Tall Tales

He smiled as he sipped at his coffee. It had been an excellent hike. He was glad his friend had recommended coming to the Hanging Hills in Connecticut; not the first place that had come to his mind when considering a vacation. But it was beautiful here. When his friend arrived tomorrow they would tackle some of the more challenging terrain.

“Did you have a nice hike?” asked the innkeeper as she refilled his cup.
“Yes indeed. I had some unexpected company,” he said with a smile.
“Really? I thought you were the only one crazy enough to go hiking in the rain,” she teased.
“It was a little black dog,” he said. “Cute fellow. Followed me all the way up the mountain and down again.”
He looked up from his coffee to see the innkeeper’s face had gone pale.
“A black dog?” she asked. “That’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“We have a saying around here,” she replied. “’And if a man shall meet the Black Dog once, it shall be for joy; and if twice, it shall be for sorrow; and the third time, he shall die.’” He laughed. “That’s just superstition.”
“That’s what Mr. Pynchon said. He saw the black dog twice. The second time he saw the dog, the friend he was climbing with fell to his death. And later, Mr. Pynchon decided to climb the same mountain, and he died too. Everyone here believes he saw the dog just before he fell.”
“Nonsense. It was just a cute stray,” he said uneasily. She shrugged and took the coffee pot over to her other customers.
His friend arrived the next morning and they both laughed about the story of the black dog. They set out on their climb. About halfway up the mountain, he looked up and saw the black dog.
“There’s the dog,” he called to his friend.
And then his foot slipped and he plunged down the side of the hill, desperately grabbing at saplings and rocks, trying to halt his descent. It seemed to take forever for him to stop sliding. There was a stabbing pain in his leg. When he looked at it, his head swimming, it was bent at an odd angle. They had to send in a mountain rescue team to get him down. At the hospital, they told him his leg was broken in two places and he was very lucky it wasn’t worse.
“You know, that was a very strange fall,” said his friend uneasily. “You don’t really think it had anything to do with that black dog?”
He looked down at the cast that extended all the way up to his hip.
“I don’t know. But I don’t really want to find out. Next time, let’s go to Colorado.”
His friend agreed.


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Many and many a year ago, two Micmac warriors from rival villages got into a terrible argument. Harsh words were exchanged, and then knives were pulled. The warriors battled back and forth on the banks of a small creek. They fought with the ferocity of

grizzlies, tearing at each other with their knives, ripping at each others clothes and hair.
Suddenly, one of the warriors slipped on the muddy bank and fell into the waters of the creek. His bloody knife slipped from his hand and sank down and down to the bottom, landing upon a rock just beyond his reach. The warrior strained his pain-wracked body towards the knife as his blood filled the waters of the creek, but it was just beyond his fingertips. He thrashed and clawed towards his knife, desperate to reach it before his rival killed him, but no matter how he stretched, it always slipped out of reach.
On the bank above, the victorious Micmac warrior saw his rival sink into the blood-stained waters and lay still, the knife just a hair-breadth beyond his fingertips. He did not rise again. The fallen man's people found him a few hours later and tenderly rescued his body from the rippling waters of the creek. But when they tried to retrieve his bloody knife from the rock beneath him, it always slipped beyond their reach, though the creek was not deep.
Many and many a year has passed since that bloody day by the creek, and still the blood-stained knife lies beneath the rippling waters of the creek. Whenever anyone tries to reach it, the knife slips out of reach. It is like trying to touch something on the bottom of the sea, although the creek itself is not deep. Even the rushing waters of the spring season do not move the mysterious knife or wash away the blood staining its blade.
For this reason, the creek is called Wokun - meaning "knife" by the Micmac people, and the white men call it "Bloody Creek".


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She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors.

Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken their young ones.
Then came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear. The miller's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in his nightshirt. Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading out of town.
The desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to assist the frantic couple. Suddenly, a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the miller's house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil spell upon the miller's daughter.
The townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. The far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.
As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers. If anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit to revenge herself upon them for her terrible death. When she was dead, the villagers went to the house in the wood and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the evil witch had murdered. She had used their blood to make her young again.
From that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary's name three times before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will be trapped forever in the mirror.

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The girl hurried through her schoolwork as fast as she could. It was the night of the high school dance, along about 70 years ago in the town of Kingsville, Texas. The girl was so excited about the dance. She had bought a brand new, sparkly red dress for the dance. She knew she looked smashing in it. It was going to be the best evening of her life.

