Showing posts with label spirit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spirit. Show all posts

Friday, September 4, 2020

The Goliad Ghosts

The Presidio in Goliad
After the fall of the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas in 1836, the victorious Mexican forces continued to march east toward the Presidio in Goliad where Colonel James Fannin commanded 400 Texas men. The Texans were ordered to move to Victoria, a more defendable position on the other side of the Guadalupe River. During the move though they ran into the main body of the Mexican troops while crossing an open prairie. 

After fending off four separate attacks on the first day, the Texans spent that night digging trenches. In the morning, however, they found they were now totally surrounded by the enemy. Almost out of ammunition, Fannin asked for a parley to prevent his troops from being massacred. General Urrea, commander of the Mexican forces, promised the Texans would be treated as prisoners of war and given clemency. 

Upon surrender, the Texans were marched back to the Presidio at Goliad and placed under the watchful eyes of Nicolas de la Portilla and his detachment of men while Urrea and his remaining troops continued their march south. However, Santa Anna, the president of Mexico, was determined to fight a war of extermination and ordered Portilla to execute the prisoners. Having conflicting orders from General Urrea and General Santa Anna, Portilla chose to follow Santa Anna's orders.

Inside the walls of the Presidio where the
wounded were killed
On March 27, the prisoners were divided into quarters. While the sick and wounded remained in the chapel, the other three groups were escorted on different roads out of town. The three groups were told they were on missions to gather wood, drive cattle or sail to safety in New Orleans. When they were ordered to halt a half-mile from the fort, however, the Texans realized their fates. The Mexican guards opened fire as some of the men began running for their lives. Those not killed by gunshots were slaughtered with bayonets.

Back at the presidio, the Mexicans stood the wounded against the chapel wall and executed them. The wounded who couldn't stand were shot in their beds. Fannin, who had been shot in the thigh during the original engagement, was the last to be killed. His three dying wishes were to be shot in the chest, given a Christian burial, and have his watch sent to his family. Instead, Portilla shot Fannin in the face, burned his body with the others, and kept the timepiece as a war prize. In all, nearly 350 men were killed at Goliad.

Today, almost 185 years later, the old presidio and its adjacent Chapel of our Lady of Loreto still stand. Given the horrific events that happened within and around the site, is it any wonder the walls sometimes echo with the mournful sounds of spirits returning from that troubled and turbulent time? 

Visitors often report feeling "cold spots" and uneasy feelings as they walk around the grounds where Fannin and his men were executed. In 1992, a man named Jim reported strange goings-on. As a former deputy sheriff and a security guard for a number of years, Jim was not a man easily frightened or prone to make up wild stories. Hired for a few nights to watch over some equipment at the presidio that was to be used for the Cattle Baron's Ball, he expected quiet routine nights. On his first night though, just before midnight, the silence was broken by the "eerie, shrill cries of nearly a dozen terrified infants." He swore the sounds indicated "pain and suffering." Although understandably frightened, he tried to find where the sounds were coming from. After several long minutes, he finally determined they were coming from one of the dozen or so unmarked graves that are located near the Chapel of Our Lady of Loreto.

As he shined his flashlight on the spot, the cries abruptly stopped but were immediately replaced by the singing of a women's choir. It sounded like it was coming from the back wall of the old fort, but the beam of his flashlight revealed nothing there. After two or three minutes, the singing stopped and silence returned for the rest of the night. When Jim reported his experience, he was teased by his co-workers, but he is convinced what he saw and heard was real and besides, he is not the only person to report strange things in and around the presidio.

The chapel
Numerous people have reported seeing a strange, 4-foot-tall friar who suddenly appears by the double doors leading into the chapel. His robes are black, tied around his waist with a rope and his face is concealed with a hood. He then walks barefooted to each corner of the church and seems to bless it before walking to the center of the quadrangle and begins to pray in Latin. 

A woman in a white dress has been reported kneeling and crying by the graves of the children. When seen, she then turns and looks directly at the person before gliding over to a wall and vanishing. A beautiful soprano voice is often heard emanating from one particular room, but upon investigation, there is nobody in the small space. Visitors who stay late often come back from the fort and comment to the staff about the historical reenactors even though there are no reenactors on the property that day. 

It seems there are many restless spirits here. Who are the crying babies? Are they the little lost souls of pioneer infants killed by Indians in a raid or was there an epidemic that took their too-short lives. The woman in white - is her own child buried in one of the unmarked graves? Why does the short friar keep returning? Is his soul in turmoil over so many brave men who were brutally executed? Whose souls are eternally singing beautiful hymns in a choir, unable to leave this chapel? Caught in a timeless web, so many lost souls searching, sorrowing, singing, praying, unable to let go of the life they briefly lived in a little town named Goliad.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Haunted Waxahachie Restaurant

South of Dallas, Texas is the charming little town of Waxahachie and just outside the downtown square is where the Catfish Plantation restaurant is located. It is well known for having perhaps the best Cajun cuisine outside of Louisiana as well as some of the best catfish found anywhere. And one more thing it is famous for - the three ghosts who have claimed it for their permanent residence.

The restaurant is in a house which was built in 1895 and is the birthplace of the great professional baseball player Paul Richards. The owners of the business opened the restaurant in 1984 and it was soon after when they got an inkling there was something not exactly kosher in the house. One morning as they arrived to prepare for business, they found a number of coffee cups neatly stacked inside a large tea urn. They had been the last to leave and had securely locked up the night before, leaving the empty tea urn in its usual place on a counter. They found the urn with the cups inside on the floor. After several weeks with nothing new happening, the incident had just about been forgotten, but then, once again arriving early to begin preparing the food, they found a pot of fresh coffee waiting for them. From that point, unexplained things began to happen almost constantly.

