I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that’s on its mind and can’t make itself understood, and so can’t rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. (Mark Twain)
Me’n Fred happened on a real hospitable buncha folks camped out near a spring late one afternoon last fall, and after a supper a squirrel an’ beans an’ late greens, we settled in for ghost tales around the fire as the shadows gathered and the dusk deepened to a dark purple. In thanks for the mighty fine meal they’d shared, I told them my most recent adventures in the silver mines at The Old Country Store and Post Office, and they got to talkin’ about hauntings they’d either experienced or heard tell of.
What we heard gave us some shivers for sure. We heard tales about seein’ unexplained shadows, usually outta the corner of your eye — people havin’ bad dreams in a particular place — hearin’ footsteps or voices when nobody’s there — animals reactin’ to somethin’ others can’t see, like a dog growlin’ at thin air while its hackles rise (Fred, she sat up and took notice at that one) — unexplained cold drafts and cold spots — feelin’ as if you’re bein’ watched, or poked, or nudged when there’s nobody there — bad smells — little kids that talk to people who ain’t there —
Now I gotta tell you, on a cool fall evenin’ as the shadows gather and folks have had them beans and squirrels for supper, cold spots and bad smells are mighty plentiful, so it was easy to believe in them spooks on that particular evenin.’ After me and Fred turned into our bedroll, I laid awake for awhile, a’wonderin’ and marvelin’ at all we don’t know or understand about things. The stars was bright and beautiful, and as the wind blew kinda soft and sad, soughin’ in the pines, it was easy to imagine all the people that mighta walked that land before us. An’ whether it was a dream, or for real, or just our imagination, this is what we kinda saw unfold around us . . .
We saw a people that was a’sufferin’ from bad water, failed crops, illness, and death, and just like people everywhere, they seemed to wanta blame somebody else for their troubles. And these people, they went kinda wild and seized on some poor souls they called witches, or skinwalkers, to blame for all their struggles and tragedies. Seemed like we could hear the soft cries and moans of those folks as they was driven outa their homes, sometimes tortured, sometimes killed. More often than not, seems like they was just people that was different, wise in the way of herbs an’ medicine an’ healin’ an’ all, but the other folks just didn’t understand their ways. When I woke up, if I’d even been asleep, I could still hear the grievin’ and feel the tragedy of it all . . .
Fred nosed me kinda insistent-like, and I got up, packed my stuff, and walked on down the Trail without wakin’ the other folks. This here land did feel haunted, mebbe not by any real spirits, or mebbe so . . . but mosta all, by all the history and pain of those there times.
I’d liketa say those times is over and done with, and we’re better people now. But you know, I’m not too sure I really believe that — too many of us are still avoidin’ takin’ responsibility for what we do, and blamin’ somebody else for our misfortunes. This ole world can kinda get to you sometimes if you’re not careful — it’s real important at those times, I reckon, to stay on the sunny side, as my grandma always said.
Sometime I’ll haveta tell you about her. She was quite a person . . .