley asked.
"Everyone knew Hardle. He was called "Boss Hardle" then. Mean and cruel a man as God ever put on this earth. Why do you want to know about Hardle?" she asked.
"I should tell you. He's making quite an accusation about your husband and Mrs. Brand," Shockley said.
Alloya started laughing hysterically.
"My husband? And Missus Brand? Is that what Hardle told you?" Alloya asked.
"Yes'm. He said he thinks it was your husband who might have killed her to stop him from telling her husband about them," Shockley said.
"Mistuh Shockley...is it? Mah husband worked those fields near to twelve hours a day. That's how Massa Brand worked his field slaves. The Massa expected slave families to do for themselves by growing what we needed to eat, mostly greens. Now and then, I'd bring home fatback the Big House told me to throw out. Best meals we had was when the Big House was throwing out remains of suppahs. Some of our men would steal an egg or two from the hen house.
Let me tell you. Missus Brand was a lady, a real southern belle. Ain't no such way she would even look at mah husband. Now, I tell you...I love my Tobias more than the world, but he ain't no handsome man. Here...see for yourself...there he is...coming up from the fields," Alloya said.
What Shockley saw was a man about five feet ten inches tall, spine severely curved from years of bending in the fields, a few thin threads of black and silver hair and short, bowl legs. It was true what his wife said. His face was heavily lined and he had white hairs on his chin. His brown eyes had those blue rings that divulge a man's age quickly.
"I don't believe I've had the pleazuh, suh," Tobias said.
"Toby, this is Mistuh Shockley, a news reporter. He's been speakin' to Boss Hardle. Seems Hardle is accusin' you of killin' Missus Brand. Told Mistuh Shockley here, you and Missus Brand were lovers," Alloya explained.
Tobias didn't know whether to laugh or feel flattered.
"What is Boss Hardle playin' at Mistuh Shockley? I ain't never laid eyes on Missus Shockley 'cept from half a mile away," Tobias said.
"Why would he accuse you, Mistuh Brand?" Shockley asked.
"Because he is a mean, mean man and hates all blacks," Tobias answered.
"Mr. Shockley, suh, I kin tell y'all that one night when I was serving dinner, Missus Brand took a fit. Massa Brand hustled her off, up the stairs. He told house workers the next day she was taken to a place where doctors would look after her. Then, her maid was told to take all her clothes and get rid of them," Alloya said.
"Mistuh Brand, Hardle said you went fishing in the evenin'. That so?" Shockley asked.
"Yessuh. It's how I fed my family," Tobias said.
"Did you ever see anyone near the creek?" Shockley asked.
Tobias went silent for a few seconds.
"Mistuh Shockley, I tell you this. A slave man didn't nevuh evuh dare say what he seen. Massa he'da strung anyone of us up for such talk," Tobias said.
Shockley thanked Tobias and Alloya. He made his way back to his office.
In a peculiar way, Tobias answered the question of who killed Sherlene Brand. Now, he could report Sam Hardle and Leland Brand to the cops. The former for taking money under false pretenses and the latter for murdering his wife.
Leland never discovered the whereabouts of Tobias Brand. He went to prison based on testimony given by his former plantation boss, Sam Hardle.
When Sam lied to Shockley about Tobias murdering Sherlene Brand, Shockley put two and two together. Hardle got on the stand and implicated Brand. The court found no evidence of the lie Hardle told. A jury found Brand guilty based solely on the evidence of the blanket he used to wrap his dead wife's body in. It was the old blanket that belonged to Sherlene as a child.
When news broke over Sherlene Brand's murder by her own husband and Sam Hardle's arrest, Tobias felt uneasy. Leland and Sam might be in prison. But, one day, they'd be out. Already Leland was appealing the verdict.
"At least, the court didn't need to call you as a witness. At least, Massa Brand will never find us," Alloya said.
"Never say never," Tobias said.
Tobias Brand, the former slave and only witness to a murder of Leland Brand's wife, Sherlene, died quietly in his sleep. Simeone buried his father in the woods on their Beecher farm property with the sound of the babbling waters of the creek nearby. Now, the only witness to a murder took it to a grave no one would ever find to keep his family safe.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Saturday, September 20, 2014
The Halloween Party and the Unexpected Guest in Room Three
Maggie Boyler had a well-known bizarre sense of humor. She had to. She grew up with dead bodies in her home since early childhood. Her father was a highly recognized funeral director and mortician in the town of Palliston. Maggie Boyler hid the fact of her father's chosen career from childhood friends as best she could.
How much a secret could having a mortician father really be, when his funeral home sat on Parsonage Avenue in the famed Irish Third Ward of Palliston?
She was glad her parents chose to send her to St. Mary's Catholic girls school. At least, it was in another town and she could live in the school dorms. The benefit there was Maggie's school chums had no idea where her father's business was located or...what it was.
John and Bette Boyler, mortician and nursing professional had a marriage made in heaven, six children within a decade began with their eldest, Maggie and included, Daniel, Billy, Ian, Neve and Kathleen. Maggie was closest to her brother Daniel. Although "close" applied to all of the Boyler children, since they were each no more than two years apart in age. Two, Billy and Ian, were only nine months apart, owing to John's passion and ardor for his attractive wife.
Maggie was known in Palliston for her flame red hair, freckled face and near six foot height. She and Billy managed to inherit John Boyler's red hair. The others were Black Irish with dark hair and green eyes like their mother Bette...features Maggie envied. Not a single freckle on the other five.
Maggie attended the university in Holsford, rather than the college in Palliston. Again, she felt it was an escape from the ridicule of her friends, if ever they discovered she lived on the second floor of a Victorian mansion turned funeral home.
It mattered not that the mansion in which she lived had a rich history. Built in the late 1700s, it was a two-story, with a second floor widow's walk, although that was a rather pretentious addition since the mansion was miles from the nearest sailing ships from which widows watched for their loved ones to return home rom the sea.
The Boyler mansion had always been painted white. It had five foot long windows with long black shutters. The wide wrap-around veranda set it apart from other Palliston mansions built with front porches. The Boyler mansion had three large Greek columns over the portico above the first floor. Maggie would have preferred a more modern home.
John Boyler bought the mansion knowing its shadowy history.
It was originally owned by Hubert Langford, a trader and investor in New York City. Langford supposedly kept homes in Palliston, the city and New Bedford.
"Homes" to the wealthy of the late 1700s, came to mean mansions with great accessions and acquisitions from shopping trips in Europe and the Orient for valuables to add to the collections of magnates.
Langford, it was rumored, had been a bit of a womanizer, even though he married one of the wealthiest debutantes, Lydia Frontenier, one of the daughters of Jacques Frontenier, an importer and exporter of object d'art.
It was said Lydia tired of living alone in the mansion for decades while Hubert found feminine "attractions" elsewhere. Their two sons were horrified when Lydia threw herself from the roof of the portico to her death, dressed in her white negligee and dripping with jewels on her neck, arms and ears. Her broken body slowly seeped blood onto the slate sidewalk beneath her.
The mansion was sold again in the mid 1880s to the governor wannabee of the state, Lydon Turner. Turner, unlike the former owner of the mansion, added an ostentatious gazebo to the property, at the expense of taxpayers, of course.
Turner and his wife, Gertrude, were childless at the time Turner became Palliston's mayor. City Hall, under Turner's tutelage, became a cesspool of partisan antics that always remained under the radar of state and federal investigators.
Had they dug deeply enough, they'd have found bribery and political influence rampant among under Turner's mayoralty. When shadows of wrongdoing hovered over the Palliston mayor, Gertrude, like her predecessor, chose death by hanging. Her body was found swinging from the crystal chandelier in the opulent opalescent glass gazebo. Turner left the state quietly. The town had the gazebo torn down.
The next owner was a fifty-eight year old art dealer, Bernard Littleton, from the city. He purchased the mansion in 1918, with the intent of turning it into a Victorian art gallery. He began to load the front rooms of the mansion with various pieces of traditional and modern art.
One evening, Littleton was awakened by a sound that seemed to come from the front room. He hurried down the stairs with his walking stick in his hand, assuming a burglar broke into the mansion. What he saw next stunned him.
Several of the art work on display were turned upside down or tossed, face down, onto the Oriental carpet. Bernard was sure this was the work of a burglar.
He quickly lit a candle and checked the front door. It was locked! Next, he checked all of the windows. They were all locked. He went from room to room on the first floor of the mansion. All of the windows and doors were locked.
When he reached the central staircase, he heard another sound coming from the gallery's front room. He hurried to catch the crook. What he saw scared him so, his heart pounded so furiously, he fell to the floor dead.
The mansion remained empty for more than forty years. Most Palliston people believed it was haunted by its ugly history.
John Boyler grew up in Palliston. Bette didn't. They met at a dance in their college days. John never mentioned the mansion's history when he and his new bride moved in, back in 1957. They spent the first half decade renovating it into a funeral home on the first floor and full living quarters on the second floor, for the large family they planned to have. Bette's nursing career grew until soon she was promoted to Chief Nursing Administrator at St. Paul's Hospital in Palliston.
John's business needed no promotions to grow. People died all the time. He was the only mortician and funeral director in Palliston. He joked with Bette that he had a captive clientele.
The couple decided to start their family in 1962. They both felt the time was right to fill the mansion with the patter of little feet. Bette had a little more freedom to care for a family, as did John, now that both of their careers settled into a solid routine and continued growth.
Then, tragedy struck when John's beloved wife, Bette was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer at age forty-two. Within months of the diagnosis, Bette succumbed to the ravages of the disease, leaving John with half grown children to care for.
It was left to Maggie to return home from her Catholic girls high school to care for her siblings. By this time, Maggie struggled to finish high school in Palliston's public high school, while doling out a weekly schedule for her siblings to maintain the household.
John insisted all of his children must attend college. Maggie was an average high school student who worried her grades would make her ineligible for college. John paid for a tutor to help her pass the college entrance exams.
When his youngest, Kathleen reached age fifteen, Maggie graduated from college with a degree in Business Administration. She started her first job as a bank clerk. She hated it. She wanted to use her degree for a Wall Street job, not a Palliston bank clerk job.
She met Roger Tallman, a young, all American boy who planned to be professional footballer. He got sidelined when he tore his ACL so seriously, he still walked with a barely perceptible limp. Maggie and Roger were perfect for each other. Maggie loved a good joke and Roger loved to laugh.
"He's not exactly the brightest bulb in the pack," is how Maggie described Roger.
"She's this huge red head always trying to get one over on me," was the way Roger described Maggie.
There was some truth to both of their assessments.
Roger developed a huge addiction to playing golf. A small ray of sunshine was all he needed to get him to leave his warehousing job and head off to the links. This always irked Maggie no end.
To placate Maggie's annoyance with him, he patiently endured her endless shopping trips. After dating for two years, Maggie used subtle operatives to get Roger to pop the question so far out of the realm of his thinking, it was nearly in the Black Hole of space: marriage.
One afternoon, a week before Maggie's twenty-second birthday, she inveigled Roger to go shopping with her. Strategically, she rerouted their shopping spree so they'd pass the Palliston Jewelers.
"Oh, Roger, look! That's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," Maggie said, delicately.
Roger glanced at it quickly and wrinkled his nose. He missed completely the gold and diamond ring being an "engagement ring."
He moved fast to the glass display case in the furniture store next door to Palliston Jewelers.
"Hey Mags! Look! Isn't this table neat?" Roger said, hoping to distract her.
Maggie glanced at the table.
"Yes, it's "neat."
That was all Roger needed to play a birthday gift joke on Maggie. He returned to the furniture store the next day and purchased the table, sans one of its legs, which he asked to have "gift wrapped."
On her birthday, Roger handed her only one table leg. Maggie didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I'll get even with him for this, she thought.
John Boyler's brother, Frank Boyler, was a cop and well known around Palliston. One night, he was out on patrol when he noticed a young female kneeling beside a beat up, red sports car. He pulled his cruiser up to find his niece, Maggie stabbing the car's tires with an ice pick.
