Oct 25, 2017 |
by Jacqueline Patterson @jacpatterson
You feel the silence like a weight on your soul. Above you, a hiss of wind shifts the moss dangling from the rows of dying oaks.
Witches’ hair, the locals call the moss.
Tonight, in the heavy atmosphere, you’re almost ready to believe there are faces on the other side of the moss.
One of the South’s most haunted cities, Savannah allegedly has a ghost on every corner. Tourists who know nothing of the legends call police when they run into a distressed soul, only to later discover the one seeking their aid has disappeared.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Savannah Spooks
When you walk through downtown, you are trespassing across stolen land and forgotten graves. Uneven rises in the sidewalk are said to be caused by collapsing coffins beneath. Squares rich with history coax you into exploring them, trapping you in their ethereal atmosphere before they reveal their true history. It took months of exploring my favorite spot, Wright Square, before I discovered it was actually the “hanging square,” haunted by the ghost of accused murderer Alice Riley.
I heard the story like this:
Alice Riley arrived in Savannah two months before she became a murderer. Nothing is known about the life she left behind her in Ireland, but certainly she was desperate to get out, given that she had indentured herself as a servant in return for passage to the colonies. When the ship finally arrived, the indentured servants aboard were storm-tossed and nearly starved.
Despite the dire circumstances, Alice must have been hopeful when they landed.
A new country.
A new start from whatever she left behind.
But instead she was sent away with the worst of masters: abusive degenerate William Wise.
According to legend, he used Alice in any way he pleased. She was forced to bathe him, while her lover and fellow indentured servant Richard White combed Wise’s long hair. Wise used his fists and words with brutal regularity.
In March of 1734, according to legend, Alice and White had enough: they would kill Wise and escape together to Charleston, where they could begin a free life together. They came as usual to begin Wise’s morning grooming. Alice set the bucket of water behind Wise’s head, and White moved in position to begin combing his master’s hair. Instead, White grabbed Wise’s neckerchief, strangling him. Then Alice plunged Wise’s head into the bucket. Already in frail health, Wise died quickly.
Alice and White fled the scene of the crime. When Wise’s body was discovered, the Savannahians’ suspicions were raised, and a manhunt ensued. White was caught first, then Alice. White was taken immediately to the gallows, but a discovery halted Alice’s execution.
She was pregnant.
Some claim the baby was White’s, created in love, and others that the pregnancy was forced upon her by her wicked master. In either case, pregnancy only delayed her eventual fate. Alice gave birth while awaiting execution.
On January 19, 1735, her baby was ripped from her arms, and Alice was taken into Wright Square to be hanged, protesting her innocence and cursing the city for not believing her.
Her body swung on the gallows for three days.
Her baby, James, died two weeks after.
Centuries after the hanging, we still don’t know the full truth of the story. Was Alice a forced accomplice in Wise’s death? Or was she the instigator, tired of Wise’s rapes and abuse?
Perhaps we should ask Alice herself.
Her ghost is said to haunt Wright Square to this day, one of the most often reported ghosts in the US. It’s said she appears to pregnant women and mothers with infants, in an attempt to take their babies.
As for the curse? People have many theories, but one thing is clear: to this day, Spanish moss doesn’t grow on the trees in the park. After all, the legends say the moss won’t grow where innocent blood was spilled.
Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll do an investigation myself.
TWEET THIS: #Savannah Spooks: The Legend of Alice Riley @MollyJoRealy @jacpatterson #aliceriley #haunting
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Jacqueline Patterson
Dragon Tamer. Ancient Rome fanatic. Writer living on the edge of fictional worlds. J. A. Patterson attempted to teach herself to write at the age of four, wrote her first book (featuring eerily violent chickens) at age five, and has been immersed in books ever since. Sometimes literally. When she isn’t writing, you can find her studying music, reading, and searching for portals to new fantasy worlds. Talk to Jacqueline about books, and she will be your friend forever. You can connect with her through her website and blog J.A.Patterson, on Twitter and Instagram.
Oct 24, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Last week it was cloudy. Windy. A bit rainy. And, yup. A carnival came to town. Did I go? Puh-leese. Do ducks eat hippopotamus? Of course not. I’m all for a good scare, but on my own terms. I certainly don’t need my own version of Something Wicked This Way Comes.
But all y’all know I love thriller suspense and ghost stories, yah? I’m not talking those icky, gory, demon-possessed movies, although I wouldn’t mind seeing Stephen King’s IT before it leaves theatres. [Note to self: buy movie ticket for friends. There’s safety in numbers.]
