Miss Sallie wore an exquisite, pale blue gown, chatting with several guests in her father's home. Discussions of politics were banned, of course, and eventually the conversation turned to talk of the Fox sisters, Spiritualism, and ghosts.
There was a large cemetery near the mansion, only a few hundred feet away. Miss Lucy commented, "Miss Sallie, isn't there supposed to be a haunt attached to the old cemetery near here?"
Miss Sallie answered, "Only idle stories told to children."
"Don't you believe in spirits?" asked Miss Alice, "I've heard some frightful things about it." Miss Alice took the opportunity to lean close to the handsome Mr. Peter, as though needing his protection from some nearby invisible phantom.
"There are some reports about spirit activity near the tall tombstone that leans to one side," commented one of the other gentlemen.
Mr. Henry replied roguishly, "They say old man Payson doesn't rest easy under that stone. That's why the tombstone leans to one side. He's lonely up there. If you stand on his grave at night, he'll reach out of the ground and grab you."
Miss Alice clutched at Mr. Peter's arm with pretended fear.
Miss Lucy chattered, "My Cassie told me when I was little that if you go to a grave after dark, you can contact a powerful spirit there--" Miss Lucy giggled, "She also said that dirt from a grave could be used in a love spell but you have to collect it at midnight. Mama never did appreciate her telling me such stories."
Miss Sallie sighed, for the conversation bored her, "We've all heard stories, but have you--any of you--ever seen a ghost?"
Mr. Peter said quietly, "My manservant, Charles, saw a grey shape of a bearded man in coat and tie standing on the grave at dusk."
Miss Sallie had a reputation for arrogance and a strong-willed nature. She had been flirting with Mr. Peter all night and was annoyed by Miss Alice now clinging to him. Miss Sallie, looking directly at Mr. Peter, said scornfully, "Fiddle-dee-dee, there's no such thing as ghosts. Your manservant saw a grey shadow or else he made it all up. I've been there more than a dozen times. There's nothing extraordinary about this cursed spot." She leveled her gaze at Miss Alice, "Honestly, people will believe the most ludicrous things."
Miss Alice, who hadn't liked Miss Sallie vying for the attention of Mr. Peter, said, "If you're so sure of that, I dare you to go to that grave tonight!"
Miss Sallie raised her head. "I would go, and I would go alone," she retorted.
Mr. Henry interupted, "Oh, come, Miss Sallie, your father would not want you traipsing around in the dark, and besides even if you do go all the way to the grave alone, there'd be no proving it. Miss Alice would forever say you didn't, and you would forever say you did. And what would a gentleman say with two such lovely ladies arguing. Stay here. I'm sure such talk is all in jest."
"No," said Miss Sallie, "I'll go and I'll prove I was there." She lifted her head higher, "I'll take Father's cane. There's not another like it in all the county. I'll leave it right there on that haunted grave."
Everyone looked at her aghast. Indeed, the walking stick that belonged to Miss Sallie's father was unique. The handle was gold and had a horned bull head.
Miss Sallie called to one of the servants, "Bessie, fetch me my wrap and my father's cane."
Bessie whispered to her mistress, "Miss Sallie. Please don't go. It ain't safe. Your Daddy, he won't..."
"Oh, be quiet, you superstitious girl!" snapped Miss Sallie sharply.
She snatched her cloak and the cane from Bessie and walked out, back through the garden path, and over toward the old cemetery.
It had been easy to talk brave in the candlelit parlor, but outside in the damp night air, the moon played peekaboo, moving in and out from behind black clouds.
In truth, she was angry with Miss Alice and her feined terror, so Alice could have an excuse to cling to Mr. Peter. Miss Sallie was even more annoyed with Mr. Peter's attentions toward Miss Alice.
As Miss Sallie pushed open the iron gate, she was startled to hear a dog howl in the distance. In the graveyard, the shadows shifted and moved around the gravestones as the moon ducked in and out behind the clouds.
Miss Sallie gathered her skirts and stepped forward. The cemetery ground was uneven, soft, and wet. The soil shifted slightly under her feet as she walked through the grass.
Everything looked different in the dark. It smelled of damp leaves, mold, and dirt.
A breeze from the shadows chilled her. She bumped her left elbow in the dark on a tombstone. Her arm started to throb.