"Maggie! What on earth are you doing?"
"Don't worry, Uncle Frank. It's okay. It's my boyfriend Roger's car."
"And just why shouldn't I worry or run you in? Frank Boyler asked.
"You don't understand. Roger gave me a lousy table leg for my birthday."
"What? Why just one leg?" Frank asked.
"Because he's a real jerk. He was supposed to take me out to an expensive restaurant. He ran off to the links instead. Then, he shows up hours later, after I'm in a lather with one stupid table leg," she said.
"Maggie, I'll pretend I didn't see what you did. But, you do have to get out of here before another patrol car finds you," Frank said.
"Are you going to tell my father?" she asked.
"I should. But, I won't. Now, be off with you," Frank added.
Roger chalked up the flattened tires to some kids vandalizing the neighborhood. Maggie found it difficult to stifle her amusement.
"Yes. That's probably it," she agreed, forcing solemnity in her expression.
Halloween was just a few days away. Maggie loved parties. Her father was out of town on business for a week. It was the perfect opportunity to have a Halloween party to end all Halloween parties.
She sent out invitations, ordered catered food and had her father's cousin, the owner of Bell's Liquors, deliver two ice cold beer kegs, soda pop, rye, scotch and rum. The invitations invited ten of her and Roger's friends. Costumes were mandatory. She planned a scavenger hunt and a costume parade on the front lawn.
Maggie slipped downstairs to the funeral rooms for the first time in her life. She needed a place to hold her party. She steeled her fears of the first floor. She never did know what it was about the thought of these rooms that made the hair on her neck stand on end.
She knew her father would be absolutely displeased if he knew she planned to hold the party here. As she busied herself, her fears abated.
She loaded one empty casket with two beer kegs and the other with a plastic sheet. Then, she set up the food inside the second casket. She heard her father say caskets were always set up as displays for the bereaved.
Maggie figured it was time to make good on all the years she avoided telling her friends where she lived or what her father did for a living. In a way, it was sweet revenge for all the years she endured of jokes about living over a funeral home.
Halloween night arrived brooding, starless and full of heavy clouds. Maggie donned a long, long black wig and a black, silky slip gown she bought in a costume store. She planned to be a female vampire. She painted her face with blood red lipstick, black eye shadow and liner and powdered her face with white makeup. She looked at herself in the full length mirror, pleased with her results.
Her siblings were all warned to make themselves scarce for the entire night. This wasn't a problem since Daniel, Billy and Ian were finishing college out of state, Neve was planning to go to a Halloween party across town and Kathleen was staying at a Halloween hen party for the night.
Maggie turned off the lights that usually illuminated the front of the mansion in floodlight fashion. The place looked pitch dark to the first guests who arrived.
"This can't be the right place," Jenny Newton, Maggie's college friend said.
"I'm sure I have the right address," Tim Warren said to Jenny.
Maggie opened the front door as the rest of the guests promptly began to stride up the sidewalk.
Then, she flipped on the lights.
"Oh my God! This is a funeral home!" Alicia Patrick said.
"Maggie, your father is going to murder you when he finds out what you've done," Roger said.
"He's out of town for the next five days. I'll have everything back in order by tomorrow afternoon," she answered.
The guests had a great time parading and prancing around on the front lawn of the funeral home in their costumes to taped marching band music.
After the parade, it was time for the scavenger hunt. Maggie separated the group into two teams. She handed each a list of five things the team had to find and bring back to be the winning team. Maggie prepared a gift basket of wines, cheeses and crackers for the winning team. The teams scoured the neighborhood for the items, most of which were located in St. Agnes Cemetery a few blocks from Maggie's home. It was Maggie's personal joke on her guests.
As the Halloween party began to wind down, one guest, Alicia Patrick, accidentally wandered into the third funeral display room thinking it was a closet where her coat was hanging. Maggie left Room Three empty with only a bier and empty casket. She kept the door to the room closed.
Alicia let out a piercing scream and fainted.
"What on earth?" Maggie said.
All of the guests hurried to Room Three, an unoccupied, they thought, room. Maggie struggled nervously to open the door. She flipped on the light switch and found Alicia sprawled out on the floor.
"Alicia? Are you alright?" Maggie asked.
"I uh...Where did "she" go?" Alicia asked.
"Where did who go?" Maggie said.
"The woman who was standing by the empty casket," Alicia said.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Roger said.
"I saw her as plain as day. She was here, I tell you. I'm not making this up," Alicia insisted.
Maggie stared at Roger who shrugged his shoulders.
"Come on, let's get you up and out of here," Maggie said, helping her friend to her feet.
After all the guests finally left, Roger helped Maggie clear away the trash.
"Alicia might have had one too many. It's easy to imagine you see a ghost when you've had too much to drink," Roger said.
"Roger, she was frightened out of her wits," Maggie said.
"Still, you've never seen any ghosts here, have you?" he asked.
"I never came down here before. I hated the sight of this part of the house," Maggie said.
"You mean you have never ever been in any of these rooms," Roger asked.
"No."
Maggie felt uneasy being alone in the house with everyone gone for the night.
"Can I come and stay with you tonight?" she asked.
"Sure, but why? You aren't afraid the ghost will return are you?" Roger laughed.
"I...well..I'd rather not be left all alone," she insisted.
Maggie spent the next two days returning the rooms to their original state, hoping her father wouldn't know about the Halloween party.
When John Boyler returned, he sensed Maggie was on edge. He wasn't sure why.
He resumed his business as usual. Two bodies needed to be prepared for funerals. He inspected the rooms. He planned to use Room Two and Room Three.
Room One had a peculiar odor. He opened the drapes and windows to air it out.
When he entered Room Three, he had the odd feeling he was being watched. He flipped on the light switch. This was the room were Alicia Patrick fainted. John flipped the light switch off again quickly. Something was amiss and he was hard put to figure out what it was.
He saw something in the darkness that glowed. It moved slowly across the room like a vaporous white film. When he switched on the light again, he saw something sparkly on the floor beside the empty casket.
He never, before this moment, felt spooked in his life. He strode over to the sparkly object. Embedded in the oriental carpet beneath the bier was a woman's earring. Someone had been in this room.
"Maggie! Can you please come down here?" he called up the stairs.
"What is it, Dad?" she asked, hurrying down the stairs.
"Who was in this room?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I found this on the floor embedded in the carpet, just beneath the casket," John said.
"It's an earring!" Maggie said.
"Who's earring might this be and what's it doing in that room?" John demanded.
"Dad, I can explain. I should have told you. I was afraid you'd say "No." I, that is, we, Roger and I had a party with about ten of our friends on Halloween night, while you were away," Maggie confessed, contritely.
"I see. But, the other rooms are immaculate. Where did you have the party then?" John asked.
"In Rooms One and Two. This room was kept dark and we didn't need it. We stashed the food and drinks in the other two rooms," Maggie explained.
"So, how did this earring get in there?" John asked.
"Alicia Patrick wandered in here. She thought it was the closet where I'd hung the guests' coats. We heard a scream and found she'd fainted on the floor. She kept insisting she saw a woman in white in here. Roger thought she had too much to drink," Maggie said.
"Was she that drunk?" John asked.
"That's the odd thing, she was the dedicated driver. She wasn't drinking. I called her the next day to ask after her, what with her being so frightened and all. She told me she didn't have anything stronger to drink than soda pop," Maggie said.
"I'll call her and tell her we found her earring," Maggie added.
Maggie dialed Alicia's home phone number.
"Alicia? I blew it. My Dad knows about the Halloween party we had," Maggie said.
"How'd he find out?" Alicia asked.
"He found your earring in Room Three...where we found you lying on the floor in a heap," Maggie said.
"Maggie? Uh...I wasn't wearing any earrings. I couldn't because of the mask I was wearing. The earrings kept getting tangled in the elastic that was attached to the mask. Maybe, one of the other guests lost it. What did it look like so I can describe it to the others," Alicia said.
"It looks old. You know? Like one of those heirloom earrings grandmothers wear. It's a round, domed stud covered in small crusted diamonds," Maggie said.
"That doesn't sound like anything any of the other girls would wear. It sounds old fashioned," Alicia said.
"Well, let me know if you figure out who dropped it," Maggie said.
About five days later, Alicia called Maggie. She sounded strangely vacant.
"Maggie? It's Alicia. I wanted to let you know I spoke to all the girls at your party. The earring doesn't belong to any of them. Maybe, it was in there from a prior funeral," Alicia said before ringing off.
Maggie knocked on the door to her father's office on the second floor of the mansion.
"Dad, do you still have that earring?" Maggie asked.
"Maggie, it's the darnedest thing. I thought I put it right here in my desk organizer. It's gone. I've searched this entire room on my hands and knees. It's no where to be found. Now, what was it you wanted with the earring?" he asked.
"Alicia just called. None of the girls who were here the night of the Halloween party wore an earring like that one," Maggie said.
"You say Alicia insisted she saw an woman in Room Three?"
"Yes."
John and Maggie shuddered.
"For some peculiar reason, I just felt a chill as if someone walked over my grave," John said.
"Me too," Maggie responded.
How much a secret could having a mortician father really be, when his funeral home sat on Parsonage Avenue in the famed Irish Third Ward of Palliston?
She was glad her parents chose to send her to St. Mary's Catholic girls school. At least, it was in another town and she could live in the school dorms. The benefit there was Maggie's school chums had no idea where her father's business was located or...what it was.
John and Bette Boyler, mortician and nursing professional had a marriage made in heaven, six children within a decade began with their eldest, Maggie and included, Daniel, Billy, Ian, Neve and Kathleen. Maggie was closest to her brother Daniel. Although "close" applied to all of the Boyler children, since they were each no more than two years apart in age. Two, Billy and Ian, were only nine months apart, owing to John's passion and ardor for his attractive wife.
Maggie was known in Palliston for her flame red hair, freckled face and near six foot height. She and Billy managed to inherit John Boyler's red hair. The others were Black Irish with dark hair and green eyes like their mother Bette...features Maggie envied. Not a single freckle on the other five.
Maggie attended the university in Holsford, rather than the college in Palliston. Again, she felt it was an escape from the ridicule of her friends, if ever they discovered she lived on the second floor of a Victorian mansion turned funeral home.
It mattered not that the mansion in which she lived had a rich history. Built in the late 1700s, it was a two-story, with a second floor widow's walk, although that was a rather pretentious addition since the mansion was miles from the nearest sailing ships from which widows watched for their loved ones to return home rom the sea.
The Boyler mansion had always been painted white. It had five foot long windows with long black shutters. The wide wrap-around veranda set it apart from other Palliston mansions built with front porches. The Boyler mansion had three large Greek columns over the portico above the first floor. Maggie would have preferred a more modern home.
John Boyler bought the mansion knowing its shadowy history.
It was originally owned by Hubert Langford, a trader and investor in New York City. Langford supposedly kept homes in Palliston, the city and New Bedford.
"Homes" to the wealthy of the late 1700s, came to mean mansions with great accessions and acquisitions from shopping trips in Europe and the Orient for valuables to add to the collections of magnates.
Langford, it was rumored, had been a bit of a womanizer, even though he married one of the wealthiest debutantes, Lydia Frontenier, one of the daughters of Jacques Frontenier, an importer and exporter of object d'art.
It was said Lydia tired of living alone in the mansion for decades while Hubert found feminine "attractions" elsewhere. Their two sons were horrified when Lydia threw herself from the roof of the portico to her death, dressed in her white negligee and dripping with jewels on her neck, arms and ears. Her broken body slowly seeped blood onto the slate sidewalk beneath her.
The mansion was sold again in the mid 1880s to the governor wannabee of the state, Lydon Turner. Turner, unlike the former owner of the mansion, added an ostentatious gazebo to the property, at the expense of taxpayers, of course.
Turner and his wife, Gertrude, were childless at the time Turner became Palliston's mayor. City Hall, under Turner's tutelage, became a cesspool of partisan antics that always remained under the radar of state and federal investigators.