So for those moments I can’t find someone to go to the movies with, [translate: Ain’t no one wanting to sit next to me when I get scared. I go home still scared. They go home with bruised and decirculated limbs.] it’s safer for everyone when I hunker down in the soft chair and read a good book.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Two Books to Read
This time of year, my two go-to favorites are The Haunting of America by Jean Anderson, and Great Southern Mysteries by E. Randall Floyd.
I didn’t have a passion for the South (that I know of) until the last five or so years. It tickled into me as I began to write NOLA, and grew into my lifeblood as I attended the Blue Ridge conference and met so many wonderful Southern people I now consider family. But looking back, it’s evident I have always been a displaced Southerner. [Read: By The Pricking of My Thumb.] It’s spooky how something from my childhood could be reclaimed with such impetus; how something I was unaware of took root decades before I recognized its force in my life.
I’ve been reading The Haunting of America since I was in grade school. I used to check it out of the libraries regularly. Remember when you’d sign your name on the lined card and the librarian would date stamp it so you’d know when to return it? My librarian always joked I should just keep the book for as often as I checked it out. The card had my name, my name, my name, someone else–wait, what?! Someone else dared to borrow my book from the library? I was appalled. Worse, I was restless. There was no substitute. It was a long two weeks before I had my treasured book back in my hands. Some years ago I was thrilled–no pun intended–to find a used copy on Amazon. Needless to say, it was a short two days before I had my treasured book back in my hands.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Marie Laveau
The Haunting of America is a collection of 24 “true” ghost stories. It’s written for children, but adults will appreciate it as well. It’s where I first met the Gray Man and Marie Laveau. It affirmed what I already knew about Lincoln, and orbs. And it’s where I first visited the Winchester Mystery House. Each story is just a few pages long, making them easy to read, and just as easy to thrill.
Great Southern Mysteries is another collection of short ghost stories, but this is written for adults. The Riddle of the Mounds and In Search of Cofitachequi are just two of the unexplained happenings that fill the book. Lost islands, Flight 19, ghost lights.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : The Riddle of the Mounds
The Gray Man and Marie Laveau are here, too.
The beauty of short story collections is you can reread only the ones you know will raise the hair on all y’all’s cackles. Which, come to think of it, is every story.
What do you like to reread this time of year?
TWEET THIS: Two books to read this week. @MollyJoRealy #amreading #mystery #haunts
With a reading lamp and security blanket,
Happy haunts!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Oct 13, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Five Things Friday
It’s late. It’s always late when I blog. And for the last few nights, Catford Manor’s hallway has been the feline focal point of things unseen.
You cat lovers, y’all know what I’m talking about. The furfamily pricks their ears, squints, and scurries into the shadows to meow at . . . nothing. At least I hope it’s nothing. Every night, I hope it’s nothing. When we first moved in so many years ago, the cabinet doors and drawers liked to open on their own about once a week. Until I let who–or what–ever it was, such antics were not acceptable.
The ravens love my rooftop and a few times throughout the year, they like to peck at the chimney cap and make more noise than I’m comfortable with. It’s all very Hitchcockian.
And very timely for today’s Five Things Friday: My favorite ghost stories.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : My Favorite Ghost Stories
So, I grew up in a small town in the midwest. The kind where kids rode bikes to the mini mart to buy sodas and candy bars before we took ourselves to the lake during summer, or the golf course after school. Mind you, we didn’t play golf. But the area was wooded, and lent itself to spooks and Bigfoot hunts. Growing up where and when I did was a great catalyst for my imagination. What follows are stories I have heard–or experienced–that have stayed with me.
- The Winchester House. Are y’all familiar with Winchester rifles? Sarah Winchester was the widow and heiress to rifle inventor, William Wirt Winchester. She built the mansion after his death. It was said to have been haunted by spirits of those killed by his lever-action repeating rifle. The house, now a tourist trap and historical landmark in San Jose, was built with odd rooms, doors that lead to nowhere, and windows inside that looked into other rooms. Sarah filled the home with representations of spiritualism, the number 13, and spider webs, all in attempts to appease the victim spirits of her husband’s weaponry.