Water glasses sitting on a counter with no one near them would suddenly shatter. Several female employee's reported toilet seats flying up by themselves as they entered. They heard the toilets flush and upon entering the restroom finding nobody in there. Sometimes doors would open as people approached them and close behind them with no help from human hands - not living human hands anyway. On several instances when it was time to open, the front doors would unlock themselves even as a staff member was walking toward the door to do it. And evidently the spirits didn't like their house to be too crowded as often, on very busy evenings, the front door would lock itself as if someone was saying, "OK, that's enough people in here."

Often, the house would have a strong smell of roses even though there were no flowers of any kind present. So many other things happened almost every day that it's hard to list them all; decorative clocks that don't work would chime on the hour even though the hands haven't moved and don't point to the hour, a stereo turning itself on and off and the radio station changing itself, patrons and staff hearing the sound of a piano playing even though there isn't one in the house, strong breezes felt in rooms with no windows, cold spots felt by patrons and staff alike especially in the ladies restroom, knockings on walls, silverware and place mats carefully set the night before would be found in the morning crumpled and jumbled around the tables, dollar bills left by patrons as tips on the table for their waitress sometimes would be seen floating several inches in the air and cups, dishes and pots suddenly flying across the kitchen. One of the cooks abruptly quit when suddenly pieces of cheese and bottles of chives flew around the room. Another cook left when a basket of fries rose up out of the boiling grease, floating in the air beside him.

For a while, the owners tried to keep the mysterious incidents quiet, but eventually the sheer number of weird things that kept happening drove them to seek advice from a professional parapsychologist.
Within a few weeks, the house had been investigated five times by scientists, engineers, psychics and individuals with sound equipment, thermometer gauges, infrared cameras and laser lights. After spending days and nights investigating every corner of the house, they all agreed the place was haunted by 2 female and 1 male spirits.

One of the 2 females was identified as Elizabeth, a young lady who had been strangled to death in the dining room on her wedding day in 1920. She evidently was murdered by a jealous ex-boyfriend. Elizabeth appears to be a helpful sort. The male spirit is harmless and doesn't really do anything except quietly sit by the fireplace and watch the people coming in and out of his home. It is the female named Caroline who is the most active and apparently causes most of the mischief. The investigators agreed she isn't pleased with all the living humans in her home. It seems she doesn't mean any physical harm to anyone, but she does try to frighten people into leaving.

 
After enduring the pranks for a while, the owners, who did not believe in ghosts before, started talking to the spirits and told them they know they live there and are happy to share the place with them. They told them they no longer need to throw things or make noises so they would be recognized. Amazingly, soon afterwards, things began to calm down and they remain fairly calm. Every now and then though, it seems Caroline just can't help herself.

A young couple was eating a celebratory meal in The Catfish Plantation one recent evening. Just a few weeks earlier, they had been blessed with their first child and that night, grandparents were happily baby-sitting. It was the couple's first time going out since the birth - a date night. All of a sudden, they both shouted out in alarm and bolted from the restaurant without finishing their meal. What had startled them so? In the misted-over window they were sitting by, their baby's name had suddenly materialized.
 
 

Friday, July 24, 2015

Old Brit Bailey

James Briton Bailey was born in North Carolina in 1779 and married at a young age. He and his even younger wife, Edith Smith, had 6 children over the next 10 years. Sadly, his wife died of an unspecified illness. A year later, "Brit" as he became known, married his deceased wife's sister, Dorothy (nicknamed Dot) which wasn't uncommon in those days. He took his new wife and 6 children with him when he moved to Kentucky where he managed to get elected to the state legislature. He earned a bad reputation for being quarrelsome and confrontational while he served, but apparently everything was fine at home as he fathered 5 more children with Dot. He eventually resigned from the legislature and moved with his large family to Tennessee. There is some indication he was about to be prosecuted for forgery when he left, but no definite proof has been found for this. 

While in Tennessee, Brit enlisted in the military and fought in the War of 1812. In 1818 he once again moved his family along with 6 slaves he had managed to acquire, this time to the wild and wide open spaces of south Texas (still a part of Spanish-ruled Mexico.) Bailey purchased his land from the Spanish government in what would later become Brazoria County between the present-day towns of West Columbia and Angleton south of Houston. On the prairie land in the middle of his property he built a house large enough to accommodate his family and painted it barn red. He built quarters for his slaves, barns, outhouses, sheds, and several storage buildings over the next year and had them all painted the same barn red color.

Everything was fine until 1821 when Mexico won its independence from Spain and the newly installed Mexican government refused to recognize Brit's claim that the land belonged to him. Legal wrangling ensued over the next several years with Bailey refusing to back down an inch and daring anyone to come and try to take his property. In 1824, Mexico granted Stephen F. Austin the right to settle up to 300 Anglo's on land which included Bailey's. Austin tried to force Brit to give up his claim and move along, but Bailey didn't back down from the imposing and strong-willed Austin any more than he did the Mexican government. After numerous confrontations, Bailey informed Austin he was unwilling to move, but more than willing to make him a corpse with his Kentucky rifle. Soon after, Austin recognized Brits claim to a league and labor of land (4,605.5 acres). This land became known as Bailey's Prairie.


There is nothing left of the Bailey
homestead and nobody knows exactly
where Brit stands in his grave.
Over the next 8 years, Brit once again gained a reputation for his eccentric behavior, hard drinking, and being quick to engage in brawls. He remained a constant thorn to Stephen Austin, loudly and often proclaiming his dislike of him. He fought several duels and in true Texas fashion, did things his own way and dared the world to have an opinion about it. 

