by Tim Weisberg
Also, many who have ghostly encounters often report drafts, chills or cold spots. This is because the ghost attempting to materialize is what’s known as an endothermic reaction, in which it draws in energy in the form of heat. The opposite is an exothermic reaction, which usually releases energy in the form of heat. However, it can also release it as energy, light or sound—all three are common forms of paranormal activity.
In my experiences, though, the best amplifier for paranormal activity is a person paying attention to it. By being receptive to the paranormal, it gives it credence and it supplies it with the energy it needs to manifest. Human beings are perhaps the best conductors of the paranormal, even if the debate lingers on about whether we are helping it along or creating it in our own minds.
One must always be careful how much to give it, though. As my good friend and colleague Matt Moniz often quotes from his mentor, Maurice DesJardins: for every step you take toward the paranormal, it takes two toward you.
CHAPTER 2
THE WHY
Before we can examine the haunts of the region, we have to understand the tragic history and the mysteries of the land itself that could be the major factor in why the SouthCoast is so haunted.
Considering our attempted definition of them, no ghost can exist within a vacuum. There has to be something giving power to the paranormal, something that charges the electricity for the spirits to draw upon or opens the doorways for UFOs and mysterious creatures. It’s more than just the abundant quartz and bodies of water, the time slips and the thinning membrane between reality and something just beyond it.
John N. Mitchell may have been the disgraced attorney general convicted in the Watergate scandal, but he did provide us with a great quote that applies here: “our attitude toward life determines life’s attitude toward us.”
That fits perfectly in figuring out just why the SouthCoast and its immediate surroundings are so haunted. In some respects, it’s because we’ve made it that way. Our attitude toward the area has determined its attitude toward us—and we’ve given it plenty of reasons to not like us too much.
KING PHILIP’S WAR
Even in the history books used in SouthCoast schools, little is taught about King Philip’s War.
Often called the Forgotten War, it still stands today as the bloodiest war ever fought on American soil. More of the population died in this war than did the Civil War, and it was a great stain on the young colonies.
Revisionist history likes to look back at the early English colonists as those seeking freedom and opportunity in the New World and the Native Americans of the time as kindly helpers to their cause. Every Thanksgiving, schoolchildren are told the tale of Squanto, the kindly Patuxet who helped the pilgrims get through their first hard winter in Plymouth. What isn’t taught is how Squanto, also known as Tisquantum, had been twice kidnapped by English visitors to this land and spent time in Britain before returning to find his people decimated by disease. Because of his close association with the English and his ability to speak their language, the great sachem of the Wampanoag Confederacy of area tribes, Massasoit, used Squanto as an envoy when the permanent settlers arrived in 1620.
However, neither side completely trusted Squanto. Some speculate that his death in 1622 was due to poisoning by fellow members of the Wampanoag Confederacy because he had betrayed his people in favor of the English, who refused to turn over Squanto to the Wampanoags upon such suspicion.
The settlers’ early alliance with the Indians was just the beginning of a long period of peace between the English and the Wampanoag tribes that always had the undercurrent of mistrust and dislike that would eventually culminate in war.
The seeds of conflict actually were planted under the guise of peace. Massasoit and the pilgrim leaders forged an early alliance against the neighboring Narragansett tribe. After the Indians helped the pilgrims through their first winter in Plymouth, the two sides signed a peace treaty on March 22, 1621. For more than fifty years, the two sides would stand by each other, even as other tribes such as the Pequots attacked the settlers.
Eventually, more settlers arrived and the Massachusetts Bay Colony was formed. To keep the peace with the English, Massasoit sold them land. To the Indians, it was laughable that the settlers would want to give up anything valuable for something such as land, which they felt no man could rightfully own anyway. The one thing Massasoit wouldn’t barter was the beliefs of his people, attempting to stave off the English attempts to convert the Indians to Christianity even as the concept of the Praying Indian began to evolve within neighboring tribes.
In the last years of his life, however, Massasoit saw many of his Wampanoags convert to both the English religion and culture, and the strength of his people diluted over time. His eldest son Wamsutta—whom the English dubbed Alexander—ascended to great sachem upon Massasoit’s death, believed to be in either 1661 or 1662. By this time, the colonists and the natives had a completely different relationship than the one Wamsutta’s father had fostered with those original pilgrims in Plymouth. The colonists were no longer dependent on the Indians for survival and instead sought to expand their colony deeper into Indian territories. The Indians, no longer able to use furs and other items as trade commodities, could only give up more of their land in exchange for items such as weapons and tools from the English.
As the spread of the English grew and the power of the Indians waned, Wamsutta was desperate to keep his people united. Some historians believe he was suspected of meeting with the Narragansett tribe in order to plan a revolt against the colonists. Others believe he was selling land to opposing colonies instead of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Either way, Wamsutta drew the suspicions of the colonial governor and was summoned to court at Plymouth, reportedly at gunpoint after he failed to appear under his own free will. At some point in the journey, he fell ill and subsequently died. His brother Metacom—or Philip to the English—became the great sachem after his death.
