Savannah's Dead
A fictional short story based on real Savannah Ghost folklore.
Written By:
Tarrin P. Lupo
Porcupine
Publications
Anti-Copyright
2012 by Tarrin P. Lupo
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This ebook published by Tarrin P. Lupo and Porcupine Publications at Smashwords
ISBN 978-1-937311-21-6
Available in print edition at www.Lupolit.com and other online retailers.
Acknowledgements
Creative and Typesetting Editor:
Ruby Nicole Hilliard
Editor:
Sandi Britt
Cover Art:
Scott A. Motley
Savannah's Dead
Beauregard searched his pockets until he found his trusted notebook and pen. He ignored the sign that read “Closed at Nightfall” and continued towards the entrance. “Let's hurry Amber! It looks like they are about to start without us.”
The two walked under an arched, bent-up, wrought iron gate that said “Savannah Cemetery”. They hurried down the gravel road and into the darkness. Ancient live oak trees dripped with Spanish moss, creating a canopy over the trail. Little sparkles of starlight broke through the candelabra-like branches, illuminating the slab tombstones in an eerie blue light.
Beauregard pointed at Amber's chest. “You should probably cover up that shirt so they don't know who we're with. If they know we're with Ghost Skeptic Magazine, they’ll probably throw us out of the tour before we even get started.” Beauregard pulled the two sides of her sweater together over her chest, buttoned it, and, in doing so, helped Amber conceal the Ghost Skeptic Magazine logo her polo.
As they hastened down the dark path toward a faint light in the distance, Amber tripped on a protruding root. Beauregard picked her up and they continued towards the group waiting on them in the distance. He spoke quietly under his breath to her as they approached the large group of tourists. “I can’t believe so many people fall for these silly ghost tours. How many “Ghost Hunters” have we debunked now? I think we are over thirty at last count.”
Amber just ignored him and watched for more roots in the moonlight. Beauregard continued. “It amazes me that so many people spend their hard-earned money on this bunch of garbage. We need to meet the head storyteller before the group gets going. I know this is supposed to be the most haunted cemetery in America, so I can’t wait to hear what kind of tall tales this woman tells. Come on; let's go meet her before it's too late and the tour starts.”
The skeptical man approached the tour guide, examining her appearance. She was dressed for the part in a Victorian gown, fancy hairstyle, period jewelry, and even had an old railroad lantern to sell the outfit. The ghost debunker offered his hand and introduced himself. “Hi, I am Beauregard and this is my partner Amber. Sorry we're late. We're looking forward to hearing all your haunted tales on such a gloomy night.”
The tour guide rolled her eyes, annoyed, and stated, “Hello. My name is Sandie; you are very late.” She rudely turned her back to the couple and gathered everyone together. “Welcome ladies and gentleman. Now that the rest of our guests have arrived we can begin the tour. It is my pleasure to be your night tour guide in America's most haunted cemetery. Consider yourselves lucky. Only a very few people ever get permission to be on this hallowed ground after midnight.”
Sandie held the old lantern up to shine a better light on the crowd. To Beauregard’s surprise, he noticed how underdressed he was in his jeans and polo. He removed his baseball hat and rubbed an annoying sore spot on his head. Most everyone in the crowd looked like they had just come to the tour from a formal party. This made him and Amber stand out even more. “Well I guess us staying low profile is out of the question,” he thought to himself.
Sandie, holding the railroad lantern, moved deeper into the foreboding graveyard. The large mob followed. Off in the distance, Beauregard noticed a dim light deep in the graveyard. It was much too far away for anyone to get a good look at who was holding it. “I thought this was a private tour. I guess some kids must be trespassing and up to no good. Whatever. As long as they don’t ruin my tour I guess I don’t care if someone else is out here,” he thought.
The guide told her guests the history of the cemetery as they traversed the massive property and its twisted, crooked lanes. “This is one of the oldest graveyards in Savannah. When Colonial Park Cemetery overflowed with thousands of bodies, the city decided to open a few more cemeteries. Some of these gravestones and markers here are from the 1730s when Savannah was founded. The property ownership has transferred hands through many private families through the years.”
Sandie paused and held her lamp up high to emphasize the next part. “Every family that ever owned this property rapidly fell victim to its curse. Reports of extremely violent hauntings would immediately start as soon as a family would transfer title. Even worse, death ravished the families who dared live in the keeper's house. Within two years of moving into the house, half or more of the family would die by mysterious circumstances.”
She adjusted her tight dress collar. “After the pattern of terror repeated in seven families, no person would buy the place. Eventually it fell into the city's care and that is who keeps it maintained now, although many locals strongly believe the city’s ownership cursed Savannah forever.”