In late 1832, he became very sick, probably of cholera. On December 5th, while on his death bed but still lucid, he dictated his last will and testament and gave specific directions for his burial. He insisted he was to be buried standing up, "for I never lied to a man in my life and I want no man, on passing my grave, to say, 'there lies old Brit Bailey.'" He wanted to be buried with his face to the west, for he had begun going west when he left Carolina and had never ceased looking toward the setting sun. He wanted to be buried with his trusty rifle at his side with a full horn of powder and his pouch filled with bullets and fresh flints; with his possibles bag filled with pipe, tobacco, strike-a-light and a large chaw and a full jug of whiskey at his feet. He proclaimed the reason for his demands was because, "a man doesn't know how long the road may be and what hazards may be along it and my rifle has never failed me yet and I may be in need of refreshment along the way." Brit died the next day.

"Uncle Bubba," one of Bailey's slaves, dug a shaft grave 8 feet deep in order to bury Brit standing up as he requested. The funeral was held and Brit was prayed over by a local preacher. His body was placed in the hole feet first facing west. Into the grave his wife placed his long rifle, a full horn of powder, his bullet bag full of bullets and flints and his possibles bag loaded with a pipe, tobacco, a strike-a-light and a chaw. However, Mrs. Bailey was a devout Methodist and she simply could not in good conscious put a full jug of corn whiskey in the grave with Brit. She hadn't been able to stop his drinking while he was alive, but she sure could keep the jug away from him now that he was dead.

Very shortly after Brit's death, Dot moved the family to Harrisburg (now part of Houston) and rented out the red house. The first family of tenants moved out suddenly and without explanation just a few weeks after moving in. So did the next and the next and the next. There was a reason. 

The first couple who moved into the Bailey house practiced the most effective form of birth control of the time - they slept in separate bedrooms. Just a couple of nights after moving in, the wife came flying into the husband's bedroom one night and jumped into bed with him. "What's wrong with you, woman?" the husband asked. "There was a man in my room," she exclaimed. "I thought it was you. He was on his hands and knees feeling for something under the bed. I reached out to touch him and my hand went right through him!"

The husband was, of course, skeptical, but the wife refused to spend the night in that room again. Finally, the husband had had enough and decided to sleep in the wife's room to prove it was just her imagination. Shortly after midnight, the husband came running from the room and said, "Not only is there a man in there, but I recognized him. It was old Brit Bailey himself!"

It turns out, the bedroom in question had been Brit's and it was his habit to keep his jug under the bed. Each and every tenant moved out of the house saying they saw Brit Bailey walking around the room that used to be his, obviously looking for something under the bed or in the closet or behind furniture. Eventually, nobody would rent the property. The house and buildings fell into disrepair and crumbled to the ground. Today, no trace of the house remains and nobody knows the exact spot where Brit still stands facing west, but Brit has never left. 

For years afterward, he manifested himself in various ways in and around Bailey's Prairie. His appearances became so well known that even the most skeptical of the hardy settlers believed whole-heartedly in the ghost at Bailey's Prairie. He was still making appearances in the late 1930's when a passing traveler reported seeing a gauzy apparition of a man alongside the darkened road he was driving on. His car abruptly stopped running. The radio came on without his touching it and the antenna started waving around in the air. The windshield wipers, which in those days worked off manifold pressure and wouldn't work at all if the engine wasn't running, began to quickly sweep back and forth. The horn honked and the lights flashed, all without any human actions. The traveler said the phantom looked right at him, then appeared to look into his car before shaking his head and disappearing. When the apparition vanished, the car stopped going crazy, could be started again and driven normally. 

In the late 1940's, an oil well being drilled near the site of the old house collapsed in upon itself every time the bit was removed. When casing was placed in the hole, the casing collapsed inward. There was no known physical reason for either the collapse of the hole or the casing. No other wells in the area had any trouble like this and no fault was found in the casing pipes. The well was finally moved just 20 feet away and no further problems were experienced. Old-timers said the well was being dug too close to Brit's grave and he didn't appreciate it.

Today, a mysterious light is often seen floating around Bailey's Prairie. It appears as a bright, white ball moving about 4 - 6 feet above the ground, the same height a man would hold a lantern. Too many sober, well-respected people have seen it for the phenomena to be dismissed. No scientist has been able to explain what causes what is known as Bailey's Light. Perhaps they should just accept the explanation that has been verbally handed down by generations of area residents - old Brit Bailey is still out there, looking all over for his missing jug of whiskey.

Monday, June 22, 2015

The Late Night Call

It was late one night when the knock at the door of the little house sitting at the edge of town came, the sound soft, but insistent. The house was shared by the town's only doctor and his young wife and when the doctor came out onto the porch, he found a man standing off to the side deep in the shadows, his hat pulled low obscuring his face. He said the emergency was to the south in the woods several miles beyond the houses at the edge of town. Little did he know, but the young doctor and his pretty wife were embarking on a most interesting house call, an enduring unsolved mystery.

It was a fine night, soft with a glowing full moon and the green scent of spring. The year was 1900, a brand new century had begun just a few months before and the little town in West Texas was growing and full of optimism. It was very late, but the doctor's wife said she would accompany him so instead of riding his horse, the buggy was hitched. The doctor turned toward the stranger to reassure him only to find he had retreated even further into the shadows, sitting on his horse impatiently waiting. As the wife came from the house and climbed into the buggy, the shadow man led them away, heading south past the last little cluster of homes marking the town's edge.

"I think there's something wrong with him?" the doctor's wife asked him. "He's very strange."

"His friend is hurt and he's worried," replied the doctor. "I could tell by his voice. If it's a big enough emergency to come get me after dark, then people are always very worried."

