“I’m sure nothing serious was at risk,” said Sally, with a wicked little smile.
Gallantly Peter said, “It’s certainly spooky there—I’ve heard the place is haunted.”
“Yes,” said Sally, sounding even more bored than before, “we’ve all heard stories, but have you ever seen a ghost, Peter?”
“Don’t you believe in ghosts?” asked Alice, in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Not at all,” sneered Sally. “Only simpletons hold with such foolishness.”
“My manservant saw a ghost standing by old Daniel Payson’s tombstone,” said Peter. “That’s the tallest grave marker—the one that tilts to one side. The ghost was the image of Daniel Payson, who’s been dead four years.”
“Bosh!” said Sally, with an airy wave of her hand. “Your man dreamed it—or was frightened by a shadow.”
“You’d never catch me going into the cemetery after dark,” said Alice, holding more tightly to Peter’s arm.
“Why? Whatever on earth is there to be afraid of, really?” wondered Sally, ignoring Alice to stare into Peter’s face.
Peter, who seemed equally uncomfortable with Alice’s clinging and Sally’s boasting, said, “Come, now, Sally, you wouldn’t go in there after dark, and you know it!”
“Nonsense!” Sally retorted angrily. “I’m not as foolish as some people I know.” She looked pointedly at Alice.
Alice, aware that Sally was making fun of her, cried, “If you’re so brave, I dare you to go into the graveyard alone. Tonight. Right now!”
“Oh, very well,” said Sally offhandedly. “Peter, will you escort me?” She stretched out her hand to take his.
But the young man put his arm around Alice’s shoulder and said, “I’ve never been a man to tempt fate, Miss Heyward.”
Nor would any of the other young gentlemen surrounding her risk the unknown terrors of the churchyard—even for a chance to escort the lovely Sally.
“Then I’ll go alone,” snapped Sally pettishly. “The dead couldn’t be any more dreary company than the rest of you!” She sent one of her servants to the cloakroom to fetch her wrap.
“Wait,” said Alice. She ran after the servant and returned with Peter’s walking cane, which had a gold handle shaped like a goblin’s head. While Sally was putting on her wrap, Alice thrust the cane at her, saying, “Take this, and plant it in the ground by old man Payson’s crooked tombstone. That way, we’ll know in the morning that you really went there.”
“Since my word isn’t good enough for you, Miss Car-dross,” Sally said nastily, “you’ll find the cane in the morning—when the sunlight gives you enough courage to look for it!” Then, gathering her long cloak around her, Sally Heyward swept out through the front door and into the night.
She marched along the moonlit sidewalk to the cemetery, slashing at the air in front of her with the gold-tipped cane, furious at the memory of how Peter Beaufort had defended his fiancée, Alice Cardross, against Sally’s best efforts to belittle the other woman. And she grew even angrier at the thought that he remained unmoved by Sally’s charms—in spite of the fact that she had flirted with him throughout the whole evening.
Sally pushed open the high iron gates in the churchyard wall and stepped through. Inside was complete darkness, except for an occasional tall grave marker gleaming palely in the moonlight. Dimly the young woman could see the outline of the church steeple on the far side of the cemetery. Though she couldn’t make out the face of the clock in the tower, she clearly heard it chiming midnight.
Up until this moment, Sally had been angry and not in the least afraid. But the thick, chill darkness pressed closely in on her, creating shadows that seemed to writhe and clutch at her when she didn’t look directly at them. Deciding, with a last burst of resentment, that this was the wretched end to an already spoiled evening, she wrapped her cloak more tightly about her, and searched hastily for the crooked tombstone.
A part of her was ready to cut and run, but Sally was strong-willed enough to force herself to make good her boast. She would plant the cane before she left or die in the attempt. Keeping this thought in mind, she searched up and down the narrow rows of tombstones, until she discovered the crooked marker, shining faintly in the moonlight.
