Rose of Sharon

At one time, the old home on Bryson Street in the town of Waxahachie, Texas had been charming and a welcome place to retreat from the daily struggles of life. It had been built in 1895 by F. P. Powell, a moderately well-to-do lawyer. He had recently gotten married and had it built with the idea of raising a family within its well-built walls. As it often happens though, life had other ideas.

His wife had born two beautiful daughters and their beloved home was filled with their happy laughter until 1912 when Powell was offered a great job with a large raise in Austin, Texas. The family hated to leave, but the opportunity was too great to pass up so they sold their dream home and moved away.

Unfortunately, the next owners were not as fastidious in maintaining the house. They only lived there several years before selling it. Once again, the new owners did not take good care of the place and soon they too sold and moved on. Over the next 60 years, a succession of owners moved in and out, always leaving the house in worse shape than when they arrived. At some point, the beautiful wrap-around porches, both upstairs and downstairs, were sealed in to make additional rooms and the house was turned into an apartment building. As it slowly deteriorated, the tenants did too until finally it was nothing more than a flop-house renting rooms by the week to those down on their luck. Eventually, it was abandoned.

It lay in this sad state until the early 1980's when Sharon saw it. Somehow, she could see past the sad, rundown condition it was in to the charming and elegant home it used to be. She had it inspected by a trusted builder friend who assured her the house was basically in sound condition, but it would take a lot of work to bring it back to livable condition and to meet current codes. For some reason she still can't explain, she wanted it.  A few weeks later, she became the newest owner. She began to research what it had looked like when it was new in 1892 and several months later, she had commissioned her builder to begin the restoration.

Just before the workers were scheduled to begin, Sharon was walking around inspecting each room. Without thinking much of it, she sat down her heavy purse on the floor of what used to be the dining room. As she continued on, she came to a room in the very back of the house which had stacks of old newspapers and magazines strewn around the floor. She sat down in the middle of them and began slowly flipping through the pages, fascinated by the fashions and history of days gone by. It began to get dark and she realized she had been there much longer than planned. She made her way back to the room where she left her purse and found it exactly where she had set it down. To her complete surprise though, there was something else sitting about 2 feet from the purse in totally undisturbed dust - a pair of 14 carat gold hoop earrings she had lost over a year earlier. She had loved and treasured those earrings and had searched everywhere for them for months. Eventually she had given up on ever finding them yet here they were in a house she had not even known existed 6 months ago! 

There is one room in the house, a large upstairs room which was once the master bedroom, where Sharon always feels she is not alone when she enters. She say's it's not spooky or scary, but rather warm and comforting. She also says she often catches glimpses of semi-transparent figures around her home - a woman wearing a long dress in the style of the late 1800's who usually appears to be accompanied by 2 little girls. For some reason, the small figures always appear with their backs to Sharon. She also often see's a man wearing a top hat. Sometimes all four of the figures appear together in one room or another. She has spoken to them numerous times, but they have never answered. Sometimes they stand still and the woman and man appear to look at her with serene faces, but then they either turn and walk away or they all slowly disappear as she watches.

On occasion, Sharon hears music, but can't tell exactly where it comes from. It sounds like string instruments, probably violins, playing a waltz. It's always barely heard, like it comes from somewhere far away. She often hears footsteps in the empty hallway and on the wooden stairs. She knows old wood will creak and pop, but the sounds of footsteps are unmistakable. 

In spite of the sightings and noises, Sharon is never afraid. Instead, she takes comfort in the presence of the spirits. She is convinced it is the Powell family and feels they are pleased with the restoration work which has made the house, the house they share, a lovely home once again.
 

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.
 

 

The Love of Dead Sue

Most folks are skeptical of ghost tales. They may be drawn to them for some reason a skilled observer of human nature would no doubt be happy to explain, but when it comes down to it, most think they are nothing but passed down fanciful legends of overactive imaginations. Young Tom McAlister isn't like most folks. He knows the truth first-hand.

In mid-December 1997, Tom was a handsome 17-year-old high school athlete living with his bank officer dad and his stay-at-home mother in Sweetwater, Texas. He made good grades, he was popular in school and with his outgoing personality and good looks, he usually had his pick of the teenage girls in town. His life was good. Since Thanksgiving though, he had been troubled with a growing concern, something he had kept to himself. He felt as if he was never alone. Whether in his room studying, driving in his car, in bed asleep or even while taking a shower, he felt there was somebody with him, somebody watching.

Tom, like his parents, was a devout Baptist and didn't believe in ghosts, but he just couldn't shake this feeling that an unseen being was always with him. On night while doing homework, he saw the edge of his bed depress as if someone was sitting on it. Feeling alarmed and foolish, he called out, "Hello whoever you are. What's your name?" Then he screamed.

Hearing her son cry out, Tom's mother rushed into his room and immediately saw the heavy dictionary he used laying open on the floor. When she asked him what happened, Tom told her something had picked it up from his desk, floated it across the room to where it now lay and began to turn the pages. When it stopped, one page was folded to point to a single word. Sue. 

Nothing else happened that night, but Sue made her presence known over the next several weeks. Driving home from a friend's Christmas party, the car's ashtray flew open and several peppermint candies Tom had placed in there after eating at Sonic were tossed out onto the floor. When school resumed after the Christmas break, not once but twice his car's glove compartment flew open and the owner's manual and insurance papers flew out. Tom tried to dismiss these things as merely bumps in the road, bumps he had not noticed, but the next night, the ceiling fan in his room clicked off and the door slowly closed. Two nights later, the fan clicked off and the door closed again. The next night, suspecting an electrical short, he left the fan off - it clicked on and the door once again closed with the aid of unseen hands. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I'm tired of this nonsense! Go away and leave me alone!" In the next instant, the wooden birdhouse he had made by hand, his proudest handiwork, was thrown across the room to smash into pieces against the far wall.

The next night, as Tom was coming to bed, he saw an indention in his mattress, as if something lay there, full length - a clear body indentation. He couldn't force himself to touch it. He knew Sue was waiting for him to lay down with her. He went to the living room and slept on the couch.

The next morning, Tom took his usual hot shower, but when he emerged, written on the steam-covered mirror in antique script, were the words, "I love you." Over the next few days, messages kept appearing in Tom's bathroom mirror. He began taking colder showers so there would be no steam, but when he opened the shower curtain, the messages would be written in the same antique script with the bar of soap kept next to the sink. "I love you." "Do not fear me. I love you." "I will always be with you."

