Haunted Holidays

by Roberta Simpson Brown

  Cousin Len was visiting for the month of July, and he and Fatima learned that there was going to be a pie supper followed by a fireworks display for the Fourth of July at the church near Sano, Kentucky. They persuaded Mom and Dad to let them go enjoy the festivities. Fatima baked a chocolate pie and decorated a fancy box to attract bidding at the pie supper. Funds from the event were used to help with church expenses.

  Few people had cars, and we were one of the families who didn’t. Most people walked everywhere anyway. It wasn’t too far to the church, and Fatima was very familiar with the way to go. You first walked down a one-lane road past the neighboring farm, across a field, and down a little slope to Russell Creek. Then you had to walk across a foot log to get across the creek. After that, you would go up a hill and right down the road to the church.

  Foot logs were trees that had fallen across the creek or logs that had been placed across the creek to serve as a bridge. Sometimes stakes were driven in the ground on each bank, and a rope or chain was strung across the stream by the log to hold on to for balance. The log was just wide enough for one foot at a time, so the pedestrian had to be sure-footed and careful. The foot log was low over the water, so the worst that ever happened was that someone would occasionally fall off the log and splash into the water.

  Len and Fatima crossed the creek on the foot log without incident. They went on to the church to enjoy their evening, with no thought of any trouble ahead.

  Mother Nature sometimes has some bad trouble in store, though, and it can come without warning. There were no weather forecasts back then. We had a battery radio that we used sparingly so we would save the battery, but we had no television sets or computers. Telephones were rare, and the only one in our neighborhood was over a mile away at a general store. In short, communications were limited, and weather forecasts were not in our daily routine. Severe storms could be on the way without our knowing about them.

  It was understood among families that if bad storms struck at an event close by, young people would stay at a house close to the event, even if it meant staying overnight. All the neighbors knew each other, so the visitors would not be spending the night with strangers. If the storms were over early enough, the young people went on home; but if the storms lingered, the young people stayed all night and went home the next morning. This Fourth of July night turned out to be such a night for Fatima and Len.

  There had been no clouds in sight when they left home, but they heard distant thunder by the time they got to the church. While the pies were sold, the storm got closer. Everybody decided it was wise to stay inside and eat the pies, and it turned out to be a good decision.

  When the storm hit full force, it was so strong that it seemed to be trying to blow down the walls and join the pie eaters. It was soon evident that the church’s fireworks display would not be held that night, because Mother Nature had her own fireworks on display. Lightning lit up the sky with one flash after another, the wind howled, and the thunder boomed louder than any fireworks could do.

  After those gathered finished the pies, they expected the storm to let up. Unfortunately, it didn’t. It was getting to be bedtime, so most people decided to make a dash for home. A few had cars, and many lived near the church, but Fatima and Len had a long walk home. Everybody got drenched as soon as they stepped outside, so Fatima especially dreaded the long walk in the rain.

  The Bryants lived next door to the church. They all ran for their house, but Mr. Bryant stopped on the porch and called to Len and Fatima.

  “Why don’t you come in and spend the night?” he asked them. “Your folks won’t expect you to walk home in a storm like this. The creek is probably up by now anyway.”

  Fatima stopped, ready to accept his invitation, but Len called back, “No, I think we’ll go on. I’m afraid Aunt Lillian will be mad at me if I don’t get Fatima home.”

  “Well, come on back if you need to,” he called. “We will be up for a while until the storm lets up.”

  “Okay, thanks!” called Fatima.

  “All right, then,” Mr. Bryant said.

  The water was dripping off their faces and clothes as Len and Fatima headed down the hill to the creek. They were surprised when they got to the foot log. The creek had risen to the banks, with the water touching the bottom of the log. Looking at the rushing water made Fatima dizzy.

  “I can’t walk across that log,” she told Len. “It’s much too dangerous.”

  “Yes, you can,” Len said. “Come on! I’ll hold on to you.”

