Haunted Holidays

by Roberta Simpson Brown

  One of our neighbors, Ray, who had volunteered for the army, was stationed in Pearl Harbor. Fatima wrote to him every week. Ray was very happy that he might soon get shipped back to the States.

  December was approaching, and Ray’s family was very excited, hoping that he might be home for the holidays.

  Every night, most families in our community gathered around their battery radios to hear news of the war that was being fought in Europe. My family did the same.

  December came, and Fatima and I started the Christmas countdown.

  “I bet if Ray gets home for Christmas, his mom and dad will give him a party!” said Fatima. “I know we’ll get to go!”

  I knew she was right. When a soldier came home from wherever he was stationed, even if it was only for a furlough, the whole neighborhood rejoiced and wanted to see him.

  Fatima and I went to bed early the night of December 6. The next morning, Fatima got up and was overjoyed.

  “Ray’s home!” she told us. “I woke up and looked out the window last night. I saw him walking down the road on his way home!”

  “He must be tired if he got in late,” said my mom. “He’ll probably sleep late and come over to say hello after he’s had a good breakfast.”

  Then Dad turned the radio on. The news was tragic—unbelievable! We, along with the rest of the world, were shocked to hear about the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese.

  “Looks like Ray got out just in time,” my dad commented.

  The day went on, but Ray did not come to see us. Finally, Mom walked over to see Ray’s family and ask about Ray. She came home to tell us that Ray had not come home at all.

  “But I saw him,” Fatima insisted. “I would know Ray anywhere.”

  We didn’t know what to think. We thought Fatima must have been dreaming, although she was sure she wasn’t.

  Finally, the waiting ended. Ray’s father came to tell us the news. The family had received a telegram saying that Ray was among the casualties at Pearl Harbor.

  What had Fatima seen? Was it a neighbor that she thought was Ray? She was sure it wasn’t. It was her belief that Ray’s ghost had come back to walk down the road home one last time.

  Hanukkah

  There were no Jewish residents in Roberta’s neighborhood when she was growing up. She learned about the Jews from her Bible studies in Sunday school. Even though she did not understand their rich traditions, she was always eager to learn about people with different beliefs than her own.

  Hanukkah is a Jewish holiday celebrated for eight days and nights sometime between late November and late December on the secular calendar. In Hebrew, the word “Hanukkah” means “dedication.” This holiday commemorates the rededication of the holy Temple in Jerusalem following the Jewish victory over the Syrian-Greeks. By the time the Jews returned to the temple, it had been spiritually defiled by the worship of foreign gods and the sacrificing of swine.

  The victorious Jews were determined to purify the Temple of Jerusalem by burning ritual oil in the temple’s menorah (candelabrum) for eight days. They were dismayed to find they had only enough oil for one day. They lit the menorah anyway, and the small amount of oil lasted for the full eight days! This is the miracle celebrated every year when Jews light the candles of the menorah at Hanukkah.

  Go to the Light

  Roberta especially liked one story told to her by her Grandmother Simpson. She had heard it from her sister, Barbara Jane, who learned the story while visiting relatives in south central Kentucky.

  The story goes this way.

  A Jewish lady, one of the few Jewish people who lived in that neighborhood, said that the reason for the Hanukkah lights was not to illuminate the inside of the house, but rather to have the lights show outside, so that anyone going by the house could see the light and be reminded of the miracle of the holiday.

  That was an important concept in this story.

  In 1939, a Jewish man left Poland with his eldest daughter and her husband. They could speak a little English, so they planned to find work in the United States and earn enough to bring over the old man’s wife and son.

  They arrived in New York on August 23. One week later, Poland fell to the Germans, and the man’s wife, son, and everybody else they left behind were lost to them forever.

  America had been a land of promise, but the old man and his daughter and son-in-law were unable to get work in New York. The family moved to Kentucky and managed to claim a small farm. They worked hard and eked out a living. Every year, they celebrated Hanukkah proudly because they did not have to do so in secret in their new country.

  As the years passed, the old man became ill and frail. He spent most of the time in his bedroom on the second floor in the front of the house. His daughter moved the menorah to her father’s room, so he could light the candles in the window. He firmly believed in the miracle of the light.

  The light was shown for those passing by through all those years.

  At last the old man died, and his daughter and son-in-law sold the farm and moved away. The new owner did not want to live in the old house, so he tore it down and built a one-story house in the same location.

  Life went on, and eventually people forgot about the old man who lit the Hanukkah candles every year.

  One year, winter came early, and it was a hard one. The new owner was coming home from town one night when a regular snowstorm turned into a blizzard.

  He wasn’t too far from home, but the visibility was only about two feet, so he knew he could wander in circles and freeze to death. He did not know it was Hanukkah, but he stopped, closed his eyes, and prayed for a miracle.

  When he opened his eyes, the snow had lessened. He could see lights flickering through the snow, and he walked toward them. They led him to his own home. Something just kept telling him in his mind to go to the light.

