Campfire Legends   
by
Helen Adams   
 


Soft dry rustling of fallen leaves tumbling over the hardness of frozen ground tickled at the ears of the three people sitting around the campfire.   A gentle but chilling breeze rose up in the stillness of night, teasing at their clothes and causing all three to huddle closer to the crisply crackling warmth of their campfire.  Frosted plumes of breath drifted through the air as they puffed on fingers stiffly chilled despite their leather coverings.

The largest of the three shivered and drew a blanket closer about his shoulders.  “Maybe we should skip this idea and go on home where it’s warm,” he suggested with a hint of complaint.  “I don’t see why we have to do this blame fool thing every year for anyway.”

The figure closest to him, so close in fact that they were nearly indistinguishable in the firelight, raised his head to reveal the thin half-child half-adult face of a teenager.  He was clearly very cold, his thin body trembling slightly in reaction to another puff of frozen air at his back.  “Hush, Hoss.  We’re here cause it’s tradition and if you ain’t quiet the spirits will get scared and go away.   I can almost feel them watching us now, can’t you?”

The big man shifted uncomfortably and nestled more firmly against the crooked fallen log supporting his back, a scowl on his face.  “Little Joe, you just hush up yourself.  There’s no such a thing as ghosts, and you know it as well as I do.  Every year, since you was eleven, we been coming out here on the coldest dadblamed night of autumn and sitting up all night waiting for nothing.  I don’t know why I let you two talk me into it every year, neither.  I could be at home asleep in my own bed, or downstairs in front of the fire joining Pa in a nice hot cup of cider and some of Hop Sing’s sugar cookies, but am I?  No, I’m out here with you two catchin’ a chill!” 

He was getting louder and the other two hissed, “Shhhh!” 

Hoss subsided grumpily, muttering,  “Well, I would!”

Little Joe rolled his eyes and turned to their companion, who was almost invisible in black clothes against the deep inky blackness of impenetrable night beyond the campfire.  “I think we’re just about ready now, right, Adam?”
 
The third figure leaned forward so that his face could be seen more clearly by his two brothers and smiled a slow and contemplative smile.  The effect was eerie, the firelight casting strange shadows on his face.  The lightness of his skin in contrast with the clothes he wore made Adam’s head seem to be almost floating apart from his body and the flickering flames cast his strong cheekbones and dramatically raised eyebrows into sharp points around the deep dark invisibility of his eyes.  He was not quite human in that moment, but rather some demon come to tempt wayward souls to follow him into the darkness.  Joe shivered at the delightful tingle of fear and anticipation that ran down his spine.  Hoss might complain but Little Joe loved this night and looked forward to it every year and he knew that Adam loved it as much as he did. 

The dark gray blanket surrounding Adam’s strong shoulders dropped away as he suddenly jerked his hunched torso upright and flung his arms out to the sides, his ungloved hands spreading wide, the long fingers seeming to grow even longer as they stretched toward the night.  The wind picked up and a few leaves swirled into the fire to burst with a crackle and hiss just as he did so.  Both Hoss and Joe were unable to control a startled jerk and gasp.  

“All Hallows Eve,” he intoned in a deep sepulcher voice that sent more tingles through his small audience.  “The one night of the year when spirits roam and the undead walk freely among us.   Beware thou innocent souls, for the witching hour is at hand.”  His voice dropped deeper still as he said those final words, nudging the stick he had placed in the fire with his boot to make sparks fly and increase the impact of the ritual phrases. 

Little Joe’s eyes shone excitedly in the glow of the campfire as he drew his knees up tight to his chest and hugged them, stomach tightening in anticipation of the next phase of the tradition he and his brothers had initiated four years earlier.  Doing it had been Joe's own idea, but he had been confident that Adam would play along, for his love of the dramatic and the lure of an opportunity to perform as outrageously as he pleased, appealed to the little boy locked somewhere deep in Adam's soul.  They had all had so much fun the first time that it had become an annual ritual.  Their father had always allowed it with good-natured grace, his only stipulation being that they call it off if the weather was too inclement.  Every October so far, they had lucked out, though Hoss seemed to complain more and more every year.  Now, though, even he had become silent and respectful and Joe rocked a little, trying to hold in his excitement as he waited for Adam’s next words, for they would signal the best part.   The ghost stories.

“Who shall be the first of our brave company to face the creatures of night and attempt to sate the ravenous hunger of our undead listeners, with tales of ghostly visits and supernatural happenings?”  Adam whispered, his words seeming to slide through the air, unattached to the man who had spoken them as the wind died away. 

The very flames seemed to pause, holding their breath as if afraid to disturb the total anticipatory quiet of the night.  Tentatively, Hoss raised his hand and Adam bowed his head and drew his hand down from the brim of his hat, open-palmed toward his brother, the gesture somehow conveying solemn respect and lively enjoyment at the same time.