"But even the way he's dressed is strange, so old fashioned, " she said.

The good doctor flicked his reins, urging his horse to a faster pace in order to keep up with the horseman ahead of them in the dark. "I didn't really notice," he replied to his wife. "He stayed in the shadows."

They continued on their way, much further than the doctor expected. There were no more houses and eventually even the road turned into nothing much more than a trail that seemed seldom used. Finally, just as some clouds slipped across the moon blocking what little light it provided, the shadow rider led them down a narrow side trail leading into a dense grove of trees. 

Deep in the woods, they came upon a small cabin with a dimly-lit window. The strange rider got down from his horse in the deep shadows of the trees surrounding the somewhat foreboding little house. Although it was hard to see him, the doctor could make out that he was standing motionless and without saying a word, pointed toward the cabin. It was a struggle, but the doctor managed to quell his uneasiness enough to get his medical bag and step down from the buggy. Turning to his wife, he told her she should stay there. 

Approaching the cabin, the doctor found the front door slightly ajar. A lighted room was to the left of the entrance hall, but the rest of the cabin was so dark he could see nothing within it. He took a step into the dim room and froze at what he found there. Blood was spattered on every wall and lay in wide pools. What appeared to be pieces of torn flesh was mixed in with the blood. a chair with a leg broken off laid on its side in the corner beneath a particularly gory spatter of blood. A table was overturned next to a bed. On the bed lay a woman, naked, her eyes open, intently watching the doctor. Her right leg below the knee was covered in blood.

The doctor knew someone had just died here, a horribly violent, painful and gruesome death. He could feel it oozing from the darkness, he could smell it in the stale air of the cabin. But here in front of him was a wounded woman and she needed to be treated. He shouldn't be alone in the room with a naked woman so he called for his wife to join him, but a gruff voice from the darkness outside said, "No, she stays out here." The doctor turned to his task.

The wounded woman was fortunate. She had been shot, but the bullet had gone through the meaty part of her calf. The doctor cleaned the wound as best he could with what he had, an action that usually made even hardened men cry out with the pain, but the woman didn't flinch or make a sound, her eyes never left the doctor. He didn't look her in the face, but though he couldn't even hear her breathe, he could feel those eyes watching him. He happened to glance up once and caught a fleeting glimpse of a face in the window, but when he turned to look, it was gone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he hurried to finish bandaging the wound.

When he was done, he quickly stood and told the woman to come see him tomorrow and he would make sure the wound is clean and bandage it again. Without speaking, her eyes not blinking and still watching him intently, she slowly nodded. The sense of imminent violence suddenly came upon the doctor again so he plunged into the dark hall and safely out the cabin's door. With great effort, he forced himself not to run for the buggy. As he stepped up to the seat next to his wife and took the reins, a small rawhide coin purse landed on the floor next to his feet with the sound of several heavy coins inside it. As he urged the horse to a quick trot, he turned just once to look back at the cabin. The darkness had swallowed it completely, the light at the window extinguished.

His wife was shaking with fear. She told him a different man, not the one who had come to their house, had stood at the window watching. she was sure he held a gun and his face was smeared with blood. The doctor told her what he had seen in the dimly lit room. He was sure someone had been murdered there and dragged out. "You have to tell the sheriff," his wife told him.

The doctor waited two days for the wounded woman to come in, but she didn't come and somehow he knew she never would. His wife was right, he needed to let the authorities know.

When he reported what he had seen, the sheriff told him he must be mistaken as the cabin he was talking about was abandoned. Nobody had lived in that old run-down cabin for years, he said. "It was not old," the doctor insisted, "I was there." He would show them if they would just accompany him back to it.

The sheriff and a deputy agreed to go with him. He remembered the way exactly and there was no mistaking the lonely side trail. The cabin was there as he said it was, but it was an old, abandoned wreck with the windows broken out. The deputy stayed outside to look around as the sheriff and doctor went inside the structure. Carefully making their way across the rotten floor boards, they went into the little room the doctor remembered. The bed was still there as before, the table overturned next to it and the broken-legged chair in the corner. An old, moth-eaten coverlet was on the bed. It was not stained. Thick dust covered everything. It was obvious no one had been here for many years. Looking down, there were stains on the flooring that looked like they had been scrubbed many times, years ago. The doctor shook his head in confusion.

All of a sudden, the deputy called out to them. Meeting him outside, they found the deputy shaking and wide-eyed, He said he had been walking around the trees looking for anything that might seem suspicious when he looked up and saw a man watching him. "There was blood all over his face and his shirt was soaked with it!" When the deputy started toward the man, he vanished! "Not twenty feet from me, plain as day," the deputy said. "Then he simply vanished into thin air while I stood there and watched!" All three men searched through the trees all around the cabin, but nothing was there.

"You believe me, don't you?" the doctor asked when they arrived back in town. The sheriff remained noncommittal and the doctor began to have doubts as to just what he had experienced. The deputy though, he knew what he had seen - a dead man still on his feet. The sheriff said he would take more men out there the next day to look around more closely. Neither the doctor nor the deputy returned and the sheriff reported they found nothing and the cabin was still empty as it had been for so long. Shortly thereafter, the case was officially closed.

There was talk, just rumors really, that the sheriff and two other deputies had gone back to the cabin and all three had seen the bloody figure waiting in the woods. Among themselves, they decided it was best to leave that part out of their report. 

Several months later a flood took the cabin ruins away. Where the foundation had been, some people said a grave-sized hole remained. Others said the grave hole was closer to the trees, a few feet from where the cabin once stood. It was hard to tell. Floodwaters do strange things to bottom land.

