Stalking Shadows (7 page)

“He also left a large sum of money to my daughter, who was nine at the time, with me acting as trustee. I invested her money well, and it became a most tidy sum by the time she reached adulthood. Fortunately for me, she had no head for money, and allowed me to manage her estate, even after her marriage.

“Then one day the unspeakable happened. My darling daughter, who’d been married only three months, died. The circumstances surrounding her death I took with me to my grave. Isn’t that a joke? My body rests in peace, yet I shall never rest.

“I commissioned a glass coffin to hold her fragile body, and spent a considerable amount of time selecting just the right monument for the grave. I finally decided on using marble for the material, and had it ornately carved into a bed.”

“I’m sorry, Franklin. I’ve been to her grave—it’s beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you,” Franklin said. “Although I did not shed a tear at her funeral, inside I nearly died. I stood in stoic silence as they gently lowered her into the ground and covered her with dirt. My wife and other family members wept openly. I do not condone such public displays of grief, not in this family. We mourn in private and hide the grief from the world outside. After all, we are of high society, and it isn’t proper.

“After the funeral, my daughter’s husband came to me and told me he wanted the money due to him. He argued that he was married to my precious daughter, and her money was legally his. He wanted to go back to his family and start a new life. I lied and told him some bad investments caused Betsy’s estate to suffer. Then I set my plan of action. There was no way I was going to turn this great amount of money over to the man, who was nothing more than a social-climbing weasel!

“A few days later, I had him sign a paper stating he had no further interest in the estate of my daughter, and gave him a check for $2,000—a mere pittance considering the true value of the estate. Then I walked him down to the train station and purchased him a ticket home. I’d already had one of the maids pack his belongings in a worn, tattered suitcase, which he held tightly in his hands, and I sent him on his way.

“I then immersed myself into my work. The only thing I ever held dear to my heart had been taken away. What else was I to do? Then, as some kind of cruel punishment, I was stricken with the same affliction my father suffered from. It wasn’t long before I was forced to use the cane, although I feel it made me look like distinguished and dapper. I had several canes custom-made from only the finest materials. They became a symbol of my status and wealth in the community. God, I was a pompous ass!”

I couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Soon my illness became such that I was forced into retirement. It was not easy to conduct my business this way, but I managed. I’d been careful to surround myself with good people I could trust and who were loyal. Although I doubt loyalty had much to do with it—most likely it was fear.

“Then, a few years later, I suffered a horrific fall down the stairs and broke my neck. A short time later, I died from those injuries. Correction there, it should be
my body died
; my soul shall reside in this house and on this land forever. No one should ever dare to take what is rightfully mine!

“So I am trapped here, in this crumbling mansion, forced to walk the stairs, hallways, and rooms of this once-glorious estate. I’ve tried, oh so many times, to force out the living who dared move into my house, and to no avail.

“Then one day, I discovered I had the power to force them out, at least some of them. Others, who were not afraid of me, stayed. I suppose you could say we forged a peaceful alliance, but it would be more accurate to say I lost my will to chase them out. I suppose the company of the living is better than no company all.

“I also discovered, quite by accident one day as I was roaming the barren rooms, that my daughter’s soul came to the house from time to time. It was as though she didn’t want me to be too lonely. Bless her heart.

“Yet, in time, her visits became more infrequent. She enjoyed the company of the living, and would leave each time the house became vacant. Perhaps she couldn’t stand the silence.

“During one of her stays at the estate, we discussed her death and my act of vengeance toward her husband. She chastised me greatly. I feel no regret for my actions. They were perfectly justified, but she fails to understand my reasoning.

“She forbade me from telling anyone how she died—like I could anyway—at least until you came along. She said it was her story to tell, and when the time was right she would tell it. Her reasoning is beyond me, but I must respect her wishes.”

I heaved a deep sigh of disappointment. One of the greatest mysteries of the town was how Betsy died, and it was painfully clear I wasn’t going to get any closer to knowing the truth. “So the real reason you’re still here is to protect the family secrets, and not the fear of judgment as you proclaimed earlier?” I provoked.

“Someone has to!” Franklin wheeled around to face me, his phantom face twisted in anger. “Don’t you see how important our family is? Don’t you realize the humiliation we would suffer in our social circle if the truth came out?”

“Franklin, you’ve been dead over 150 years! No one really cares anymore except for a precious few, whose only real question is how Betsy died. Everyone else is dead! You don’t even come up in conversation!” I jumped to my feet so I could meet him eye to eye.

We stared each other down for what felt like hours, but in reality was only just seconds. Then, without another word, Franklin vanished.

“You get back here!” My words echoed throughout the cavernous third floor. I’d never had such a vicious argument with a ghost before, and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Perhaps I’d pushed Franklin just a little too far. Sometimes, when dealing with a ghost, such a harsh dose of reality can do more harm than good.

I sat back down on the cold, hard floor and poured myself another cup of coffee out of my thermos. I took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to warm me from the inside out.

Within a few moments, Franklin once again appeared before me. “I apologize for my behavior,” he said.

“Forgiven. I’m sorry too. I should have never spoken to you that way.”

“I deserved it. Now, where were we?” Franklin’s translucent figure settled down on the floor across from me.

“Why don’t we change the subject, since we appear to be at an impasse? Tell me about your existence since you died,” I said.

“Well.” Franklin raised a ghostly hand and stroked his chin. “For the longest time I was confused. I really didn’t realize I died. I couldn’t figure out why everything was gone and people I didn’t know were in my house. I couldn’t affect my environment at all, and I became extremely frustrated.”