His parents had no answers and in desperation, hired a medium to come to their home. The medium said it was very simple actually - a young female spirit inhabited their house and she was in love with Tom. The family next sought counsel from their minister who insisted Tom be examined by a mental health professional. After  examination by several psychiatrists who pronounced Tom sane, an exorcism was advised.

The minister and 2 assistants came to the McAlister home on a Thursday evening in late March. His exorcism, or blessing , as he called it, followed a direct plan. He told the family that he would be the psychic relay through which they could communicate with the spirit. While in a kind of semi-trance, the minister said Sue told him she was 20 years old and thinks the year is 1796. Tom told Sue that he couldn't handle this anymore; he was sorry, but he didn't love her and she had to go and leave him and his family in peace.  Through the minister, still in a trance, Sue replied that she understood. She had meant no harm and would leave, but she hoped Tom would never forget her. And with that, Tom had a feeling from Sue of great sadness and then felt her leave.

That was almost 20 years ago and she has not returned. Tom is now married with two children and living in a suburb of Ft. Worth. He said at first he thought she was of the Devil, but now he doesn't think so. "I have no idea why she came to me. Maybe I just reminded her of someone she once knew, someone she once loved dearly."

Will she return some day? Nobody knows. Where did she go? Nobody alive knows.
 

The Possession of Amy

Amy was a good kid, a 17-year-old teenager any parent would be proud of. Growing up in a small East Texas town, she made straight A's in school, played flute in the band, was well-liked by her teachers who all said she was a quiet, hard-working student who had never been any trouble at all. She faithfully attended the little country Baptist church with her parents and younger brother every Sunday. She wore her dark brown hair long and favored loose clothing over the tight jeans and low-cut blouses some of the other kids wore. She had complete faith in God. It was very disturbing to her mom and dad when late one Friday night in the early spring of 2006, while in her upstairs bedroom, Amy began screaming, "It's inside me! I can feel it! Make it stop! Please, make it stop!

Her parents rushed into her room and found Amy sitting up in her bed, her hands tightly clenched into fists which she held up to either side of her face while her eyes were wide open, unblinking and staring out in terror. As her mother, Sara, ran to her side, her father, John, frantically searched the room looking for an intruder. Within seconds, Amy began to calm down, to relax. A few minutes later, she quickly went back to sleep. It must have just been a nightmare, a very bad nightmare.

Two days later, during the Sunday evening services at church, Amy was sitting in the pew listening to the sermon when she suddenly became violently sick. She ran to the ladies room barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. Sara came in after her daughter, but could do nothing other than hold Amy's long hair out of the way and apply cool wet paper towels to the back of her neck. Eventually, the dry heaves arrived and Amy felt like she was throwing up her insides. When they eventually subsided and Amy could stand, her parents rushed her to the hospital emergency room. She was diagnosed with food poisoning and sent home with medicine, told to drink plenty of fluids and to rest for several days.

By Wednesday, her symptoms had subsided so Amy returned to school. For two weeks, everything was normal, but then Friday afternoon, Sara received an emergency phone call from the school nurse telling her Amy had been taken to the hospital and she and her husband needed to go there as quickly as possible. Arriving at the hospital and being ushered to the treatment room where doctors were working on Amy, Sara later said, "My first thought was that she had been shot because there was blood everywhere. Her hair was matted with blood and her face was horribly swollen. I could just barely recognize my own daughter." Sara was so distraught she had to be given a shot to calm her. When a doctor was finally able to come see them, he explained that Amy had several large contusions to her head and face. All the blood and swelling made it look worse than it actually was, but she would need to stay overnight for observation. Then the police came.

The police report indicated that a number of students saw Amy's "accident." According to them, Amy was walking to her next class when she suddenly stopped, turned and began repeatedly smashing her head and face into a row of metal lockers. She was hitting them so hard that blood began to fly everywhere even as several of the boys tried to hold her back. They said the was growling like a wild animal and was so strong they couldn't keep ahold of her and every time she broke away, she immediately began smashing into the lockers again. It finally took 3 male teachers and the female school resource officer to finally drag her away and into the nurse's office. As soon as they laid her down on a cot, she stopped struggling and seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Sara sat in silence as the policeman told her what had happened. She could not understand why her once normal, happy child would harm herself.

Several hours later, Amy woke up and asked her mom where she was. When Sara told her what had happened, Amy replied, "No, that's not what happened!" She told her she was walking down the hall when she was grabbed from behind and pushed into the lockers. She said she tried to put her arms out in front of herself to stop, but whoever had pushed her was too strong. This was in total contrast to what dozens of witness's described seeing.

One thing gave credence to Amy's version. As the medical staff was examining her, they found something very strange. Beginning at her shoulders and down both sides of her back were three, long, bloody lines that looked exactly like claw marks; marks that nobody could explain.

After bringing her daughter home, Sara tried the only thing she knew to do - she prayed. Over the next several weeks, their pastor made visits to their home to lead the prayers, but things kept getting worse. Eventually, Amy was expelled from school for acting up. She would stand in the middle of the class and curse the teacher. She began refusing to bathe and never washed her hair. She began to spit on and curse at other students. One day in the middle of a class, the teacher was standing at the front of the classroom lecturing when Amy got up from her seat, walked to the teacher's side, raised her skirt, lowered her panties, squatted down and began to urinate while laughing in a strange voice. She was expelled for the remainder of the school year.

Sara picked up her daughter at school and brought her home. She called the preacher and he agreed to come over that night to help confront Amy and try to find out why she was acting in such a manner. When he arrived that evening, Sara, John, Jim (Amy's 15 year-old brother) and the preacher went upstairs to Amy's bedroom. At first, they didn't see her, but then they noticed her bare feet sticking out from under a desk. When they looked, they saw she was sitting in a ball with her knees tucked against her chest. She was naked and there were bleeding cuts all over her body. Looking closer, they saw she was holding a bloody screwdriver in her right hand and the cuts on her body were actually carvings. They carvings read "Baal."

The preacher whispered, "God protect us" and told everyone that Baal is a high-ranking Christian demon, the right-hand of Satan. He is purported to be in command of 66 legions of lesser demons and is one of the most powerful demons in Christianity. He carries the ashes of hell in his pockets.

As everyone looked at Amy, she slowly raised her head and began to smile. But then her green eyes turned coal black and her smile became a menacing snarl. Before anyone could react, she jumped out from under the desk and with the bloody screwdriver in hand, she ran straight at her brother Jim. Screaming, she drove the screwdriver down toward his face, but at the last split second, Jim moved his head to the side and the tool only grazed his face before burying itself in his shoulder. Amy jumped up on Jim, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulled the screwdriver from his shoulder and tried to stab his face again, but her father grabbed her arms from behind. The preacher tried to pull Amy off her brother, but she managed to get her hand free and slashed him on the side of his neck. When her mother jumped into the fray, she stabbed her in the right arm. After a few seconds, John let go of Amy long enough to grab a pillow, remove it from the pillow case and pulled the case over her head. Within a few seconds, Amy seemed to go unconscious and the men were able to lay her on the bed. The attack had not lasted more than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity to the people in the room who stared at each other in stunned disbelief.