Had they dug deeply enough, they'd have found bribery and political influence rampant among under Turner's mayoralty. When shadows of wrongdoing hovered over the Palliston mayor, Gertrude, like her predecessor, chose death by hanging. Her body was found swinging from the crystal chandelier in the opulent opalescent glass gazebo. Turner left the state quietly. The town had the gazebo torn down.
The next owner was a fifty-eight year old art dealer, Bernard Littleton, from the city. He purchased the mansion in 1918, with the intent of turning it into a Victorian art gallery. He began to load the front rooms of the mansion with various pieces of traditional and modern art.
One evening, Littleton was awakened by a sound that seemed to come from the front room. He hurried down the stairs with his walking stick in his hand, assuming a burglar broke into the mansion. What he saw next stunned him.
Several of the art work on display were turned upside down or tossed, face down, onto the Oriental carpet. Bernard was sure this was the work of a burglar.
He quickly lit a candle and checked the front door. It was locked! Next, he checked all of the windows. They were all locked. He went from room to room on the first floor of the mansion. All of the windows and doors were locked.
When he reached the central staircase, he heard another sound coming from the gallery's front room. He hurried to catch the crook. What he saw scared him so, his heart pounded so furiously, he fell to the floor dead.
The mansion remained empty for more than forty years. Most Palliston people believed it was haunted by its ugly history.
John Boyler grew up in Palliston. Bette didn't. They met at a dance in their college days. John never mentioned the mansion's history when he and his new bride moved in, back in 1957. They spent the first half decade renovating it into a funeral home on the first floor and full living quarters on the second floor, for the large family they planned to have. Bette's nursing career grew until soon she was promoted to Chief Nursing Administrator at St. Paul's Hospital in Palliston.
John's business needed no promotions to grow. People died all the time. He was the only mortician and funeral director in Palliston. He joked with Bette that he had a captive clientele.
The couple decided to start their family in 1962. They both felt the time was right to fill the mansion with the patter of little feet. Bette had a little more freedom to care for a family, as did John, now that both of their careers settled into a solid routine and continued growth.
Then, tragedy struck when John's beloved wife, Bette was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer at age forty-two. Within months of the diagnosis, Bette succumbed to the ravages of the disease, leaving John with half grown children to care for.
It was left to Maggie to return home from her Catholic girls high school to care for her siblings. By this time, Maggie struggled to finish high school in Palliston's public high school, while doling out a weekly schedule for her siblings to maintain the household.
John insisted all of his children must attend college. Maggie was an average high school student who worried her grades would make her ineligible for college. John paid for a tutor to help her pass the college entrance exams.
When his youngest, Kathleen reached age fifteen, Maggie graduated from college with a degree in Business Administration. She started her first job as a bank clerk. She hated it. She wanted to use her degree for a Wall Street job, not a Palliston bank clerk job.
She met Roger Tallman, a young, all American boy who planned to be professional footballer. He got sidelined when he tore his ACL so seriously, he still walked with a barely perceptible limp. Maggie and Roger were perfect for each other. Maggie loved a good joke and Roger loved to laugh.
"He's not exactly the brightest bulb in the pack," is how Maggie described Roger.
"She's this huge red head always trying to get one over on me," was the way Roger described Maggie.
There was some truth to both of their assessments.
Roger developed a huge addiction to playing golf. A small ray of sunshine was all he needed to get him to leave his warehousing job and head off to the links. This always irked Maggie no end.
To placate Maggie's annoyance with him, he patiently endured her endless shopping trips. After dating for two years, Maggie used subtle operatives to get Roger to pop the question so far out of the realm of his thinking, it was nearly in the Black Hole of space: marriage.
One afternoon, a week before Maggie's twenty-second birthday, she inveigled Roger to go shopping with her. Strategically, she rerouted their shopping spree so they'd pass the Palliston Jewelers.
"Oh, Roger, look! That's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," Maggie said, delicately.
Roger glanced at it quickly and wrinkled his nose. He missed completely the gold and diamond ring being an "engagement ring."
He moved fast to the glass display case in the furniture store next door to Palliston Jewelers.
"Hey Mags! Look! Isn't this table neat?" Roger said, hoping to distract her.
Maggie glanced at the table.
"Yes, it's "neat."
That was all Roger needed to play a birthday gift joke on Maggie. He returned to the furniture store the next day and purchased the table, sans one of its legs, which he asked to have "gift wrapped."
On her birthday, Roger handed her only one table leg. Maggie didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I'll get even with him for this, she thought.
John Boyler's brother, Frank Boyler, was a cop and well known around Palliston. One night, he was out on patrol when he noticed a young female kneeling beside a beat up, red sports car. He pulled his cruiser up to find his niece, Maggie stabbing the car's tires with an ice pick.
"Maggie! What on earth are you doing?"
"Don't worry, Uncle Frank. It's okay. It's my boyfriend Roger's car."
"And just why shouldn't I worry or run you in? Frank Boyler asked.
"You don't understand. Roger gave me a lousy table leg for my birthday."
"What? Why just one leg?" Frank asked.
"Because he's a real jerk. He was supposed to take me out to an expensive restaurant. He ran off to the links instead. Then, he shows up hours later, after I'm in a lather with one stupid table leg," she said.
"Maggie, I'll pretend I didn't see what you did. But, you do have to get out of here before another patrol car finds you," Frank said.
"Are you going to tell my father?" she asked.
"I should. But, I won't. Now, be off with you," Frank added.
Roger chalked up the flattened tires to some kids vandalizing the neighborhood. Maggie found it difficult to stifle her amusement.
"Yes. That's probably it," she agreed, forcing solemnity in her expression.
Halloween was just a few days away. Maggie loved parties. Her father was out of town on business for a week. It was the perfect opportunity to have a Halloween party to end all Halloween parties.
She sent out invitations, ordered catered food and had her father's cousin, the owner of Bell's Liquors, deliver two ice cold beer kegs, soda pop, rye, scotch and rum. The invitations invited ten of her and Roger's friends. Costumes were mandatory. She planned a scavenger hunt and a costume parade on the front lawn.
Maggie slipped downstairs to the funeral rooms for the first time in her life. She needed a place to hold her party. She steeled her fears of the first floor. She never did know what it was about the thought of these rooms that made the hair on her neck stand on end.
She knew her father would be absolutely displeased if he knew she planned to hold the party here. As she busied herself, her fears abated.
She loaded one empty casket with two beer kegs and the other with a plastic sheet. Then, she set up the food inside the second casket. She heard her father say caskets were always set up as displays for the bereaved.
Maggie figured it was time to make good on all the years she avoided telling her friends where she lived or what her father did for a living. In a way, it was sweet revenge for all the years she endured of jokes about living over a funeral home.
Halloween night arrived brooding, starless and full of heavy clouds. Maggie donned a long, long black wig and a black, silky slip gown she bought in a costume store. She planned to be a female vampire. She painted her face with blood red lipstick, black eye shadow and liner and powdered her face with white makeup. She looked at herself in the full length mirror, pleased with her results.
Her siblings were all warned to make themselves scarce for the entire night. This wasn't a problem since Daniel, Billy and Ian were finishing college out of state, Neve was planning to go to a Halloween party across town and Kathleen was staying at a Halloween hen party for the night.
Maggie turned off the lights that usually illuminated the front of the mansion in floodlight fashion. The place looked pitch dark to the first guests who arrived.
"This can't be the right place," Jenny Newton, Maggie's college friend said.
"I'm sure I have the right address," Tim Warren said to Jenny.
Maggie opened the front door as the rest of the guests promptly began to stride up the sidewalk.
Then, she flipped on the lights.
"Oh my God! This is a funeral home!" Alicia Patrick said.
"Maggie, your father is going to murder you when he finds out what you've done," Roger said.
"He's out of town for the next five days. I'll have everything back in order by tomorrow afternoon," she answered.
The guests had a great time parading and prancing around on the front lawn of the funeral home in their costumes to taped marching band music.
After the parade, it was time for the scavenger hunt. Maggie separated the group into two teams. She handed each a list of five things the team had to find and bring back to be the winning team. Maggie prepared a gift basket of wines, cheeses and crackers for the winning team. The teams scoured the neighborhood for the items, most of which were located in St. Agnes Cemetery a few blocks from Maggie's home. It was Maggie's personal joke on her guests.
As the Halloween party began to wind down, one guest, Alicia Patrick, accidentally wandered into the third funeral display room thinking it was a closet where her coat was hanging. Maggie left Room Three empty with only a bier and empty casket. She kept the door to the room closed.
Alicia let out a piercing scream and fainted.
"What on earth?" Maggie said.
All of the guests hurried to Room Three, an unoccupied, they thought, room. Maggie struggled nervously to open the door. She flipped on the light switch and found Alicia sprawled out on the floor.
"Alicia? Are you alright?" Maggie asked.
"I uh...Where did "she" go?" Alicia asked.
"Where did who go?" Maggie said.
"The woman who was standing by the empty casket," Alicia said.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Roger said.
"I saw her as plain as day. She was here, I tell you. I'm not making this up," Alicia insisted.
Maggie stared at Roger who shrugged his shoulders.
"Come on, let's get you up and out of here," Maggie said, helping her friend to her feet.
After all the guests finally left, Roger helped Maggie clear away the trash.
"Alicia might have had one too many. It's easy to imagine you see a ghost when you've had too much to drink," Roger said.
"Roger, she was frightened out of her wits," Maggie said.
"Still, you've never seen any ghosts here, have you?" he asked.
"I never came down here before. I hated the sight of this part of the house," Maggie said.
"You mean you have never ever been in any of these rooms," Roger asked.
"No."
Maggie felt uneasy being alone in the house with everyone gone for the night.
"Can I come and stay with you tonight?" she asked.
"Sure, but why? You aren't afraid the ghost will return are you?" Roger laughed.
"I...well..I'd rather not be left all alone," she insisted.
Maggie spent the next two days returning the rooms to their original state, hoping her father wouldn't know about the Halloween party.
When John Boyler returned, he sensed Maggie was on edge. He wasn't sure why.
He resumed his business as usual. Two bodies needed to be prepared for funerals. He inspected the rooms. He planned to use Room Two and Room Three.
Room One had a peculiar odor. He opened the drapes and windows to air it out.
When he entered Room Three, he had the odd feeling he was being watched. He flipped on the light switch. This was the room were Alicia Patrick fainted. John flipped the light switch off again quickly. Something was amiss and he was hard put to figure out what it was.
He saw something in the darkness that glowed. It moved slowly across the room like a vaporous white film. When he switched on the light again, he saw something sparkly on the floor beside the empty casket.
He never, before this moment, felt spooked in his life. He strode over to the sparkly object. Embedded in the oriental carpet beneath the bier was a woman's earring. Someone had been in this room.
"Maggie! Can you please come down here?" he called up the stairs.
"What is it, Dad?" she asked, hurrying down the stairs.
"Who was in this room?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I found this on the floor embedded in the carpet, just beneath the casket," John said.
"It's an earring!" Maggie said.
"Who's earring might this be and what's it doing in that room?" John demanded.
"Dad, I can explain. I should have told you. I was afraid you'd say "No." I, that is, we, Roger and I had a party with about ten of our friends on Halloween night, while you were away," Maggie confessed, contritely.
"I see. But, the other rooms are immaculate. Where did you have the party then?" John asked.
"In Rooms One and Two. This room was kept dark and we didn't need it. We stashed the food and drinks in the other two rooms," Maggie explained.
"So, how did this earring get in there?" John asked.
"Alicia Patrick wandered in here. She thought it was the closet where I'd hung the guests' coats. We heard a scream and found she'd fainted on the floor. She kept insisting she saw a woman in white in here. Roger thought she had too much to drink," Maggie said.
"Was she that drunk?" John asked.
"That's the odd thing, she was the dedicated driver. She wasn't drinking. I called her the next day to ask after her, what with her being so frightened and all. She told me she didn't have anything stronger to drink than soda pop," Maggie said.
"I'll call her and tell her we found her earring," Maggie added.
Maggie dialed Alicia's home phone number.