Frankly, My Dear . . . The Winchester Mystery House
- The Queen Mary. This is one of my favorite, well, haunts, if you’ll pardon the expression. Balmy summer nights under neon port lights, walking the wood decks, there’s a definite feeling of more than meets the eye. A guided tour and literature detail past and present encounters. There are many rumors of ghosts and otherworldly events on the docked ship. [Note to self: Don’t stay in Room A128.] This old photo is out of focus, but captures the sentiment perfectly.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Queen Mary Prediction
- Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion. I’ve heard many a rumor, but have yet to experience anything myself, except for the occasional unwarranted chill up my spine. It’s been said since the Haunted Mansion was built in 1969, there have been many unexplained paranormal activities. A pilot who died in a nearby crash haunts the dark hallways. Employees never work alone. Sounds, strange movements, and shadows all infiltrate the structure in a way not inspired or designed by Disney.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Ghost Carriage at Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion
- The Grey Man of Pawley’s Island. I first read about him when I was nine. It was in a book, The Haunting of America, that I was so enamored with, I borrowed it from the library over and over and over. In fact, just a few years ago, I found an out-of-print copy and it still gives me the chills. The Grey Man appears on the island to warn residents of impending hurricanes. But the most chilling aspect is that he has no face. He wears a grey suit, a grey hat, and his skin is the grey of storm clouds. His faceless appearance in the sign to residents to leave immediately, or hunker down.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : The Grey Man of Pawley’s Island
- Stephen J. Cannell. Now, y’all may not believe this. Sometimes I wonder if it ever really happened. But this is my own personal story, so I know it to be true. In 2007, I sent SJC an email asking for writing advice. He turned that inquiry, and his response, into a short video for his website. Over the course of the following three years, we had a quasi-mentor relationship online. Facebook, Twitter, a few emails here and there. He was the first professional writer to acknowledge me, and to call me “Molly Jo”, not just “Molly”. And then in 2010 we met at a book signing. He died a few months later and it hit me hard. Oh, we weren’t close friends, but he was important to my writing. He inspired and encouraged me. And one morning about two weeks after his death, in the middle of October, I woke up to an email from Stephen J Cannell. It was the same email he’d sent me over three years earlier, the first response to my inquiry. And that same email, with the same video query encouraging me to write every day, kept showing up in my email inbox every day for a week. Until I started writing again. #truestory
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Meeting Stephen J Cannell
So there you have it. My five favorite ghost stories.
Curious: What are yours?
TWEET THIS: Five Things Friday: My Favorite Ghost Stories @RealMojo68 #haunted #fivethingsfriday #franklymydear #ghoststories
With a bright flashlight and a glow-in-the-dark notebook,
Haunted writing!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Oct 12, 2017 |
by William Kendall @WilliamKendall1
Ghost stories abound throughout the world, from isolated homes in the countryside to small towns and even large cities.
Especially when October comes around and our thoughts turn to ghosts, goblins, and jack-o-lanterns. Such is the case in Ottawa, which has a wealth of ghost stories in some unexpected places, and even a tour company, the Haunted Walk, with several tailored tours of the city’s core and spooky stories that go along with it. One of those locales just happens to be our most prestigious hotel.
Chateau Laurier in winter
The Chateau Laurier is right downtown, on the east bank of the Rideau Canal, across from Parliament Hill. It forms part of what’s called Confederation Square, and dates back a century now. It is luxurious, welcoming, and has hosted the great and the good over a hundred plus years. Politicians, dignitaries, and celebrities have spent time here. The great portrait photographer Yousuf Karsh ran his studios out of the Chateau for the latter part of his career. Photographs of the hotel’s grand history can be found within. It is a landmark and a national historic site, and rightfully so.
Charles Melville Hays
And it has its ghosts.
The Chateau has the look of a castle, built in the French Gothic Chateau style. It was part of the era of railroad luxury hotels, commissioned by the president of the Grand Trunk Railway in tandem with his Union Station across the street. Charles Melville Hays named it in honour of the prime minister who helped get it built, and dreamed of it as a crown jewel in his railway hotels. It’s certainly maintained that crown jewel status, which Hays would approve of. In a way, he never left.
Chateau Laurier and Ceremonial Guards
The hotel was to open in late April, 1912. Hays and his family had gone to Europe so that the railroad baron could secure further investment and purchase antique furnishings for his new hotel, soon to be opened. Returning from overseas, Hays booked passage on a ship you might have heard of.
Titanic.
Long story short, an iceberg decided to teach the “unsinkable” ship a lesson in respect, the ship went down with 1500 souls aboard, and Hays, his son-in-law, and his secretary were among them. It was said that he noted of the fierce competition between ocean crossing cruise lines: “The time will come soon when this trend will be checked by some appalling disaster.”
His body was recovered, and he was buried in Montreal. The opening of the hotel was delayed two months out of respect for the dead. And yet his spirit seems to have lingered, occasionally seen or felt in the hotel, the last major project he’d worked on in life. A spectre matching his description is sometimes seen, as is the ghost of a child. Unseen presences are known to move doors, furniture, or objects. Sounds are heard in rooms where no one should be.
In 2012, the centennial of the official opening was held, with the hotel open for business, cake marking the occasion, and people in period clothing of the time strolling around its corridors and promenades. One of the images of that day that sticks with me (and which I wish I would have photographed) was a young woman in Edwardian era formal wear, descending a staircase… and checking her messages on her mobile. I wonder what Hays would have thought of that.
