So the first house I saw, I marched straight up to the door and knocked. A man came to the door and I explained to him what terrible straits I was in, and I asked him if he had a barn or a doghouse or something where I could stay the night. Well, the man took a good look at me, and I guess he decided I didn’t mean no harm, ’cause he said he had a house up the hill where no one was living, and he reckoned it would be all right for me to fix up a fire and sleep in the bed.
This was a stroke of good luck. A fire and a bed sounded better than a doghouse or a stack of hay. I thanked him right quick and wished him goodnight. Then I went straight up the hill and into the little gray house I found there.
Now make no mistake, this was a nice house. Seemed a bit odd that no one wanted to live there, but I wasn’t about to question my good fortune, no sir. I made me up a fire in the fireplace and set myself down to dry out. I was getting really warm and cozy when all at once I heard this voice a-coming from up the stairs. It was a deep voice, and it echoed around and around the house.
“I’m coming down!” the voice boomed.
Well sir, I jumped a mile. The man had said the house was deserted, and it sure had looked deserted when I got there. But now I was hearin’ a voice that made my hair stand on end and gave me goose bumps. The voice didn’t sound like anyone alive, if you know what I mean.
“I’m coming down!” the voice roared again.
It sounded closer this time, though it was hard to judge distance with the voice echoing all over the place. And then, sure enough, there was a man standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was dressed all in white and he glowed like someone had lit a candle inside his skin. There was something about the way his eyes looked at me that made me real sorry that he was standing between me and the door.
I’m Coming Down
About then I reckoned a change of address would be good for my health, so I lit out the window and ran about seven miles down the road without stopping. I nearly knocked over the preacher on my way, and he yelled at me to halt. I glanced back but didn’t see the man in white chasing me, so I stopped.
“Young man,” said the preacher, “just where do you think you are going in such a hurry?”
“Preacher,” says I, “if you’d just seen what I’ve just seen, you’d be in a hurry too.”
Well the preacher insisted I tell him my story right then and there. So I did. And don’t you know, that preacher, he started to laugh and said, “Friend, there’s nothing to that.”
“What you mean, nothing to that?” I was indignant. After all, it was me and not the preacher who saw that scary ghost.
“Listen, friend, we’ve got the Lord on our side, and we don’t need to be scared of ghosts. I’ll prove you were wrong.”
“How?” I asked him.
“I’ll go with you to the house,” the preacher said.
“You and who else?” I asked him, ’cause I didn’t want to see that scary ghost again, nohow.
“Me and the Lord, of course,” said the preacher.
Well, I can’t say as I was convinced that this was enough, but it’s mighty hard to contradict a preacher. And my wife’s second cousin Lulu went to the preacher’s church, and I knew she would tell my wife if I insulted a man of God. So I went back to the house with the preacher. It was a long, long time before we got to the house. I’d run lickety-split when I saw that ghost, and I’d covered a lot of ground. But the light was still lit when we arrived, and the fire still burned cheerfully.
Well, the preacher walked right in, not scared a bit. I followed a bit slower, looking around for that man in white, but there was no sign of him. Just in case, I left the window open and made sure there was nothing blocking our way.
But the preacher, he just sat down by the fire. I took the other chair, mainly because it was closer to the window, and waited for the ghost to come.
Sure enough, a few minutes later the voice began booming from upstairs: “I’m coming down.” My hair stood on end, my arms came out in goose bumps. I just looked at the preacher, and he just looked at me. The voice came again: “I’m coming down!”
And the man in white appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was glowing from the inside, and his eyes blazed at me and the preacher. I didn’t wait around to see the preacher take on that ghost, no sir. I lit out that window even faster than the first time. I reckoned the preacher and the Lord didn’t need my help dealing with that ghost.
After a few minutes of serious sprinting, I realized that the preacher was running at my side. And boy could he run! He nearly passed me, and I had some trouble keeping up with him. After about ten miles, I yelled for the preacher to stop. There was no sign of that ghost, so the preacher stopped.
When I got my breath back, I asked the preacher if he thought that the good Lord was still with us.
“Well if He is,” the preacher gasped, “then He must have been running real fast.”
4
The Army of the Dead
Charleston, South Carolina
Liza lay awake late into the night, her mind racing as she reviewed all the new sights, sounds, and smells she’d experienced that day in Charleston, where she and her husband had just set up house. The city was overwhelming compared to the small town where she and Johnny had been living up until now. Johnny had grown up in Charleston and was thrilled to be back. More than once he had pulled her away from the unpacking to show her a familiar place. He was nearly dancing with glee. Liza smiled, remembering his face. She glanced over at him, sleeping peacefully beside her, and finally she slept too.
Liza awoke suddenly, her heart pounding. Outside, she could hear the church bell tolling midnight, but it was not the toll of the bell that had wakened her. It was the rumble of heavy wagon wheels passing under her window that had jolted her from her sleep. But where were the wagons going? Their new house was on a dead-end street.
“Johnny,” she hissed, shaking her husband’s arm.
He mumbled and turned over.