Hoss cleared his throat and looked each of his brothers deeply in the eyes before he began.  He was not quite as comfortable with all this ghost and goblin stuff as they were, and neither the haunting atmosphere nor the chill of the night appealed to him, but he would not have missed out on this tradition for all the food in Hop Sing’s larder.   Adam and Little Joe exchanged an eager glance as they waited for Hoss to begin his story.

“A long time back, years before a single white man had ever set foot in this part of the country, a legend was born right out of this very patch of ground we’re sitting on.  A legend of love, and death and revenge.”

Adam and Joe nodded their approval to one another as their brother notched up the tension in his voice at that last word.  This sounded like it would be good.

“There were two neighboring tribes of Indians settled on either side of these woods, friendly to each other for the most part, but not wanting any part of joining together, even though it would have been better for everyone to combine their resources together.  From time to time, one of the elders would propose it, but pride kept getting in the way and nothing ever came of it.  Then, one day a young brave named Running Wolf had a vision.  He was much respected and a might feared because his visions nearly always warned of death and disaster.  The young brave hated the visions and the reaction they caused, but he could not more stop having them than he could stop breathing.”

“What did he see this time?” Joe asked in a hushed voice, eyes shining with interest.  “Was somebody else going to die?”

Hoss smiled, gratified that his narrative was getting such good reception.  “Not this time.  This time he saw a vision of a girl, hurt and frightened in these woods.  He told no one what he had seen, but went out into the woods to try and find her.  Sure enough, she was right where he had forseen she's be and right on the verge of getting attacked by a wolf.  Running Wolf killed the animal and saved her life, helping her back to her people in the neighboring tribe and staying a few days with them exchanging news.  In that little bit of time, he fell in love with the girl, whose name was Wind Song, and she fell in love with him too. Wind Song was the daughter of the other tribe’s chief and she was about the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, so Running Wolf went home and brought back his finest string of ponies and his best blankets and furs as a gift, then asked for her father’s permission to marry her. 

The chief liked him and approved of the match, but had to tell Running Wolf that the girl had been promised at birth to a very powerful medicine man in her own tribe.  The man was evil and ruthless, given to fits of cruelty and violence, and the chief feared for his daughter’s life.  He had been trying to figure a way to back out of his promise without losing face in front of the rest of his tribe, but there was nothing he could do.  None of his own braves had been willing to risk the medicine man’s power and wrath over a woman, but Running Wolf was not afraid.  He challenged his rival to fight to the death for her.  The tribal elders knew of the chief’s wishes and they also suspected that the medicine man’s powers were gone, and that he’d been using tricks to cover it up, so they gladly approved the fight.”

“Had he done a lot of awful things to his enemies?” Joe interrupted breathlessly.  He was getting into the tale and was hoping there might be some gore involved.  Hoss scowled at him over this second interruption, and Joe subsided. 

Hoss cleared his throat importantly.  “As I was sayin’, the medicine man’s tribe didn’t have no use for him, and the way it turns out, they were right about his powers.  He was no match for the young brave and he knew it.  The fight was over quick and when the medicine man went down with Running Wolf’s knife against his throat, he started beggin’ him to spare his life.  The rest of the tribe was so disgusted that they banished him, threatening a painful death if they should ever see him again. The medicine man went away and his name was ordered never to be spoken again, so that someday he would be forgotten by all.  The young couple was celebrated by both their tribes, and the wedding was set for three days afterward.”

“Don’t stop there, Hoss,” Adam demanded, when his brother had gone silent for several long seconds.  He was still surprised that shy Hoss should have chosen a love story for his ghostly tale.  “What happened?”

“On the night of the young folks’ wedding, after all the ritual feasting and celebrating and fertility rites had been completed, the medicine man snuck back into camp and kidnapped Wind Song, muffling her screams as he dragged her away from her home and family.  They traveled through the night until they reached his hideaway.  The medicine man was certain he’d got clean away, so imagine how he must’ve felt when the young groom was at the camp waiting for him.   Elders from both tribes emerged from their hiding places behind the rocks and trees, surrounding the medicine man and his captive.  There was nowhere to run, and he demanded to know how they had found him.  The brave told him he had had a vision telling him where he would find them.  The vision had also told him that the tribes would finally be joined by his marriage to the princess, because he was to take his rightful place as the new medicine man for both.

The old man flew into a rage and tried to dart Running Wolf, but he easily dodged the blow and handed his enemy over to the elders.  True to their warning, the tribe surrounded him and staked him out on the edge of a cliff.  His living organs were ripped from his body and tossed into a cleansing fire, and right before he died he placed a curse on the whole group, promising them that the marriage of Running Wolf and Wind Song would bring certain death to those around them.”

“Neat-o,” Joe muttered.