  “It was strange,” he said later. “The lights were just above my house, like there was a second floor. They kept shining until I was safely inside, just like the miracle I needed. It was like they burned just long enough to fill my need and then they were gone.”

  Had he seen through a time warp into the past when the old man lit the candles in his second-floor room to spread the light on Hanukkah?

  Christmas

  Christmas Day is a Christian holiday marking the birth of Jesus Christ. It is celebrated on December 25. In 1893 all the states of the United States declared Christmas a federal holiday, and it has been our biggest holiday ever since.

  At Christmastime, most homes and businesses are decorated with sparkling lights, Christmas trees, and symbols of legends such as snowmen, Santa Claus, reindeer, candy canes, holly, mistletoe, and religious nativity scenes.

  People sing carols, read, attend concerts and plays, go for sleigh rides, and eat treats of candy, cakes, and pies. Many children hang stockings for Santa to fill on Christmas Eve, when he is said to come down the chimney.

  One of the most popular activities is to carry on the tradition of telling ghost stories. These are some we would love to share with you.

  Jingle Bells

  Roberta tells this story of one Christmas, when she was seven years old.

  According to custom, our neighbors came to visit on Christmas night to stay until bedtime and tell stories. I can’t remember all the stories told that night, but I remember the one our neighbor Mrs. Anna told. She and her family lived on the farm that joined Grandmother Simpson’s place.

  “The snow from Christmas Eve still lay on the ground, settled in to stay with no intention of melting,” she began.

  “It’s laying on for another one,” my mother said as always.

  We all nodded in agreement. Most of the neighbors had heard her say that, and usually she was right.

  “I wasn’t thinking about the snow,” continued Mrs. Anna. “I was holding tightly to my new doll that Santa had brought me and I was listening to the stories.

  “I once lived by a neighbor who had mental problems,” sa
id Mrs. Anna. “The girl, Mindy, was kept at home because there were no facilities for the mentally impaired in those days. Some people locked the mentally disturbed persons in the attic or chained them in the basement. Lots of horror stories came from those conditions.

  “Mindy’s disposition was not dangerous, so her family let her roam freely inside the house. They kept the doors locked, but she became very skilled at getting out anyway, through an open window or a door the family had unintentionally left open. When Mindy got out, she would roam the neighborhood.

  “Nobody was afraid of her, but when she showed up at neighbors’ houses, they knew her family would miss her and be worried, so, unless a storm was coming, they would send her on her way.

  “‘Go on home now, Mindy,’ they would tell her. ‘Your mom will be looking for you.’

  “I always liked Mindy, though, so I would often ask her to stay and play for a while. Mindy liked it when we made mud pies and pretended to cook them.

  “Some people were amazed at how Mindy could always find her way home. It was odd since she was limited in other things. Of course, she took her own time about going. She liked to be outside in all kinds of weather.

  “Her mother sometimes wanted her home immediately and would go out looking for her. It was hard to find her until her mom got the idea of making her daughter a jingle-bell necklace. Mindy wore it every day, all year round. When her mom wanted to find her in a hurry, she would go outside and listen for the jingle bells.

  “One day in winter, the weather turned foul, giving the countryside an eerie look. The snow covered the hills and the fields and the farmhouses like white sheets covering the dead. Mindy’s mom told Mindy not to go out that day and locked the doors to make sure Mindy stayed inside. Then she began to prepare supper while Mindy played in her bedroom.

  “Mindy’s mother decided she would make a peach cobbler for supper, so she dashed out to the cellar to get a jar of the peaches she had canned. Back inside, she put the jar down and closed the door, but she forgot to lock it. While she was cooking and humming to herself, Mindy moved silently by her and disappeared like a ghost into the snow.

  “Mindy saw a bunny hopping in the snow, so she followed it down the slope into the pasture. The slope was slick, and Mindy slipped and rolled down the slope to the field. Her jingle-bell necklace broke and fell off her neck.

  “Mindy tried to get up, but her ankle hurt. She could only lie there wondering where the rabbit had gone.

  “Mindy was tired, and she felt very sleepy. Slowly, her eyes closed and she fell forward on the ground fast asleep.

  “When her mother missed her, she began to look for her. The jingle-bell necklace was silent, and Mindy’s tracks were almost covered. Mindy’s mother had to proceed slowly through the snow, but she managed to follow the tracks to the place where Mindy lay.

  “Struggling, she carried Mindy home and tried to revive her. It was too late, though. Mindy had gone to sleep for the last time.

  “After her death, people missed her, but after a while they said that on snowy nights they could hear jingle bells out in the snow. Some swore they met the ghost of Mindy on her way home on cold winter nights.

  “I never really believed people who said that, but I found out one Christmas night that it was true.

  “The threat of snow was in the air. We were all at home enjoying our Christmas Day, when my little brother Jimmy said he didn’t feel too well. He didn’t eat anything at supper. Even his favorite Christmas goodies didn’t tempt him. He felt hot to touch.

  “Mom put him to bed and went to her herb cabinet to get some herbs to brew into a tea to break the fever. ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘I’ve used up all my herbs. Anna, you’ll have to run over to Miss Harmon’s house to get some.’