And some insist, even today, that the doctor's descendants still possess three silver dollars - payment for one particular late night house call.

Friday, June 5, 2015

Mary's Bridge

There’s a rural bridge in Louisiana between the little villages of St. Martinville and Broussard with a terrible story attached, a sad tale of a young girl’s horrible death.  The bridge on Bayou Tortue (Turtle Bayou Road) crosses an eerie stretch of swamp where tall cypress trees draped with Spanish moss grow in profusion and alligators and deadly water moccasins wait for their next meal in the dark shadows.  But dangerous creatures of this world are not what keep the locals away from this particular bridge when darkness falls.


In the late 1940’s, a teenage Cajun girl named Mary was, against her parent’s wishes, dating a non-Cajun boy. Not only was he not a Cajun, he had an unsavory reputation for a bad temper and had been locked up in the county jail a number of times for minor, but troubling offenses. Mary was in love with him though and like a lot of teenage girls, thought her parents didn’t understand how much he meant to her. No matter the tension it created at home, she couldn’t stay away from her bad-boy paramour.

In spite of this, Mary was a good Catholic girl and wouldn’t give in to her boyfriend’s sexual advances. No matter how much he pleaded and cajoled, she always stopped him from going beyond what good girls should allow.  One night after meeting up with him in town, she consented to go for a drive. Cruising around the local dirt roads, the boy was drinking moonshine from a quart jar he pulled from under the seat. Mary demanded she be taken home, but as they came to the little Bayou Tortue bridge, her now dead drunk boyfriend stopped the car and demanded she give him what he wanted or he would throw her in the swamp. Poor Mary, totally frightened, began crying and begging for him to just take her home, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. When he reached out and tore the front of her dress, Mary jumped out of the car and began to flee.

As Mary ran across the bridge, her boyfriend managed to catch her and when she began to struggle against him, he smashed the heavy quart jar over her head, knocking her unconscious. In his drunken mind, he thought he had killed her and in an attempt to hide all evidence of his crime, he dumped her into the swamp. The water must have shocked Mary back into wakefulness and her moans let the boyfriend know she wasn't dead after all. As he tried to think what his next move should be, he heard several splashes from the banks of the swamp and saw a glint of light from the car's headlamps reflected in 2 pairs of eyes moving low in the water. Mary's screams indicated the alligators had not gone hungry on this night.

In spite of an intense search by police and volunteers, Mary’s body was never found.  The boyfriend was brought in for questioning, but even though everyone knew he was the last person seen with her when she was alive, police were unable to gather the proof needed to arrest him. Word got out that he had confessed the awful details of his crime to a confident, but bragged he would never be convicted because the police would never find Mary’s body. Several weeks later, the boyfriend himself mysteriously vanished, leaving behind all of his belongings at his parent’s house. It was widely rumored that Mary’s father had seen to it the boyfriend suffered the same fate as his daughter, but the police never saw fit to question him and unofficially seemed to say good riddance.

The case of missing Mary has never been solved or closed and nobody expects it ever will. To this day though, if you go to the bridge at midnight, the same time poor Mary was being thrown to the alligators, turn off your car and call out, “Mary, Mary, Mary,” your car will not start and you will have to push it off the bridge before it will start running again. That’s strange enough, but the locals say if you go there at midnight on the anniversary of her terrible death, you will see poor Mary frantically running up and down the bridge, wearing the long white dress she was wearing when she died, her soul forever imprisoned on the Bayou Tortue Bridge when her life was brutally cut short by a murderous boyfriend.


Monday, March 9, 2015

Well Preserved Julia

The Mount Carmel Cemetery is located in the Chicago suburb of Hillside and is the forever resting place for many of Chicago’s gangsters, including Al Capone. Consecrated in 1901, there are over 200,000 people buried there.  In spite of the many notorious bad men laid to rest within its grounds, Mount Carmel is most famous for the spirit known as “The Italian Bride.”

Born in 1892, Julia Buccola Petta died at the age of 29 while giving birth to a stillborn son 10 months after getting married. Her funeral is held 2 days later on March 19 and she is laid to rest wearing her wedding dress and holding her son in the crook of her right arm.
Five years later, her mother, Filomena, and father moved to California. It was during this time that Filomena began having nightmares about Julia. Every night, Julia would come to her begging to be dug up.  The dreams disturbed Filomena so much that she couldn't sleep and began having health problems. She almost had a nervous breakdown thinking her daughter had been buried alive. She traveled back and forth to Chicago several times over the next year to get an order of exhumation.

In 1927, more than 6 years after Julia’s death and burial, her grave was opened and the deteriorated coffin unearthed.  To everyone’s shock, Julia’s baby and her right arm which held the baby were both badly decomposed, but the rest of her body was in perfect condition; as if she had just laid down to take a nap. Even her cheeks retained the rosy red color they had before her death. The wedding dress she was buried in remained as white as the day she was laid to rest. There was no evidence she had been buried alive, but she looked so “normal” that several people in attendance reached out and actually touched Julia’s skin. They reported that although cold, it was still soft. To document this miracle, a picture was taken of the body as it laid in the mud-caked coffin.

An elaborate new monument with a life-sized statue of Julia was commissioned by her brother later that same year. Engraved on it are two messages from her mother, Filomena. The message on the front states, “Filomena Buccola Remembrance of my Beloved Daughter Julia Age 29 yrs.” On the back, in Italian is carved, “Filomena Buccola I offer this gift to my dear daughter Julia.” Embedded in the monument are 2 pictures of Julia wearing her wedding dress on her wedding day and the picture taken of her well-preserved body when her coffin was opened.  For some unknown reason, only Julia’s maiden name and not her married name of Petta is engraved in the monument.