"Alicia? I blew it. My Dad knows about the Halloween party we had," Maggie said.
"How'd he find out?" Alicia asked.
"He found your earring in Room Three...where we found you lying on the floor in a heap," Maggie said.
"Maggie? Uh...I wasn't wearing any earrings. I couldn't because of the mask I was wearing. The earrings kept getting tangled in the elastic that was attached to the mask. Maybe, one of the other guests lost it. What did it look like so I can describe it to the others," Alicia said.
"It looks old. You know? Like one of those heirloom earrings grandmothers wear. It's a round, domed stud covered in small crusted diamonds," Maggie said.
"That doesn't sound like anything any of the other girls would wear. It sounds old fashioned," Alicia said.
"Well, let me know if you figure out who dropped it," Maggie said.
About five days later, Alicia called Maggie. She sounded strangely vacant.
"Maggie? It's Alicia. I wanted to let you know I spoke to all the girls at your party. The earring doesn't belong to any of them. Maybe, it was in there from a prior funeral," Alicia said before ringing off.
Maggie knocked on the door to her father's office on the second floor of the mansion.
"Dad, do you still have that earring?" Maggie asked.
"Maggie, it's the darnedest thing. I thought I put it right here in my desk organizer. It's gone. I've searched this entire room on my hands and knees. It's no where to be found. Now, what was it you wanted with the earring?" he asked.
"Alicia just called. None of the girls who were here the night of the Halloween party wore an earring like that one," Maggie said.
"You say Alicia insisted she saw an woman in Room Three?"
"Yes."
John and Maggie shuddered.
"For some peculiar reason, I just felt a chill as if someone walked over my grave," John said.
"Me too," Maggie responded.
The Masked Ball
Hardly any member of the aristocracy wasn't waiting on baited breath for an invitation to Baron Ludwig von Stoller's masked ball. An invitation to the Baron's castle was nearly as coveted as an invitation to the royal court of the Habsburgs in Vienna. From its lofty perch high above the city, its glistening white stone reflected the sun under its crown of blue sky overhead. At night, the castle was steeped in darkness as if it had disappeared as soon as the sun set.
Dukes, duchesses, marquises and marquessas all prepared for months in advance for the annual Grand Ball of Baron Stoller. The rush of finest fabrics hastened to seamstresses and tailors for the event. Stores of meats, fresh, hand picked vegetables and fruits would fill tables groaning from the weight of food. Wines brought in from Austria's royal vineyards would flow. The small army of merchants paraded their way, with wagons loaded with their goods, like a snake twisting upward to the castle sculleries. The Baron chose the continent's best music, opera and ballet programs for his ball. The performers were among the most sought after artists in all of Europe.
The highlight of the Autumn Gala was deliberately extravagant. Baron von Stoller keenly understood the importance of creating the impression of excess. He also knew the intricacies of creating each event to be more impressive than the last. Though the Autumn Gala was originally intended as an effort of aristocratic appreciation to farmers and vintners, it graduated to exclude the common folk and instead, became a "by invitation of the Baron" only aristocracy soiree.
The Baron was unusually sly of character and interesting by ordinary standards. His features were at once severe and attractive. His near six feet three inches in height made his lanky body all the more prominent. Perhaps, it was his facial features that forced focus on him whenever he appeared in a group. His high forehead, sharp aquiline nose and thin lips accentuated his blue black hair, eyebrows and mustache. His face reminded one of a hand painted mask. Only his near black eyes communicated, when he chose to speak, his intentions.
The Baron was known widely for his reclusive lifestyle. Hidden behind his castle walls, even his staff bowed to his demand for total silence, broken only by the occasional, obligatory baronial galas.
He knew his duty to present the correct image of power and royalty could only be assuaged by what he considered unnecessary partying among the aristocracy. Few knew, even inside the castle, how he really spent his free time.
Though he kept a well stocked hunting store, replete with rifles and bows, they lay unused, except for the occasional request from the King or princes to retire to his castle to ride to the hunt. The Baron endured this, though it was a royal convenience he preferred to avoid.
All of the planning for the upcoming Autumn Ball was managed by the Baron's loyal assistant, Ricard Ronestadt, the illegitimate son of the Baron's brother, long since deceased.
The infamy of the von Stoller family was the illegitimate progeny of the Baron's father, Georgi and his brother, Friedrich. Neither von Stoller brother seemed able to control their desires when exposed to the proximity of feminine pulchritude. Vengefully, von Stoller wives refused to allow the family to be attached to any of their husbands' "bastard" children.
Ludwig took pity on the plight of his half brother Ricard. The only son of his uncle Friedrich died in a battle of the Habsburgs and Ottomans. That left only two illegitimate half sisters, born to Friedrich and a common scullery maid who served in his country manor.
Ludwig felt it his duty to be generous to Cosima and Francesca, both said to be extraordinary beauties, one with fiery red hair and alabaster skin and the other, with hair the color of a raven's wing and eyes as black as coal.
Ludwig kept Uncle Friedrich's daughters in relative comfort in the country manor home where he allowed them to continue to reside. Although, Ludwig took full ownership of the land and all of its related holdings.
He thought about allowing Cosima and Francesca to visit his castle. He even considered inviting them to the upcoming masked Autumn ball. Then, he realized he could only invite them as spectators, never as guests.
He had an idea. He decided to turn the masked ball into a game. He rather enjoyed the idea of using human guests as game pieces.
The Baron worked out the game in the quiet of his conservatory a few days before the ball. He worked through the rules of the game: As each guest arrived, they'd be given a particular Tarot card symbol written on a small piece of parchment. When the names of guests were announced to the Baron, they would hold up their Tarot symbol.
Then, as the music in the huge, glass walled ballroom began to play, Ricard would hold a matching Tarot symbol of the Tarot card deck, aloft on a larger sheet of parchment. The guests with matching Tarot symbols would be escorted to the next level of the game in another room.
The last guest to reach the next level would earn the Baron's favor and, an as yet, unidentified reward. The intent of the game was to create a Tarot card reading that would portend their fate. Guests would naturally assume the Baron would favor them with more of his Baronial land or a family jewel.
When the lights of the Grand Ballroom of Castle von Stoller blazed from six foot tall tapers, candlelit chandeliers and wall sconces everywhere, upstairs in the quiet of his suite, the baron donned his mask and costume. The mask was of white silk and the costume consisted of a long, nearly floor-length, white silk cape beneath which he wore a white, ruffled silk shirt, topped by a white, hip-length doublet and matching tights, through which gold strands were threaded.
To this, he added his baronial jewelry, a ruby and gold collar set off in the center by a huge pendalette, with the family crest in pearls and a cabochon ruby. The effect was stunning.
The Baron waited until musicians completed their first program to descend the castle's grand staircase. The crowd in the ballroom hushed the minute his figure appeared on the crushed red velvet stairs. He paused to allow his guests to absorb the full effect. Then, he proceeded, with Ricard following, to his place in the Baronial throne chair at the top of the ballroom.
Ricard announced each of the guests who showed their Tarot symbol to the Baron, as they passed through the receiving line.
Ricard explained the game to be played for the evening. The masked guests were thrilled to be allowed to be part of the Baron's game. The costumed guests were a profusion of colors of aubergine, turquoise, scarlet, emerald and topaz. There were colorful marionette, devil, angel, queen, king, prince and princess costumes waiting patiently to take their place on the dance floor.
He nodded to the musicians to play so guests might enjoy the latest reels and Baroque dances. The Baron was really more interested in proceedings with game he designed.
How very appropriate my guests costumes fit so many of the cards of the Tarot, the Baron thought.
The first Tarot symbol was held aloft. It was the Reine de Epees, the Queen of Swords. Ricard escorted Lady von Vosten out of the ballroom. When he returned, the next card symbol was raised aloft, the Roi de Baton, the King of Wands. The Earl of Arnsburg stepped forward. Like Lady von Vosten, he was led out of the ballroom by Ricard.
The third symbol was Le Mat, the Fool. Friedrich Marsten, a Salzburg Cavalier, was next to be led away. Two more symbols were called forward: La Mort and L'Hermite, Death and the Hermit.
The Hermit, the duke of Arlsburg stepped forward. He also was led away.
When Ricard returned, he called La Mort forth again, more officiously than before. There was no response. Guests looked at each other and waited.
Then, the Baron von Stoller stepped down from his chair.
"I am he, whom you are seeking," he announced.
The crowd in the ballroom whispered among themselves.
"What kind of game is this?" the Earl of Klagenforte asked, from the ballroom floor.
The Baron nodded for the music to resume. With a sweep of his cape, he left the ballroom. He was not seen again until the clock struck midnight.
When he entered the anteroom where the Queen of Swords, King of Wands, the Fool and the Hermit were waiting, they immediately bowed or curtsied.
"You will now begin the second level of this game," the Baron announced.
"Ricard, show these guests to the next room," he continued.
The obedient guests followed Ricard Ronestadt down a long, long hall. They whispered among themselves.
"Silence!" Ricard bellowed.
"Where are you taking us?" the Earl of Arlsburg demanded.
"What game is this?" the Earl of Arlsburg shouted.
When the reached the end of the long hall, these guests faced a heavy iron door with metal cross buckles and a large lock. Ricard opened the door with a key he had hidden beneath his doublet.
"Enter," Ricard said, sternly.
Not sure what lay ahead, Friedrich Marsten tried to run in the opposite direction.
"Fool! You cannot escape," Ricard said.
When all passed through the door, they saw the Baron von Stoller standing on a high platform across the room. Between the platform and the stairwell from which they'd entered was a large, deep pit.
"Each of you are here because you chose your own fate. You! Queen of Swords. You ordered one of your own to his death. Now, you will atone. And You! King of Wands, your habit of spending feudal earnings on gaming so freely, you also drew your own fate. You, Arlsburg, did you think you could hide from your evils? Those women you freely take to your bed. You sell them to slavers. Your fate is no different than the others?
The Fool, ah yes, the Fool! Marsten, your choices have driven your land into useless, barrenness. The soil of your land is poisoned and the water has turned sour. A fool and his choices deserve punishment," The Baron said, his voice echoing across the cavernous room.
"What do you plan to do with us?" The Earl of Arlsburg asked.
"I? I plan to do nothing with you. The hand of fate is the hand you dealt yourselves the moment you entered the ballroom," the Baron said.
"And what right have you to impose punishment on us?" Friedrich Marsten asked.
"By the right of my own fate. I am La Morte. I chose the Death symbol. So, shall I observe my duty to my fate. I take my leave of all of you. It is yours to choose your absolution," the Baron said.
The platform upon which the Baron stood receded into the entrance of a hidden door. As soon as his image was gone, the stair well above the deep pit also receded until the footing beneath which the four stood narrowed.
They groped at the closed door savagely to avoid falling into the pit until their fingernails bled. Then, they clawed at each other to avoid the inevitable.
It was the Queen of Swords who met her fate first. They watched as her body freely fell to the floor of the well.
The three men gasped in horror as four, raging lions tore into her body until only strands of her dark hair and her silver costume remained on the bloodied floor.
The next to meet his fate was the Hermit, followed by the King of Wands. Each time the lions clawed at each other before devouring the ready prey before them. The Fool was the last. In a matter of seconds, he too was tossed to and fro and then clawed until blood poured from grotesque wounds all over his body.
Baron von Stoller reappeared in the Ballroom to the slow, deep peal of the castle tower bell at midnight. Guests wondered what had become of the missing guests.
The sly Baron knew how quickly rumors could spread throughout the kingdom. He dismissed his guests one half hour after midnight.
Before he did, he announced that the missing guests were winners of his game. Their prize was a long trip to the Orient aboard the Baron's personal sailing vessel.
"Your friends are, at this moment, enjoying a sail on the Danube and will cross into Asia in due time," the Baron announced.
After the last guests departed the ball, Ricard tended to his duties to the Baron.
"Sire, how shall we answer questions about the missing guests when they do not return?" Ricard asked.
"Are there no raging storms at sea? Are there no passengers who fall overboard?"
"But sire..." Ricard began.