Then her mother came in the house, looking pale and determined.
"You are not going to that dance," her mother said.
"But why?" the girl asked her mother.
"I've just been talking to the preacher. He says the dance is going to be for the devil. You are absolutely forbidden to go," her mother said.
The girl nodded as if she accepted her mother's words. But she was determined to go to the dance. As soon as her mother was busy, she put on her brand new red dress and ran down to the K.C. Hall where the dance was being held.
As soon as she walked into the room, all the guys turned to look at her. She was startled by all the attention. Normally, no one noticed her. Her mother sometimes accused her of being too awkward to get a boyfriend. But she was not awkward that night. The boys in her class were fighting with each other to dance with her.
Later, she broke away from the crowd and went to the table to get some punch to drink. She heard a sudden hush. The music stopped. When she turned, she saw a handsome man with jet black hair and clothes standing next to her.
"Dance with me," he said.
She managed to stammer a "yes", completely stunned by this gorgeous man. He led her out on the dance floor. The music sprang up at once. She found herself dancing better than she had ever danced before. They were the center of attention.
Then the man spun her around and around. She gasped for breath, trying to step out of the spin. But he spun her faster and faster. Her feet felt hot. The floor seemed to melt under her. He spun her even faster. She was spinning so fast that a cloud of dust flew up around them both so that they were hidden from the crowd.
When the dust settled, the girl was gone. The man in black bowed once to the crowd and disappeared. The devil had come to his party and he had spun the girl all the way to hell.
The Death Coach

It is midnight. The streets of Cohoes grow silent as the citizens turn off their lights one by one and go to their well-earned rest. The night is dark, and the wind whispers softly, touching the trees and houses, rattling a window pane here and there.

In one house, a woman sits beside her window, waiting silently for the doctor to arrive. Her beloved husband lies on the bed next to her. In the light of a single candle, she can see his emaciated face. He is in terrible pain, which even the drugs prescribed by the doctor cannot abate. She clutches his hand tightly, feeling the cold creeping through it. He is barely breathing now. She knows he is slipping away. One part of her is thankful, for she cannot bear to see him in so much pain. Most of her wants to scream out in desperation, begging him not to leave her alone.

Outside the house, the soft rumble of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves echo through the still night. The woman tears her eyes from her husband's face and looks out of the window, expecting to see the doctor's curricle pulling into the street. Instead, she sees a dark, closed coach with black gaping holes where the windows should be. The shafts at the front of the coach are empty, yet she can hear the sound of invisible horses' hooves, as the coach moves slowly down the street.

She draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. It is the Death Coach. Her husband had told her it would come for him that night, but she hadn't believed him. Hadn't wanted to believe him. Yet there it is, rolling slowly up to the front of the house to stop by the front gate. The sight terrifies her, and she clutches her husband's hand tightly. He opens his eyes and smiles feebly at her, trying to squeeze her hand.

"Is it here?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. She nods.

"I love you," he says to his wife. She leans down and kisses him, feels his last breath on her lips. The grip on her hand loosens, and she knows he is dead. She straightens up, looking tenderly at his dead face through her tears.

A movement by the door causes her to look up. She sees her husband's spirit standing at the door. He gazes first at his dead body, and then smiles at her. Then he turns and walks down the stairs. She moves at once to the window, flinging it open and leaning out, hoping to see him again. The front door opens, and her husband steps out the front porch and walks slowly to the Death Coach. The door opens, and he pauses for a moment to look towards the window, knowing she is watching. He waves and she waves back, tears streaming down her face. Then her husband steps into the coach and the door closes behind him. Slowly, the Death Coach rumbles down the street, turns a corner, and is gone.

"Goodbye, my love," she calls softly, as the Death Coach disappears. Her husband's pain is over, but hers has just begun. With a heavy heart, she closes the window, and goes down the stairs to telephone the doctor and tell him her husband is dead.

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My granny was told as a child that Captain Kidd, knowing the law was on his trail, traveled up the Jersey coast looking for the perfect spot to bury his stolen booty. And he found it near a grove of gnarled, wind-swept pines on Sandy Hook. One moonless dark