She raised the cane to thrust it into the damp soil below the marble slab, then froze—
A sigh, then a loud moan, came from the blackness just beyond the tombstone. A sudden gust of wind, chill and smelling of damp and mold, rushed past her. She was certain that she could hear something coming toward her —something that moved stiffly and wetly and never drew a mortal breath.
Stifling a scream, Sally thrust Peter’s cane into the ground; then, gathering up her cloak, she turned to run.
Something caught her; something held her and wouldn’t let her run. She heard a moan and smelled the breath of the open grave. But the more frantically she struggled, the more firmly the horror held her in its grip. Too frightened to scream, she clawed frantically toward the narrow aisle of tombstones that led back to the gate. But something was tugging at her throat now. In a final spasm of terror, she flung herself forward, only to feel herself dragged back toward the crooked tombstone. At that moment something burst in her head, and she sank to the ground, mercifully unconscious.
When Sally failed to return, Peter and Alice led a party of anxious friends and relatives into the churchyard.
There they found Sally, a short distance from the crooked tombstone, dead, her eyes wide open in fear. The end of her cloak was pinned solidly to the ground at the foot of the marble slab—held in place by the deeply planted cane with the gold goblin’s head. The unfortunate young woman had scared herself to death.
To this day, people talk of two ghosts that haunt the old churchyard. One is the tall shadowy figure of a man; the other is a woman in a pale yellow dress with a long cloak, who wears a single red rose in her bodice.
Swallowed Alive
(a British folktale)
Dorothy Mately lived in the British town of Ashover in the county of Derby during the seventeenth century. She was a widow who made a living working for a lead mine located nearby. She would take the ore which had been dug out of the mine, break it with a hammer, and wash this to separate out the traces of lead from the other minerals.
She was a big, homely, rough-spoken woman who upset many of her neighbors with her continual cursing and swearing. She was also rumored to be a liar and thief, but she would deny this loudly if anybody accused her. Her favorite expression was “Let God open the earth and have it swallow me, if what I tell you isn’t the truth.”
On the morning, of March 23, 1660, while she was busy washing ore in a stream near the mine, a young miner, just off his shift, decided to take a quick plunge in the water to clean off the day’s grime from working below. He slipped off his trousers and laid them on a rock while he swam in the brisk mountain stream.
When he climbed out a short time later, he discovered his clothing had been tossed about, and his pockets had been searched. Several coins, which had been in the young man’s pocket, were missing. Since they were all he had to live on until the next payday, he frantically searched for the thief. But the only one he spotted was Dorothy, hard at work with her tub and sieve, seemingly unaware of the hue and cry the lad was raising.
Because there was not a sign of anyone else around, he accused her of stealing his money and demanded she give it back.
Holding her ore hammer tightly in one hand, Dorothy stood up and loudly denied she knew anything about the missing coins. As usual, she ended this by saying, “Let God open the earth and have it swallow me, if what I’m telling you isn’t the truth.”
As it happened, a God-fearing man from Ashover was passing nearby and overheard the argument. He knew Dorothy’s reputation, and he knew that her accuser was an honest, hard-working young man, who would never call someone a thief without good reason. He took a step forward in the hope of helping to resolve the argument when Dorothy sudden
ly cursed the miner and threatened him with her hammer.
Startled, the young man turned and ran.
The passerby walked over to Dorothy and said he had witnessed the whole event. He demanded that the woman restore the money she had stolen.
Because the newcomer was a man of some importance in the village, Dorothy did not threaten him. She merely insisted on her innocence and made up some story about having seen two men lurking near the stream shortly before the theft was discovered. The man did not believe a word of this and told her so, threatening to involve the authorities in the matter.
At this, Dorothy raised her hammer in her right hand over her head and cried, “Let God open the earth and have it swallow me, if what I’ve told you isn’t the truth!”