“Johnny,” she tried again. He opened his eyes and said, “What’s the matter?”
“Can’t you hear the wagons?” she asked.
Johnny came awake immediately. He sat up, listening. Then he lay back down and said, “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“Nothing? It sounds like a whole wagon train is passing!” Liza sat up and moved to get out of bed.
“Don’t!” her husband said sharply. “Do not ever look out the window when you hear those sounds.”
Liza turned to look at Johnny. His voice sounded so strange, as if he were afraid.
“Get back in bed. Please,” Johnny said. Now she was sure. Johnny was frightened. She got back into bed, but lay awake a long time after the sound of the passing wagons had ceased.
Liza started her new job at the laundry the next morning. The work was hard, but the other women were nice, and she quickly learned the routine. Within a few days, Liza was feeling comfortable in her new home. During the day, she gossiped with the other women as they washed the clothing. In the evenings, she and Johnny finished unpacking and discussed their new neighbors around the fireplace. But each night Liza was awakened at midnight by the rumble of wagons. Sometimes she thought she heard the sound of voices. They always passed close to her house, heading in the direction of the dead end. But when she walked down to the end of the street in the morning, there was no sign of people or wagons. Liza tried to talk to Johnny about the sounds, but he wouldn’t say anything except to tell her to leave well enough alone, and to warn her not to look out the window when she heard the sounds.
The Army of the Dead
After several weeks, Liza decided to ask Anna, the woman who washed at the tub next to hers, if she had ever heard the rumble of wagons late at night. Anna drew in a sharp breath when she heard the question and said, “What you are hearing is th
e Army of the Dead. They are Confederate soldiers who died without knowing the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce General Lee’s troops in Virginia and shore up the Southern forces.”
When Liza pressed Anna for details, her friend shook her head and would say no more. But she repeated Johnny’s warning to leave well enough alone and not to look out the window.
That night, Liza lay awake, waiting for the bell to toll midnight. When she heard the first wagon wheels, she checked carefully to make sure Johnny was sleeping, and then she slipped out of bed. Pushing aside the thick curtain, Liza opened the window to watch the Army of the Dead.
Liza stood spellbound as a gray fog rolled passed. Within the fog she could make out the shapes of horses pulling large, heavily loaded wagons. She could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of cannon being dragged through the street. The wagons were followed by the sound of marching feet, and she saw foot soldiers, horsemen, and ambulances pass before her eyes, all shrouded in gray. After what seemed like hours, Liza heard a far-off bugle blast, and then silence. Slowly, the gray fog lifted and the moon came out.
Liza shook her head, suddenly aware of how cold and stiff she was. She stepped away from the window, wondering how long she had been watching. She stretched, but her right arm would not respond. She realized in sudden horror that she could not feel her arm at all. She gripped her right arm with her left hand and tried to move it. She was not aware of making a sound, but suddenly Johnny was beside her.
Liza gazed up at him mutely for a moment, trembling, and then managed to say, “Johnny. My arm . . . ”
Johnny put his arm around her. He had taken in the situation at a glance, seeing the open window with the moonlight streaming inside. “Oh love, I am so sorry. I tried to warn you,” he said softly. “There is a curse laid on anyone who watches the Army passing at night. Some people have lost limbs, some have lost their minds, and some have even lost their lives. The Army does not like to be watched.”
Johnny prodded Liza’s arm gently, but she could not feel a thing. Johnny put her arm into a sling, and the next day they saw a doctor, who confirmed that her arm was paralyzed.
After a month, partial feeling returned to Liza’s arm, but she was never able to do a full day’s washing again. And she never again got up to watch the Army of the Dead.
5
The Death Watch
Raleigh County, West Virginia
Jim Kelly had dreaded this day for weeks. It was the first day of his new job, but it was a job he knew well. For fourteen years he had managed to escape the everlasting darkness, the dangers, the long climbs, and the narrow crawl spaces of the coal mines. Jim had hated the life of a coal miner. But with seven children to feed, he felt he had no choice but to return.
When Jim was thirteen his mother was widowed, and he went to work in a coal mine to help support his struggling family. But when Jim turned sixteen, his mother remarried a wealthy man. His new stepfather found Jim a place as a clerk in a store when he learned how Jim felt about mining.
Jim had done well at the store. He’d married his sweetheart Margaret when he was eighteen. They’d had seven children and bought a nice house in town, far away from the horrors of the coal mine. But then disaster struck in the form of a terrible fire that wiped out the entire town, leaving Jim without a home or a job.
Jim’s youngest sister, Susan, took his family in until they could find another place to live, and Jeff, Jim’s brother-in-law, got Jim a job working with him in the coal mine. Jim said the family was grateful to have a roof over their heads; still, he hated going back to mining. Margaret insisted it was only temporary. The town would be rebuilt, and Jim could go back to the store. Jim clung to that hope as he followed Jeff down the ladder into the darkness of the mine.