"Asia is a violent continent. No explanation is needed. These fools will assume the four were lost at sea or captured by the Ottomans," the Baron said.
Baron von Stoller began planning the next autumn ball. He studied the guest list.
If a Baron intends to acquire more power and might, he must acquire most land holdings of fools of the aristocracy, he thought.
Dukes, duchesses, marquises and marquessas all prepared for months in advance for the annual Grand Ball of Baron Stoller. The rush of finest fabrics hastened to seamstresses and tailors for the event. Stores of meats, fresh, hand picked vegetables and fruits would fill tables groaning from the weight of food. Wines brought in from Austria's royal vineyards would flow. The small army of merchants paraded their way, with wagons loaded with their goods, like a snake twisting upward to the castle sculleries. The Baron chose the continent's best music, opera and ballet programs for his ball. The performers were among the most sought after artists in all of Europe.
The highlight of the Autumn Gala was deliberately extravagant. Baron von Stoller keenly understood the importance of creating the impression of excess. He also knew the intricacies of creating each event to be more impressive than the last. Though the Autumn Gala was originally intended as an effort of aristocratic appreciation to farmers and vintners, it graduated to exclude the common folk and instead, became a "by invitation of the Baron" only aristocracy soiree.
The Baron was unusually sly of character and interesting by ordinary standards. His features were at once severe and attractive. His near six feet three inches in height made his lanky body all the more prominent. Perhaps, it was his facial features that forced focus on him whenever he appeared in a group. His high forehead, sharp aquiline nose and thin lips accentuated his blue black hair, eyebrows and mustache. His face reminded one of a hand painted mask. Only his near black eyes communicated, when he chose to speak, his intentions.
The Baron was known widely for his reclusive lifestyle. Hidden behind his castle walls, even his staff bowed to his demand for total silence, broken only by the occasional, obligatory baronial galas.
He knew his duty to present the correct image of power and royalty could only be assuaged by what he considered unnecessary partying among the aristocracy. Few knew, even inside the castle, how he really spent his free time.
Though he kept a well stocked hunting store, replete with rifles and bows, they lay unused, except for the occasional request from the King or princes to retire to his castle to ride to the hunt. The Baron endured this, though it was a royal convenience he preferred to avoid.
All of the planning for the upcoming Autumn Ball was managed by the Baron's loyal assistant, Ricard Ronestadt, the illegitimate son of the Baron's brother, long since deceased.
The infamy of the von Stoller family was the illegitimate progeny of the Baron's father, Georgi and his brother, Friedrich. Neither von Stoller brother seemed able to control their desires when exposed to the proximity of feminine pulchritude. Vengefully, von Stoller wives refused to allow the family to be attached to any of their husbands' "bastard" children.
Ludwig took pity on the plight of his half brother Ricard. The only son of his uncle Friedrich died in a battle of the Habsburgs and Ottomans. That left only two illegitimate half sisters, born to Friedrich and a common scullery maid who served in his country manor.
Ludwig felt it his duty to be generous to Cosima and Francesca, both said to be extraordinary beauties, one with fiery red hair and alabaster skin and the other, with hair the color of a raven's wing and eyes as black as coal.
Ludwig kept Uncle Friedrich's daughters in relative comfort in the country manor home where he allowed them to continue to reside. Although, Ludwig took full ownership of the land and all of its related holdings.
He thought about allowing Cosima and Francesca to visit his castle. He even considered inviting them to the upcoming masked Autumn ball. Then, he realized he could only invite them as spectators, never as guests.
He had an idea. He decided to turn the masked ball into a game. He rather enjoyed the idea of using human guests as game pieces.
The Baron worked out the game in the quiet of his conservatory a few days before the ball. He worked through the rules of the game: As each guest arrived, they'd be given a particular Tarot card symbol written on a small piece of parchment. When the names of guests were announced to the Baron, they would hold up their Tarot symbol.
Then, as the music in the huge, glass walled ballroom began to play, Ricard would hold a matching Tarot symbol of the Tarot card deck, aloft on a larger sheet of parchment. The guests with matching Tarot symbols would be escorted to the next level of the game in another room.
The last guest to reach the next level would earn the Baron's favor and, an as yet, unidentified reward. The intent of the game was to create a Tarot card reading that would portend their fate. Guests would naturally assume the Baron would favor them with more of his Baronial land or a family jewel.
When the lights of the Grand Ballroom of Castle von Stoller blazed from six foot tall tapers, candlelit chandeliers and wall sconces everywhere, upstairs in the quiet of his suite, the baron donned his mask and costume. The mask was of white silk and the costume consisted of a long, nearly floor-length, white silk cape beneath which he wore a white, ruffled silk shirt, topped by a white, hip-length doublet and matching tights, through which gold strands were threaded.
To this, he added his baronial jewelry, a ruby and gold collar set off in the center by a huge pendalette, with the family crest in pearls and a cabochon ruby. The effect was stunning.
The Baron waited until musicians completed their first program to descend the castle's grand staircase. The crowd in the ballroom hushed the minute his figure appeared on the crushed red velvet stairs. He paused to allow his guests to absorb the full effect. Then, he proceeded, with Ricard following, to his place in the Baronial throne chair at the top of the ballroom.
Ricard announced each of the guests who showed their Tarot symbol to the Baron, as they passed through the receiving line.
Ricard explained the game to be played for the evening. The masked guests were thrilled to be allowed to be part of the Baron's game. The costumed guests were a profusion of colors of aubergine, turquoise, scarlet, emerald and topaz. There were colorful marionette, devil, angel, queen, king, prince and princess costumes waiting patiently to take their place on the dance floor.
He nodded to the musicians to play so guests might enjoy the latest reels and Baroque dances. The Baron was really more interested in proceedings with game he designed.
How very appropriate my guests costumes fit so many of the cards of the Tarot, the Baron thought.
The first Tarot symbol was held aloft. It was the Reine de Epees, the Queen of Swords. Ricard escorted Lady von Vosten out of the ballroom. When he returned, the next card symbol was raised aloft, the Roi de Baton, the King of Wands. The Earl of Arnsburg stepped forward. Like Lady von Vosten, he was led out of the ballroom by Ricard.
The third symbol was Le Mat, the Fool. Friedrich Marsten, a Salzburg Cavalier, was next to be led away. Two more symbols were called forward: La Mort and L'Hermite, Death and the Hermit.
The Hermit, the duke of Arlsburg stepped forward. He also was led away.
When Ricard returned, he called La Mort forth again, more officiously than before. There was no response. Guests looked at each other and waited.
Then, the Baron von Stoller stepped down from his chair.
"I am he, whom you are seeking," he announced.
The crowd in the ballroom whispered among themselves.
"What kind of game is this?" the Earl of Klagenforte asked, from the ballroom floor.
The Baron nodded for the music to resume. With a sweep of his cape, he left the ballroom. He was not seen again until the clock struck midnight.
When he entered the anteroom where the Queen of Swords, King of Wands, the Fool and the Hermit were waiting, they immediately bowed or curtsied.
"You will now begin the second level of this game," the Baron announced.
"Ricard, show these guests to the next room," he continued.
The obedient guests followed Ricard Ronestadt down a long, long hall. They whispered among themselves.
"Silence!" Ricard bellowed.
"Where are you taking us?" the Earl of Arlsburg demanded.
"What game is this?" the Earl of Arlsburg shouted.
When the reached the end of the long hall, these guests faced a heavy iron door with metal cross buckles and a large lock. Ricard opened the door with a key he had hidden beneath his doublet.
"Enter," Ricard said, sternly.
Not sure what lay ahead, Friedrich Marsten tried to run in the opposite direction.
"Fool! You cannot escape," Ricard said.
When all passed through the door, they saw the Baron von Stoller standing on a high platform across the room. Between the platform and the stairwell from which they'd entered was a large, deep pit.
"Each of you are here because you chose your own fate. You! Queen of Swords. You ordered one of your own to his death. Now, you will atone. And You! King of Wands, your habit of spending feudal earnings on gaming so freely, you also drew your own fate. You, Arlsburg, did you think you could hide from your evils? Those women you freely take to your bed. You sell them to slavers. Your fate is no different than the others?
The Fool, ah yes, the Fool! Marsten, your choices have driven your land into useless, barrenness. The soil of your land is poisoned and the water has turned sour. A fool and his choices deserve punishment," The Baron said, his voice echoing across the cavernous room.
"What do you plan to do with us?" The Earl of Arlsburg asked.
"I? I plan to do nothing with you. The hand of fate is the hand you dealt yourselves the moment you entered the ballroom," the Baron said.
"And what right have you to impose punishment on us?" Friedrich Marsten asked.
"By the right of my own fate. I am La Morte. I chose the Death symbol. So, shall I observe my duty to my fate. I take my leave of all of you. It is yours to choose your absolution," the Baron said.
The platform upon which the Baron stood receded into the entrance of a hidden door. As soon as his image was gone, the stair well above the deep pit also receded until the footing beneath which the four stood narrowed.
They groped at the closed door savagely to avoid falling into the pit until their fingernails bled. Then, they clawed at each other to avoid the inevitable.
It was the Queen of Swords who met her fate first. They watched as her body freely fell to the floor of the well.
The three men gasped in horror as four, raging lions tore into her body until only strands of her dark hair and her silver costume remained on the bloodied floor.
The next to meet his fate was the Hermit, followed by the King of Wands. Each time the lions clawed at each other before devouring the ready prey before them. The Fool was the last. In a matter of seconds, he too was tossed to and fro and then clawed until blood poured from grotesque wounds all over his body.
Baron von Stoller reappeared in the Ballroom to the slow, deep peal of the castle tower bell at midnight. Guests wondered what had become of the missing guests.
The sly Baron knew how quickly rumors could spread throughout the kingdom. He dismissed his guests one half hour after midnight.
Before he did, he announced that the missing guests were winners of his game. Their prize was a long trip to the Orient aboard the Baron's personal sailing vessel.
"Your friends are, at this moment, enjoying a sail on the Danube and will cross into Asia in due time," the Baron announced.
After the last guests departed the ball, Ricard tended to his duties to the Baron.
"Sire, how shall we answer questions about the missing guests when they do not return?" Ricard asked.
"Are there no raging storms at sea? Are there no passengers who fall overboard?"
"But sire..." Ricard began.
"Asia is a violent continent. No explanation is needed. These fools will assume the four were lost at sea or captured by the Ottomans," the Baron said.
Baron von Stoller began planning the next autumn ball. He studied the guest list.
If a Baron intends to acquire more power and might, he must acquire most land holdings of fools of the aristocracy, he thought.
Friday, September 19, 2014
The Tale of The Great Bear of the Carpathians
Gisella lay on her back, her long, lithe body stretched before her. Her startling, piercing blue eyes were like a mirror image of the great dome of sky overhead. She felt the chill wind brush across her heart-shaped face with its high, sturdy cheekbones, so like those of her Romanian race.
There was nothing Gisella loved more than a summer in the Sighisoara foothills of the Carpathian mountains. She couldn't really call Sighisoara home. Her life, all sixteen years of it, was spent on the move from one Gypsy camp to the next. She didn't quite understand the reason why.
Elders of her Gypsy tribe knew the reason. It was only on the occasions of gatherings for celebrations, of which her tribe had many, Gisella heard bits of clues whispered by the oldest men who sat around a great fire in the center of their latest camp.
With a half dozen, hand carved, gaily painted caravan wagons encircling the camp, children slept peacefully while women baked and prepared the next day's meals.
Only one woman remained in her wagon. Not because she was shunned. Because, according to tribal legend, she had "sight" only a select breed of Gypsies possessed.
Magda never spoke. She never needed to. By her actions alone, she was clearly understood.
The legend spoke of the old, wizened woman as a relation to Gypsy royalty. As a child, Gisella heard whispers among the other women that the old woman, Magda, planned to teach her special gift to one child among those in the tribe, who showed a keen sense of "sight."