Fortunately, everybody's wounds were minor. Even Jim, who had received the most grievous and painful wound only required three stitches as the screwdriver had not hit anything serious. For the next two days, Amy lay unconscious, but occasionally she would half-way open her eyes and look around the room before falling back asleep. After much discussion and prayer, Amy's parents and their preacher decided Amy was possessed and they needed to conduct an exorcism. They decided it would be safer to perform it inside their little church and they hurriedly transported her there while she was still asleep. When they arrived, two church elders met them and they carried Amy inside, placing her gently on the floor in front of the alter. The five adults then held hands in a circle around her and began to pray out loud.

In the name of Jesus!
I command you to leave this girls body!
I cast you out in the name of Jesus!
Out! Out! Out! Out!

Amy began to move as if she were in pain. Her eyes remained closed, but she began to whimper.

I cast you out in the name of Jesus!
I cast you out in the name of Jesus!
Out! Out! Out! Out!

At his point, Amy began to move her head back and forth and started to foam at the mouth. She spit green, stinking bile at the preacher as he continued to chant. She screamed and arched her back so severely the adults thought she was about to break her spine. Then, in a course, hideous, deep voice, she began to laugh hysterically and Baal spoke:

Your God has no power over me!
I cannot be commanded. I am Baal!

The preacher continued to chant, louder and louder:

I cast you out in the name of Jesus!
I cast you out in the name of Jesus!

Suddenly, Amy screamed and her arms shot straight out from her body; her eyes rolled back into her head; she began to convulse and speak in tongues. The preacher continued to chant. Without warning, those demonic black eyes returned and stared straight at the preacher, Amy's face contorted into a horrific mask and she again spit foul bile at the pastor.

And then it was over. A sharp, whooshing sound was heard and then the breaking of glass. Amy's eyes began to close, but before they shut, the blackness faded and the normal green color returned. She stopped moving and appeared to be in a deep slumber. Her parents took her home and Amy slept peacefully through the night. The next morning, she awoke, smiling, hungry and acting like her old self. When asked, she did not remember a thing that had happened to her.

To this day, Amy doesn't really remember anything about those several months. Her parents told her, but she has a hard time accepting that a demon had taken over her body and mind. She returned to school, graduated from college and is now a high school teacher. She is engaged to be married to a preacher and she is grateful to God for saving her from the demon.

The only evidence Baal left behind was a ruined stained-glass window he had broken as he fled Amy's body and the church. When Amy's parents carried her to the car that night, they looked up at the shattered window. Then, there on the ground, every piece of glass, every shard, had been stacked in neat little piles all in a row. Stacked by an invisible, banished demon on his way back to Hell.
 

Not All Haunted Houses Are Scary

There are horrifying stories of hauntings like The Devil's House and frightening possessions like the evil Raggedy Ann doll. But contrary to popular belief, not all hauntings are frightening. Take the case of the Rose of Sharon house in Waxahachie, Texas for instance.

Sharon was a realtor and was able to see beyond the weeds in the yard and the rundown condition of the long deserted house, at least enough to know that underneath all the neglect, the basic structure was sound. She realized that with a lot of work and effort, the sad house could once again be the beautiful home it once was.

The house was built in 1892 by F. P. Powell, an attorney, for his new bride and the children they hoped to have. Two daughters were born to the union and the Powell's happily lived in their Waxahachie home for 20 years. In 1912, F. P. was offered a job in Austin, one with enough of a raise and increased benefits that he couldn't turn it down and so the home they loved was sold.

Unfortunately, over the next 70 years, the house was sold a number of times and none of the owners did much in the way of taking care of it. With each successive owner, the home's condition deteriorated a little more until it was eventually abandoned.

When Sharon purchased the house, she found that it originally had wrap-around porches which provided shade and a place to sit on a porch swing to enjoy a pretty spring day, but one of the previous owners had sealed in the porches and turned the house into a number of small apartments which were rented out. The exterior walls were covered in dead vines and the walls inside were full of holes. The floors were covered with trash and creaked when they were walked on, the stairs seemed ready to fall to pieces. In short, the house was in a sad state indeed.

The day after the sale had been completed and before any restoration work had begun, Sharon took a walk around the inside. Entering a small room which at one time had been a large dining parlor, she sat her oversized handbag on the floor in the middle of the room. leaving the heavy bag, she proceeded through several more rooms until finally entering one that contained piles of old magazines and newspapers. Sitting down to thumb through the stacks, she lost track of time as she became fascinated with the news and fashions from years past. 

When the shadows began to lengthen and the light to dim, she realized she had been there longer than she had intended. Hurrying back into the dining parlor to retrieve her bag, she found it right where she had left it, but sitting next to it was a pair of 14-karat gold earrings. The earrings were ones Sharon had loved and treasured, but had lost more than a year ago! She had looked everywhere for the missing jewelry, but no trace of them had turned up until now, a year after she lost them, sitting next to her handbag on the floor of a house she had not even known existed a year ago! Sharon believed then and still believes the return of her earrings had been a housewarming present from Mrs. Powell, long dead, but obviously happy Sharon had purchased her home and intended to restore it and once again fill it with love.

As the restoration work continued, Sharon would often enter a room and feel a presence of someone else. She could feel she wasn't alone, but it was never spooky and she was never frightened. Quite the contrary in fact as she said it was always a welcoming sensation.

After restoration, Sharon decided to open her now beautiful home to other people by turning it into a bed & breakfast. She doesn't advertise the ghostly presence, but some of her guests have reported hearing footsteps in the hallways at night when nobody is up and around. Sometimes footsteps are heard going up and down the stairs long after everyone has retired for the night. There are also reports of soft waltz music being heard which seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at the same time with no source able to be pinpointed. Most describe the sound as seeming to be stringed instruments, most likely violins. The haunting sounds are exactly what one would expect to hear coming from a cultured family home of the early 1900's.

Sharon often catches a glimpse of a family, but they are barely visible and completely disappear almost as soon as they are seen. The man wears a top hat and the woman is always wearing a long dress which appears to be from the late 1800's. There are also two children, little girls who always stand in front of their parents holding hands. They give the appearance of being very happy. Sharon thinks they are the Powell family and they seem pleased with what she has done and the way she takes care of "their" home.