“Understandable.” I nodded.

“I tried to talk to the people, but they behaved as if they couldn’t see or hear me. That’s when I realized I was deceased. Naturally, it took me awhile to come to terms with my own death, and I retreated to the cupola—up the staircase behind you. No one alive ever went up there, so I figured I was safe, you know?”

“Right,” I said.

“One night when I was walking through the house, Betsy showed up and tried to convince me to go with her to heaven, as she called it. But I knew I couldn’t follow her. She begged me to follow her and leave, but it was impossible. Someone has to stand watch over the place. I’ve tried to make her understand, but to this day, I don’t think she does.

“Anyway, it took some time, but I learned how, in my own way, to make the living that dared to invade my property aware of my presence. I would stomp up and down the staircase, move their tools when they were working on the house, and when they tried to come up to the third floor, which I now call home, I would try to push them down the stairs—something I’m not proud of, but one must protect one’s privacy, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, to a point. But you let me come up here to visit with you anytime I wish,” I told him.

“True, but you’re the first person in over 150 years that understands, and who I can really communicate with.” A smile played around his phantom face.

“Which brings me to the point of my visit today, Franklin.” I couldn’t look into his eyes. “There was a meeting in town last night, and your home is going to be torn down.”

“What?!” Franklin leaped to his feet, well, as much as a ghost can do that. “Why?”

“Because the house is in such disrepair and, according to a structural engineer, it can’t be fixed,” I said. “People were at the meeting who tried to save the house, me included. But there was little we could do. I’m so sorry, Franklin.”

“What am I to do? What’s going to happen to me? Where can I go?” Franklin’s ghost paced frantically up and down the hallway.

“You could join your family on the other side,” I suggested.

“Never!” Franklin’s voice roared in my head. “I shall stay here and fight!”

“As you wish, Franklin.” I rose from my seat and gathered my blanket and thermos. “Godspeed, my friend.”

“You won’t be back?” Franklin stopped in his tracks. I don’t think this fact ever occurred to him.

“No, Franklin. I won’t be back. The house will be gone in a few days. There’s really no reason for me to come to an empty lot.”

Franklin’s ghost moved toward me and stopped just short of where I was standing. “I have to admit I’ll miss you.” He bowed his head.

“I’ll miss you, too. Goodbye.” I walked slowly down the two flights of stairs to the first floor and let myself out of the house for the last time.

A few days later, the once-glorious mansion was reduced to a pile of rubble and hauled away. I, like many of the townsfolk, gathered at the scene to mourn the death of another historical landmark. We gathered up some bricks from the house as mementos.

A couple of months after Franklin’s house was destroyed, I was in the antique store in town, having coffee and donuts with some of the other local women. One of them told us that the man and woman who lived next to the mansion, and who’d fought the hardest to have it destroyed, were having a horrible time with paranormal activity. They’d hear footsteps, items in their home were being moved, and doors would open and slam violently.

I smiled to myself, knowing that Franklin had found another place to live, and I could appreciate the irony of the situation. The people who detested his home the most were now going to have to live with the ghost of Franklin, whom they’d displaced. You just have to love karma.

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Chapter 6

The Weeping Woman

This is one of those stories that just tugs on your heartstrings. After you read it, you won’t find it hard to imagine the depth of one woman’s grief and devotion to her husband and child. It’s one of the saddest ghost stories I’ve ever run across. Yet in a way, it’s inspirational, because it makes you realize just how alike life and death are. Remember, death is not the end, but the beginning of a new life in spirit form.

An abandoned house still stands defiantly on a lonely patch of land, just outside of a small town in rural Iowa, close to where a friend of mine grew up. Fortunately, the history of the house is very well documented.

The house was originally built as a single-room log cabin in 1881 by a preacher, his wife, and their nine children. They hunkered down during the winter, but at the first sign of spring they began to enlarge their cabin to house their large family.

By 1889, the family moved on and the house was taken over by the township for operation as a stagecoach station.

However, the stagecoach stopped running through the rural area in 1893, so the township then turned the building into a boarding house for trappers and people heading toward the Wild West.

According to local legends and various historical documents, this was a dangerous time, and several gangs of outlaws roamed the area. There were also threats from Native American uprisings. Although there was a minor uprising several miles away, the marauding tribe never got as far east as the tiny town, and there isn’t any documentation that the Native Americans caused any trouble in the town that I was able to discover.

The building was again abandoned in 1898, and in 1903 it was converted into a schoolhouse for the children of the railroad workers that streamed into the area. The school operated until 1925 when the building was once again abandoned, although it was used by the large number of drifters, vagabonds, and hobos that roamed the area during the Great Depression. The desolate location and natural water supply made it a safe haven for those who’d been dislocated by the Depression and the Dust Bowl.

When the railroad died in the early part of the 1920s, there were already rumors circulating about the building and its ghosts.

In the 1950s, the house was purchased by a local family, who once again turned it into a family home. The family—a farmer, his wife, and children—only lived in the house a year before mysterious happenings in and around the house drove them out and forced them to move into town.

In 1995, the Historical Society purchased the property with the intent of restoring the house as it had been when it was run as a stagecoach station. Everything went well during the first stages of reconstruction.

However, while clearing out the old well, the volunteers uncovered the skeleton of a small infant. It was shortly afterward that the plans to restore the building hit several snags—and of course, there was the matter of the ghosts. From all accounts, the Weeping Woman began appearing more and more often, frequently scaring the workers until they packed up and finally left.