night, the Adventure Galley slid silently into harbor at Sandy Hook. Before the wondering eyes of two hidden watchers, a crew of scurvy buccaneers armed with cutlasses and pistols had rowed boatload after boatload of heavy chests into the shore. They were accompanied by a tall, proud man with red-whiskers and a cocked hat that the watchers recognized at once as the bold leader Captain Kidd. The captain led his men away from shore, and they disappeared with them into the grove of pines. The pirates were gone along time; long enough, according to those who watched, to bury any amount of treasure. They came away before dawn and rowed back to the Adventure Galley and sailed into the last vestiges of the dark night.
Of course, the eager watchers kept their knowledge quiet and scurried down to the pine grove a few days later, armed with lanterns and shovels. But nary a gold coin found they, and in frustration, they shared their tale with other good folks in the region. After that, there was not a night when the pine grove did not see someone digging fervently with a shovel. After a few decades of this, the pine grove gave up the ghost and died away completely. By my granny's time, there was nothing left of the spot save a few stunted trees, some wind-swept grass, and on certain dark nights, Dem Bones.
Dem Bones are the skeletal crew of Captain Kidd. According to my granny, they come sailing up in a ship made of shadows. The ship moves silently up the coast at the dark of the moon, and anchors near the shores of Sandy Hook. Two or three boats are lowered from her side, and they are filled up with the eager forms of glowing skeletons wearing cocked hats and tattered buccaneers garb. Around their waists are belts full of pistols and long cutlasses. The biggest of Dem Bones - the one that is probably the first mate - has a skeletal parrot perched on his shoulder.
Dem Bones carry heavy trunks full of treasure onto the shore and scatter them all around the place where the pine grove once stood. Then the pirate crew hauls out kegs and kegs of whiskey and one of the skeleton's takes out a fiddle. A phantom fire is lit on the sand, and Dem Bones start such a rowdy singing and dancing that the noise would wake the dead - if they weren't already awake. When they are exhausted from the dancing, the glowing skeletons collapse on the sand and start telling stories about the ships they have captured and the treasure they have amassed. Some of Dem Bones open the big trunks and take out jewels and ropes of pearls and adorn themselves. Others toss gold coins back and forth as if they were a child's ball. At the darkest part of the night, just before dawn, Dem Bones pack up the trunks and row back to the ship of shadows. One by one, the glowing skeletons disappeared into the hold and the ship draws anchor and sails away.

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The dream was so vivid, she didn't realize at first that it was a dream. The party was crowded, the guests cheerful, the food delicious. Then a rumor began to circulate among the guests. The Devil was coming to the party. The Devil was on the way.

She didn't pay much attention at first. Until a hush came over the crowd. Turning to see what it was, she saw a tall, handsome blond man standing in the doorway greeting his hostess. Around her, the murmurs began. It was the Devil. He had come.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as the Devil made the rounds of the room. He looked so ordinary, it was hard to believe he was the Devil. Then he came to her group. As soon as he joined them, she knew the rumor was true. This was not someone to be trifled with. Frightened, she grabbed for a Bible her hostess had left lying on a nearby end-table and threw it at the Devil. For a moment, their eyes locked. The Devil's eyes were full of ferocious anger, terrible evil, and malevolent malice directed right at her. She thought she was dead.

Then she woke, and lay trembling in her bed with the light on until dawn.

The next morning was the end of term. Her parents and younger sister helped her clear out her dorm room and packed the car. It was dusk before they settled into their seats for the two-hour drive home. They talked excitedly as they drove towards their home in New Jersey, interrupting each other often, contradicting themselves and laughing. It was good to be together again.

They were fifteen minutes from home when they left the highway. Her father turned onto Washington Rock Road that led up the mountain, through the C-bend around the Washington Rock State Park and then down the other side of the mountain. As they drove up the steep hill, a noisy motorcycle tail-gated them, trying to pass even though the road was windy and narrow. Finally the hill grew so steep that the driver was forced to slow down and eventually, they pulled away from him entirely.

The car reached the top of the hill and started around the long C curve that took them through one end of the park. The park was dark and still. The whole family automatically looked to their right, out over the gorgeous view of the New York City skyline. They all saw the small park cart, sitting next to the road just inside the park boundary. It was parked directly underneath the only streetlight, where you couldn't fail to see it. And inside the vehicle....

She started trembling fiercely. Inside the vehicle was a tall, handsome blond man with eyes full of ferocious anger, terrible evil, and malevolent malice. It was the man from her dream. The man everyone said was the Devil!

The tension in the car was palpable. She had mentioned her dream to no one. But her parents and her sister all felt the evil pulsing from the still figure in the cart. No one spoke as they drove past the man.

Suddenly, the engine gave a strange cough. Her father gunned the motor, once, twice in a silent, desperate battle to keep moving. She gripped her hands together, praying silently as she stared at the figure opposite their car. The engine caught again and her father pressed down hard on the accelerator. Then they were past the man and roaring away from the park and towards the downward slope of the mountain.

She was sweating profusely, unable to stop shaking. She looked back out the window at the man in the park, and saw the motorcycle come roaring at last to the top of the hill. It drove half-way around the C-bend and as it drew opposite the figure in the cart, she heard the engine of the motorcycle cough. And then stall.

And then the park was out of view and they were riding silently towards home, not daring to speak until they were safely indoors.

She often wondered what happened to the man on the motorcycle.