Shortly after Julia was exhumed, stories of her ghostly presence began to circulate. Numerous cemetery night watchmen and policemen patrolling a beat around the cemetery have reported seeing a white mist or fog which hovers around Julia’s grave but nowhere else in the graveyard. Mysterious orbs of light have often been observed floating around her monument.  Cemetery visitors with no knowledge of Julia’s story have reported the strong smell of roses as they passed her grave, but there are no flowers are in evidence on or anywhere nearby. One of Julia’s favorite pastimes as she was growing up was working in the flowerbeds around her parent’s house where she tended her mother’s rose bushes.  An apparition fitting the description of Julia wearing her flowing white bridal dress and wandering around her grave has been reported so many times that the cemetery caretakers are no longer surprised and don’t even bother to investigate. One family told of attending a late afternoon burial ceremony and through miscommunication and misplaced understandings, a young 4-year-old boy was left behind for a few minutes. Once they reached the car, the realized the lad wasn’t with them so they rushed back to the cemetery grounds only to be totally surprised to see their son walking down the path toward them and holding the hand of a beautiful, young woman wearing a white wedding dress. As the young boy saw his parents, he let go of the lady’s hand and rushed toward them. When the parents and older children looked up to thank the lady, she had disappeared without a trace. The little boy told of being alone and crying because he was scared and then a kind lady came and told him to not be afraid, she would take him to his mommy and daddy.

Some spirits appear quiet happy and content to remain a part of this mortal realm. One day, Julia will no doubt move on to the next phase, but until then, it seems there is nothing to be frightened of in Mount Carmel Cemetery. Even the notorious bad boys are resting in peace there.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Roses for Alice

Ruins of Fort Davis
In far West Texas at the lonely military outpost of Fort Davis, trouble was in the wind. It was early in 1861 and in the civilized area's hundreds of miles to the east, war was coming. Most of the officers at this remote site were from the north and they vowed if war broke out, they would return there to fight for the Union. A few men were from the south and they vowed to fight for the Confederacy.  Military discipline was maintained and for the most part, the men who had been stationed together, worked together, and lived together for many months remained civil to each other no matter which side their allegiances fell.

Alice Walpole was the young, beautiful wife of a lieutenant who had recently graduated from West Point and had been assigned duty at Fort Davis. He was the youngest and most recently arrived officer at the fort, but he worked hard, was a good leader, and had quickly become friends with the other officers. Alice however, was not happy. She loved her husband, but hated the dry, barren land of this part of Texas. She was from Alabama and West Texas could not be more different from the lush climate and green landscape of her Alabama home. 

Having been only recently married, she was young and without child. This left her having nothing in common with the older wives living in the fort with their officer husbands. Alice's husband was often gone on patrol so she spent a lot of time in lonely vigil. She kept thinking of all the things back home she missed and finally decided what she missed most were the roses which bloomed in her mother's garden. She longed for an earlier time, the times when she would be with her mother working the soil in the flower gardens around her home, talking and laughing with no cares, surrounded by the sweet smell of the carefully tended roses which grew in abundance.

In the first week of April with her husband once again out on patrol chasing Indians, Alice decided to hunt for any early roses that might be growing along Limpia Creek just outside the fort. She thought if she could find some, she would bring them back and plant them around the little frame house she and her husband lived in. If she watered and took care of them, maybe they would bloom and their house wouldn't seem so barren. If enough bloomed, Alice could sit outside with her eyes closed and their sweet smell would make it seem as if she was back in the land she missed so much.

The morning air was chilly so she pulled her bright-blue wool cloak around her shoulders and set out to search the creek for roses. She ignored the recent reports of Indians close by as her brave husband and his troops were on patrol and surely had the Indians on the run far away from the fort.

Later that same night, Lieutenant Walpole returned to the fort, but Alice never did. The band of raiding Apaches her husband was in search of had eluded the troops, came back to the creek to water their horses, and there they found and kidnapped poor Alice Walpole.


As darkness fell, word of her disappearance spread through the fort. After being relieved, a guard came in and reported that earlier that day he had seen a woman in a blue cloak rushing by on a trail outside the fort. He had been surprised to see a woman alone outside the safety of the fort. After noting she seemed to be carrying an arm-full of white roses, he called to her, but she didn't stop or answer. He rushed down the trail after her to ensure she made it back to the fort safely, but she seemed to have vanished into the air. With this information, the men searched where the guard reported seeing Alice. Extensive searches were conducted over many days, but other than a blue cloak and an Apache arrow apparently dropped by one of the Indians, no trace of Alice was found.

Soon, word came that Fort Sumter had been fired upon and war had been declared. The men left to go back to fight for one side or the other. One morning, after most of the troops had left, the post commander who had been ordered to oversee the closure of the fort arrived at his office to find that unseen by anyone, somebody had slipped in and left a vase of 7 white roses on his desk. He had never seen roses in the area and was bewildered, but with all of the last minute chores he was seeing to, he didn't have the time to investigate further. The next morning when he arrived back in his office, the vase with its 7 white roses was gone. A short time later that same morning, the last 7 officers left in the fort came to his office and resigned their commissions. All 7 intended to offer their services to the Confederacy. One of those officers was young Lieutenant Walpole.

A few days later the fort was officially closed and the remaining troops left. The last officer to leave was Lieutenant Walpole who made one more search for his beloved Alice. When he left, all searching ended forever and Alice was forgotten.


Buffalo Soldiers (historical photo)
After closing, the buildings of Fort Davis were stripped for their wood and stones by the local ranchers. After the end of the Civil War, Buffalo Troops were assigned to the post to guard against the still raiding Indians. Beginning in 1867, they rebuilt the buildings and grounds, eventually making the fort larger than the first one. It remained in operation until 1891 and today is one of the best preserved historic forts in America.