  “I loved my little brother and I wanted to help him, but it was almost dark, and Miss Harmon’s house was on the other side of the woods. I knew I had no choice, though. Mom had said go, so I had to do it. It was a common practice to send children out day or night to get something that was needed from the country store or a neighbor.

  “I put on my boots, coat, scarf, and mittens and started on my way.

  “The sky was looking heavy and foreboding as I headed down the road. The first large flakes fell before I reached the woods. It was easy to follow the path, though, because the trees were blocking out part of the snow.

  “I was happy to see the light in Miss Harmon’s window. She had hot chocolate made, and she insisted that I drink a cup while she packaged the herbs my mother would need. She offered to go home with me, but I told her I would be all right.

  “The truth was that I wasn’t all right. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I crossed her yard and entered the woods. It was dark now. The trees had been unable to hold back the snow for long, so the path was covered. I should have gone back to Miss Harmon and asked for help, but all I could think about was getting home and getting the herbs for Mom to fix Jimmy’s tea. I trudged ahead, not really knowing where I was going.

  “Everything looked strange after a while. I began to feel tired and thought I would sit down and rest for a minute on a snow-covered log. I brushed off the snow and sat down. In just a minute, I would go on.

  “I began to feel very sleepy. Mom had told me never to go to sleep in the snow or I could freeze to death, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for just a minute. My head started to nod, and that’s when I heard the jingle bells. They were loud enough to jar me awake.

  “Mindy’s jingle bells, I thought. She’s come to guide me home.

  “At that moment, I had no doubt that she was there. I got to my feet and started to walk, clutching my package of herbs tightly in my hand. My feet and hands were beginning to tingle, but I felt better as I followed the happy sound of the bells. Soon the trees were not so close together, and I could see a light in the window at home.

  “‘I didn’t realize the storm was so close,’ my mother said to me. ‘I’m sorry I sent you out alone.’

  “Mom took the package of herbs and soon had a hot tea brewed for my brother. By bedtime, his fever had broken and he was feeling much better.

  “When we had all settled around the fire, I told about following the bells. I thought my family might laugh at me.

  “My mother smiled. ‘You and Mindy were special friends. I think she led you home because she didn’t want you to freeze to death like she did.’

  “After we had all gone to bed that night, I lay awake thinking about Mindy. The wind was still howling and swirling the snow around.

  “I said a silent thank-you to Mindy for saving my life and for being my friend. Over the wind, I heard the jingle of bells.

  “Times have changed, and some of the changes are for the better. It is good now that we have facilities for the mentally impaired. It is good that we no longer have to send children out in the night to do an errand.

  “I miss the old times, though, when even death could not come between friends. I listen when I am back home on winter nights and hope that one night I’ll hear the jingle of Mindy’s bells again as she goes home.”

  The Christmas Pie

  It began as a happy day before Christmas Eve. Kate Atkinson had no way of knowing how sadly it would end.

  Kate’s parents, younger brother, and grandmother were coming to Kate’s house today, the day before Christmas Eve, to stay for a whole week. This was a time before most people owned fast cars that could whiz in with guests, sit parked to allow them to have Christmas dinner, and then drive them away again the same day.

  Kate’s family was taking the bus from northern Kentucky to Somerset, and then catching a ride on the mail truck from there to the small town that was a little over a mile from the Atkinsons’ farm. Kate’s husband, Ralph, would take the wagon into town to meet them. Because travel was not easy back then, guests tried to stay a while to make the most of a visit.

  Kate had worked hard for days for her family’s visit. She’d scrubbed the house, changed the beds, an
d put her new handmade quilts on the beds instead of the usual bedspreads. She had cleared a place in the parlor for the Christmas tree that Ralph and their son, Richard, always cut fresh and brought to the house on Christmas Eve. Ralph and Richard had stacked plenty of wood on the porch and inside by the fireplace.

  Kate had the materials ready for the tree decorations. Everybody would want to help with trimming the tree on Christmas Eve. She had multicolored construction paper and glue to make paper chains and ornaments. Kate was afraid of fire and never allowed the use of candles on the tree. She had gathered holly berries and placed them in a bowl to be strung together and used as chains. There would also be popcorn to make into balls, and bits of cotton to use for snow. Richard had saved chewing gum wrappers since the last Christmas so he could cut the foil into strips for icicles. After the trimming of the tree was finished, Kate knew they would all sit around the fire and sing Christmas carols and tell stories.

  She had been able to make some of the food in advance. They would have a turkey for Christmas dinner along with her canned vegetables and the special cake she had made for dessert, but she had a ham baking in the oven for tonight.

  She had just finished that night’s dessert, two egg custard pies—Ralph’s and Richard’s favorite—and she had set them on the table to cool just as Ralph came inside and announced it was time for him and Richard to go meet the mail truck.

  Richard spied the pies and his eyes lit up.

  “Mom,” he asked, “could I have a piece of pie before we go?”

  “Absolutely not,” she replied. “Those are for supper.”

  “Oh, Mom,” he answered.