Haunted Holidays
Haunted Holidays
Twelve Months of
Kentucky Ghosts
Roberta Simpson Brown
and Lonnie E. Brown
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Copyright © 2015 by The University Press of Kentucky
Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth, serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University, The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College, Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University, Morehead State University, Murray State University, Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University, University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, and Western Kentucky University.
All rights reserved.
Editorial and Sales Offices: The University Press of Kentucky
663 South Limestone Street, Lexington, Kentucky 40508-4008
www.kentuckypress.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brown, Roberta Simpson, 1939-
Haunted holidays : twelve months of Kentucky ghosts / Roberta Simpson Brown and Lonnie E. Brown.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-8131-6555-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-8131-6570-7 (pdf) — ISBN 978-0-8131-6569-1 (epub) 1. Ghosts—Kentucky. 2. Haunted places—Kentucky. 3. Holidays—Miscellanea. I. Title.
BF1472.U6B765 2015
133.109769--dc23
2015011471
This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
Member of the Association of
American University Presses
To Dwayne VanderEspt and Jerry Anderson
Contents
Introduction
Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Valentine’s Day
St. Patrick’s Day
Easter
Mother’s Day
Memorial Day
Father’s Day
Independence Day
Labor Day
Columbus Day
Halloween
Veterans Day
Thanksgiving Day
Pearl Harbor Day
Hanukkah
Christmas
New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day
Conclusion
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Introduction
This collection of stories was inspired by the strangest request for a story that we have ever had. It came from the ghost of a young boy! We were amazed at the way it happened.
At the start of Memorial Day weekend on May 24, 2013, we joined our friend Sharon Brown on a tour of Wickland, a haunted historic mansion in Bardstown, Kentucky. The historic aspect of the mansion alone would be of sufficient interest to draw people to take a tour; however, the presence of ghostly spirits in the mansion adds its own magic.
Built between 1825 and 1828, Wickland was the home of three governors.
Its first owner was Charles Anderson Wickliffe, who was governor from 1839 to 1840, having assumed office when Governor James Clark died in office in 1839. Charles Wickliffe’s son, Robert C. Wickliffe, served as governor from 1856 to 1860. Later, after Governor William Goebel’s assassination in 1900, Charles Wickliffe’s grandson, John Crepps Wickliffe Beckham, became governor and, after a special election, served until 1907. All three governors from the Wickliffe family made Wickland their home at some point during their lives.
After a succession of owners after 1919, the Nelson County Fiscal Court purchased Wickland in 2003. In 2004 the nonprofit organization Friends of Wickland opened the house for tours and activities.
There were more than twenty people on the tour we took on May 24, 2013. We knew none of them except our friend Sharon Brown, and none of them knew us. The tour was conducted by the manager of Wickland, Dixie Hibbs, and a medium. (You may call Dixie at 502-507-0808 for more information about the house or reservations for a tour.) The medium used dowsing rods to help us communicate with the Wickland spirits. There are a number of spirits in the house, and no one can predict which ones will show up.
According to Dixie, the strongest spirit in Wickland is Waleta, a large black woman who did the cooking at the house. Waleta shares colorful details of life at Wickland and answers questions from those on the tour. The day we visited, we encountered her spirit through the medium in the kitchen. At least on that day, Waleta seemed especially concerned with the weather. Although we found her comments interesting and entertaining, she said nothing that we could check on as being true.
We ended the tour in the basement of the house, where a young slave boy was said to appear at times. Sure enough, on this night, he was there. All of us sat in a circle, and the medium stood behind the chair of each of us, one at a time. She would hand the dowsing rods to the individual she was standing behind and let the little boy give each person a message. Since there were over twenty of us, the process took quite a while. The medium finally stood behind our friend Sharon, who passed the rods on to Lonnie without waiting for a message. All three of us had already had experience using dowsing rods, and Sharon wanted to allow more time for the others in the large circle. Lonnie turned to Roberta, and, as he held out the rods and Roberta reached for them, the young boy’s voice spoke clearly through the medium.
“Tell me a story!” he said.
Sharon and the two of us gasped and then started laughing at the same time. The others in the room looked puzzled and asked what was going on.
We said to the group, “We’re professional storytellers!”
Nobody except Sharon knew that, so there was no way the medium could have faked the spirit’s request! We wished that we could have told him a story then and there, but the session had to continue. It was so inspiring to have contact with a spirit at Memorial Day, a time when we remember the dead and celebrate their lives.