Stories persist however, that Alice never left the fort. The men who manned Fort Davis beginning in 1867 had not heard of poor Alice or the story of the roses mysteriously left on the previous post commander's desk. They had no idea why they occasionally got a whiff of roses inside a post building or in the middle of the large parade ground. The troops reported this numerous times, but it was always chalked up to wild imaginations or too much of the local rotgut whiskey.

It wasn't until the old fort was being restored and it's history was being researched that the story of Alice was uncovered through letters, diaries, and official reports. Then it all started making sense. Through the years since the Buffalo Soldiers left, visitors continue to report briefly seeing out of the corner of the eye, a young, beautiful woman with a blue cloak over her shoulders hurrying by followed briefly by the sweet smell of roses. Most often though, her visits are unseen. She lets people know she is still there by the scent of roses; the scent of roses where there are none.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Haunting of the Alamo

One of the earliest pictures of the Alamo - 1858.
There are few people who grew up in America that do not know of the Alamo and the battle that took place there between February 23rd and March 6, 1836. All 182 Texans, including Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie, were killed while defending the Alamo garrison and approximately 600 Mexican soldiers were killed or wounded while trying to take it. Bodies of the Texan dead were dismembered and burned, the ashes left to be blown away by the winds. Today, the Alamo is a shrine, a registered historical site and the literal cemetery of those hundreds of men killed in the battle. Is it any wonder there are many chilling stories of ghostly experiences there? For almost 200 years, there have been reports of strange, smokey spirits floating around the grounds, of screams heard that seem to come from inside the sacred walls, and sounds of gunfire and explosions echo between the buildings in the dark of night.


The Alamo in 2012
The first ghostly encounter is recorded as happening only days after the final battle. General Santa Anna, commander of the Mexican troops and ruler of Mexico, quickly left the scene of the carnage. He placed General Juan Jose Andrade in charge of the battle site and town of San Antonio. Because of the stench of blood and death and the grizzly work of retrieving the Mexican bodies for burial, he made his camp several miles from the Alamo. Santa Anna had ordered him to destroy the Alamo so as soon as the last Mexican body had been buried, Andrade sent a colonel with a contingent of men to destroy and burn what was left of the Alamo garrison. They soon returned telling a story of 6 "ghost devils" guarding the front of the building. As the Mexican soldiers approached, the specters emerged from the walls with flaming sabers in their hands, screaming and charging at them. The men fell back and ran away without fulfilling their orders. General Andrade, scoffing the men's tale, took along members of his staff and went to investigate in person. In his official report he described seeing with his own eyes, 6 men with balls of fire in their hands who screamed and began advancing upon him and his terrified staff when they approached. Andrade hurriedly marched his army out of the city, leaving the Alamo as it was.

Most people believe all 182 Alamo defenders were killed during battle, but after-battle reports from Mexican Generals Castrillon, Perfecto de Cos, and Andrade state that 6 men, although all were wounded, survived the final bloodbath. At least one report states the body of Davy Crockett was found surrounded by 16 dead Mexican soldiers, but the General's reports indicate Davy was one of the survivors who surrendered against the impossible odds. Supposedly, the 6 survivors were brought to General Castrillon who gave them his protection. However, Santa Anna refused clemency and ordered them killed. When Castrillon refused to carry out the order, Santa Anna's staff followed his orders and, with bayonets and sabers, hacked the men to death. Over the years there have been many reports of the ghostly figure of a tall, stately man dressed in the uniform of an officer in the 1830's Mexican army who slowly walks around the buildings and grounds of the Alamo, his hands clasped behind his back, sadly shaking his head back and forth in sorrow. Upon being shown a picture of Castrillon, people who have seen this apparition immediately identify him as the "man" they saw. Could the 6 "diablos" (devils) who protected the Alamo against destruction by Andrade and his men be the 6 massacred survivors whose promise of clemency and protection were so cruelly rescinded?


The Alamo Cenotaph  in front of the Alamo in
San Antonio, Texas - 2012
The night before the final assault, the commander of the Alamo defenders, William Barrett Travis, gathered his men together and told them the end was probably near. They were facing overwhelming odds and the arrival of reinforcements which might turn the battle in their favor was doubtful. He offered any man who wanted to save himself the opportunity to slip over the Alamo walls and try to escape. Only one man, Louis "Moses" Rose, chose escape over honor and sure death. He became known as "the coward of the Alamo" and lived the rest of his life with the shame. Over the years, there have been hundreds of separate reports of a man dressed in "old west clothes," buckskin pants and a dirty cotton shirt, who is seen walking along in open fields and sometimes along the side of the road leading from Nacogdoches to San Antonio. When people ask him what he is doing or where he is going, the answer is always the same - "I'm trying to get back to the Alamo where I belong." The man then disappears, much to the astonishment of the person who was just talking to him.  It is thought this is the restless, guilty soul of Moses Rose, damned for all eternity to try to regain his honor by returning to die in the final bloody battle at the Alamo.


The author's wife & young daughter in
front of the Alamo, 2002. This was
taken with a high-end Nikon camera.
No "smokey apparition" was evident
when the picture was taken. One other
picture taken at the Alamo showed the
same smokey affect, but over 100 other
pictures were taken during the trip and
all others were sharp and clear. 
Numerous visitors over the years have reported seeing 2 small boys who appear to be about 10 and 12 years old tagging along with their tour group. Nobody knows who they are or where their parents are and nobody sees them leave. They never speak and seem to just disappear as soon as the tour group reaches the sacristy room in the Alamo chapel. This is the room where 19 women and children took shelter, seeking safety from the raging battle. It is thought the two boys must be the sons of Anthony Wolfe a defending artilleryman who was killed in the final battle. The boys, age 9 and 12, ran from the sacristy into the chapel during the final seconds of the fight, apparently seeking their father. When the Mexican soldiers entered the chapel, the boys tried to hide, but caught up with the fear of battle and fueled by adrenaline, the soldiers mistook the boys for combatants and killed them.