The Rose of Sharon is a nice, homey bed & breakfast in the interesting town of Waxahachie, Texas. It is often full of paying guests, many of whom are repeats - folks who found the inn to be so inviting that they return multiple times. And nobody minds at all the friendly, happy ghosts that continue to watch over their home.
 

The Spectral Line Rider

The old barbed-wire fence enclosing a portion of the remote West Texas ranch is long gone, the posts weathered away and the wire rusted to nothing more than red specks. The little cemetery is still there, but the hand-made gravestones and crosses are mostly on their sides laying amongst the rocks where roadrunners hunt lizards for supper. It's hard to get to and nobody much ever does. The ranch itself nothing more than inhospitable wide open spaces that even the Mexicans avoid after crossing the Rio Grande on their way to work the big farms up north during the picking seasons. The ranch house is long abandoned, all the great-great grandchildren of the original land owners living miles away in one big city or another. No, it's not like it used to be. But let me tell you a story about this place, a story from long ago you may find hard to believe.

Juan Delgado, a vaquero who had just hired on, was out alone looking for some lost cattle in this part of the ranch. On the evening of his very first day, he was caught by a sudden thunderstorm. With dark rapidly coming on, even though he didn't relish spending the storm-filled night next to a cemetery, he took the only shelter there was for miles around, the sagging, little church. For Juan, it was to be a long, fitful night as the lightning flashes turned the tumbled gravestones into dark, threatening forms and the rumbling thunder reminded him how alone he was. But he was a proud cowboy and so he hunkered in his poncho and waited out the night.

The early morning light only brought more gray gloom and unrelenting rain. Juan kept to his shelter and ate his breakfast of beef jerky and the last of the coffee he had made the night before. Determined to wait out the rain, mid-morning found him standing in the doorway of the little church watching the rivulets of water swirling by when he was surprised to see a rider trailing along the close-by fence. The horseman was sitting astride a big bay, his face concealed by a broad brimmed black hat pulled low. The man slowly rode closer, his eyes staring fixedly at the ground, his clothes covered by a long black coat. Juan thought only a fool would ride in rain like this so he called out to the man to come share his shelter. The mysterious rider didn't answer or even look up. Perhaps the thunder and noise of the rain on his hat prevented him from hearing Juan's greeting. When he arrived directly across from the doorway, within just a few feet of where he stood, Juan called out again, louder this time, "Come in out of the rain, compadre," but still, the rider acted as if he didn't hear and kept riding, his eyes remained fixed on the ground beside the fence. It was obvious he was riding line, but what was wrong with a man who would not acknowledge a friendly greeting?

Suddenly, the rain ceased falling and except for little gurgling sounds of water draining to low spots, there was silence. It was only then that Juan realized the strange rider's passage was entirely without sound. No hoof beat, no creak of a leather saddle, nothing. The vaquero's hand involuntarily went to the gun in his holster, but the rider was drawing away. Still following the fence line, he passed the cemetery and eventually over a little hill and out of sight. Convincing himself that it was a crazy gringo so dumb he wouldn't even come in out of the rain, Juan tried to put his unease behind him as he gathered his things and prepared to leave.

It had not been an hour later when Juan was ready to resume his search for the lost cows, but before he could mount his horse, he saw the mysterious rider coming back toward him, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fixed on the ground just as before. Had he not found a break in the fence? There hadn't been enough time to repair a break, so why was he coming back already? And then the rider turned from the fence riding toward the little cemetery just below the top of the hill a short distance from Juan. He listened closely, but even in the near silence, neither the rider nor his horse made a sound. This time, Juan did not call a greeting. This time, Juan's gun hand deliberately went to his holster. For what seemed a long time, Juan stared beyond the rim of the hill, but the rider did not reappear. What was going on? There was no fence in that direction; the ranch house was not in that direction. The only thing there was the cemetery. A little voice inside his head told Juan he should leave this place. Quickly. To heck with those missing cows, Juan thought, they can find their own way home. He mounted up and urged his horse at a gallop toward the ranch house miles away.

 Several hours later when Juan reached the house, he rode up to find the foreman and several other hands standing on the porch discussing what chores needed to be done that day. "What the hell kind of fence rider do you have working for you?" "What are you talking about," asked the foreman, "I haven't had anybody riding fence for over a week." "Well I ran into one mighty strange one this morning," Juan replied and then went on to describe his appearance. "Where exactly did you see him?" came the foreman's sharp reply. "At the little church by that old cemetery. I called to him not 20 feet away, but he never even gave me a nod." "Which way did he ride?" the foreman wanted to know. Juan told him which way and that within an hour he had returned.

With that, the foreman turned to the cowboys on the porch and said, "Boys, get your guns. Let's go! Juan, there's food inside. Wait for us here until we get back." The men instantly jumped to the ground and ran to the bunkhouse to get their weapons and then the corral to get their horses. They left riding hard to where Juan told them he had seen the line rider.

It was just after dark when they returned. One of them had been shot in the arm, but they had two men with them who had their hands tied to their saddlehorns. The foreman announced, "We caught these men stealing our cattle and buried two other rustlers. These two will meet their fate at the hanging tree in town tomorrow."

After the two dead-men-walking had been hog-tied and securely locked up for the night in the potato bin, the foreman had a cup of coffee on the porch with Juan. "You saw our fence rider, all right," he told the vaquero. "He was one of the best I've ever known. Always had a gut feel for when there'd been fence cutting. All we had to know was which direction he rode and how long before he got back. Knowing that, it was easy to pick up the rustler's tracks." Juan nodded, but there were questions in his eyes. "He's dead," the foreman said matter-of-factly, "10 years now. He jumped a gang of rustlers, but there were to many of them. He's buried in that little cemetery on the hillside where you stayed. In front of it is exactly where he was killed. Now, every time our fences are cut," the foreman said quietly, "he rides the line until he finds where. Then he goes back to his hillside. Comprende?"

Juan could only nod. The foreman bid him goodnight and walked back into the house leaving the shaken vaquero standing on the porch in the dark. Early the next morning, Juan Delgado saddled his horse, packed his meager belongings and left that ranch. He didn't want anything to do with working alongside a ghost rider.

There were few that believed his story, but it was of no importance to one who had seen such a thing as he had. You may not believe it either and that's ok. The little forlorn cemetery is quietly crumbling, the fence and wooden church gone, the land empty and forgotten. There's no need for a solitary man to ride a lonely string of fence now. If you were to make camp where Juan spent that long, disturbing night, there where the graveyard and church lie hidden, there's probably little chance of your sleep being disturbed by a lone, lack-clad rider.
 