Chateau Laurier interior
The Chateau is an enchanting sight in the city, and a favourite photo subject for me. It remains the place to be seen today, with countless souls having had enjoyed its hospitality down through a century. Some of those souls appear to be staying there on a permanent basis… and in doing so have added to the mystique and character of the place.
What are some of your favorite haunts?
TWEET THIS: Photoblogger William Kendall: The Haunted Chateau Laurier @RealMojo68 @WilliamKendall1 #haunted
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
William Kendall
William Kendall is a photoblogger who finds the unique perspective in everyday life. You can follow him on his writing blog, Speak Of The Devil, his photoblog Ottawa Daily Posts, and Twitter @WilliamKendall1.
Jul 18, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
INVITATION: Harbingers, Cycle One
This week I read Book Two: The Haunted, by Frank Peretti.
SPOILER ALERT: Do not read any further unless you want to know how the story goes.
Are you sure?
You’re still reading.
I’m giving you enough screen scrolling to avoid it.
Okay, you’re still here.
All right, folks. Strap yourselves in. This one is a wild ride.
Okay, for starters, can I just say I love a book that stays with you even when you’re not reading it. I’m not talking like, “Oh, yeah. It’s on the coffee table.” or “Of course. It’s in my backpack.” No, no, no. I think you know I mean the kind of reading that stays with you mentally. Emotionally.
Frank Peretti has a style of writing that always grips me, and this is no exception.
This book is told from the Professor’s perspective. The fallen Priest-turned-pragmatist. He no longer believes in God, and will go out of his way to prove that everything has a logical explanation.
Through a myriad of, well, invitations, our heroes finding themselves together on a plane to Seattle.
Aww, Seattle . . .
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Sea-Tac Airport
They think they have separate reasons, but of course they don’t. The professor meets with his old friend, AJ Van Epps, who tells him of a strange, reappearing house. As if a house can vanish and reappear at will! But Van Epps has data to sustain his theories. Two unseemly townsfolk have died recently, and he knows the house has something to do with it. The House seems to always know all about its inhabitants. He talks the professor into joining his investigation. The professor agrees and heads into town where he inexplicably runs into Brenda, the tattoo artist, speaking with a psychic.
Brenda and the professor go in for a reading, not expecting any truth to be revealed. Earthsong, as she’s called, tells them about a boy, a prisoner set free, and other nonsense. Days pass with little adventure, until the professor is followed by what he can only describe as a specter. He’s being followed by a ghost! The professor braces himself and watches as the specter walks past him toward a house that wasn’t there before. The House.
Two-story Victorian, dull purple, richly detailed, turreted, with a covered porch and sleepy front windows.
The professor enlists the aid of the others, including Van Epps who agrees to stay outside the house with his video camera. The professor, Andi, Brenda, and Tank enter the house. It’s nearly night and there are no lights. It’s as if the house expects them. They take to individual rooms upstairs, using only their cell phones for intermittent light. But when all goes dark, three of the four have nightmarish experiences too real to be a dream. Tank is the only one spared the dark evils of their own minds, and he brings them out of it with his large laugh. Where the others had glimpses of their hells, Tank had a glimpse of heaven. Then, at the end of the hall, in the shadow of the moonlit window, is a young boy who promptly disappears.
It’s all too much, and they leave the house. Van Epps is furious; they need more data! They need to find out how the house does what it does, so they can harness its power and use it. The professor and the girls return the next day, to find Tank is already there. With a young boy. The same boy from last night. The same young boy tattooed on his arm.
His name is Daniel, and he has a friend. A big, strong, invisible friend who may or may not be imaginary. But where did Daniel come from? They’re distracted by something outside. Van Epps is mowing the lawn. His argument is if he does something nice to the house, perhaps the house won’t hurt him like it’s hurt so many others.
Okay, I’ve recounted enough. Except to say there’s some fighting. A locked door. An imprisoned child. A murder. And a tall, strong being who helps Daniel even as the winds of hell suck Van Epps and the professor toward its door. Will they be taken? Will they be safe? Who is this Daniel kid? Why does the house always know everything?
For the last week, whether watching TV or cleaning house or driving, I found myself worried about the characters. I forgot they’re not real. I needed to find out what happens next. And I needed that House to stop reappearing at every corner.
I think you need to pick up INVITATION and find out for yourself what shadows can do.
TWEET THIS: Frankly, My Dear . . . : The Harbingers, C1B2: The Haunted, by Frank Peretti. @RealMojo68 #harbingers #amreading
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
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