Jim had lost none of his mining skills, and he quickly settled into the daily routine. He stayed with Jeff for the first few days, working a coal seam, stooped over because the shaft was only five feet tall. All day they stood ankle deep in water, which constantly dripped from the ceiling. The conditions in this mine were just as miserable as in the mine where Jim had worked as a boy. But Jeff was a good companion, and he made that first week bearable with his friendly conversation. On the first day, Jeff told Jim the story of the death watch.
“Old Ted Miller was a bad one,” Jeff said while they were taking a lunch break in the only dry space in the shaft they were working. “We always suspected he was stealing from the mine, but we never knew for sure until one day he was buried alive by a pillar of coal he was robbing. We dug his body out, but we couldn’t find his watch. He used to keep it hanging on a timber in the heading, but he must have had it with him on the day he died because although we could hear it ticking away, we never could find it.”
Jeff took a drink and continued. “After a few days, the ticking stopped, and we thought no more of it. Until the day that Amos and Joshua heard the sound of a watch ticking in their seam. They were working a small seam—about twenty-eight inches wide—lying on their sides in the mud. Suddenly, clear as day, they could hear the steady tick, tick, tick of a watch. They looked around, trying to see where the sound was coming from, puzzled because old Ted’s watch had been buried on the other side of the mine. Amos started crawling out, carrying his load, and Josh followed right behind him. But suddenly the seam caved in. Killed Josh instantly. Amos was real shook up.”
Jeff and Jim finished their lunch in silence and went back to work.
“Did anyone ever find the watch?” Jim asked after a few minutes.
“Nope. But people kept hearing it. The ticking sound would move through the mine, turning up first one place, then another. Wherever it was heard, there would be a fatal accident. Luke was killed in an explosion the morning after the fire boss heard a watch ticking while he was making his nightly inspection round. Robert choked to death on some bad air the day after hearing a watch ticking in his section of the mine. And there have been others.”
Jim watched Jeff carefully, trying to see if his brother-in-law was pulling his leg. But Jeff was serious. Jeff was trying to warn him.
“I’ve never heard it myself. And I’m right glad of it,” Jeff said.
The Death Watch
Jeff wouldn’t talk about the death watch after that first day, but other miners told Jim more about it. Its tick was louder than a normal watch, and no one could predict where or when the ticking sound would turn up. The miners feared the death watch more than they feared the devil. Some miners, upon hearing the ticking sound, had tried to smash the walls with their picks in an attempt to destroy the watch. One fellow tried to blow it up with a stick of dynamite. He blew himself up instead. The death watch was relentless: ticking away the seconds of some poor man’s life, ignoring the curses the miners heaped upon it, inflicting itself upon all who were marked for death.
Jim was still half-convinced that the men were playing a joke on him. According to the fire boss, the death watch had not been heard ticking for many months. Jim had just about decided to laugh off the story when young Billy Wright came running up to the seam where he was working with two other miners. Billy was shaking. “I heard the death watch. Over in Caleb’s shaft. Hurry!”
They dropped everything and followed Billy at a run. They were met by a terrible wave of heat and the roar of flames.
“Fire!” Billy shouted. They raced back toward the entrance of the mine, sounding the alarm. Rescue workers poured water into the mine using water hoses until the fire was contained. Caleb was the only miner killed in the fire, which had been caused by a cable line knocked down near a wooden timber.
After the fire, Jim Kelly no longer doubted the truth of the death-watch tick. But the watch went silent, and there followed several months of peace. Jim worked so hard and so diligently that the fire boss assigned him a very tricky shaft over in a far section of the mine, a compliment
to Jim’s skill. Then, one morning as Jim came up the gangway, the fire boss waved him aside when Jim came up for his brass check.
“Jim,” said the boss, looking very grave. “I want you to go back home.”
“Go back home?” Jim asked, puzzled. Had he done something wrong? “Why? What’s the matter?”
“In the name of God, Jim, go back home,” the fire boss repeated. “Just do as I tell you. You’ll be thanking me for it later.”
Jim was frightened. He couldn’t afford to be fired. He and Margaret had finally saved up enough money to rent a small cottage, but money was still very tight. Jim couldn’t afford to lose a day’s wages. Not with seven children to feed.
“Listen, boss. I don’t understand. I thought I was giving satisfaction. Why are you calling me off?” Jim asked, feeling angry now.
The fire boss’s shoulders sagged as if under a heavy weight.
“If you must know,” he said slowly. “I heard the death watch ticking in your section while I was making my inspection rounds last night. If you go in there today, you won’t come out.”
“The death watch?” Jim gasped. He felt his heart clench, and the dinner pail rattled in his hand. Slowly, he nodded to the fire boss and turned back for home.
As he hurried toward the new cottage, Jim was filled with gratitude: He had been spared the fate of so many of his fellow miners. Glancing at his watch, he realized that he could still make the eight o’clock mass if he hurried. Wanting to give thanks for his escape from death, Jim changed quickly into his Sunday clothes and raced toward the church. When he reached the railroad grade crossing, he found the gates down. Not wishing to miss the mass, Jim jumped the gates and stepped onto the tracks.
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