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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Culture / Heritage / Lifestyles
- Published: 06/19/2021
Forgotten Past
Born 1960, M, from Orange Park, FL, United States.jpeg)
Prologue:
Within the long heritage of small New England coastal towns like the one I grew up in, lives a valued tradition of storytelling, especially ghost stories. As is true with all good ghost stories within each must reside some element of truth. While this story is classified as fiction, I leave it to the reader to separate what elements of it are true. Upon reading this your curiosity may even lead you to conduct some research of your own!
##############
The storm rose dark on the horizon of Bucksport, Maine (pronounced “Buckspoht” in local parlance). While no one in this small mill town would admit it, there was a certain mutual foreboding felt amongst all whom witnessed its arrival. Not one amongst them would welcome its coming, but certainly all would celebrate its departure. For they knew while it may appear to those “from away” to be a simple storm, it is what they believed came with it on this same day each year, which cast a shroud of fear over its long-time inhabitants.
As the townsfolk busily shuttered their homes and businesses, I sat as a somewhat skeptical onlooker peering at the distant storm from the window of the town’s only Inn. While I had visited many a New England town, I wish I could say this one seemed unique in the way residents were not just superstitious but even today lived their lives in obeyance of those long held beliefs. This town was perhaps unique in one way however, in that for them, their superstitions were not just codified in stories handed down from one generation to the next, but those working at the Inn, as I believe with all residents, made claim that it is part of the town’s official record. They even go so far as to say visible evidence exists even today. It is here I must pause as I surmise, I owe you the reader some explanation as to the basis of my skepticism and causation of these somewhat incoherent meanderings.
I, James Harrington, being a highly learned man and one who doth not dally amongst those who would of their own volition believe in such nonsense as the existence of witchcraft, sorcery, or apparitional manifestations of the dearly departed, found their claim of official records on this matter most preposterous! And thusly, I took it upon myself to thoroughly investigate, putting to rest once and for all the incongruous claims of these back wood folk. Oddly enough the evidence I sought was rather close at hand, for I was given two locations from which I had been assured would provide all necessary proof as to the veracity of their outlandish statements. One being the Chamber of Commerce located one hundred yards west of the Inn’s location, the other a graveyard located one hundred yards east of the Inn.
I began my investigation with a visit to the Chamber of Commerce. It is there I met with the town’s historian, one Esther Southworth. Esther was born and raised in Bucksport and seemed to love talking about it. Endlessly, I might add! Through her however, I would learn of this town’s dark yet, shall we say colorful history.
Thus, it is to you my dear reader, I offer the following information as context to our lurid story. Colonel Jonathan Buck, the founder of the Town of Bucksport Maine, died on March eighteenth seventeen ninety-five. It is important to note Maine was at that time a District of Massachusetts having not been granted statehood until some twenty-five years later. While the Salem Witch trials had ended one hundred years prior, settlers in this area were still predisposed to a belief in the dark arts and Colonel Jonathan Buck was no different. It would be his superstitious nature and proclivity for absolute order which would lead him to act as judge, jury, and executioner. This upon the event of a woman of childbearing age having been brought before him in trial for the crime of witchcraft. The Colonel, you see, served dually as Justice of the Peace.
It is at this point I found the “official” record did not support the townsfolk’s earlier assertions. While the record states this is part of the town’s folklore, it also asserts no written record exists of such a trial. Upon hearing this, Esther must have thought me mad, as a wide Cheshire grin came to my face upon realizing I was already well on my way to disproving, most candidly, the claims of these Neanderthals!
It is said the woman being tried was pregnant with Colonel Bucks illegitimate child and the Colonel simply seized an opportunity to rid himself of the inconvenience. While this too is not part of the official record, I must admit, as we all know, history is determined by those who write it.
This is where the story gets interesting, albeit unclear! The woman was found guilty, and either burned at the stake or hung. The more popular telling leans toward the burning, if for no other reason than embellishment, for I can think of no more inhumane manner of putting one to death, and this is after all a “Ghost Story”!
For continuity, it is also important to mention upon hearing her sentence but prior to it being carried out, the woman issued a curse upon the Colonel. She exclaimed if I am a witch, “Your Tomb shall bear the mark of a witch’s foot for all eternity!”. Supposed eyewitnesses to the burning claim the woman’s stocking clad lower leg and foot rolled from the bonfire, ultimately coming to rest at the Colonel’s feet.
To most students of the macabre, this would be a fitting end to our story, it is however far from it. Sixty years after the Colonels death, a tomb was finally erected upon his gravesite. A short time later the outline of a stocking clad foot developed on the stone. Though reportedly replaced several times, the image would again appear upon each replacement.