She thought about just quickly leaving the cane anywhere inside the cemetery and hastily leaving.
But, no, if she left the cane just anywhere, she would never hear the end of it. Ridicule was the one thing Miss Sallie could not abide.
She stumbled on a slightly raised tree root and turned along the row of headstones over toward the infamous leaning tombstone must be.
The moon again disappeared completely and Sallie stumbled again and steadied herself with the cane.
The wind picked up, sounding a bit like there was a low moan in the shadows. "It's the wind," she thought, "Just the wind!" as her heart pounded fearfully in her chest.
She almost turned and ran like mad then, but the clouds parted and the moonlight suddenly illuminated the tall, leaning tombstone. Her left arm hurt awfully, but it was only a few steps away.
Then, another cloud completely covered the moon's face. Sallie groped forward and found the leaning tombstone.
Vascillating between resolve and thundering fear, she thought stubbornly, "I'll make sure they see it standing here tommorow!"
She leaned over and felt to the edge of the leaning tombstone. Sallie prepared to thrust her father's cane into the muddy, soft ground directly in front of the marble slab.
Then, she was sure she heard it, and it wasn't the wind. It was a lonely moan from something that wasn't alive. She had defintely heard it in the darkness.
Her heart, thudding painfully in her chest, she jammed the cane deep into the ground and then turned to stumble away from the frightful place.
BUT, something caught her. She lost her balance. Something held her fast and wouldn't let her go. She clutched her throbbing left arm and tried to scream for help, but the sound strangled in her throat. Blindly, she tried to lurch away in the dark, but instead she banged her head on the edge of the tombstone and collapsed.
After some time, Miss Alice wondered aloud if someone should tell Miss Sallie's father that she was gone.
Miss Lucy replied, "He'll be furious that no one stopped her from going." Then she added, "It wouldn't really surprise me if she didn't really go. She has more sense than to wander around in the dark and get mud all over her dress. She's probably sitting in the old church and is trying to worry us. Just wait and see. We'll see her tomorrow morning and she'll laugh and say fiddle-dee-dee."
Yet, the next day the servant, Bessie, reported that Miss Sallie's bed had not been slept in. As she did not appear for breakfast at all, a group of friends and relatives, along with Mr. Peter, made haste to the cemetery.
The large, leaning tombstone was easy to spot in full daylight, as was the crumpled body of the young lady. The gold-handled cane stood on the grave above the body.
Not only was it clear that she had hit her head on the tombstone, the features of her face were contorted in absolute terror.
Mr. Peter noticed that she had pushed the cane not only into the soft, wet earth of the grave, she had also thrust the stick through her long, pale, blue skirt, effectively pinning her to the grave.
It was her own wild panic and fear that caused her death.
The old mansion with its lovely garden is long gone, but if you can find the old cemetery with the leaning tombstone, they say the grey shape of a man sometimes stands on that grave. They also say a young woman in a 19th century, pale blue, ballroom grown can be seen walking among the tombstones.
copyright 2012 Myth Woodling
Comments:
A more modern version of this story titled "The Girl Who Stood on a Grave" has been retold in Alvin Schwartz’s book, Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark (1981). Numerous versions of this story have been retold for many years in a number of scattered locations. Among folklorists it is known as tale type 1676B, "Clothing Caught in Graveyard." The protagonist believed that something terrifying held her/him tightly on a grave and therefore died of fright. This cautionary folktale related to the concept of respect of the dead. The protagonist always wandered out to a grave at night to win a frivolous bet or fulfill an idle dare. The story also asserted the folk belief that no one should ever stand on a grave after dark because the dead occupant might pull that person under. Another version is known as "The Knife in the Grave," and a number of items have been used as a token to prove the protagonist actually stood on the cursed grave at night. The token might be a knife, dinner fork, sword, or wooden stake. In Charleston Ghosts (1963), Margaret Rhett Martin recorded a version set in South Carolina involving a gentleman's walking stick.
In retelling the tale, I have tried to emphasize that this party was taking place during the heyday of Spiritualism, just prior to the Civil War. Discussion of politics would have been banned at such a social event where ladies were present. Talk of Spirtualism on the other hand would have been very fashionable in the mid to late 1850's.