“The following summer, drought and sickness came to the tribes and many people died.  Accusations flew as folks remembered the medicine man’s curse.  To try and save those remaining, the young medicine man and his bride went to the top of that bluff up on Running Pine Ridge and prayed for days to their Gods.  The spirits answered on the fifth day, demanding a sacrifice to appease the angry spirit of the medicine man.  Running Wolf offered himself and ordered his bride back to the camp, but she refused to let him die without her.  The two of them informed the tribe, refusing to be swayed by the pleas of their loved ones.  They went up to Running Pine at daybreak. A dozen witnesses saw them jump, but there were no bodies to be found at the bottom of the gully.  If that wasn’t strange enough, that very night, rain returned to the area and the sickness passed from the tribe.”   Hoss paused again, leaning in close, and his brothers did the same.  “If you’re ever up that way on a real quiet day, listen close.  When the wind blows just right, you can still hear the echoes of the old man screaming out his powerless curses, and the sound of the young couple’s laughter floating down on the breeze.”

Everyone was silent a moment, then Little Joe smiled and nudged his brother’s arm.  “That’s a good one, Hoss, and you told it real good too.  I thought you were gonna make it more creepy, though.”

Hoss shrugged and grinned. “Guess I didn’t have no real spooky stories in mind right now.  Besides, Little Joe, I wouldn’t want you boys gettin’ scared and having nightmares on my account.”

Joe wrinkled his nose.  “This is Halloween, you’re supposed to scare us.  That was just a love story. There wasn’t even a real ghost involved.  Just noises on the wind,” he griped.  Then, an appreciative smile touched his lips.  “That part about the medicine man getting his guts ripped out was pretty good, though.”

Adam and Hoss laughed, understanding that at 15, blood and guts were still more impressive than romantic sacrifices.   Adam leaned over onto his side where he could reach Little Joe’s leg around the campfire and tapped his knee.  “If you think you can come up with something better, it’s your turn, little brother.  Make our hair stand on end!”

Joe grinned.  “Maybe I just will!  Let me think a minute.” 

As they watched his face scrunch up in thought, Hoss and Adam exchanged an amused look.  While Hoss had based his story on a local Indian legend, this ghostly tale would no doubt be straight from their brother’s boundless imagination and, as such, promised to be inventive if nothing else. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” Joe declared at last. 

“Let us have it, little brother,” Hoss said, as he scrunched himself down to get more comfortable.

Joe sat up straighter and folded his legs Indian style.  He took off his hat and scooted closer to the fire, wanting to be sure he was the complete center of attention.  Thoughts of the tale he was about to tell plastered his young face with a gleeful grin and his brothers both unconsciously shifted a bit in their seats.  As he had leaned toward the glow of the fire, the light had caught in Little Joe’s eyes, giving the clear green irises a strangely iridescent quality that suggested something otherworldly. Combined with his grin, the shadows of firelight that lent an upward slant to his ears and eyebrows, and the wind that lifted his hair into a golden glinted cloud of unruly brown curls, Joe looked like a mischievous sprite or fairy creature straight from Oberon’s kingdom.

They relaxed again as he began to speak.  Joe’s attempt to give his voice a spooky, lower than normal pitch, something along the lines of what Adam had used, was more in danger of making his brothers laugh than shiver in fear.  Solemnly, he intoned, “Down in Louisiana, there’s a place where a huge gnarled tree grows.  A haunted one that folks have named, The Screaming Tree.”

Hoss and Adam exchanged a small grin.  They could practically hear the capital letters when Little Joe said the name, and the location of the story came as no surprise to either of them.  It figured that their brother would choose a story about his mother’s homeland.  He was endlessly fascinated with the city of New Orleans and its surrounding areas and it was certain that he’d chosen an area with a rich history of haunted tales.  

Hoss asked, “Now, is this a true story, Little Joe?”

Joe shrugged,  “I suppose it’s as true as yours.”   Pitching his voice back into quiet and, he hoped, chilling tones, Joe went on.  “Back in the 1830s, a young woman disappeared from her plantation.  Her parents were wealthy and well known through the area, and they offered a reward to anyone who could help find their daughter.  Their own slaves and servants combed the countryside looking for the missing girl and the reward had everyone else for miles around searching as well, but nobody found a single sign.  Finally, a neighbor remembered seeing the woman walking and talking with one of her father's field hands the afternoon before she disappeared. They immediately questioned the slave and he admitted that he and his master's daughter had been talking together, but denied knowing anything about her disappearance."

Joe's voice got quieter as he reached the next phase of his story, forcing his brothers to lean closer to hear him. "The search party dragged the man out past the fields, forcing him to cover every step he had taken with the missing girl, and sure enough, before long they found her. Dead!"

Hoss jumped in response to the sudden loud snap of Joe's voice as he said the word.

"She had been brutally murdered next to the old tree, her blood soaking the grass all around the base of the trunk. Whoever had killed her had obviously tortured her to death, stuffing a gag down her throat to stop her screams. Her body had been tied to the old magnolia tree, and closer examination showed that she had been stabbed thirty times or more, with the blade of a hand scythe, which still lay on the ground at her feet.  Because the slave who'd been with her last had recently been punished for the loss of that very same scythe, nobody was willing to listen to his protests that he hadn't had anything to do with the murder.  The man swore on his life that he had not murdered anyone, and that he hadn't seen the woman since he'd escorted her back to the house, but no one believed him. They cut the woman's body down, then lynched the slave right then and there, with the very same still-bloody rope that had been used to tie the dead woman to the trunk."