According to Esther, there is no record of the stone being replaced. Additionally, many a stone mason will tell you it is not uncommon for the iron which often exists in granite to form odd shapes upon the polished stone once exposed to weather. Yet more fodder in support of my argument!
As I was preparing to leave, I thanked Esther for her assistance in dispelling these most egregious claims from the locals and mentioned I would now walk to the other side of the Inn to make observations of the tomb in question. “You can’t! Not now!” screamed Esther. “Why on earth not?” I replied. “This is the anniversary of the witch’s death, and the storm is already here. It is said she returns each year to claim vengeance upon the bloodline of Colonel Buck. You can’t go near that stone!” she exclaimed. “Poppycock!” I answered. She then asked; “Will you at least let me go with you? I feel responsible, having been the person who told you of this!” “If you must!” I replied.
Leaving the Chamber, I was immediately conscious of the darkness that had set upon the town and the presence of a howling wind which produced sounds likening those of an injured animal. Though not yet raining, thunder would intermittently break the silence around us, immediately followed by lightning, which briefly illuminated the shadows so prevalent amongst the closely knit colonial style buildings. As we walked, Esther, pleaded with me to return to the Chamber of Commerce, but I would have none of it.
Upon arriving at the graveyard, I placed my right foot and hand on the iron clad fence separating the tomb from Esther and me and shook it. I could not get a clear look at exactly what was on the stone and it was my intention to get closer. As I continually tested the fence, Esther persisted with her pleadings which I promptly ignored until I heard her say something which immediately captured my attention. Not due to what she said but the fact that she was now crying as she said it. “There is one more thing you must know!” she yelled. “Jonathan Buck’s wife was pregnant with a son when her husband died. She decided she would leave Bucksport and move back to where her family originated.” “So, why should that be of any consequence to me?” I asked. “When they left, because of the stigma of the curse they went by her maiden name. It was Harrington!”
My head snapped to the side to get a clearer look at Esther, if for no other reason than to evaluate the veracity of her statement. It was then the lightning struck the fence, simultaneously and forcefully throwing my body away from it. Though stunned and no doubt in shock, I heard upon the wind the cackling laughter of a woman and as the lightening again lit the area before me, I observed the smoldering remains of my lower leg and right foot wedged in the wrought iron fence.
Forgotten Past(Steven W Kimball)
Prologue:
Within the long heritage of small New England coastal towns like the one I grew up in, lives a valued tradition of storytelling, especially ghost stories. As is true with all good ghost stories within each must reside some element of truth. While this story is classified as fiction, I leave it to the reader to separate what elements of it are true. Upon reading this your curiosity may even lead you to conduct some research of your own!
##############
The storm rose dark on the horizon of Bucksport, Maine (pronounced “Buckspoht” in local parlance). While no one in this small mill town would admit it, there was a certain mutual foreboding felt amongst all whom witnessed its arrival. Not one amongst them would welcome its coming, but certainly all would celebrate its departure. For they knew while it may appear to those “from away” to be a simple storm, it is what they believed came with it on this same day each year, which cast a shroud of fear over its long-time inhabitants.
As the townsfolk busily shuttered their homes and businesses, I sat as a somewhat skeptical onlooker peering at the distant storm from the window of the town’s only Inn. While I had visited many a New England town, I wish I could say this one seemed unique in the way residents were not just superstitious but even today lived their lives in obeyance of those long held beliefs. This town was perhaps unique in one way however, in that for them, their superstitions were not just codified in stories handed down from one generation to the next, but those working at the Inn, as I believe with all residents, made claim that it is part of the town’s official record. They even go so far as to say visible evidence exists even today. It is here I must pause as I surmise, I owe you the reader some explanation as to the basis of my skepticism and causation of these somewhat incoherent meanderings.
I, James Harrington, being a highly learned man and one who doth not dally amongst those who would of their own volition believe in such nonsense as the existence of witchcraft, sorcery, or apparitional manifestations of the dearly departed, found their claim of official records on this matter most preposterous! And thusly, I took it upon myself to thoroughly investigate, putting to rest once and for all the incongruous claims of these back wood folk. Oddly enough the evidence I sought was rather close at hand, for I was given two locations from which I had been assured would provide all necessary proof as to the veracity of their outlandish statements. One being the Chamber of Commerce located one hundred yards west of the Inn’s location, the other a graveyard located one hundred yards east of the Inn.