Disgusted, the fellow turned to continue on his way. But he had gone only a few paces, when he heard Dorothy scream. Looking back, he was dumbfounded to see her spinning round and round like a top, all the while sinking into the ground with her tub and sieve, her hammer still raised over her head.
Even while he stared, the woman disappeared into what seemed to be a whirlpool in the solid earth. Suddenly it stopped, and the man cautiously crept to the edge of the opening. Below him, he saw Dorothy some nine feet down; the woman was buried almost to her waist in the loose earth, which had completely covered her working tools.
The villager frantically tried to think of a way to help her. Lowering his coat toward her, he said, “Take hold of this, and pray God will pardon your sin and let you live.”
“I have no sin to forgive,” she said, stretching her fingers toward his dangling coat sleeve. But immediately she began spinning and sinking again. In a moment she was far below her rescuer’s reach. She screeched for help, now buried almost to her shoulders in the soil.
“I hope God will have mercy on you,” the man called down, “for I’m afraid you will never be seen alive again.”
But Dorothy only struggled harder to raise herself out of the soft earth. Suddenly a large stone apparently tumbled from nowhere, and struck her soundly on the head, silencing her screams and curses. As if this was a signal, loose earth from the mouth of the opening began pouring down on her and quickly buried the wretched woman, while the man scrambled back from the crumbling edge.
When workmen from the mine eventually dug Dorothy Mately’s lifeless body from the pit, they found she had sunk some twelve feet down. There was no sign of her hammer, tub, or sieve.
When her body was laid out on the grass, the miners found the young man’s stolen coins in her apron pocket.
The Deacon’s Ghost
(a folktale from Iceland)
Many years ago, in Iceland, a deacon served in the parish of a small town, nestled in the side of a beautiful little valley. He was very much in love with a girl named Gudrun, who lived in a farm on the opposite side of the valley, across the river from his own tidy little house near his church. They were engaged to be married in the spring.
He had a handsome horse with a gray mane. He called the horse Shadow and rode him every day.
A short time before Christmas, the young man rode to Gudrun’s home and invited her to join in the Christmas Eve celebration at the church. He promised to come for her on Shadow, so they could ride back together. She was delighted and said she would watch for him in the evening, so they could leave without delay. Then she brought him tea and cakes, and they passed a long afternoon planning for their future life together.
Earlier in the day he had ridden safely across the frozen river because the ice was so thick. But even while the deacon and his betrothed were talking, an unseasonable thaw had set in. The river became a flood; much of the ice broke up and was whirled downstream in huge drifts.
When the young man left the farm late in the day, he was so full of happy dreams that he did not immediately notice how much the river had changed. As soon as it became clear to him what the situation was, he searched rapidly for a means of crossing the treacherous stream. Spotting a bridge of ice that still spanned the river, he urged Shadow onto this. But when they reached the middle, the bridge crumbled beneath them and tumbled the horse and rider into the stream.
The next morning a search party was sent out when it was found that the deacon had not returned home. Later in the day Shadow was discovered running free across a frosty meadow. Shortly after that, the searchers found the corpse of the deacon, which had drifted to the bank after the man had drowned. All the flesh had been torn off the back of his head, so the skull shone through.
Sadly they brought the body back to the town, and the deacon was buried a week before Christmas.
As it happened, the river continued to flood so dangerously that no one from one side of the valley could cross to the other. No one had been able to bring word to Gudrun of the deacon’s death. Having no idea of the tragedy that had befallen, she happily looked forward to Christmas Eve when her lover would come for her and take her across the river to the celebration at his church.
On Christmas Eve, while she was still dressing in her finest clothes, Gudrun heard a knock at the door. A moment later one of the maids opened the door but saw no one there. Since the moon was quite hidden by clouds, the girl went to fetch a light. But holding a lamp high over her head, she could discover no one. Puzzled, she returned to her work.
A short time later the knock was repeated. Gudrun, who was just pulling on her winter cloak, called, “It is someone waiting for me.”