"Golly, did they ever find out if he really done it?" Hoss asked quietly.

Joe shook his head.  "Whether he did it or someone else framed him and got away clean was never revealed, but soon after the two deaths, strange things began to happen on the plantation. Fields that had previously grown good healthy crops suddenly dried up and refused to sprout so much as a weed. The family of the dead woman reported hearing moans and whispers at odd hours of the day and night, and the slaves refused to even go close to the old magnolia tree, claiming it was possessed by evil spirits. 

Now, here's the really strange part.  On the first anniversary of the murder, a dozen people reported hearing the sounds of screaming. Piercing screams, loud enough to drive a person mad.  The sound was tracked back to the tree. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, a sound filled with pure agony and people reported a feeling of hatred and anger that practically crawled over their skins the closer they stood to the tree.  As they watched and waited, the tree began to quiver and they saw that the trunk was oozing streams of blood with every shriek."

Joe was delighted to see Hoss' blue eyes grow wide and he looked at Adam, hoping for a similar reaction, but his oldest brother was simply watching with a little smile, his arms folded across his knees as he waited for the rest of the story.

Joe continued. "The family packed up and left their home, unable to bear the strange happening and the memory of the girl's murder, but the curse didn't leave with them. That same strange thing happened every single year, sometimes at night and sometimes during the day. Nobody knew what triggered it, but no matter what, the tree always screamed and bled on the day of the murders.  Before long it became a test of bravery to get close to it and on the fifteenth anniversary of the murder, a group of guys about my age went down to test the legend.

It was a full moon night, so they didn't light the lanterns they'd brought, until they got close to the tree and noticed a strange darkness surrounding the base. A shadow seemed to come from inside the tree itself, and the light from the lanterns couldn't penetrate it. Gathering their courage, the boys moved closer, and the first thing they sensed was a strong smell of copper in the air. It got stronger and stronger the closer they got, and the darkness seemed to get deeper with every step. Finally two of them got up their nerve, reached out, and each laid a hand on the trunk. When nothing happened, they started laughing about how silly they'd been to believe in the story. Then, suddenly, one of the boys screamed. The boys with lanterns came over to look and saw that his entire hand was covered in blood."

Adam shivered suddenly, and shrugged when he saw Joe's delighted expression. "It's getting colder out here," he grunted. Joe raised an eyebrow, and he grinned and shrugged, admitting that he'd been caught. "So, why was his hand bleeding? Did he scratch it on the bark?"

"That's just what his friends thought," Joe told him quietly. "They examined his hand, expecting to find scratches, or maybe a gash from the bark, but there were none, and that's when the screams began coming from the tree. The boys all turned to look, and right before their eyes, two handprints appear on the trunk, right where it had been touched, both of them oozing blood.

The boys didn't stick around long enough to see if anything else was going to happen, but they reported what they had seen and heard to their families, and to anyone else who would listen. Everyone thought they were making it up at first, but the boys were so scared that finally the fella who had bought the land from the original owners decided to cut the old magnolia down, for everyone's peace of mind. Two men took axes out to the tree and started swinging. The first man's ax bounced off the tree without making a dent. He tried again, and the same thing happened again. Thinking that maybe it was just a dull blade, the second man took out his newly sharpened ax and swung at the tree trunk as hard as he could. The blade bounced off the bark and hit him in the leg, nearly chopping it clean off his body! Nobody else was willing to go near the tree after that, and only a month later the land owner pulled out, claiming he couldn't stand the sounds of screaming that were haunting him every night after he went to bed.

After that, all the trees surrounding the Screaming Tree were cut down and cleared, but that one was never touched again. People have tried, but they still can't come up with a reason for what happens. They only know that to this very day, even in the hottest days of summer, it's always dark and cold on all sides of that tree, and that the smell of blood is always present. Every year on the anniversary of the murders, someone tests the legend, and every year it's the same thing. The tree bleeds where it's touched, then screams persist throughout the night."

The three young men were silent for several long seconds after Joe's final quiet words hissed through the night, then Hoss shuddered and began briskly chafing his arms, grinning broadly at his little brother. "Golly Moses, Little Joe! If you made that up, that's the scariest danged story you ever thought of, and if you didn't, I don't want to know about it!"

Adam laughed. "He's right, Joe.  I think you just might win the prize this year for scariest story." They always took a vote on whose tale had been the most hair-raising, and the winner got a morning off from chores when they got home. Joe grinned and gave his brothers a half-bow, sweeping his hat over to his right shoulder.

Hoss reached over and wrapped a beefy arm around Joe's neck, scrubbing his knuckles over his brother's head as the boy tried to squirm away. Little Joe jabbed Hoss in the ribs and jammed his hat back on his head, rewrapping himself in his discarded blanket and snuggling closer to the warmth of his large brother's body. Hoss draped an arm around his shoulders, offering both warmth and comfort, and grinned over at Adam. "I think you might be right about who gets the prize, older brother, but let's not be too hasty. We ain't heard your story yet."