Metacom had his own suspicions about the mysterious passing of his brother; he felt that someone within the colonial government had poisoned Wamsutta in order to quell a potential rebellion.
With all this ill will beginning to build up between the two sides, it was only a matter of time before something would spark the powder keg. That event came in December of 1674, when Metacom’s advisor Wassausmon—known to the English as John Sassamon, one of the Praying Indians—approached Plymouth governor Josiah Winslow to warn him that Metacom was planning to unite with other tribes to attack the settlers. Not long after that, Sassamon’s body was found in Assawompset Pond in present-day Lakeville or Middleboro, and the settlers accused Metacom and his warriors of his murder. A fellow Indian named Patuckson claimed to bear witness to three of Metacom’s men murdering Sassamon, and the trio became the first to be tried in front of a jury of both whites and Indians. The trio was found guilty and subsequently executed in June of 1675, and the colonists remained convinced that Metacom was somehow involved.
The Wampanoags, however, were not happy with the idea of their people being subjected to the laws and courts of the colonists. As noted by Christopher Balzano is his book Dark Woods: Cults, Crime and the Paranormal in the Freetown State Forest:
As all of the events of the past few decades—the murder of his brother, the followers leaving by the dozens, and the killing of men found guilty with no evidence—swirled about him, the paranormal stepped in. In an often overlooked nod to the unknown, a total lunar eclipse occurred. The Native Americans in the area saw this as a sign of war and Philip used this to fuel their desire for change.
A band of Pokanokets soon attacked colonial homes and lay siege to the settlement of Swansea. This ignited what would become known as King Philip’s War, even though to this day it is unknown whether those Pokanoket were acting on Metacom’s orders.
Winslow led the English and Metacom led an army of Indians that included other tribes as well as his own. Battles raged across New England throughout the rest of 16
75 and into 1676, with the Indians first taking the upper hand and then the colonists, with their vast weaponry and resources, eventually battling back. On August 12, 1676, Metacom was captured near Mount Hope in Bristol, Rhode Island, by Captain Benjamin Church and his militia and was shot and killed by John Alderman, a Praying Indian. Alderman kept one of Metacom’s hands as a prize, and other body parts were scattered throughout the colony. Legend has it that Metacom’s head was staked on a long pole and kept at the entrance to Plymouth for more than twenty years.
The final confrontation of King Philip’s War came on August 28, 1676. Church and his men captured the last remaining Wampanoag captain, Anawan, at the rock that now bears his name in modern-day Rehoboth. Even today, Anawan Rock is cited as one of the area’s most haunted locations, with reports of phantom fires, phantom drumbeats and a disembodied voice that yells, “Iootash!” said to be a Wampanoag phrase meaning “stand and fight.”
Anawan’s capture signified the end of the war, but its dark history was only beginning to take its grasp on the region.
As we will see, many of the SouthCoast sites associated with King Philip’s War are considered haunted by the spirits of those who gave their lives in the conflict. Because of the tragic way in which they met their end, their spirits are forever tied to the spot, their psychological imprint embedded upon it even in these modern times. Most of us have heard tales about homes that are haunted because they’re built on an old Indian burial ground. Considering the loss of life endured during King Philip’s War, the entire SouthCoast is one big Indian burial ground.
But are the heinous scars of war the reason why this region has so many ghosts lurking in its shadows, or is it possible that King Philip’s War itself was just another example of a deeper, darker plague that has loomed over the area since time began?
THE BRIDGEWATER TRIANGLE
Enter the Bridgewater Triangle, a cursed paranormal vortex that is either the direct result of the tumult of King Philip’s War or one of the factors that caused it. This area, which covers about two hundred square miles south of Boston and just north of the SouthCoast, has endured reports of just about every kind of paranormal phenomena.
The term Bridgewater Triangle first came into existence in the work of investigator and author Loren Coleman. Known for his work in the field of cryptozoology—the study of hidden or unknown animals, such as Bigfoot—Coleman began referring to the mysterious area as the Bridgewater Triangle in correspondences beginning in the late 1970s. He also wrote about it in a 1980 Boston Magazine article, before formally introducing the term to the world in his 1983 classic Mysterious America.
At the time, paranormal enthusiasts and followers of the weird knew all about the supposed Bermuda Triangle, the mysterious spot in which many ships and aircraft were said to have disappeared. With all the reports of strange phenomena Coleman was receiving from eastern Massachusetts, he eventually came to realize that much of it was centered on a specific hot spot, and he gave it a catchy name to equate it in people’s minds with its Bermudan counterpart. Coleman’s original Bridgewater Triangle was much more condensed, but modern reinterpretation of the triangle extends it with the towns of Abington, Freetown and Seekonk as its vertices.
The exact points aren’t important, however; further work from Coleman and researchers such as Chris Pittman and Christopher Balzano has shown that the triangle is gradually extending beyond any preconceived borders and the heightened amount of paranormal activity extends to the SouthCoast and beyond into northeastern Rhode Island.