The Headless Boy of Little Geronimo

Little Geronimo is today a peaceful little town in central Texas just north of the larger town of Seguin. In the early 1900's, it was a collection of a few business buildings surrounded by hard-working German farmers and one old house where nobody lived for long.

There were stories about the big old house sitting on the south edge of town. Only uninformed newcomers would move into it and they all left within a few months, usually in the middle of the night with no warning, not even taking the time to pack all of their belongings. None ever returned to tell what had driven them from the house. The stories told of "someone else" who lived in the place, an evil someone who had so frightened a big, strapping teenage boy whose family had moved in that one night he had fired his hunting rifle at it. The shot went through his locked bedroom door and wounded his little brother asleep in the room across the hall.

Not long after "the war to end all wars" was finished,Ludwig Neumann emigrated to America with his family and eventually moved to Geronimo and the big house on the south edge of the town. Like their neighbors, the Neumanns were farmers and they toiled from daylight to daydark. All was well that spring and summer with an abundant crop and new friends made. Ludwig did wonder why everyone seemed inordinately interested in their home, but he chalked it up to curious neighbors just being interested in a house bigger than theirs. 

One dark September night, Ada, one of Ludwig's daughters, left the rest of her family talking in the kitchen and walked to the other side of the house to sit on the porch and wait for a friend who was coming to visit. In the middle of the dark living room, a sudden chill enveloped her and what felt like an ice-cold hand brushed across her cheek! Frightened, she ran through the room to the porch, but it was pitch black outside and she was too scared to stay there. Ada steeled herself to run back across the living room to get to her family. Sure enough, she felt the chill in the middle of the room and then that ice-cold hand touched her face again, this time fingers pulled at her hair as she ran past! She made it back to her family and the light in the kitchen. Knowing her sisters would surely make fun of her, she said nothing of her frightening encounter.

The very next night, the youngest daughter came running back into the house after emptying the dishwater off the porch, her eyes wide with fear. No amount of coaxing however, could get her to tell what had scared her so. 

For several days and nights, all was normal until one evening when just after the supper dishes had been put away and the moon was rising, the two middle girls were outside bringing down the clean clothes from the drying line. They had placed a lamp atop the milk safe on the porch to provide light for them to work by.   Suddenly they heard what sounded like someone walking through the brush out by the windmill just beyond the reach of the feeble lamplight. Knowing the rest of the family was in the house, they worked faster. Then they saw it. From behind the windmill it came out of the darkness, a white, luminous, indistinct form that seemed to float just above the ground. As the girls stared in horror, it turned to face them. When it started coming toward them,they ran screaming toward the house. As the first opened the door, the second dared a look behind and saw the thing, formless and close enough to touch them! Both girls crashed safely inside and slammed the door shut.

"What in the world is the matter with you two?" an alarmed Ludwig asked. They couldn't describe it exactly; how could they when they had ran as fast as they could? Before it came for them, it seemed kind of small, like a little boy, but not. It moved so fast, much faster than anyone could run and it got close, so close! As they cried and told in halting sentences what had happened, the other two girls spoke up and told what they had also experienced. Ludwig, a stern, no nonsense kind of man, admonished the girls for such a story and for leaving a lit lamp out on the porch. He would retrieve it and the girls should go straight to bed. The children begged him to take his gun, but he didn't need a gun against what was nothing but a fanciful story.

Ludwig did return with the lamp, but there was a look on his face and in his eyes that the girls had never seen before. There was a pair of double doors at the end of the house leading out to the far end of the porch. Those doors had been stuck closed and no matter how hard the strong Ludwig had tried, he had been unable to get them open. While he had been on one end of the porch retrieving the lamp, he had glimpsed a misty shape at the other end and heard a loud screeching noise. The double doors were standing wide open. They knew what this meant - it was inside now!

As a group, the whole family went from room to room throughout the house lighting all the lamps, turning them up high so they would provide as much light as possible. Ludwig cleaned his gun and they all spent the long night together in the living room. Nothing happened and in the morning, the back door which had been securely locked was found to be standing open. Evidently the thing had returned outside.

A week later, the oldest of the Neumann girls, Bertha, who was married and lived in San Antonio, came for a visit. When her sisters told her of "the thing," Bertha, a pious, God-fearing woman, shamed them for having over-active imaginations. Good Christians do not see ghosts, she said, and she wanted to hear nothing more of that nonsense. 

A very methodical young woman, Bertha spent each day working and doing chores as proper ladies should. At the end of each day's work though, she enjoyed cooling herself on the porch with her feet being soothed in a pan of cold water. While sitting all alone enjoying this small act of indulgence late one evening several days after arriving for her visit, she clearly saw the buggy house door slowly open seemingly all by itself. The buggy house was only a few yards from the big house with nothing in between so it was impossible not to see the door opening wide, the interior blacker than the night. Suddenly, out of that blackness, a hazy, white mist came forth and right before Bertha's wide-open eyes, began to take the shape of a small boy. Much to her surprise and confusion, she noticed the misty figure was wearing very large, glowing shoes, shoes that were much too big for a little boy. She then tore her eyes from those huge shoes and was astounded to see the figure had no head! "It" seemed to be looking at the woodpile beside the buggy house, but how could it? It had no head! As it turned toward her, Bertha broke from her trance to run into the house screaming, "It has no head! It has no head!"

Again, the family went from room to room, turning up every lamp in the house, making sure all the windows and doors were securely locked. Without anyone prompting this time, Ludwig loaded his gun. Once again, a long, restless night was passed by the family all gathered together in the living room. The Neumanns were relieved to see no doors standing open in the morning. It had not gotten inside.

Several weeks went by with no appearance by the headless thing and the family began hoping it had simply gone somewhere else. The German families occupying the nearby farms had a love for singing the old songs of their homeland and a number of them had formed a choir. The Nuemanns were no exception and having the largest house in the area, volunteered their home for choir practice. One evening, about 30 singers had gathered in the large room near the back hallway. Ludwig's wife sat nearest the door to the room so she could join the singing and still get snacks for their guests. It was she who saw it first.

When the family had found the double doors standing open that previous night of terror, Ludwig had wedged them shut and nailed a large board across both doors. Over the singing, Mrs. Nuemann heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs and walking across the porch toward those doors. As she looked down the hall, there was a loud noise as nails and the cross-board flew across the room! At the crashing sound, the singers fell silent and as Mrs. Nuemann looked on, both doors slowly opened wide.