The spirit’s request stayed in our minds. We remember the times we sat with relatives and friends and told stories, especially during the Christmas holidays. (As you may know, Christmas used to be the traditional time for telling ghost stories, not Halloween.) We know some of the stories are true because we experienced them firsthand. Some we believe because we heard them from family and friends.
If we have left out a holiday in this collection, it is because we do not yet have a story related to it; however, we are always looking for new stories.
So, Young Ghost Boy of Wickland, as well as all the story lovers who have gone before and all on this side who appreciate a spooky tale, these stories are for you!
Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr., clergyman and nonviolent activist for the civil rights movement, was born on January 15, 1929, in Atlanta, Georgia. He died by an assassin’s bullet in Memphis, Tennessee, on April 4, 1968.
We celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day on the third Monday in January. Although originally intended to commemorate King’s birthday, the holiday, like other holidays set under the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, always falls on a Monday. It was officially observed in all fifty states for the first time in the year 2000.
Dr. King was a leader of the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s and led marches and demonstrations for social justice. He was a complex person and, like everyone, had his flaws, but is a hero to those seeking freedom in a nonviolent way.
Little Martin
A nu
rse friend of ours told us this story. She asked that we not use her full name or the name of the Kentucky hospital where she worked because the hospital did not like nurses telling stories about their patients.
Lula worked in a ward for the terminally ill. One patient captured her heart the minute he was brought in.
Martin was ten years old and was dying of cancer. He had undergone surgery, chemo treatments, and radiation, but the cancer had spread through his small body anyway. Now he was simply waiting to die.
There was no denial about his condition. His parents had talked to him and tried to answer his questions about death the best they could. Martin had accepted his coming death.
Lula learned the name of the little boy’s hero right away, because he carried a book about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
“I am named after him, you know,” Martin told Lula. “I am glad Momma liked him, so she would name me Martin. Don’t you think that’s a good name?”
“I do, indeed,” Lula told him.
As the days passed, Martin fought to live with courage. The medication eased the pain somewhat, but Martin asked to have only what he needed. He wanted to be awake to read and talk to people.
“I wish I could have met Dr. King,” said Martin. “Do you think I’ll meet him on the other side after I die?”
“Maybe so,” Lula told him. “I am sure he would have liked to meet you.”
Martin read from his book every day, and each day he looked weaker than the day before. He still managed a smile when Lula or his parents came into the room. He never complained about the terrible disease that had imprisoned him.
One night Lula came on duty to find that Martin was very restless. She had to spend quite a bit of time with him that night until he finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of morning. About three hours before her shift ended, she went in to check on him and found him calm and wide awake.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Martin.
“I had the best dream ever!” he told her. “I dreamed Dr. King came to visit me!”
“That is a great dream,” Lula said. “Did he say anything?”
“He said he’ll be with me the rest of tonight and that he’ll see me when I wake up in the morning,” said Martin.
“That’s nice,” said Lula, tucking him in. “Now try to get some rest.”
“He said tomorrow will be a special day,” said Martin, closing his eyes and drifting off.
Lula finished her rounds and was heading to the desk to check out when she noticed a flurry of activity in Martin’s room. She hurried in as another nurse pulled the sheet over Martin’s face. She was crying, and Lula started to cry, too.
“He went so peacefully,” the nurse said. “And look what I found under his covers.”
She held up a picture of Dr. King.
“I never saw this before,” she said. “Did you?”
“No,” said Lula. “I only saw his book.”
Had Martin been dreaming or had it been real? she wondered.
She looked at the calendar on the wall by Martin’s bed. The day was January 15. It was the day Dr. King had been born and the day little Martin had died. Had the two finally met?
Lula punched out and left for home. The sweet smile on little Martin’s face stayed with her for a long time. He’d had a dream like Dr. King, and now they both were “free at last.”
Valentine’s Day
Valentine’s Day (also known as St. Valentine’s Day or the Feast of St. Valentine) is celebrated February 14, a date fixed by the Catholic Church.
It is said that St. Valentine of Rome sent the first valentine. He was imprisoned for performing weddings for soldiers who were forbidden to marry and for ministering to Christians. Legend states that, while imprisoned, he healed his jailer’s daughter. It is also said that, before his execution, he wrote her a farewell letter and signed it “Your Valentine.”
This holiday began as a liturgical celebration of early Christian saints named Valentine. It was first associated with romantic love by Geoffrey Chaucer in the High Middle Ages, when courtly love flourished.
In the eighteenth century in England, Valentine’s Day evolved into a day when lovers sent greeting cards, candy, and flowers to express their love for each other.
Since the nineteenth century, store-bought cards have replaced handwritten valentines.