Joe snaked a hand out of his blanket and tossed a little more wood onto the campfire. "Yeah, Adam. You always tell good stories. Let's hear it."

"Did I ever tell you two about the night I attended a séance?" Adam asked in a hushed voice. His dark eyebrows drew together over eyes that suddenly glittered with a strange mixture of excitement and foreboding.

Hoss and Joe exchanged a questioning glance and Hoss said, "A what?"

"A séance," Adam repeated, his voice growing once more deep and mysterious. "Where the living try to summon spirits from beyond the grave to speak with them."

Hoss laughed a bit nervously. "Aw, you're joshing us, Adam. Why would anybody want to go and do a thing like that for?"

Joe pulled away from the comforting arm to look into his brother's face with a scowl. "Hush up, Hoss.  Go on, Adam. Tell us! Did you talk to any ghosts?"

Adam smiled and shivered dramatically. "More than that, little brother. Much more."

Joe leaned forward eagerly; not wanting to miss a word of what he could just tell was going to be a humdinger of a ghost story. Hoss hunched further down, hugging himself against the cold and the clutching of his stomach that did not entirely come from the dropping in the temperature of the autumn air. He too waited with rapt attention as Adam began to reveal his tale.

"It was the fall of my second year at college. Classes had been suspended for a few weeks after a fire destroyed several buildings on campus,"

"I remember you writing us about that," Hoss commented. "You never did say how it happened, though."

Adam nodded slowly, the intensity in his gaze suddenly making Hoss sorry he’d spoken and caused it to fall upon him. "The fire had begun in the groundskeeper’s cottage, and the sparks had carried on the breeze far enough to set off three other buildings. Ironically, the fire in the house burned out before any significant damage could be done, but the other three burned right down to the ground.

That cottage was the oldest structure on campus and one of the oldest in the whole city. Everyone assumed that the fire had been started by an abandoned cook stove, or perhaps a sparking log from the fireplace, but old Johnny, the groundskeeper, swore that he hadn’t left anything burning when he and his wife went out that night. The two of them had been looking after the grounds for several years, and we all knew they were honest and careful people. Not at all the sort to do something reckless. Several of my friends and I were in the crowd when they came home, and we couldn’t help but notice that Johnny’s wife, Edna, seemed almost frightened when she said that nothing had been out of the ordinary when they left. It seemed like a strange reaction, not quite surprised, or even concerned for how their things had fared, but frightened of what people would think. Some of us got to talking about the whole thing later on and we made up our minds to find out more if we could.

The next day, my friends Jerry, Penelope, Paul, and I went over to the house and offered to help move out anything that might have gotten destroyed in the fire. Edna refused. She was almost rude about it, and if you knew her, you'd understand how out of character that was. She practically threw us off the doorstep, but just as she was shutting the door, it pulled out of her grasp, propelled by a wind that came out of nowhere and startled all of us, nearly knocking her back with its force. Penelope rushed in to steady her, and so was the first to notice that the inside of the cottage was completely undamaged. There was no sign of that a fire had been anywhere near it less than twelve hours earlier! No smoke damage, no burned wood, not so much as a flake of paint disturbed on the walls. When we questioned Edna about it, she got very nervous, whispering that we shouldn’t ask any more questions."

"How come she was whispering?" Joe asked curiously, his own voice hushed as if in sympathy with the old woman’s fright.

"That’s just what I wondered myself," said Adam, "especially since she kept glancing around the room, just as if she was afraid that somebody was there who might overhear. She begged us to go and started to cry. Nobody had intended to upset her that much and we started to leave. We were halfway out the door when a loud crash sounded from right behind us. Paul turned back to see and I followed him in. There was a heavy china-cabinet lying face down on the floor. Nothing around it was moved, but it was obvious that the cabinet had been physically pulled out from the wall. Now, that piece of furniture would have been heavy for you and I to move, Hoss, so there was no way Edna could have done it by herself, even if there had been time. It hadn't been an inch out of place when we were standing in that room, but now it looked just like somebody had wrenched it over in a fit of anger. Some one, or some thing."

Hoss and Joe looked at each other with round eyes, the emphasis on Adam's last word sending a tingle down their spines.

"It didn't take much persuading to get Edna to come away from the house with us after that," Adam said ruefully. "The poor woman was nearly hysterical. She kept saying, 'it's never done this before', over and over again, and after a little coaxing, she told us. Ever since she and Johnny had moved in to that house a few years earlier, strange things had been happening. Cupboards would open and slam all by themselves, the water pump would start up then stop, things would disappear from wherever Edna had set them, and she swore she could feel eyes watching her sometimes, and that she had been woken up by voices and touches in the night. In short, the cottage was haunted.