As she watched in horror, the misty form of a boy entered the room. He turned and straight down the hallway he came, not exactly walking, just silently moving. As it got close, Mrs. Nuemann screamed and ran further into the room. As more than 30 people watched, the form floated right into the room and before their horrified gaze, kept going across the room and up the steps to the 2nd floor. Several of the women fainted dead away and more than a few of the men took quick steps toward the back of the room. All noted later "the headless boy" carried something in his arms, perhaps a pillow? Or at least something wrapped in a pillowcase. Some swore whatever it was, it had the shape of a head.

Ludwig gathered his wits just a few seconds after the headless boy had floated up the stairs and, followed by several brave men in the choir, rushed up to the 2nd floor. Every room was searched and found empty. It was noted all windows were locked shut and the people who remained behind were sure nobody, or nothing, had come back down the stairs. The choir practice quickly ended.

Less than a week later, the Neumann family, like so many others, moved away. Later, Bertha received a letter from her father saying they left because he was getting too old to farm. Perhaps that really was the reason.

Goatman and the Haunted Bridge

The Old Alton Bridge

The one-lane, wooden-floored "Old Alton Bridge," as it is now known, was constructed in 1884 to connect the Texas towns of Lewisville and Alton. It well served the communities and surrounding farms until it was replaced by a new bridge in 2002. My family and I lived just a few miles from the old bridge and before it was replaced, often drove over the creaking, rather scary structure to visit friends on the other side of the creek. Although the bridge shaved three miles off the closest alternate route from our friend's house to ours, I rarely drove over it after dark. 

For several miles the little 2-lane black-top road on either side of the bridge goes through an isolated area with almost no houses and no street lights to break up the dark. Large trees grow in thick profusion on both sides of the roadway and their tops have grown together above it so you feel as if you are driving through a dark, forbidding tunnel in a jungle. Very pretty in the daytime, extremely spooky in the dark time. The bridge itself takes courage to drive an auto across. The bed is made of wooden boards laid crosswise and you have to steer your car just so to keep your tires on the thick lengthwise boards. While you cross, the bridge creaks and pops, the boards moan and you see water rushing by in the creek below through the spaces in broken slats. It's impossible to not hold your breath and clench your hands on the steering wheel until you reach the far side. Unsettling in the daytime, positively unnerving in the dark time.

One night, for some illogical reason, I did dare to drive that spooky route. As if to prove to myself that I'm not afraid of the dark, I stopped my car on the road just before reaching the bridge. As usual, there were no other cars in sight and it was extremely dark as even the moonlight was blocked out by the overhanging trees. I turned off the headlights and rolled down the window, but even though my car was rather new and the engine was very quiet, its hum was all I could hear so I turned the key off. The silence in that blackness was total; no birds chirping, no dogs barking in the distance, no traffic noise on some distant road, no nothing. I marveled at how loud silence can be. 

Suddenly, there came a noise from the woods and it was very close! It sounded like some animal, maybe a coyote or a feral pig skulking through leaves. It was just a short sound and before I could react, all was quiet again. I looked as closely into the woods as I could, all my senses on high alert, but for a number of seconds there was still no sound. The seconds seemed to be minutes until with no warning, I heard a sound like a twig breaking under a footstep and then a rustling of leaves several times in procession. It sounded for all the world like somebody, a 2-legged somebody, was slowly walking through the leaves in that black jungle. I didn't wait to see if I could find out what it was. It took about 2 seconds for me to start the car and begin rolling up the window, put it in Drive and get the heck on down the road!

I made it to the bridge and didn't take my foot off the gas even where it is usually prudent to slow to a crawl to be sure your car is situated correctly on the boards for the drive across. Fortunately, I made it over safely, fearing at any moment that something, man or beast, would pop up in front of me at the end of the bridge. That was the last time I ever drove that route after dark. I decided to see what I could find about that bridge and the area around it. I figured it was just too spooky to not have some kind of history associated with it. I figured right.

Graffiti under the bridge

In the early 1860's as the Civil War raged, a bunch of area cowboys took it upon themselves to punish an slave goat-herder named Jack Kendall for some offense which has been lost to history. They tied one end of a rope around his neck and the other end around a sturdy tree limb  of a large oak tree which was growing next to the creek right where the Alton Bridge would later be built. They drug him to the top of the creek bank and threw him out toward the water. It was a long fall and the rope used was thinner than it should have been so when poor Jack Kendall hit the end of the rope, his head was severed and his body dropped into the creek. Stories of a headless apparition wandering up and down the creek, apparently in search of his missing head, have been told for over 150 years now.

The story which has taken hold and gained the most notoriety though is of Oscar Washburn, an African-American man who gained a reputation in the 1930's as an honest, dependable business man who raised and sold goats and goat products. He and his wife and children lived in a small cabin in the woods a short distance from the Alton bridge. He was popular with many of the locals for the quality of the goat meat, milk, cheese and hides he sold at a very reasonable price. To help the unfamiliar easily find him, he hung a big sign on the end of the bridge which read, "This way to the Goatman." Unfortunately, this popularity came to the attention of the local Ku Klux Klan who didn't take kindly to a black man taking away business from other local goat raisers.

The middle of the bridge where the Ku Klux Klan put the
noose over the Goatman's head and threw him over.

One dark night in 1938, with their car's headlights off, the Klansmen drove across the bridge to the Goatman's little cabin and dragged him away from his wailing wife and crying children. They took him back to the middle of the bridge to a noose they had prepared ahead of time and after roughly slipping it over his head, flung the pleading Goatman over. Much to their surprise, they heard a watery splash below the bridge and when they looked over the side, they were shocked to see an empty noose and no sign of their victim. 

The Night Riders split up and quickly ran to both ends of the bridge where they scrambled down the embankments to the water's edge. After frantically searching for half an hour with no sign of their intended prey, they returned to the Washburn residence. After a quick search proved he was not there, the men barricaded the front door and with mother and children huddled together inside, the cabin was set on fire. They hoped the screams of his family would bring the Goatman into the open where they intended to capture him, securely tie him up and throw him alive onto the raging inferno, but their plan didn't work. The screams of the innocent mother and children were silenced as the burning walls crumbled.

Oscar Washburn was never seen again. Some believe that just like poor Jack Kendall, the Goatman's head popped off that night when he was hung and his body was washed away by the quickly flowing waters after it dropped through the noose. Others believe he survived the botched hanging and ran far away from the area, leaving behind his poor family to suffer a horrible death. To this day, what is certain though are the eerie and strange happenings on and around the Alton bridge. 