  “I can’t!” she insisted. “Give me a minute.”

  Before they could move, they saw that something had joined them. A black dog was standing between them and the foot log! When Len started to take a step forward, it let out a low growl, but didn’t move.

  “What’s this?” asked Len.

  “It’s a black dog!” Fatima said.

  “I can see it’s a black dog!” said Len. “Where did it come from? Whose dog is it anyway?”

  “It’s a ghost dog,” Fatima told him. “Haven’t you heard of them? These dogs come to our family when there is great danger. If we walk by it, we’ll die.”

  “I never heard of such a thing,” said Len.

  “I guess that’s because they are on Dad’s side of the family, and you come from Mom’s side,” said Fatima.

  “That’s crazy,” Len said. “Come on!”

  The dog didn’t move and neither did Fatima.

  “I’m not budging,” Fatima told him.

  Len stood there, trying to figure out what to do. Then, from out of nowhere, a wall of water came rushing down the creek and swept the foot log away from the banks and out of sight.

  Len was amazed. He just stood there, frozen in his tracks.

  Without a sound, the black dog vanished. It had accomplished its mission, and it wasn’t needed anymore.

  Len still stood staring at the rushing water.

  He and Fatima both knew that they had just most likely escaped death. If they had passed the dog and walked out onto the log, they would have been swept away, too, and most likely drowned.

  Fatima and Len had no choice but to return to the Bryants’ house and tell them what happened. Mrs. Bryant gave them hot soup and dry clothes, and they finally got to sleep in spite of the storm that rumbled overhead all night.

  The next morning, Mr. Bryant escorted Fatima and Len home. The creek had gone down; it looked as though nothing had happened. We were all glad to see them and excited to hear their story. The black dog had saved their lives, and their story lives on, too.

  A Mystery at Cave Hill

  Roberta has a story of one Fourth of July that she spent at a cemetery.

  It was the Fourth of July, and Lonnie had to work that day. A friend came by with his two young daughters and asked if I would like to go with them for a walk through Cave Hill Cemetery. The daughters and I had never been there, so I eagerly accepted the invitation. I had heard that people had experienced spooky sightings there, but that was not uppermost in my mind that day. Cave Hill is more like a park than a cemetery. It was just a great day for walking, feeding the ducks, and enjoying the sunshine and fresh air.

  We entered the cemetery and saw right away that it was beautifully kept. We noticed, too, that there were tombstones, statues, and memorials of all shapes and sizes. The cemetery was a natural setting for the dead, filled with trees, flowers, and blooming bushes.

  We strolled around, visiting graves of famous local people, including Colonel Harland Sanders, Kentucky Giant Jim Porter, the Brennan family, and many more.

  As we walked, we discussed some of the stories we had heard about people seeing glowing tombstones, strange lights, ghostly figures, and other mysterious things.

  “Is this cemetery haunted?” one of the girls asked.

  “Ghost hunters who have come here to do investigations report that there is spirit activity,” I told them. “This is my first time here, so I haven’t experienced anything myself.”

>   We came upon a workman who was working on the grounds, so we stopped to chat.

  “Are there ghosts here?” the other girl asked.

  The worker smiled and said, “I haven’t seen anything myself, but I have heard a lot about faces at the tombs, orbs, and all sorts of things like that. So I can’t speak from personal experience, but this place is included on many lists of haunted places.”

  We moved on, allowing the man to get back to his work.

  We then came upon the duck pond, which is a very popular spot in Cave Hill Cemetery. Much of the duck population is made up of pet ducks that grew to be too big for a regular yard. The idea was to release the ducks in a place where it would be possible for children to come and visit their grown-up pets.

  The girls knew about the ducks, so they had brought bread to feed them. They shared some of it with their father and me, so we could feed the ducks, too. The ducks were happy to see us bringing food, so they rushed up to be sure they got something to eat. We soon exhausted our bread supply and had to say good-bye to the ducks and continue our walk.