Everyone thought Magda possessed an unusual skill with potions, elixirs and other hand made remedies for those who fell ill. Within minutes, whatever Magda prepared, old Yohann was up and about after being taken ill for more than three days. When the infant son of Georgi suffered from a high fever, Magda was called and the infant's color returned quickly and the fever was gone. The tribe believed strongly Magda was their special gift.
Gypsies, for centuries, had wrongly been accused of being fortune tellers. In truth, all Gypsies knew it wasn't possible to tell fortunes or know the future.
Yet, lingering rumors of Gypsies with the gift of telepathy and "sight" continued. Their flamboyant attire and love of all things gold and glittery set them apart from the rest of Europe's more reserved cultures. Their craftsmanship and artisan skills in jewelry, rug and weaving left their imprint, as they traveled from place to place. Having roots never mattered. Having strong ties to family did.
Gisella also heard about the odd things Magda believed. Things like wolves who understand the language of Gypsies and Ursi, the Great Bear of the Carpathians who wandered the mountain forests protecting Gypsies from the dreaded Ottomans, who hunted Gypsies to enslave them.
When the old men sat around the fire talking, Gisella heard them speak of the Gypsy King who had been stolen away at birth by a Wolf Queen and was kept hidden deep inside the Black Mountain.
As she lay this day upon the soft, black aromatic mountain floor, she thought she heard a rustle among the trees. She sat up quickly. She had never felt fear of forest creatures. But then, she never really encountered any. This day would change that forever for Gisella.
She stood up and look around her. Off in the distance, she noticed a bluish haze in a lush copse. She was nearly a mile from the nearest stream. The haze shouldn't be there. She heard the rustle again. She started to run until she heard a voice. A young man's voice.
As she turned slowly to see the face of the young man, she saw instead, only a huge black bear. She dare not run. She'd been warned since early childhood to remain stock still if ever she encountered a wolf or a bear.
"Why are you afraid?" the voice said.
"I'm afraid of you," Gisella answered.
"I mean you no harm," the voice said.
"What do you want of me?" she asked.
"I bring you a message. You must tell your leader to leave their camp before dawn. You are all in great danger," the voice said.
Gisella turned around to face the young man. There was no young man. She felt more frightened than she'd ever felt before.
"Where are you? Show yourself so that I may see you," Gisella said.
"I am here. I am Ursi, the Great Bear of the Mountains," the voice said.
Gisella thought one of the young men in her camp was trying to fool her.
"You cannot be Ursi. He has no voice. He growls and kills," Gisella said.
"And how many have I killed in your tribe?" the voice said.
Gisella felt confused. She knew the answer was none had been killed.
"Go to Magda when you return to camp. Tell her what I have told you. She will know I speak the truth. Your tribe is in great danger."
"You mean to attack everyone in our camp?" Gisella asked.
"No. I mean to protect everyone in your camp. Your enemies are not far away. They will come in the early morning hours. That is why you must warn Magda and the others. Now go!" the voice commanded.
Gisella stood there until she heard the deep, bellowing growl of the bear. It motioned for her to go with its arms raised.
When she returned to camp, she wondered if she dreamed the episode that seemed all too real. She saw the shadow of Magda pass by her wagon window. Then, she saw the old woman standing at the door of the wagon.
In utter silence, Gisella believed she heard Magda calling. Yet, not a sound floated upon the wind. Gisella walked quickly to Magda's wagon.
She motioned for Gisella to step inside. Magda held Gisella's hands in hers, closed her piercing blue eyes and then released the girl's hands. She showed Gisella a drawing of a great bear.
You have seen Ursi? Do not speak. I will read your thoughts as you read mine already.
Gisella was shocked! She heard no sound and still knew the old woman's thoughts. How could this be?
You have the same gift as I, my dear. Together, we must warn the people to ready themselves to leave this place. Ursi will not keep the enemies from finding us. He will only delay their attack. That is all he can do.
Gisella started to speak and realized it was not necessary.
What shall we do then, Magda?
You must tell your father "Magda knows we are in grave danger." He will know what to do. Now, go and prepare to leave. I shall do the same.
The old woman gazed into Gisella's eyes with great sadness in her own.
My dear, you must know...you will replace me when I am gone. You are the only one among our people with the "gift." You must not tell anyone. The price upon your head is the same as the price now upon mine. It is the one our enemies fear most.
I promise I will do as you ask, if you will promise to teach me all you know.
Gisella glanced briefly back over her shoulder at the old woman. She did as Magda asked. Her father reported what she told him to their tribal leader.
The camp was empty when Ottoman soldiers arrived with Ursi at their backs. Seeing the empty camp, Ursi hurried back to the mountain forest and the cave beneath the mountain in which he hid. His work was done.
There was nothing Gisella loved more than a summer in the Sighisoara foothills of the Carpathian mountains. She couldn't really call Sighisoara home. Her life, all sixteen years of it, was spent on the move from one Gypsy camp to the next. She didn't quite understand the reason why.
Elders of her Gypsy tribe knew the reason. It was only on the occasions of gatherings for celebrations, of which her tribe had many, Gisella heard bits of clues whispered by the oldest men who sat around a great fire in the center of their latest camp.
With a half dozen, hand carved, gaily painted caravan wagons encircling the camp, children slept peacefully while women baked and prepared the next day's meals.
Only one woman remained in her wagon. Not because she was shunned. Because, according to tribal legend, she had "sight" only a select breed of Gypsies possessed.
Magda never spoke. She never needed to. By her actions alone, she was clearly understood.
The legend spoke of the old, wizened woman as a relation to Gypsy royalty. As a child, Gisella heard whispers among the other women that the old woman, Magda, planned to teach her special gift to one child among those in the tribe, who showed a keen sense of "sight."
Everyone thought Magda possessed an unusual skill with potions, elixirs and other hand made remedies for those who fell ill. Within minutes, whatever Magda prepared, old Yohann was up and about after being taken ill for more than three days. When the infant son of Georgi suffered from a high fever, Magda was called and the infant's color returned quickly and the fever was gone. The tribe believed strongly Magda was their special gift.
Gypsies, for centuries, had wrongly been accused of being fortune tellers. In truth, all Gypsies knew it wasn't possible to tell fortunes or know the future.
Yet, lingering rumors of Gypsies with the gift of telepathy and "sight" continued. Their flamboyant attire and love of all things gold and glittery set them apart from the rest of Europe's more reserved cultures. Their craftsmanship and artisan skills in jewelry, rug and weaving left their imprint, as they traveled from place to place. Having roots never mattered. Having strong ties to family did.
Gisella also heard about the odd things Magda believed. Things like wolves who understand the language of Gypsies and Ursi, the Great Bear of the Carpathians who wandered the mountain forests protecting Gypsies from the dreaded Ottomans, who hunted Gypsies to enslave them.
When the old men sat around the fire talking, Gisella heard them speak of the Gypsy King who had been stolen away at birth by a Wolf Queen and was kept hidden deep inside the Black Mountain.
As she lay this day upon the soft, black aromatic mountain floor, she thought she heard a rustle among the trees. She sat up quickly. She had never felt fear of forest creatures. But then, she never really encountered any. This day would change that forever for Gisella.
She stood up and look around her. Off in the distance, she noticed a bluish haze in a lush copse. She was nearly a mile from the nearest stream. The haze shouldn't be there. She heard the rustle again. She started to run until she heard a voice. A young man's voice.
As she turned slowly to see the face of the young man, she saw instead, only a huge black bear. She dare not run. She'd been warned since early childhood to remain stock still if ever she encountered a wolf or a bear.
"Why are you afraid?" the voice said.
"I'm afraid of you," Gisella answered.
"I mean you no harm," the voice said.
"What do you want of me?" she asked.
"I bring you a message. You must tell your leader to leave their camp before dawn. You are all in great danger," the voice said.
Gisella turned around to face the young man. There was no young man. She felt more frightened than she'd ever felt before.
"Where are you? Show yourself so that I may see you," Gisella said.
"I am here. I am Ursi, the Great Bear of the Mountains," the voice said.
Gisella thought one of the young men in her camp was trying to fool her.
"You cannot be Ursi. He has no voice. He growls and kills," Gisella said.
"And how many have I killed in your tribe?" the voice said.
Gisella felt confused. She knew the answer was none had been killed.
"Go to Magda when you return to camp. Tell her what I have told you. She will know I speak the truth. Your tribe is in great danger."
"You mean to attack everyone in our camp?" Gisella asked.
"No. I mean to protect everyone in your camp. Your enemies are not far away. They will come in the early morning hours. That is why you must warn Magda and the others. Now go!" the voice commanded.
Gisella stood there until she heard the deep, bellowing growl of the bear. It motioned for her to go with its arms raised.
When she returned to camp, she wondered if she dreamed the episode that seemed all too real. She saw the shadow of Magda pass by her wagon window. Then, she saw the old woman standing at the door of the wagon.
In utter silence, Gisella believed she heard Magda calling. Yet, not a sound floated upon the wind. Gisella walked quickly to Magda's wagon.
She motioned for Gisella to step inside. Magda held Gisella's hands in hers, closed her piercing blue eyes and then released the girl's hands. She showed Gisella a drawing of a great bear.
You have seen Ursi? Do not speak. I will read your thoughts as you read mine already.
Gisella was shocked! She heard no sound and still knew the old woman's thoughts. How could this be?
You have the same gift as I, my dear. Together, we must warn the people to ready themselves to leave this place. Ursi will not keep the enemies from finding us. He will only delay their attack. That is all he can do.
Gisella started to speak and realized it was not necessary.
What shall we do then, Magda?
You must tell your father "Magda knows we are in grave danger." He will know what to do. Now, go and prepare to leave. I shall do the same.
The old woman gazed into Gisella's eyes with great sadness in her own.
My dear, you must know...you will replace me when I am gone. You are the only one among our people with the "gift." You must not tell anyone. The price upon your head is the same as the price now upon mine. It is the one our enemies fear most.
I promise I will do as you ask, if you will promise to teach me all you know.
Gisella glanced briefly back over her shoulder at the old woman. She did as Magda asked. Her father reported what she told him to their tribal leader.
The camp was empty when Ottoman soldiers arrived with Ursi at their backs. Seeing the empty camp, Ursi hurried back to the mountain forest and the cave beneath the mountain in which he hid. His work was done.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
The Ghosts of Mill Lake
He was only fifteen when his life slipped away beneath a sheet of ice, the weight of his ice skates pulling him under the murky waters of Mill Lake. Mill Lake was the place where the guys met after school to go ice skating in winter and fishing or skinny dipping in summer on the large oval shaped pond . The name Blaise Wiscoski has long been forgotten. The small town of Ickersville grew to such a populous town it was no longer part of a township, had its own high school and two cemeteries, Way of All Saints, on the eastern side of the main avenue and Hazelworth on the downslope of Lake Boulevard. Hazelworth, unlike Way of All Saints, was the older of the two cemeteries and was located at the embankment of Mill Lake stretching northward in a kind of balloon shape.
Hazelworth Cemetery
Hazelworth Cemetery was created out of necessity. It had rolling hills, thick chestnut and hazelwood trees lining a narrow access path to gravesites. The first graves to be interred in Hazelworth were the dead who perished in the massive influenza plague of the mid 1700s. This was later followed by another epidemic of influenza in the late 1800s. Ickersville was the actual geographic location of Hazelworth, although the nearby town of Rodden loved to lay claim to it.
The Cayuga Legend
The entire region of Ickersville and Rodden were part of a native American homestead. The density of the trees near Mill Lake created visions of an era when the Cayuga spent their days hunting and fishing peacefully. But, Mill Lake was not so peaceful. Rather, Mill Lake had one of the most deceptive, forceful currents imperceptible to the naked eye. The legend passed down among the Cayuga was that one late autumn tribesmen were fishing in Mill Lake. Part of the embankment slipped away, bringing a deluge of lake water further inland. Five of the tribesmen were never found. For many years after, Mill Lake seemed sated by the sacrifice of those five lives. When settlers to the region began moving in, the Cayuga warned that Mill Lake could be an angry devil. The settlers summarily ignored the warnings.