Valentine symbols today include heart shapes, doves, and Cupid figures.
This day reminds us that love is stronger than death, and ghosts can return to pay us a visit.
The Phantom Bells
According to the stories passed on from Roberta’s grandmother, Fanny Dean, to Roberta’s mother, Lillian Dean Simpson, phantom bells offer guidance for passing between life and death. Grandma Fanny passed on one story concerning phantom bells.
When she was a little girl, Lillian had one question that bothered her, so she asked her mother about it.
“Mom, with so many dead people on the other side, how will we find the ones we love when we die?” she asked.
“I have heard that phantom bells will guide us,” said Grandma Fanny.
“I don’t hear any bells when people die,” said little Lillian. “The church bell doesn’t ring because somebody stole the clapper.”
“Phantom bells are not church bells,” said Grandma Fanny. “Only the dead can hear them.”
Lillian dropped the subject. She didn’t want to think about dead people hearing bells.
She wanted to think only of the living. Lillian’s neighbor, Bradley, and his girlfriend, Bernice, were going to be married on Valentine’s Day, and the whole neighborhood was invited. Social events out in the country were important to people who didn’t have too many things to celebrate publicly.
Lillian hoped that whoever took the clapper would return it by the wedding. It wasn’t a very funny prank, she thought.
A week before Valentine’s Day, Bradley was coming home with a wagon filled with supplies for his farm. Nobody was with him, so nobody knew what really happened as he headed home. Something must have spooked his horse and overturned the wagon. Bradley’s neck was broken, and he died.
Bernice was shattered by the news. Her wedding day would now be spent at Bradley’s funeral. She cried and cried. No one could console her.
Valentine’s Day arrived. Everyone in the community gathered at the little church to say good-bye to Bradley. The crowd was large, for Bradley had been well liked. It was a cloudy winter day. The corner of the graveyard where Bradley was being laid to rest was gloomy.
The preacher read from the Bible and preached his sermon of everlasting life. As they sang “When They Ring Those Golden Bells for You and Me,” the mourners filed by for a last look and proceeded to the graveside to wait for all the others to join them.
Bradley’s coffin was lowered into the grave; all bowed their heads in silent prayer. Suddenly Bernice ran forward, sobbing, and threw herself down on the coffin. Those who rushed to help her out stepped back in amazement. The preacher checked her pulse.
“She’s dead,” the preacher announced to those gathered.
As they stood in stunned silence, the sun burst through the clouds as if the whole sky had lit up!
At that moment, Lillian happened to look up at the bell tower of the church. It was swinging wildly in silent celebration. Lillian knew Bradley and Bernice had found each other on the other side.
Love Never Dies
When we lived near the Smith Woods in Adair County, we heard spooky stories from our neighbors all year round. An especially haunting story is set at Valentine’s Day.
Though we associate Valentine’s Day with love and gifts and happiness, the holiday can be a sad time for those who are alone or who have lost loved ones. We learned that there were star-crossed lovers even in the Smith Woods. Lonnie’s mother, Lena, heard this story and passed it on to him.
Two families lived on opposite sides of the woods. They had been at odds with each other for years over a boundary li
ne, and the dispute eventually grew into a full-fledged feud. Though it never reached the magnitude of the Hatfields and the McCoys’ feud, it was just as deadly. Quite some time had passed since the last outbreak between the families, and in that time, the young girl in one family and the young man in the other fell in love, just like Romeo and Juliet.
And just like the two doomed lovers that Shakespeare wrote about, these two young people met with strong opposition from their families. The young lovers chose to ignore the protests. So the feud heated up again. Each family was determined to keep the two apart.
The young couple sneaked out and met in the woods. They decided that they would elope on Valentine’s Day. It was the most romantic thing they could think of. They thought that surely their families would accept their marriage once it was legally done.
They decided that the girl should pack her bag and have it ready. Then, on February 14, at midnight, when all were asleep except them, they would put their plan into action.
The young man would come on horseback through the woods and pick up his beloved. Then they would ride into town to be married.
That night, the girl was ready. All were asleep, or so she thought. She listened by the window and she heard the rider and horse approaching through the woods. She didn’t know that her father heard the rider, too.
When the girl slipped to the door to go out to meet her loved one, her father came quietly behind her with his gun.
“Get back to your room right now!” he ordered.
He opened the door and stepped outside with the gun.
“No, Daddy! No!” she screamed.
Her father yelled into the darkness. “Get back and get on home if you want to live,” he called. “I know what you’re up to.”
“No!” the young man yelled back. “I love your daughter and I’m going to marry her!”
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