"Paul asked her why she and Johnny continued to live there if it was that bad and Edna told us that whatever was seemed to take a particular delight in frightening her, but that it had never manifested when Johnny was present, so he refused to believe anything was wrong. Until the fire and then the cabinet falling right in front of us, poor Edna had been half convinced she was going crazy. The fact that it had deliberately gotten our attention made us think that maybe it wanted to be recognized."

At this point in the story, Little Joe began to look at his oldest brother with a hint of suspicion. "Did you really believe that there was a ghost, Adam? That doesn't sound like you at all!"

Adam shrugged. "I admit, I was pretty skeptical of the whole thing," he said, "but I had seen the house and the cabinet, and there was definitely some kind of mystery going on, whether it was ghosts or something else.  So, when Penelope suggested that we hold a séance, I decided to participate. Her grandmother had been a sensitive, a person able to hear and feel spiritual presence, and Penelope hoped that she might have the gift as well. I didn't really believe, but I figured I could record what was said and done that night in my journal, for posterity if nothing else."

Joe nodded. That sounded more like the brother he knew.

"Get to the good part, Adam," Hoss urged impatiently. "Tell us about that there séance. Was there really a ghost?"

The whirling wind stilled yet again, the sudden cessation of even the rustle of leaves and the chirping of insects sending a chill through the Cartwright brothers, as the very world around them seemed to be pausing to listen to the answer.

"Three days after the fire, the four of us met Edna back at her house.  Johnny had gone out for the night, aware of what we were doing, but having no interest in participating in what he called 'that ghost foolishness'," Adam continued, his expression one of self-deprecation as he repeated Johnny's words, making it clear that he, too, had first thought the experiment foolish.  "According to Edna, the first time she had noticed anything out of the ordinary was when she had gone into the spare bedroom of the little house.  There was a dark stain on the floor that she said she could have sworn had not been there when she and her husband moved in their furniture.  She'd scrubbed it up, but a few days later it had returned, looking like paint, or blood, that had soaked in and dried when the wood was still fresh.  Hearing that, Paul and I looked at each other, and I could tell that I wasn't the only one who'd gotten a little nervous all of a sudden.  You see, we had done some checking on the property to prepare for the séance, and do you know what we found?"

"What'd you find?" Hoss breathed.

"That the man who originally built that cottage was shot dead in it, right in that very room," Adam revealed quietly, making his brothers gasp.  "Almost a century and a half ago, his wife was accused of witchcraft, of casting evil spells on her enemies in the nearby town.  Her husband tried to protect her when the villagers came, wanting to burn her at the stake, and they shot him down in cold blood.  The wife was so filled with rage and pain that she screamed a curse at the villagers.  According to legend, every object in the room took on a life of its own and flew at her attackers; knives, furniture, anything that wasn't nailed down.  The men were so frightened that they shut the doors and barred her in, then set the building on fire with her in it."

"But you said the house was real old," Joe broke in, eyes wide with wonder.  "That it hadn't been touched by the previous fires.  Did the witch's house stay standing?"

Adam smiled, nodding approval of his brother's observation.  "It did.  The fire burned out almost as quickly as it had started, just as if a giant hand had snuffed it out, but when the villagers got up the nerve to unbar the door and look inside, they found no trace of either of their victims.  The house was a wreck, but there was no structural damage and there were no bodies to be found.  Only that stain of blood on the floor.  Needless to say, not many people had been willing to inhabit that house for long afterwards, but finally it became a residence again when the college was built next to it, and eventually the groundskeeper's cottage. No one else had complained of anything strange happening for a good many years, so the question that filled our minds was, why now?  Why was Edna being haunted when nobody else was, and why had the spirit revealed itself to us?"

Adam held his hands to the fire to warm them, deliberately drawing out the suspense, until his ever impatient youngest brother demanded, "Quit beatin' around the bush, Adam!  Tell us what happened!"

"The five of us sat down on the floor of the spare room, forming a rough pentagon around the spot where Edna told us the blood spot had been.  Penelope had dug up her grandmother's old journal and studied it, and that night she began to speak, just like this."  Adam closed his eyes and held his hands out palms up, lowering his voice into an eerie sing song cadence as he said, "Oh, spirit that dwells within this house, reveal yourself to us now.  Tell us what you want from us, so that we may help you find your way to the other side." 

Adam's eyes reopened slowly, but he stared straight ahead, his expression blank, and his brothers looked to each other worriedly.  Had he put himself under some kind of spell?  Suddenly, his hands swooped down and flung out towards them, making the small audience jump.  A gleam filled Adam's eyes.  "The candles we had lit in the room guttered, then went out completely as a strong cold wind filled the room. Then, they burst into life again, just as the temperature in the room fell.  In seconds it was so cold we could see our breath and the candles began burning higher and hotter than should have been possible.  I felt a terrible mingling of anger and despair, but it was somehow apart from me, as though I wasn't actually feeling it, but sensing it from somebody else.  I could see in the faces of my friends that they felt it too, and it was obvious that this was nothing new to Edna. 