She pulled open the door and saw Shadow standing a short distance away. The figure of the deacon, his hat pulled low over his eyes, stood beside the horse. She hurried to him, and without a word he helped her climb onto Shadow. Then he mounted in front of her, and they rode off in the direction of the river. As they rode, the moon slid out from behind the clouds, so it was very easy to see again.
When they reached the stream, Gudrun saw that it was frozen over again, except for a narrow ribbon of black water in the middle, where the current kept the frost from hardening.
Quickly the horse trotted onto the ice, then leaped over the rapid stream in the middle. At the moment they lighted on the far side, the deacon’s head bobbed forward so that his hat slipped over his eyes for a moment. Gudrun saw a large patch of bare skull gleaming white in the middle of his hair.
“What has happened to your head, my love?” the girl asked.
“Ride a little farther with me, and you’ll understand” was all her lover would say as he set his hat back in place.
Troubled, Gudrun looked eagerly toward the lights of town, gleaming across the frosty fields and drifting snow.
But instead of going to the church, which was ablaze with lights, the deacon turned Shadow toward the churchyard beside it. He brought them to a halt outside the ice-crusted hedges. Without a word, he dismounted and helped Gudrun down.
Shivering, the girl asked, “Why have we stopped here, my love?”
He put out his hand, which felt as cold as the ice all around, to lead her through the hedge gate, saying, “Walk a little farther with me, and you’ll understand.”
The young woman let him lead her amid the snow-dusted tombstones, wondering what strange notion had taken possession of him. But when they had reached the center of the cemetery, she saw that they were heading for an open grave, which had frozen earth piled up all around it.
“My love, why are you showing me this?” she asked in a voice made small by her fear.
“Just rest beside me there, and you’ll understand,” the deacon said.
Sick with horror, Gudrun broke free and began to run to the church porch, screaming for help. Suddenly she felt her cloak snatched from behind. For a desperate moment she was held prisoner; then she loosened the clasp and ran on toward the church, where shouts and bobbing lights showed people were coming to help her.
Just as she stumbled into the arms of her rescuers, she looked behind her. She saw the deacon jump headlong into the open grave, with her cloak hugged to him. The piles of dirt on either side tumbled
in after him, filling the grave once again.
But the troubled ghost of the deacon came night after night to try and drag Gudrun away with him, so that she had to be guarded from sunrise to sunset. The priest from a neighboring parish tried to lay the spirit to rest; but nothing worked until a man from the north, who knew something about ancient spells, came and drove out the demon who possessed the man’s body. After that, the deacon remained at rest, never to haunt Gudrun again.
Nuckelavee
(a folktale from the Orkney Islands)
The people of the Orkney Islands, off the northeastern coast of Scotland, tell many stories of a monster called Nuckelavee, who lived in the sea but never missed a chance to plague humankind whenever he could. When he came onshore, he appeared as a horse and rider—though, in fact, a closer look showed man and horse were all part of the same creature.
His human-looking head was ten times the size of a normal man’s, while the horselike head had an enormous mouth that jutted out like a pig’s. Most horrible of all, he seemed to have no skin, so those who came near and lived to tell of it, swore that you could see black blood flowing through his veins, and every movement of his white muscles.
If crops withered away, or livestock fell off the high rocks that made up the shoreline, or a disease plagued the islanders, the folk blamed Nuckelavee. They said his breath was poisonous, bringing blight and disease wherever he trod.
The only thing the monster feared was fresh water, and he would never cross a running stream. Nor would he ever visit the land when it was raining.
There was once an old man named Thomas, who met the monster late one night. Though there was no moon, the air was clear and the stars gave considerable light. Thomas was going home from an evening in the village, and his path lay close by the seashore.
Just as he began the most dangerous part of his journey, where the road ran along a ridge, with the sea on one side and a deep, freshwater lake on the other, he saw a huge shape ahead, moving toward him.
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