  I don’t remember how long or how far we walked. We were mostly silent, just enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful surroundings.

  Suddenly, the girls stopped and said together, “Look!”

  We looked in the direction they were pointing. It was a tomb at the top of a small hill. We had to blink to make sure our eyes were not deceiving us, because in front of the tomb stood a misty, ghost-like figure. It seemed to be looking at us, too.

  My friend and I started walking toward it, but when we had taken a few steps, the figure vanished. We were going to continue to the tomb to investigate, but the girls called out that they wanted to go home. Seeing that they were really upset, we turned, walked back to the car, and left.

  I visited the cemetery another time, but I couldn’t find the tomb and I didn’t see anything spooky. I think that figure appeared on that first visit to answer our question “Is Cave Hill Cemetery really haunted?”

  Labor Day

  Other countries have holidays that honor workers, but we will limit ourselves here to stories related to the Labor Day holiday that is celebrated in the United States.

  Labor Day was established as an official U.S. holiday in 1887 and is celebrated on the first Monday in September. Whether we think of it as the end of the summer or the start of a new school year, Labor Day is in fact meant to honor our nation’s working people.

  The pattern for Labor Day celebrations was outlined in the first proposal for the holiday. It recommended that there be a street parade to demonstrate the strength and spirit of trade and labor organizations followed by a festival for workers and their families.

  We hope you will enjoy the following ghosts connected with this proud American holiday.

  Labor of Love

  No matter the season, there was always work to do on the farm. The fields needed to be plowed for regular crop planting, and fall plowing helped improve moisture and nutrient accumulation in the soil in a form accessible for plants. Some farmers planted cover crops such as turnips. Turning the soil over buried the sod, fertilizers, weed seeds, and many agricultural pests that were agents of disease. The lower side of the soil brought to the surface by plowing brought aeration, nutrients, moisture, and other ingredients beneficial to these cover crops.

  When we were children, people took great pride in their work during every season. They had every right to celebrate their accomplishments, and we children were eager to join in.

  We celebrated Labor Day as the symbolic end of summer. Most of us knew little about the holiday itself. We had heard that it was not fashionable to wear white or seersucker after Labor Day, but we were not fashion conscious enough to worry much about that. We knew that the holiday was celebrated the first Monday in September, but not that it was established as an official holiday in 1887. We never thought much about it as a celebration of the American labor movement or as a yearly national tribute to workers who made contributions to the well-being of their country.

  We saw it as a day that marked the ending of those hot summer days and nights of freedom and set us up for the opening of another school year. Gone were the Sundays of “all day singing and dinner on the ground” at church and the weekdays of digging worms and visiting favorite fishing holes. Labor Day was the last hurrah before we went back to work. We made the most of the parade or picnic or town celebration, carefully planned by our local citizens as a labor of love. We never connected Labor Day to anything scary.

  Roberta’s Uncle Lawrence often came to visit around Labor Day. He usually stayed until the first good cold spell so he would be with the family at hog killing time to share the “fresh meat” that Roberta’s mother and grandmother cooked so well.

  Uncle Lawrence was a most welcomed storyteller. He told the family this haunting Labor Day story and swore it was true. Of course, he is also the one who told Roberta that the Bogey Man lived under her bed. Roberta couldn’t tell if that was the truth or not because she was always afraid to look! You’ll need to decide that one for yourself.

  Here is Roberta’s version of the story that her Uncle Lawrence told her.

  Uncle Lawrence told us that he had been down to Adair County to visit his brother George for several days just after Labor Day. Uncle George had business with a farmer way out in the country, so Uncle Lawrence rode along. While Uncle George was talking to the man—Mr. Foley, I think he said was the man’s name—at the side of the yard, Uncle Lawrence struck up a conversation with two teenage boys who were sitting in the yard. He sat on a stump beside them.