Even though she was scared, Penelope tried her questions again.  She asked if the spirit was that of the woman who had died so many years before, the one condemned as a witch, and right before our eyes, the bloodstain appeared on the floor.  It spread out, forcing us to back away as it almost touched us.  One by one, we tried to reassure the spirit that the men who had killed her husband were long since dead and gone themselves, and that she had no reason to remain behind tormenting anyone. 

A terrible wail filled the air, and the sense of anger grew.  The furniture started to tremble and rattle around us and Jerry nearly went into a panic and fled right then and there, but I reached out and held him there.  'We have to finish this now!' I said, and Paul dug through his bag for the materials he'd brought along.  In our studies, Paul had found an incantation that was said to banish spirits.  We had laughed over it at the time, but he had decided to bring it along just in case, and now nobody was arguing.  We all joined hands while Paul read the words he had copied over and over again.  The rage in the air grew and grew, and the flames of the candles burned higher and hotter than should have been possible, until we all thought we were about to be killed.  Paul didn't give up, chanting louder and more forcefully.  Then Penelope began trying to wrench away from us and when we didn't let go, she began to curse, using words I'd never heard from a lady before.  Finally she screamed, and all the candles snuffed out again.

For several moments, nobody dared to breathe, much less move.  Then Edna began to cry and laugh at the same time.  We thought she was hysterical but she kept saying, 'It's gone.  Can't you feel it?  It's gone!', and pretty soon we realized what she meant.  The tension in the air and all those terrible emotions that had been hammering at us were gone.  I got up and lit a couple of lamps.  The stain on the floor was gone, and so, I believed, was the curse.  Paul and Jerry checked over Penelope.  She had fainted at the last moment, but when she came around she told us that she'd felt the presence leave and that she didn't think it would be back. 

Not wanting to leave her alone, we stayed with Edna until Johnny came home, and by unspoken agreement, none of us told him what had happened.  We just bid Edna good night and went on our way.  We never found out why the ghost had come to us, or why we had had the power to exorcise it, but we made a pact that night to never speak of that séance or the ghost again.  I never have, until this very night, nearly ten years later."

"Wow," Hoss whispered, after a significant pause.  "You can trust us, Adam.  We won't never tell a soul either, will we, Joe?"

Joe hesitated.  It would make an awfully juicy story to share with his friends, particularly if he beefed up the gory details a little to make it more exciting.  Still, it was kind of a thrill, and an honor to be part of a sacred pact with Adam.  "The secret's safe with me," he decided.

"I knew I could count on you," Adam said solemnly, then his lips trembled just the slightest little bit and his youngest brother was on him.

"You made it up!"  Joe shouted indignantly.  "All of it!  The fire, the ghost, even the story about the witch and her murdered husband, didn't you?"

Adam began to laugh, first a small chuckle, then in great hearty peals that soon had tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to breath between them.  "Of course I did!  You don't think I really believe in all that nonsense, do you?  We did actually have a fire, but a sparking fireplace, not a ghost, caused it.  You should have seen your faces!"  He broke off, caught in a spasm of silent laughter. 

The haunted mood of the night was broken.  The creepy listening trees, and whispers of ghosts in the night were nothing but ordinary flora disturbed by a few late-roaming animals again.  The wind was still cold and uncomfortable, but it no longer seemed caused by ghoulish fingers stroking their necks in search of warm blood.  Hoss was relieved to have normalcy restored, but Joe was sorely disappointed until he realized something.  "Hey!  This means I won, doesn't it?  I had the best scary story this year and I don't have to do my chores tomorrow!"

Adam grinned and leaned over to pull Joe's hat down over his eyes as he threw a bit more wood on the fire. "Yeah, I guess the prize is yours this year.  I was making mine up as I went along and it didn't fool you, so I guess Hoss and I can do your chores tomorrow."

"That's right," Hoss agreed easily.  "I'm afraid I'm gonna be thinking about that dadblamed tree of yours for nights to come, so you win, little brother.  Now, what do you say we quit flappin' our gums and get some sleep?  If I gotta do a double load of chores tomorrow, I'm gonna need my rest."

"Okay," Joe agreed, getting up to spread his bedroll next to Hoss', where he could snuggle into that large warm body if need be.  "Night, fellas."

A short time later, Hoss and Adam lay asleep, both snoring contentedly on either side of the fire, their night of ghostly revelry forgotten.  Little Joe, however, lay awake, listening to the night.  Somehow, the things that had seemed normal and silly again a half-hour ago while talking to his brothers seemed menacing and a little scary now that he was the only one awake to hear them.  Every crack of a twig or rustle of a leaf in the breeze had his closed eyes snapping open again and Joe began to wish he had not told such a gory tale, or heard the ones his brothers had shared.  Running Pine Ridge wasn't far from where they were camped. Suppose there really was a crazy medicine man's ghost up here watching and waiting for unsuspecting souls to come close enough to put a curse on?  Suppose talking about murdered ladies and haunted houses brought you to the attention of restless spirits!  Suppose they were watching him even now?  Joe shivered at the thought and hunched closer to Hoss' bulk. 