Many say the unforgiving spirit of the Goatman still haunts these woods. Locals warn to not cross the bridge with headlights turned off for if you do, you will surely be met on the other side by none other than the vengeful Goatman himself. There are persistent reports of a ghostly apparition herding a bunch of almost transparent goats being seen in the dark on the road leading from the bridge. The apparition and goats disappear as quickly as they appear. Others have seen a pair of unholy red, glowing eyes staring at them from the tree's or have glimpsed the fleeting image of a large goat-headed-man-beast in the shadows of the forest which is usually accompanied by the revolting smell of rotten flesh. Often there are tales of unexplained noises such as hoof beats of goats running across the bridge, loud splashing in the waters below the bridge or a low non-human growl coming from the trees near the bridge.

Graffiti under the Old Alton Bridge

There has been a rash of documented cases by the police where people have vanished with no trace around this seemingly cursed bridge. In the 1950's, a local high school boy and his girlfriend were reported missing when they failed to return from a Friday night date. The boy's car was found the next morning parked in the woods beside the bridge with both front doors open. They have still never been found and the case is a total mystery. On November 15, 1967, a Ford Mustang was found by police parked at the end of the bridge. They eventually found out who owned the car, but the person has never been found.

In 2002, a new road and bridge was built to replace the old one. The original Alton bridge is still there, but since then, the odd happenings and reports of strange apparitions and unexplained phenomena seem to have decreased some. Daring teenagers like to hang out there at night in groups, spray-painting graffiti and trying to scare each other. But even the most daring teenagers do not go there at night alone.

I don't know what I heard the night I stopped on that dark, lonely road. I didn't stick around trying to find out. One thing I do know for sure though, it wasn't just my imagination...something was out there.

Haunted Fort Concho

Fort Concho, located in what is now the middle of San Angelo, Texas, was originally  built in 1867 to protect settlers when the area was still subject to Indian attacks. The fort was actively used until it was decommissioned on June 20, 1889.

The original plans called for the construction of 40 buildings situated on 40 acres with a large, open parade ground in the middle. When the first soldiers began trying to construct the buildings with pecan wood as planned, they found the wood to be too hard and difficult to work with so they switched to using adobe bricks. However, none of the soldiers had any experience with making adobe bricks so they were mighty disappointed when almost 2 months of hard work making bricks and starting to construct buildings with them proved to be wasted when the bricks literally melted in a heavy rain storm. It was finally decided to use sandstone from several nearby quarries and to import stone masons from the town of Fredericksburg. 

The parade ground of Fort Concho

Once the Indians had been effectively removed from the area, the fort was decommissioned and abandoned and the buildings fell into disrepair. It was during this time the first reports of unexplained activity began to be heard - mysterious lights floating in and around the buildings even though nobody was there; the sound of horse's marching in the night, vague men's voices shouting commands. Before long, nobody would go near the ruins after the sun set.

Old ruins along Officers' Row

In 1935, the city was able to purchase the old fort and began to save the 23 buildings deemed to be salvageable and started reconstruction of the other 17 from old photos and the layout of the ruins. The workers told of tools left overnight that disappeared with no trace only to mysteriously reappear several days later in the same exact spot where they had been left. In 1961, Fort Concho was declared a National Historic Landmark. Once the buildings were opened to the public, people began reporting ghostly activities mainly in 3 of the buildings; the fort's headquarters, the officers' living quarters, and the fort chapel.

The current site of the visitor center and museum is
the area where the ghost of Sergeant Cunningham
is often seen.

Although the soldiers posted at Fort Concho were active participants in several battles against Indians and Comanchero's (Mexican and American traders conducting illegal profiteering, kidnapping and looting), the battles all took place in the surrounding area and the fort was never itself attacked. Due to this, there was only one casualty recorded in the fort. Second Sergeant James Cunningham, a hard-core alcoholic, did not die in battle, but rather from cirrhosis of the liver. In spite of his nightly drinking, he had managed to report for duty each morning and was by all reports, a good soldier who was well liked by his fellow soldiers. Unfortunately, the alcohol finally caught up to him and upon being informed by the post doctor that he had only a few months to live, he was removed from active duty. A few weeks later, Sergeant Cunningham returned to the fort and requested he be allowed to spend his last days at the headquarters so he could be with his colleagues and friends, the only family he had. His request was granted. Six weeks later, he died in his sleep. A uniformed soldier has been seen walking near and even inside the old fort headquarters which has been converted into a museum. In nearly all cases, the apparition appears for only a few seconds, but the smell of whiskey will linger. Witnesses who see the ghost consistently pick out an old photograph of Sergeant Cunningham, apparently still hanging around the last earthly home he knew.

Officers' Row

Officers' Row is the 2nd area of Fort Concho that is known to be haunted. Benjamin Grierson, the regimental commander of the 10th Calvary, lived in one of the quarters with his wife and young daughter, Edith. Shortly before Edith's 12 birthday, she became very ill and died in the upstairs bedroom. Since the building was restored, many people have told of seeing a young girl sitting on the floor of an upstairs bedroom quietly playing jacks. The game was known to be Edith's favorite and her grieving parents placed a cloth sack containing a small ball and jacks in her coffin before her burial. The bedroom where she is seen was the exact room in which the little girl breathed her last. The apparition usually appears to be oblivious to anyone who sees her, but occasionally she will look up and smile before slowly vanishing. Visitors often state that room is colder than any of the others even when no ghostly visitor is seen. 

Colonel Ranald MacKenzie
(historical photo)

A 2nd ghost associated with Officers' Row is thought to be Colonel Ranald MacKenzie, the commanding officer of the fort when it was decommissioned. In letters and records, Colonel MacKenzie often stated he found Fort Concho to be one of his favorite duty stations. In fact, Colonel MacKenzie retired as the fort was decommissioned and he elected to remain, living in his home on Officers' Row until he died several years later. One December several years ago, a female staff member was working in the Mackenzie house preparing for a Christmas event. She said she heard the sound of footsteps behind her and turned to see who was there, but just as she turned, she was pushed up against the wall by a strong hand and felt a blast of cold air. Seeing nobody in the room with her, the frightened woman stood there for several seconds trying to make sense of what had just happened when she heard the sound of knuckles cracking. Before she could bolt from the room, a misty, almost transparent figure of a man in soldier's uniform materialized in front of her. It seemed to somehow be floating just above the floor and as the woman looked down, she noted the apparition seemed to be invisible below the knees. As abruptly as it appeared, the misty man disappeared. Colonel Mackenzie had been known for the habit of cracking his knuckles. There was no doubt the lady staffer had come face to face with the fort's last, and perhaps forever, commander.