Then, in November of 1774, several of the children of the later settlers were playing tag and throwing stones into Mill Lake. It was a cold, grey day with a strong, blade sharp wind. The rosy cheeked children hastened home as the dinner hour neared.
By evening, Daniel Warnes came down with fever. His father, Jacob, sent for the local doctor, Josiah Ames. Before the doctor arrived, Daniel began to have hallucinations and spasms. One half hour before the doctor appeared, Daniel Warnes was dead. His infant sibling came down with the same fever. Within a week, ten children and adults had died of an outbreak of virulent influenza. The survivors blamed it on the curse of Mill Lake.
Thinking the evil entity in the Lake would be satisfied, the townspeople built Hazelworth Cemetery over what had formerly been the Cayuga Indian Reservation. With a certain amount of superstition, they cleared huge chestnuts and hazelwood trees and buried their dead beneath the forest's lush canopy. Some believed the cemetery had ghosts. Often, a peculiar vaporous column would appear over one or more of the graves. Parents warned children to stay away from Mill Lake and Hazelworth.
Over the next one hundred years, Mill Lake became overcrowded with trees, wild blueberry and blackberry shrubs. The water in the lake appeared to be only knee deep. The vacuous bowl in the center of the lake lay unseen. In summer, the lake water was a thick, syrupy green. In colder weather, it had an odd sulfuric blue color. Gradually, the Mill Lake curse was forgotten and children once again began to swim, fish and skate on the lake.
It was the winter of 1884 when Thomas Graham, Jeremy Fordyce and Harold Lynwood decided to skate on Mill Lake. The minute Thomas Graham took a step onto the ice, he felt and heard the cracking sound. He managed not to get pulled away by the strong current only because Jeremy and Harold had not yet set foot on the ice. They tugged and tugged at Thomas's arms until finally he was freed, sopping wet and shivering.
"It was almost as if Mill Lake had a hold on you," Harold mused.
"No matter how hard we tugged on you, it was as if a huge monster had a tighter grip," Jeremy said.
The two boys hurried home with their friend. The following morning, Ellen Graham went upstairs to Thomas room to wake him for school. Thomas was burning up with fever. His thin body shook with tremors.
"Thomas, what on earth is wrong?" Ellen asked.
"Feel sick, Mother...awfully sick," Thomas said, weakly.
The doctor was called in. He recognize quickly it was influenza. He tried his best to save Thomas. By the afternoon, it was clear the boy would succumb. By nightfall, Ellen Graham took to her bed. George Graham came home to a household felled by illness.
When his two sons, Alfred and Patrick arrived home from school early the following day, they reported to their father influenza had spread among their school mates.
The total number who perished in the second outbreak of influenza in Ickersville was forty-two men, women and children. They were buried in Hazelworth Cemetery as the number interred grew to over one hundred and ten.
The whispers among Ickersville people was that Mill Lake once again took deadly revenge on the town. Now, no one ventured near Mill Lake. It lay idling and nearly hidden amid the trees with only the cemetery on the northern slope of its banks. The grave markers began to sink into the red, claylike soil with each rainfall until the tombstones of the Warnes family deceased were nearly sunken to the engravings.
After World War I and World War II, Hazelworth Cemetery became the site of burials of the military in family burial plots. One of those buried in Hazelworth was a survivor of the influenza outbreak of 1874, Ruben Denby, the youngest of Malachy Denby's sons. Twelve members of the Denby family were buried in a family mausoleum in Hazelworth. Ruben was the thirteenth. He was buried with full military honors. He'd served as a Lieutenant in the Army until he was caught in an ambush and shot to death. He was buried on October 30, 1914, a date most in Ickersville also forgot until the family mausoleum was looted forty years later on the same date.
All the papers carried the story of the Denby Mausoleum desecration and looting. In those days, people were often buried with valuable family heirlooms, like Eliza Denby's treasured cameo brooch handed down three generations. It like Malachy Denby's prized gold and diamond tie tack were gone. Ruben's casket was torn open, exposing is corpse. Local police investigators believed the thief or thieves were looking for Ruben's war medals. The glass and wrought iron door to the mausoleum was torn from its hinges.
Inexplicably, a more intensive search found the brooch and tie tack at the foot of the cobblestone entrance to the mausoleum.
Michael Riley, chief inspector of Ickersville police, was puzzled.
"Why break into a mausoleum with intent to rob it and then drop the valuables? No one was watching the thieves. What scared them so that they'd drop their booty and run?" he wondered.
In the dark of that October 30, night, Tom Linke and Albert Winestaff used a crowbar to break the hinges on the wrought iron door frame and to smash the glass door behind it. As they started to leave the gravesite, They thought they heard someone and started to run. Tom had the brooch and tie tack in his hand when he saw the eerie vapor in front of the Warnes grave. Both men ran blindly in the dark, fog misted night. As they ran closer and closer to Mill Lake, they lost their way. Tom Linke and Albert Winestaff struggled to free themselves from the embankment sucking them in. Lake water crept into the holes they'd dug with their feet as they fervishly tried to escape.
Their bodies were never found. Their families figured they'd gotten into trouble and hopped a freight train as all men in trouble did those days. With the news of the mausoleum robbery so fresh in the minds of Ickersville police, their families didn't dare take the chance Tom or Albert were involved. What else would explain their disappearance, they reasoned.
The robbery of the Denby mausoleum was the talk of Ickersville for several years. But, another more dastardly incident would shake the town for decades.
The day began with a weak December sun. The children in Ickersville, not knowing the past history of Mill Lake, headed with their ice skates to the one place that had a thick ice coating. With warnings from their parents not to skate alone and to stay close to the edge of the lake, Blaise Wiscoski, Daniel Billings, Johnny Ryder and Eddie Franco planned an ice hockey game on Mill Lake at ten that morning.
The boys donned heavy winter jackets, woolen caps and gloves and walked the half mile to Mill Lake. The sun by 10 AM was tucked behind leaden clouds and the scent of a first snowfall was in the air. The wind was calm and as they approached the banks of the lake, skates laced tightly, they could see the ice was solid and thick. They felt no worry. They tossed the hockey puck back and forth in the throes of the game until the puck careened toward the center of the lake. Blaise and Daniel skated quickly toward it, their hockey sticks in hand.
Blaise heard the crack first.
"Danny, the ice! It's cracking. Get back!" Blaise said.
In a split second Blaise fell beneath the ice into the wild current below. He struggled to the surface trying to use his hockey stick to help him get back to the surface. The crack grew in circumference to about four feet. Danny leaned over to try to help Blaise as the rest of the boys ran to help. Danny grabbed Blaise's hand; but, a sudden current pulled Blaise down deep into the water. Danny fell in next. The ice continued to crack until Johnny and Eddie knew trying to save Blaise and Danny was useless. They ran for help.
By the time help arrived, the volunteer firemen and police tried desperately to find the bodies of Blaise Wiscoski and Daniel Billings. From that day on, Mill Lake was off limits to everyone.
The Wiscoski and Billings families buried their sons six months later in Hazelworth when their bodies were found washed onto the Mill Lake embankment.
The police needn't have warned the people of Ickersville about Mill Lake. There was an eerie warning in late summer and early autumn whenever a peculiar green mist formed above the center of the lake. Sometimes, it loomed as high as six feet. Other times, it wavered back and forth as if calling to some unsuspecting victim.
Twenty years later when the town tried to narrow Mill Lake by building brick retaining walls, Mill Lake took revenge. It flooded its banks destroying several nearby homes with a deluge of water.
Hazelworth Cemetery
Hazelworth Cemetery was created out of necessity. It had rolling hills, thick chestnut and hazelwood trees lining a narrow access path to gravesites. The first graves to be interred in Hazelworth were the dead who perished in the massive influenza plague of the mid 1700s. This was later followed by another epidemic of influenza in the late 1800s. Ickersville was the actual geographic location of Hazelworth, although the nearby town of Rodden loved to lay claim to it.
The Cayuga Legend
The entire region of Ickersville and Rodden were part of a native American homestead. The density of the trees near Mill Lake created visions of an era when the Cayuga spent their days hunting and fishing peacefully. But, Mill Lake was not so peaceful. Rather, Mill Lake had one of the most deceptive, forceful currents imperceptible to the naked eye. The legend passed down among the Cayuga was that one late autumn tribesmen were fishing in Mill Lake. Part of the embankment slipped away, bringing a deluge of lake water further inland. Five of the tribesmen were never found. For many years after, Mill Lake seemed sated by the sacrifice of those five lives. When settlers to the region began moving in, the Cayuga warned that Mill Lake could be an angry devil. The settlers summarily ignored the warnings.
Then, in November of 1774, several of the children of the later settlers were playing tag and throwing stones into Mill Lake. It was a cold, grey day with a strong, blade sharp wind. The rosy cheeked children hastened home as the dinner hour neared.
By evening, Daniel Warnes came down with fever. His father, Jacob, sent for the local doctor, Josiah Ames. Before the doctor arrived, Daniel began to have hallucinations and spasms. One half hour before the doctor appeared, Daniel Warnes was dead. His infant sibling came down with the same fever. Within a week, ten children and adults had died of an outbreak of virulent influenza. The survivors blamed it on the curse of Mill Lake.
Thinking the evil entity in the Lake would be satisfied, the townspeople built Hazelworth Cemetery over what had formerly been the Cayuga Indian Reservation. With a certain amount of superstition, they cleared huge chestnuts and hazelwood trees and buried their dead beneath the forest's lush canopy. Some believed the cemetery had ghosts. Often, a peculiar vaporous column would appear over one or more of the graves. Parents warned children to stay away from Mill Lake and Hazelworth.
Over the next one hundred years, Mill Lake became overcrowded with trees, wild blueberry and blackberry shrubs. The water in the lake appeared to be only knee deep. The vacuous bowl in the center of the lake lay unseen. In summer, the lake water was a thick, syrupy green. In colder weather, it had an odd sulfuric blue color. Gradually, the Mill Lake curse was forgotten and children once again began to swim, fish and skate on the lake.
It was the winter of 1884 when Thomas Graham, Jeremy Fordyce and Harold Lynwood decided to skate on Mill Lake. The minute Thomas Graham took a step onto the ice, he felt and heard the cracking sound. He managed not to get pulled away by the strong current only because Jeremy and Harold had not yet set foot on the ice. They tugged and tugged at Thomas's arms until finally he was freed, sopping wet and shivering.
"It was almost as if Mill Lake had a hold on you," Harold mused.
"No matter how hard we tugged on you, it was as if a huge monster had a tighter grip," Jeremy said.
The two boys hurried home with their friend. The following morning, Ellen Graham went upstairs to Thomas room to wake him for school. Thomas was burning up with fever. His thin body shook with tremors.
"Thomas, what on earth is wrong?" Ellen asked.
"Feel sick, Mother...awfully sick," Thomas said, weakly.
The doctor was called in. He recognize quickly it was influenza. He tried his best to save Thomas. By the afternoon, it was clear the boy would succumb. By nightfall, Ellen Graham took to her bed. George Graham came home to a household felled by illness.
When his two sons, Alfred and Patrick arrived home from school early the following day, they reported to their father influenza had spread among their school mates.
The total number who perished in the second outbreak of influenza in Ickersville was forty-two men, women and children. They were buried in Hazelworth Cemetery as the number interred grew to over one hundred and ten.
The whispers among Ickersville people was that Mill Lake once again took deadly revenge on the town. Now, no one ventured near Mill Lake. It lay idling and nearly hidden amid the trees with only the cemetery on the northern slope of its banks. The grave markers began to sink into the red, claylike soil with each rainfall until the tombstones of the Warnes family deceased were nearly sunken to the engravings.
After World War I and World War II, Hazelworth Cemetery became the site of burials of the military in family burial plots. One of those buried in Hazelworth was a survivor of the influenza outbreak of 1874, Ruben Denby, the youngest of Malachy Denby's sons. Twelve members of the Denby family were buried in a family mausoleum in Hazelworth. Ruben was the thirteenth. He was buried with full military honors. He'd served as a Lieutenant in the Army until he was caught in an ambush and shot to death. He was buried on October 30, 1914, a date most in Ickersville also forgot until the family mausoleum was looted forty years later on the same date.