Each March, for a day or two after the anniversary of the battle, people who live and work in the area around the Alamo report hearing the sound of a single horse galloping across the pavement. Many are of the belief this is the spirit of James Allen, the last courier sent out of the Alamo with a letter from William Barrett Travis requesting aid. Allen left in the darkness in order to sneak through the Mexican lines just several hours before the final early morning assault. Evidently he is still trying to return to report back to Colonel Travis and to fight and die with his friends and compatriots.

For many years during the month of February, a small, blond-haired boy with a sad, forlorn look has been witnessed by numerous visitors to be peering out from one of the chapel windows. The window has no ledge and is too high for him to climb up to. It is said he is one of the children who was evacuated from the Alamo the day before the Mexican Army laid siege to it. He returns every February looking for his daddy, one of the brave men who died in the battle.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Hiram's House

Hiram Martin Chittenden
One of Yellowstone National Park's important early figures was Hiram M. Chittenden. Working for the Army Corps of Engineers, he spent two extended tours of duty in the park. A West Point graduate, he first came to Yellowstone as a lieutenant in 1891 and for the next 4 years was in charge of maintenance and construction of the roads and bridges. Like so many others, he fell in love with the clean air, beautiful scenery and wondrous sites he was exposed to every day. After 4 years there, he requested to remain, but it was not to be and he had to report to a post in the northwest.

In 1899, his request to return to Yellowstone was successful and he was overjoyed that spring when he was able to return. His return came with a promotion and he was assigned to the post of Engineer Officer. In 1902, the government gave him a larger budget and Hiram was able to turn his attention to new buildings and offices, including a badly needed new mess hall.  Later that year, with the planned arrival of the Northern Pacific Railroad to Gardiner, Montana at the park's northern border, he was able to convince Washington, D.C. of the need for a magnificent entrance to the park. 


Historical picture of the Roosevelt Arch at Yellowstone
On February 19, 1903, under Hiram's supervision, construction on what has come to be known as the Roosevelt Arch at the north entrance was begun. President Roosevelt was visiting the park when construction on the arch itself was started so he was asked to place the cornerstone. The stone he laid covered a time capsule containing a picture of himself, a bible, several local newspapers and a few other mementos of the time. The arch was completed on August 15, 1903 at a cost of $10,000. 


Roosevelt Arch as it looks today.

With the larger budget, Hiram was also able to have a new home constructed for himself. He personally oversaw the construction of his house which was located just east of the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel. The house was a rather simple design and built of wood, but it fit him perfectly and was large enough to accommodate his family on their frequent visits. His wife Nettie and their children Eleanor, Hiram Jr., and Teddy remained at the family home in St. Louis during most of his various posts, but often came to stay with Hiram at Yellowstone for extended periods of time. He had one of the rooms in the house built as his office and he spent many hours at his desk smoking his cigars while reading, writing, and making plans for the future of the park.

The Chittenden home now serve as offices for several
park organizations.

In late 1905, he was given orders to a post in Seattle, Washington. After a total of ten years in his beloved Yellowstone, he was loath to leave, but he answered the call of duty and left behind his park and his home. He and his wife planned to return to Yellowstone in retirement to live out their lives, but in 1917 at the age of 58, Hiram contracted an illness and passed away without ever seeing the park again. At least not while he was alive.

The original Chittenden home is currently occupied by the offices of the Yellowstone Association and the Yellowstone Institute. The employees are sure old Hiram returned here after his death. Computers in the office sometimes shut down and then turn themselves back on while an employee is working on them. Repairmen cannot explain it because they can find nothing wrong with the equipment and when removed from the premises, they work perfectly. Overhead lights flicker on and off. Electricians have been summoned numerous times, but can find nothing wrong with the wiring. The employees are convinced Hiram doesn't like his home having electricity and is trying to let them know of his displeasure.


Could Hiram's spirit still be staying here?
Other than the annoying, but harmless pranks with electrical items, the employees consider Hiram to be friendly and even helpful at times. Doors often open and close by themselves. Upon entering in the morning, the employees will find doors that were left open will be closed even though the building was locked and no one had entry during the night. One of the managers tells how once he had forgotten a report he needed so he returned that evening to retrieve it. Upon entering the front door, he saw the door to his office, which he had definitely left open, was closed. As he crossed the room, his office door slowly swung open for him. After looking around to make sure nobody else was there, he retrieved the needed report and left, making sure to lock the front door behind him. He was the first to arrive the next morning and found his office door to be closed once again.


Hiram, Nettie, Hiram Jr., Eleanor, & Teddy
The conclusive evidence of Hiram's presence though is the aroma of his cigar. Smoking in public buildings has been prohibited for a number of years now, yet the smell of cigar smoke is often present in the room which used to be Hiram's office as well as a room upstairs which used to be his bedroom.

Shortly before he died, Hiram confided to a friend that his only regret was not accomplishing more while in Yellowstone. Evidently he has returned to spend eternity in the place he loved the most and perhaps to help guide those who are today working on the park and its future.

Maybe Henry Wordsworth Longfellow had Hiram in mind when he wrote, "All houses in which men lived and died are haunted houses. Through the open doors the harmless phantoms on their errands glide with feet that make no sound upon the floors."