 The 3rd haunted building is the chapel. The chaplain, George Dunbar, was said to be a very devout Christian, a loving, devoted husband and a dedicated father to his 6 children, all of whom lived with him at the fort. He was known to get so involved in his sermons that his voice could be heard all across the fort on Sunday mornings shouting that week's message of God. After several years at Fort Concho, the chaplain was transferred to Fort Sill. It was unsafe for his wife and children to accompany him however as Fort Sill was often being attacked by renegade Indians. His family was allowed to stay at Fort Concho until it was safe for them to travel to Fort Sill and as he left one morning, he promised them he would return. Several months had passed when a messenger arrived with sad news from Fort Sill. While under attack by a large group of Commanches, one of the soldiers inside the fort had been mortally wounded. As he lay dying, Chaplain Dunbar ran to his side and began praying over him. While comforting the dying soldier, the chaplain was himself killed. He was eventually brought back to Fort Concho where his wife claimed the body and a proper burial was conducted. Today, visitors and staff report of hearing a loud and powerful male voice delivering a sermon. There have also been sightings of a soldier in uniform kneeling in prayer inside of the chapel.  Occasionally, a female voice is heard accompanying the male voice, speaking quietly, perhaps in prayer. The staff likes to think this is the good chaplain's wife, the two of them spending eternity together.

Floating balls of lights, the sounds of horses being rode as if in a parade, men's voices in the middle of an empty parade ground, and even an occasional unexplained loud boom as if a ceremonial cannon has been fired are still heard today. There were no large battles with horrible loss of life at the fort, no unsolved ghastly murders, no desecrated burial grounds, so It is unknown why Fort Concho is so haunted. Perhaps not all ghosts are tortured souls unable to cross over. Perhaps Fort Concho simply was the place of good memories or circumstances in the souls of the dearly departed and it is where they are content to spend eternity. Only they know for sure.

Spirits in the Capitol of Texas

Texas State Capitol Building, 2013

The State Capitol Building of Texas, constructed between 1882 and 1888, is located on 22 beautifully landscaped acres in downtown Austin. The current building replaced the original which was simply a log structure built in 1853. That building burned to the ground in 1881 and later that same year, the famous architect Elijah Myers won a nation-wide design contest for the new capitol building. He was paid the princely sum of $1,700 for his design. 

Construction began in February, 1882 and for the next 4 years, 1,000 men worked every day to complete the massive 360,000-square-foot building. The contractor was paid not with money, but with 3,000,000 acres of land. This land later became the largest ranch in the world, the famed XIT Ranch. When the capitol opened, it was the 7th largest building in the world and is still the largest state capitol in America. Covering 3 acres, standing 311 feet tall and made of "Sunset Red" granite quarried in Marble Falls, Texas, plus over 11,000 railroad cars of Texas limestone, the structure contains 392 rooms, 18 steel and concrete vaults, 924 windows, 404 doors and cost $3,744,600 of 1880's money to build. According to many, it also houses several spirits who roam the halls and grounds.

Shortly before the original log capitol building burned, a well-respected Indian scout was having a romantic rendezvous with his Indian maiden lover in one of the back rooms when her father, a bad-tempered Comanche chief found them. Bursting into the room, the outraged father killed the scout with a knife plunged into his heart. Grief-stricken, his distraught daughter pulled the knife from her dead lover's chest and before her father could stop her, plunged the knife into her own chest. Her father cried out and fell to the floor where he gently cradled her, but she died in his arms. Numerous witnesses have reported seeing the ghostly figures of the lovers as hand-in-hand they wander around the oak trees and stately grounds of the capitol. Wearing buckskin clothing and moccasins, they are seen walking along, but seem to be floating several inches above the ground and slowly disappear into thin air as the witness watches.

The "Goddess of Wisdom, Justice and Victory" which sits atop the 
dome of the Texas Capitol Building as workmen prepared to 
place her. (photo courtesy of Texas State Library & Archives)

In 1903, Robert Marshall Love, a Confederate veteran who had survived the Civil War, was serving as the state's Comptroller when he was shot and killed in his first-floor office by a disgruntled associate. Love was wearing a dark suit in the fashion of the era and top-hat when he was killed. His final words were, "I have no idea why he shot me. May the Lord bless him and forgive him. I cannot say more." The translucent figure of a man wearing an old-fashioned dark suit and top-hat has startled numerous government workers, visitors and state troopers as it paces up and down the hallway outside of the Comptroller's office.

On the 3rd floor in the office suite held by former House Speaker Pete Laney, the night cleaning crew has complained of a woman dressed in red who sometimes appears inside the office and then walks around a corner. When the crew goes to investigate, there is nobody there. Voices speaking in whispers, giggling and other mysterious sounds come from a secret stairwell behind that office. Research has shown the lady to be the lover of the man who occupied that office and the stairwell is where the couple often held "private meetings."

The Texas State Capitol Building during restoration, 1990.
(photo courtesy of Texas State Library & Archives)

On December 13, 1922, Ed Wheeler was painting the inside of the rotunda when he tragically fell 160 feet to his death. There are no reports of Ed wandering around the building, but interestingly, every now and then, a strong smell of fresh paint wafts through the air when there is no painting activity. It is speculated it could be Mr. Wheeler still trying to finish his painting job so he can finally go toward the light.

In the late 1970's, a newly hired Senate cook and waiter by the name of Tim Mateer was alone one evening while cleaning the reception room when he saw a lady pass by in the hall and go into a small room. Thinking she might be lost, he immediately followed her into the room she had entered, but there was no one there. Several days later, Mateer was walking through the Senate press conference room when he spotted a portrait of the lady he had seen, former Texas First Lady Fay Wright Stevenson, wife of Coke Stevenson when he was Lieutenant Governor and then Governor of Texas. Mrs. Stevenson had served as the hostess for many Senate functions during that time. She had died of cancer in 1942 and the small room Mateer had seen her enter had served as her office. 

Perhaps the most interesting story is about a certain window in the east wing of the building in a senate reception room. On February 6, 1983, a fire broke out in the apartment of William P. Hobby, the Lieutenant Governor. A 23-year-old man, a guest of Mr. Hobby, was asleep in the apartment when the fire broke out. He was trapped in a back room and several fireman were injured trying to rescue him while he screamed and banged on a window trying to get out. Unfortunately, the firemen were unsuccessful in their rescue attempts and the young man burned to death in excruciating pain. The unbroken window was left in place during the restoration work and still today, on foggy and high humidity mornings, even though the window has been repeatedly cleaned, the clear outline of hand prints appear in the condensation on the window.

Politics can be downright spooky, but Texas it seems, takes the term to a whole other level.