Balzano has also noted that the triangle area has unusually high rates for both crime and mental illness in comparison with locations outside of it. In fact, one of the most controversial films ever produced in the Bay State, Frederick Wiseman’s Titicut Follies, was banned upon its release in Massachusetts because of the way it portrayed the mentally ill residents of Bridgewater State Hospital—even though the commonwealth declared it was due to privacy issues. Watching the way the staff handles the patients in that film is allegorical to how we’re treated by the Bridgewater Triangle—the inmates are already a little bit crazy, but the asylum is only making it worse.
The triangle area was considered to have a certain power long before the English settlers first trekked through it. At its center is the Hockomock Swamp, which at six thousand-plus acres is the second-largest wetland in Massachusetts. At least thirteen rare and endangered species live in the swamplands—and possibly some hereto undiscovered ones as well—and archaeologists have found materials around the swamp that date back some nine thousand years.
The name Hockomock comes from the Wampanoag languages, and means “place where spirits dwell.” The Wampanoags felt that both good and evil spirits resided near the swamp, which if properly revered could bring great fortune in hunting and fishing but if mistreated could bring doom and destruction.
As civilization has encroached upon it, attempted to develop it and continually misunderstood it, the swamp may have gone into permanent negative mode.
Those who visit the swamp have reported seeing thunderbirds (mysterious birds the size of a full-grown man), pterodactyls, dogs with glowing red eyes, huge snakes, black panthers and, perhaps most notably, a Bigfoot-like creature traipsing about the area.
UFOs have been reported flying over the swamp as far back as May of 1760 and again in 1908. They are commonly sighted throughout the Bridgewater Triangle in modern times, but reports of a “sphere of fire” (according to Pittman’s website) appearing over the skies 150 years before the first airplane certainly makes the triangle sightings historic.
With all the mysterious phenomena that take place within the triangle, ghosts actually tend to fall by the wayside when investigating the area. However, it was within the Bridgewater Triangle that I had my first ghostly experiences.
In my teenage years, I had relatives living in the small town of Halifax, on the outer eastern edge of the Bridgewater Triangle. My aunt and uncle purchased a home that, while not terribly old, stood on what had been farmland since the first settlers came in the late 1600s. It was country living at its finest, and I often spent time there during the summer.
During their first years there, it became apparent that they weren’t alone in that house. Shadows would move along the walls down the hallway. Faucets would turn themselves on in the middle of the night. The door to the closet in a child’s bedroom would fly open no matter how many times he’d made sure it was shut tight.
I experienced it for myself firsthand the night the bulkhead doors to the basement continually slammed open and shut, even though we had secured them with a wooden two-by-four between the interior handles. Each time we ran down there and locked it down, I still thought we were just the victims of some prank—until I walked down and could still see the heavy metal doors flopping open and shut on their own in the still night air. The topic of the paranormal was something in which I’d always been interested, but after that night, it consumed me. I would soon find out that the ghosts of the SouthCoast were all around me. I just had to know where to look.
CHAPTER 3
THE WHERE
With all the stuffy science and background information out of the way, now we can get to the fun part: the ghosts themselves.
With the current paranormal media explosion—everything from books, magazines, reality television shows and films like Paranormal Activity—it’s becoming more accepted to talk about things like ghosts and hauntings. While many still scoff at such a notion, and others may deem it a slight against their chosen belief system, it’s still easier today to walk into your public library and ask the reference librarian about ghost stories from your town than it was ten or twenty years ago.
With that in mind, more and more historical locations are willing to use ghosts as a way to connect with a new, younger audience. You need only do a Google search for “historic ghost tours” to see there’s practically one in every city and quite a few towns as well. On my radio show, Spooky Southcoast, we
’ve come up with a simple saying that summarizes how we view the place of the paranormal in learning about our past: come for the ghosts, stay for the history.
That’s the approach we’ll take with Ghosts of the SouthCoast as well. While others might try to spook readers with chilling tales of terrorizing screams and ghostly hands knocking on the window, in this volume we’ll treat the ghosts for exactly what they are: a direct link to our past, a (formerly) living example of the SouthCoast’s diverse history. Throughout, I’ll try to offer some personal insights and anecdotes from my own adventures investigating the paranormal in the area, and you’ll see they’re more likely to raise an eyebrow than they are the hair on the back of your neck.
Still, it might not be a bad idea to lock the front door and turn on all the lights as we head into the unknown.
WAREHAM AND BUZZARDS BAY
The town of Wareham lies along the beginnings of the Cape Cod Canal, and its official nickname is Gateway to Cape Cod. It’s considered the easternmost edge of what we call the SouthCoast and has as much in common with its Cape-side counterparts as it does with the other SouthCoast communities.
Wareham was originally named Agawam after the Wampanoag tribe that inhabited it. In 1666, the Plymouth colony purchased Agawam from the Indians and later renamed it Wareham in homage to a town in Dorset, England, of the same name. It was incorporated as its own town in 1739.