All the papers carried the story of the Denby Mausoleum desecration and looting. In those days, people were often buried with valuable family heirlooms, like Eliza Denby's treasured cameo brooch handed down three generations. It like Malachy Denby's prized gold and diamond tie tack were gone. Ruben's casket was torn open, exposing is corpse. Local police investigators believed the thief or thieves were looking for Ruben's war medals. The glass and wrought iron door to the mausoleum was torn from its hinges.
Inexplicably, a more intensive search found the brooch and tie tack at the foot of the cobblestone entrance to the mausoleum.
Michael Riley, chief inspector of Ickersville police, was puzzled.
"Why break into a mausoleum with intent to rob it and then drop the valuables? No one was watching the thieves. What scared them so that they'd drop their booty and run?" he wondered.
In the dark of that October 30, night, Tom Linke and Albert Winestaff used a crowbar to break the hinges on the wrought iron door frame and to smash the glass door behind it. As they started to leave the gravesite, They thought they heard someone and started to run. Tom had the brooch and tie tack in his hand when he saw the eerie vapor in front of the Warnes grave. Both men ran blindly in the dark, fog misted night. As they ran closer and closer to Mill Lake, they lost their way. Tom Linke and Albert Winestaff struggled to free themselves from the embankment sucking them in. Lake water crept into the holes they'd dug with their feet as they fervishly tried to escape.
Their bodies were never found. Their families figured they'd gotten into trouble and hopped a freight train as all men in trouble did those days. With the news of the mausoleum robbery so fresh in the minds of Ickersville police, their families didn't dare take the chance Tom or Albert were involved. What else would explain their disappearance, they reasoned.
The robbery of the Denby mausoleum was the talk of Ickersville for several years. But, another more dastardly incident would shake the town for decades.
The day began with a weak December sun. The children in Ickersville, not knowing the past history of Mill Lake, headed with their ice skates to the one place that had a thick ice coating. With warnings from their parents not to skate alone and to stay close to the edge of the lake, Blaise Wiscoski, Daniel Billings, Johnny Ryder and Eddie Franco planned an ice hockey game on Mill Lake at ten that morning.
The boys donned heavy winter jackets, woolen caps and gloves and walked the half mile to Mill Lake. The sun by 10 AM was tucked behind leaden clouds and the scent of a first snowfall was in the air. The wind was calm and as they approached the banks of the lake, skates laced tightly, they could see the ice was solid and thick. They felt no worry. They tossed the hockey puck back and forth in the throes of the game until the puck careened toward the center of the lake. Blaise and Daniel skated quickly toward it, their hockey sticks in hand.
Blaise heard the crack first.
"Danny, the ice! It's cracking. Get back!" Blaise said.
In a split second Blaise fell beneath the ice into the wild current below. He struggled to the surface trying to use his hockey stick to help him get back to the surface. The crack grew in circumference to about four feet. Danny leaned over to try to help Blaise as the rest of the boys ran to help. Danny grabbed Blaise's hand; but, a sudden current pulled Blaise down deep into the water. Danny fell in next. The ice continued to crack until Johnny and Eddie knew trying to save Blaise and Danny was useless. They ran for help.
By the time help arrived, the volunteer firemen and police tried desperately to find the bodies of Blaise Wiscoski and Daniel Billings. From that day on, Mill Lake was off limits to everyone.
The Wiscoski and Billings families buried their sons six months later in Hazelworth when their bodies were found washed onto the Mill Lake embankment.
The police needn't have warned the people of Ickersville about Mill Lake. There was an eerie warning in late summer and early autumn whenever a peculiar green mist formed above the center of the lake. Sometimes, it loomed as high as six feet. Other times, it wavered back and forth as if calling to some unsuspecting victim.
Twenty years later when the town tried to narrow Mill Lake by building brick retaining walls, Mill Lake took revenge. It flooded its banks destroying several nearby homes with a deluge of water.
Monday, September 15, 2014
The Helmes House Haunting
James Helmes haunts his property for a reason.
Sometimes, he’s seen at the foot of the long, long drive propped near one of the
two massive stone pillars that connect the eight foot high, black wrought iron gate
surrounding two acres of his land.
Enough people have seen James Helmes to scare them off ever trying
a break in or burglary. His mansion sits toward the direct center of ten acres of
forested land. Huge, frothy evergreens dance in the wind adding to the eerie effect.
Even the wind has a peculiar screaming tone.
Anyone who has ever driven off Highway 91 invariably ends up
the old paved exit road and finds themselves in front of the eight foot tall, ten
foot wide gates in front of the mansion. Most curiosity seekers get out and try
to seek past the long drive to get a glimpse of the mansion. All the heard is
the frightening sound of that screaming wind.
James Helmes, in his day, was not a very nice man. In fact,
he was a man to fear. By all who knew him. He may have hidden his ferocity
behind that thick dark moustache and equally thick frame of eyebrows. But, evil
lurked visibly in his dark, almost black, eyes.
He wasn’t a man of stature. If stature existed at all, it
was in his overall demeanor. Children instinctively avoided him. His own and
others.
He married Lydia Bohnard Helmes in 1844 when he was already
forty years old. He married Lydia
for her father’s money he knew she was sure to inherit. Mind you. James already
made his mark in the markets and trades. Money to James was something to be
acquired, like a wife and children, a mansion and a staff of servants, to be
added to the list of things owned.
“What’s mine is
mine. No one will ever take that from me,” James often said to anyone who dared
to think of themselves as a threat.
James Helmes was never trusted by any man who had to do
business with him. In fact, many fear his high handed tactic of tearing “the
carpet out from under” anyone who got in his way. Lydia Helmes was nothing more
than a financial trophy to the husband she knew was considered a titan in his
own right. Once married, Lydia
stowed away in their expansive mansion, free only to indulge herself in
trifling matters.
It could never be said James was a drinking, gambling or
womanizing man. Money was his sole interest. Money, how to get it, how to keep
it and how to get more. He truly believed that a man who had more money than
all other men was a man with the kind of power even God fears.
He wasn’t a God fearing man. He wasn’t a man or woman
fearing man either. In his ruthlessness, he exacted a kind of dominance that
could have brought down Napoleon and the Roman Empire
combined.
The truth is James Helmes didn’t really need anyone.
Everything around him was merely for the glory of being his own self-created
royalty.
Behind the walls of the Helmes mansion lay a vicious secret
kept from even the staff James hired to cook, clean and maintain his lush green
lawns and precious floral conservatory. James took extreme delight in pain.
At night, he would creep into Lydia ’s boudoir, clap a hand over
her mouth and use a cattle prod to torture her. He seemed to have a sickening
delight in cornering her when she tried to escape his torture. If she ruined
his delight by hiding, he’d find her and tie her to the bed posts and apply the
cattle prod deep into her flesh.
The scars of this torture were kept from curious eyes by
always wearing long-sleeved dresses, even though the mere touch of fine fabric
caused more pain to her scars.
For a time, Lydia
tried to endure James torture for the sake of her sons. She didn’t realize
James found a more disgusting form of torture for his sons. Each night, they
were to sleep in irons that bound hands and feet. At the stroke of nine each
evening, James would place a binder over their mouths to stifle their screams. Then,
he would attach a tight string to their genitals and pull as hard as he could.
He loved to see the two boys squirming in agony, their voices muffled by the
binders over their mouths.
When Lydia
chose death at the age of thirty-two, James had her body buried quickly to
avoid any questions about the scars a decade of torture would reveal. James
still had his two sons. His rage at Lydia committing suicide meant she
robbed him of his nightly, systematic torture. His sons wouldn’t be allowed
that opportunity.
By 1872, James had acquired the position of fifth wealthiest
in the world.
“Fifth is not good enough. I must now knock out the other
four,” he told his business staff.
Employees of the James Helmes Company accepted his
domination and his rules even when they knew they could be held accountable for
breaking laws. They did what James Helmes told them to do without question. Not
for the money he paid them. Because they knew he kept private dossiers on each
of them and knew more than a priest would, had they confessed their sins.
James Helmes believed ultimate power knew no ranks and no
levels too low that could not be useful to his goals.
The more the world of money James lived in granted him more
control, the more James needed the adrenal torturing his sons provided. By
January 1873, James had amassed a fortune and indeed knocked out two more on
the World’s Wealthiest list.
In the news, journalists warned of a market crash. James
refused to listen to such idle, unqualified prattle. When economists confirmed
what journalists warned, James arrogantly continued his path to wealth and
glory.
Then, the James Cooke & Company banking establishment
failed a few months later in September.
“Fools! Damn fools!” James cursed. He watched as a financial
panic swept Europe and North America . On
September 20, 1873, the stock market James Helmes was heavily invested in
failed.
That night, James went into his sons’ bedroom and inflicted
such torture on both that Alton
fell dead from the pain. Maxim lay unconscious at his father’s hands.
James realized he’d murdered his son. He quickly ran for his
pistol. He knew he couldn’t have a witnessed, even his own son, to the murder
of Alton .
Now, he had to cover up his evil deed quickly. He hurried to
the paddock and prepared two horses and a wagon. He loaded the wagon with his
sons’ bodies. He threw a pitch fork into the wagon atop their bodies. He
intended to use it to toss the bodies into the pond at the western rear of his
property.
The pond had grown syrupy and mossy from the tangle of trees
that obscured sunlight. No one could reach the pond because of the high gates
around Helmes’ property.
When he reached the pond, he skewered one body at a time
with the pitchfork and hoisted them into the air and aimed for the pond. Then,
he watched as the bodies sank slowly beneath the ugly slime.
He walked back toward the horses just at the minute
something spooked one of them. The horse lifted its front legs high into the
air, as the other whinnied and pulled in the opposite direction.
James struggled to climb aboard the wagon. When he did, he
tried to get hold of the reins. The lead horse was still bucking and pitching
forward.
The next morning, Henry Addison, the Helmes caretaker
noticed the wagon and two horses missing. He checked at the house and no one
had seen or heard anyone take off the night before.
“Don’t call the police, Henry,” George Samwell, the Helmes
butler advised.
“You know how Mr. Helmes is about strangers and the police,”
George said.
“I’ll check to see if Mr. Helmes is in his room,” George
added.
He checked James Helmes room. It was empty. Thinking his
sons would know their fathers whereabouts, he went to Alton and Maxim’s room. Their beds were
empty, though the coverlets had been turned down and it appeared they’d been
slept in the night before.
A thorough search of the Helmes mansion by the staff turned
up nothing.
When George spoke to Henry Addison again, he advised Henry
to check around the property for signs of a kidnapping.
What George found instead was the body of James Helmes
smashed between a tall oak tree and the wagon.
“What on earth…?” was all George could say.
The two horses, standing off in a brush-laden clearing,
turned to glance at George. Both whinnied. George gathered their reins and led
them back to the paddock.
“Mr. Helmes is dead. He must have taken the wagon out last
night. Looks like an accident. Something in the dark must have spooked the
horses.
The following day, the police were called in to investigate.
They found the pitchfork exactly where James had thrown it. Later, George
Addison noticed one of the horses James Helmes had taken out the night he died,
seemed to favor one leg. He lifted the horse’s hoof.
“You step on something, old boy?” George said.
The horse whinnied in that curious way he had when George
found him. George felt spooked by it, as if a ghost had crossed his path.
In the weeks that followed, James Helmes fortune began to
evaporate as if it had never existed. Banks crashed in domino effect. The Helmes
mansion was empty and unkempt. The staff left when they swore they heard a
woman’s screams inside the mansion walls and whenever the wind blew. George
Addison thought he saw two strange columns of vapors wafting through the trees
and a peculiar odor coming from the pond.
The Helmes mansion has been empty for over one hundred
years, hidden behind massive trees and heavy brush. Even in death James Helmes
protects his property in the same covetous way he did when he was alive.
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