Beauregard stood in the back and quietly wrote down notes in a patch of moonlight. He whispered to Amber, “There is no way all that happened to seven families in a row. When we get back we are going through the chain of ownership with a fine-toothed comb.”
The dim lamp continued to move in the distance. Beauregard had a strange feeling he was being followed. He looked over his shoulder at the light in the distance; it seemed to be silently mirroring the group's movements. After a few more turns, the guide stopped at a headstone. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the butcher of Savannah. Here lies Michelle Ramsey. In the early 1900s everyone knew her name. Savannah was once home to the first car races in America. At one race, a runaway car flipped into the spectators and hit several people, including Michelle. She suffered a horrible head injury and her doctors assumed she would die. Miss Ramsey somehow pulled though and recovered, but part of her skull was crushed in, creating a visible soft spot on her head.”
Sandie pointed at a spot over her right ear. “Her family said she was never quite the same after the injury and something about her personality was just off. Although Michelle tried to hide the injury with her hairstyle and hats, Savannah was a very small town. Everyone knew it was there. In her teen years, other mean, young adults would poke it or flick the soft spot with their fingers. Michelle would respond by howling like a wolf, running in a circle, and then drooling for about 5 minutes. When she finally gained her wits about her, she would run away embarrassed, but she never forgot the children who were cruel to her.
One winter, during Michelle's freshman year of high school, her classmates started to vanish. Large-scale manhunts were organized to find the missing children, but the search parties never found any bodies. One spring day during a baseball game at the stadium in Daffin Park, Michelle's dog, Bones, ran onto the field with a child's leg in his mouth; shoe intact. The police were called and eventually, weeks later, a stash of arms in legs were found hidden near what is now the fishing lake in Daffin Park. Back then, the lake was a huge swimming pool shaped like the United States. It had a sandy beach and the park had camping sites. When the air warmed, the stench of decaying human flesh permeated the air. It was then that the body parts of six of Michelle’s missing classmates were discovered hidden in the crawl space under the bathhouse. None of their heads were ever found, save one."
Sandie pointed at the headstone. “The murders were traced back to the disturbed child when Michelle's neighbor found her dogs, Bones and Bridgette, fighting over the decaying skull of one of the missing children in Michelle's front yard. She was promptly sentenced and hanged in the old Savannah jail. It was the first time that I know of where a child was executed in Savannah, Georgia. The family had the Butcher of Savannah buried here in the poor side of the graveyard. Even to this day, the cemetery keepers report seeing a young girl running in circles, howling like a wolf in the twilight hours.
The tour guide ushered the group along. “Let’s keep moving; I want to show you another famous Savannah resident.” Beauregard scribbled some notes in his handy notebook and then whispered to Amber, “We are going to check this story out when we get back to the office. That sounded like a fairytale-horror story if you ask me. You know these con artist tour guides just make stuff up to make their stories more interesting.”
The dim lantern stopped outside a large elaborate crypt. “Ladies and gentleman, this is the famous Lewellyn family crypt. Fancy family crypts might seem out of date now, but back in the day it was a sign of real wealth. Entire families would come out and spend whole days inside the crypts to commune with the dead. This family would cook out, drink, and even spend the night sleeping inside the crypt.”
Sandie lofted the light next to the entrance. “Notice the steal door welded shut on the front here. The official story was that grave robbers were stealing valuable Masonic and family heirlooms from the underground chamber. We know the real story, and it doesn’t have anything to do with robbers. They welded that door shut to keep something in.” Beauregard started taking notes and a mischievous smile crept across his face.
The lady in the Victorian dress continued. “Underneath this crypt is an entire chamber laid out for Masonic ceremonies. Savannah has the oldest lodge in the country and many residents of this graveyard were Masons. So these ritual chambers are not wholly uncommon; many new lodge members were trained in these underground rooms. Unfortunately, care takers and locals heard noises from under the ground. They could hear Masonic ceremonies going on below ground even when nobody was around. It disturbed people so much that the Lewellyn family decided to remove all the thrones, Masonic icons, and even the massive alter in the clandestine room. They moved everything to storage and put a large lock on the crypt.”
Her eyes turned black and she leaned in to deliver more of a scary effect. “Two days later, folks kept hearing chanting from the underground room. The staff unlocked the crypt and went down into the chambers to investigate, but the workers fled in terror after seeing the room completely full of its original decorations. All the fancy Masonic thrones, artifacts, and even the heavy alter had all been returned to their original position