  “Did you go to the Labor Day doings in town this year?” he asked them. “Guess they had a parade and a street fair, huh?”

  The boys nodded yes, but didn’t give any details.

  “What happened? Didn’t you have a good time?” Uncle Lawrence persisted.

  Before the boys could answer, Uncle George and Mr. Foley came back to where the boys and Lawrence were sitting.

  “Haven’t you boys got some chores to do?” Mr. Foley asked.

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison, nodded good-bye, and left the yard, heading toward the barn without answering Uncle Lawrence’s question.

  “I was just making conversation with your boys,” Uncle Lawrence commented. “I asked them about Labor Day, but they didn’t look like they had much fun. That used to be a big thing when I was a boy. There were booths for games and displays, lots of good food, and then the parade. I guess things have changed.”

  “Nah,” said Mr. Foley. “They just got a little scare Monday before they went to town. Something strange happened and none of us can explain it. They swear it was true.”

  “What’s strange around here?” Uncle George grinned. “I thought nothing ever happened out this way.”

  “I’m serious,” said Mr. Foley. “The boys had been putting off doing the fall plowing. I finally had to tell them that the little field over by the garden had to be plowed before they could go to the Labor Day celebration. They grumbled, but finally got started fairly early. They are kind of sweet on Milton Alley’s girls and they had plans to meet them in town before the parade. Milton approved. He said many a time that he loved his girls, but wished he had some boys. He seemed to look kindly on my two as suitors for his daughters.”

  “I always thought the socializing was the best part of Labor Day,” Uncle Lawrence said. “That should have made them enjoy going in to town.”

  “Well,” Mr. Foley continued, “they were discouraged because they didn’t think they were going to get through plowing in time to go. Then they heard Milton holler from the fence and ask them why they weren’t in town. They told him they had orders from me to plow the field, but it was taking a long time. Milton turned and walked away and the boys kept plowing. In a little while, they looked up and saw Milton with his old mule, Ronald, hitched to the plow. He was plowing on the other side of the field. It gave them new hope when they saw they had help. They worked as hard as they
could, stopping only when they absolutely had to have a break. They noticed that Milton kept right on plowing without stopping to take a rest. In what seemed like no time, the three finished plowing the whole field. The boys thanked Milton for helping them finish so quickly and took off to get ready to go to town. Milton only nodded and went back home with old Ronald. He always was a good-hearted man.”

  “What was so strange about that?” Uncle Lawrence asked him.

  “Hold on! I’m getting there!” Mr. Foley continued. “When the boys got to town they couldn’t find Milton’s girls. They were pretty ticked off at me at that point for making them miss seeing the girls. They decided to get something to eat, and they asked the man in the booth if he had seen the girls.”

  “It’s not likely they would be here in view of what happened,” he said. “Their pa, Milton, died of a heart attack late Sunday night.”

  “Oh, I see,” Uncle George interrupted. “I guess the boys were shook up if he died Sunday night and helped them plow Monday morning!”

  “Are you sure they didn’t see someone else and just thought it was Milton?” asked Uncle Lawrence.

  “No way,” said Mr. Foley. “They talked to him. And nobody could mistake that old mule Ronald.”

  Uncle Lawrence and Uncle George drove back home, and Uncle Lawrence looked at the fields and fences around him, normal-looking as always, and found it hard to believe what had happened.

  “Just imagine,” he told us. “A dead man and a live mule teamed up to help two young people go have some fun on Labor Day. I’d have to call that a labor of love!”

  The Ghost That Hated Labor Day

  Most people love holidays. We assumed that ghosts do, too, but we learned that this is not true from a story Roberta tells about her sister.

  My sister Fatima and her husband, Ervin, bought an old house in Kentucky near the Tennessee state line. It had every appearance of being their dream house. A little stream ran in front of some woods behind a big sloping backyard where my nephew and his friends could play.