I began my investigation with a visit to the Chamber of Commerce. It is there I met with the town’s historian, one Esther Southworth. Esther was born and raised in Bucksport and seemed to love talking about it. Endlessly, I might add! Through her however, I would learn of this town’s dark yet, shall we say colorful history.
Thus, it is to you my dear reader, I offer the following information as context to our lurid story. Colonel Jonathan Buck, the founder of the Town of Bucksport Maine, died on March eighteenth seventeen ninety-five. It is important to note Maine was at that time a District of Massachusetts having not been granted statehood until some twenty-five years later. While the Salem Witch trials had ended one hundred years prior, settlers in this area were still predisposed to a belief in the dark arts and Colonel Jonathan Buck was no different. It would be his superstitious nature and proclivity for absolute order which would lead him to act as judge, jury, and executioner. This upon the event of a woman of childbearing age having been brought before him in trial for the crime of witchcraft. The Colonel, you see, served dually as Justice of the Peace.
It is at this point I found the “official” record did not support the townsfolk’s earlier assertions. While the record states this is part of the town’s folklore, it also asserts no written record exists of such a trial. Upon hearing this, Esther must have thought me mad, as a wide Cheshire grin came to my face upon realizing I was already well on my way to disproving, most candidly, the claims of these Neanderthals!
It is said the woman being tried was pregnant with Colonel Bucks illegitimate child and the Colonel simply seized an opportunity to rid himself of the inconvenience. While this too is not part of the official record, I must admit, as we all know, history is determined by those who write it.
This is where the story gets interesting, albeit unclear! The woman was found guilty, and either burned at the stake or hung. The more popular telling leans toward the burning, if for no other reason than embellishment, for I can think of no more inhumane manner of putting one to death, and this is after all a “Ghost Story”!
For continuity, it is also important to mention upon hearing her sentence but prior to it being carried out, the woman issued a curse upon the Colonel. She exclaimed if I am a witch, “Your Tomb shall bear the mark of a witch’s foot for all eternity!”. Supposed eyewitnesses to the burning claim the woman’s stocking clad lower leg and foot rolled from the bonfire, ultimately coming to rest at the Colonel’s feet.
To most students of the macabre, this would be a fitting end to our story, it is however far from it. Sixty years after the Colonels death, a tomb was finally erected upon his gravesite. A short time later the outline of a stocking clad foot developed on the stone. Though reportedly replaced several times, the image would again appear upon each replacement.
According to Esther, there is no record of the stone being replaced. Additionally, many a stone mason will tell you it is not uncommon for the iron which often exists in granite to form odd shapes upon the polished stone once exposed to weather. Yet more fodder in support of my argument!
As I was preparing to leave, I thanked Esther for her assistance in dispelling these most egregious claims from the locals and mentioned I would now walk to the other side of the Inn to make observations of the tomb in question. “You can’t! Not now!” screamed Esther. “Why on earth not?” I replied. “This is the anniversary of the witch’s death, and the storm is already here. It is said she returns each year to claim vengeance upon the bloodline of Colonel Buck. You can’t go near that stone!” she exclaimed. “Poppycock!” I answered. She then asked; “Will you at least let me go with you? I feel responsible, having been the person who told you of this!” “If you must!” I replied.
Leaving the Chamber, I was immediately conscious of the darkness that had set upon the town and the presence of a howling wind which produced sounds likening those of an injured animal. Though not yet raining, thunder would intermittently break the silence around us, immediately followed by lightning, which briefly illuminated the shadows so prevalent amongst the closely knit colonial style buildings. As we walked, Esther, pleaded with me to return to the Chamber of Commerce, but I would have none of it.
Upon arriving at the graveyard, I placed my right foot and hand on the iron clad fence separating the tomb from Esther and me and shook it. I could not get a clear look at exactly what was on the stone and it was my intention to get closer. As I continually tested the fence, Esther persisted with her pleadings which I promptly ignored until I heard her say something which immediately captured my attention. Not due to what she said but the fact that she was now crying as she said it. “There is one more thing you must know!” she yelled. “Jonathan Buck’s wife was pregnant with a son when her husband died. She decided she would leave Bucksport and move back to where her family originated.” “So, why should that be of any consequence to me?” I asked. “When they left, because of the stigma of the curse they went by her maiden name. It was Harrington!”
My head snapped to the side to get a clearer look at Esther, if for no other reason than to evaluate the veracity of her statement. It was then the lightning struck the fence, simultaneously and forcefully throwing my body away from it. Though stunned and no doubt in shock, I heard upon the wind the cackling laughter of a woman and as the lightening again lit the area before me, I observed the smoldering remains of my lower leg and right foot wedged in the wrought iron fence.
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