Finally, he dropped into a restless doze, only to wake suddenly and sit bolt upright as a decidedly real crunching sounded in the nearby trees.  "Fellas!"  he squeaked.  Neither of his brothers took any notice, happily slumbering on.  Eyes wide as saucers, Little Joe scanned the surrounding area and his pounding heart nearly stopped beating as he spotted a strange light through the trees.  It wove through the branches, bobbing in and out of sight and Joe could hardly breathe as he desperately shook his brothers.

"What'sa matter," Hoss muttered, grumpy at having been disturbed.  Adam grunted something similar and hitched himself up on one elbow, squinting at Joe in the dim firelight.

Pointing a trembling hand toward where he had seen the light, Joe gulped and said "There's something out there!"

Adam rolled his eyes and pulled his blankets more firmly around his body.  "Aw, it's too late for that, Joe.  We already said you won.  Just go to sleep."

"I'm not kidding!" he begged, shaking Adam again.  "Please fellas, I saw something moving in the trees."

Hoss studied his face carefully, trying to decide if Little Joe was having some sort of perverse fun at the expense of his brothers' rest, but the frightened expression on his face was real, and that was enough for Hoss.  "Okay, Joe.  You just sit tight and I'll go have a look around."

He started to get up, when Joe grabbed his arm to stop him.  "Don't go out there!  You don't know what it might be!"  He gasped as the bobbing light reappeared.  "There it is!"

Hoss reached over and shook Adam.  "Adam, he really did see somethin' out there!  Take a look!"

With a grumble, Adam reopened his eyes, a sharp comment on his lips.  He never uttered it, instead gaping with surprise upon realizing that he too, could see the mysterious light in the trees.  "What in the…?"  With a stealthy grace, Adam got up from his bedroll and reached into his belongings to get his rifle.  He crept around to stand protectively in front of his brothers, hearing Hoss retrieve and cock his own hand gun in preparation for whatever it was that was creeping closer to them.  "Who's out there!" he shouted, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach.  Adam Cartwright was a very practical, down to earth kind of man, but even he had not remained entirely unaffected by the night of haunted tales.  It had left just enough residue in his mind to make him feel a bit nervous about whatever they were about to face.

"There you three are!"  A familiar booming voice filled the night and all three of the young men sagged in relief, each feeling a bit foolish as they recognized their father.  He emerged from the trees, lantern alight.  "I thought I saw your campfire, but it's so dark out here that I had to be extra careful not to let Buck get tripped up going through those trees."

"What are you doing out here, Pa?"  Joe asked, secretly very glad to see his father, no matter what the reason.  "Is something wrong?"

Ben dismounted and smiled at his youngest son as he knelt down to warm his hands at the fire.  "Only that I got a little worried about you fellas.  It's too cold to be spending the night out here."

"Aw, Pa, you worry too much," Hoss scoffed, grinning at his father.  In truth, he was delighted to have an excuse to go home to his nice warm bed.

Ben shrugged.  "Maybe so, but you know our deal.  You can hold this ritual of yours as long as the weather isn't too bad.  Tonight is the coldest Halloween night we've had since I can remember and I think it'll get colder before morning.  I'm afraid I couldn't sleep for thinking of you three freezing to death out here while I was warm and comfortable at home."

"You won't get any argument from me, Pa," Adam said.  "We've had our fun and I, for one, have no objections to calling it a night.  How about you two?"

"No sir!"  Hoss agreed heartily.

Ben wrapped an arm around Little Joe.  "How about my little ghost-hunter?  You ready to go home?"

"Sure, Pa," Joe said, surprising everyone a bit.  "Hey, Pa, can I sleep late tomorrow morning?  I won't have any chores to do."

Ben chuckled.  "Oh really?  I take it you must've won the story contest this year."

"Yep," Joe told him proudly.  "Can I, Pa?"

Pulling him to his feet as he stood up, Ben began helping Joe gather up the bedrolls and supplies.  "I suppose you can.  In fact, I think I'll let all three of you sleep a little late in the morning."

"Hey, thanks, Pa," Hoss told him with a big grin.  Adam tipped his hat saucily and finished neatly rolling his gear.  The family saddled the three horses and put out the fire, mounting up and heading for home.  "Say, Pa.  Why don't you tell us one of them blood-curdling sea stories of yours.  Maybe this here contest ain't over yet."

"No fair!" Joe protested.  "I already won, and you ain't gonna back out of doing my chores."

Noticing that his youngest brother still looked a little cold, Adam rummaged behind his saddle, then rode up close to Joe and flung a blanket around his shoulders.  "Here, hold onto that until we get home.  Nobody is going to back out of anything, Little Joe.  I already told you, you won fair and square."

"That's right," Ben agreed, "but maybe I'll just tell you boys a story anyway."  As Ben's melodious voice filled the quiet night with tales of stormy seas and ghostly galleons, the Cartwright family rode for home, putting to rest another Halloween night.

 
~The End~

 
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