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For days, a ragged old man had hung around the Newark Central Station. The stationmaster kept running him off, but night after night he would return. He kept accosting people, shouting: "It's coming for me! It's coming!" Whenever anyone asked him what was coming for him, he would just clutch his head and cry: "I done wrong! I killed a man that cheated me at cards, and now I'm going to pay!"

The stationmaster finally took the man aside and threatened to call the police if he did not cease and desist. The old man rolled his eyes and replied: "The Express Train for Hell is coming for my soul! You've got to help me." He broke away from the stationmaster and ran for the door. The time was two minutes to midnight. At that moment, new sound introduced itself. A long whistle blew, once, twice. The stationmaster was startled. The next train wasn't due until 12:05.
The old tramp started screaming when he heard the whistle. The stationmaster could hear the roar and chug of a steam train, approaching fast. Approaching too fast to stop at the station. The old man was standing at the edge of the platform, staring down the tracks in frozen terror. The stationmaster ran forward and grabbed hold of the old tramp to pull him out of harm's way.
The train whistle sounded again. A warm rush of air blew against everyone near the platform and the stationmaster heard the roar of an invisible train passing directly in front of him. He heard the hiss of the steam and the screech of flanges against iron rails; he felt the wind whipping our hair and faces, but he saw nothing.
Beneath his grip, the old tramp gave a terrible wail. Then he vanished, leaving the stationmaster empty-handed. The roar of the invisible train faded into the distance and then ceased. The stationmaster glanced at the station clock. It was midnight.
The stationmaster stared blankly at the tracks. Around him, the waiting passengers and other bystanders were gasping and murmuring in fright. "Good lord, he was right," the stationmaster murmured to himself. "It did come for him." He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating, bald head with it.
A trembling man standing nearby approached the stationmaster: "Sir, what was that?" he asked. "Son, I believe that was the Express Train to Hell," said the stationmaster. He shook his head and that seemed to bring him to his senses. "Why don't you go back into the station and pour yourself a drink?" he suggested to the trembling man.
He pushed the man through the station door and then turned to address the dazed and frightened passengers. "Nothing to worry about folks," he said. "It was just an express train passing through. The next train will be here in five minutes." The stationmaster's reassuring manner calmed everyone. People turned away from the empty tracks and settled back into their seats, whispering to each other about the strange events that had just taken place.
Then the stationmaster went into his office, closed the door, and poured himself a stiff drink to calm his nerves. "Well, that's one for the books," he muttered aloud. "I wonder if I should put it on the schedule; 12 am-Express Train to Hell."
Shaking his head, he fortified himself with one more brandy and then went back to work.

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On September 3rd of 1609, Henry Hudson sailed the Half Moon into the mouth of the great New York river that later bore his name. The explorer and his crew journeyed north for several days, trading with the native residents and searching for the fabled northwest passage to the Orient. By the time he reached the area that would become present-day Albany, Hudson knew that he had not found the passage for which he sought. Reluctantly, he turned the Half Moon and sailed back down the river.

That night, Henry Hudson and his crew anchored the Half Moon in the shadow of the Catskill Mountains. Around midnight, Hudson heard the sound of music floating across the mountains and down to the river. Taking a few members of his crew, he went ashore and followed the sound up and up into the Catskills. The sound of the music grew louder as Hudson and his men marched up to the edge of a precipice. To their astonishment, a group of pygmies with long, bushy beards and eyes like pigs were dancing and singing and capering about in the firelight.
Hudson realized that these creatures were the metal-working gnomes of whom the natives had spoken. One of the bushy-bearded chaps spotted the explorer and his men and welcomed them with a cheer. The short men surrounded the crew and drew them into the firelight and the dance. Hudson and his men were delighted with these strange, small creatures, and with the hard liquor that the gnomes had brewed. Long into the night, the men drank and played nine-pins with the gnomes while Henry Hudson sipped at a single glass of spirits and spoke with the chief of the gnomes about many deep and mysterious things.
Realizing at last how late it was, Hudson looked around for his men. At first, he couldn't locate them. All he saw were large groups of gnomes, laughing and joking as they sprawled around the fire. Then, to his astonishment, he recognized several of the gnomes as his crewmen! They had undergone a transformation. Their heads had swollen to twice their normal size, their eyes were small and pig-like, and their bodies had shortened until they were only a little taller than the gnomes themselves.
Hudson was alarmed, and asked the chief of the gnomes for an explanation. It was, the chief explained to Hudson, the effect of the magical hard liquor the gnomes brewed. It would wear off when the liquor did. Hudson wasn't sure that he believed the little man. Afraid of what else might happen to him and his crewman if they continued to linger in such company, Hudson hurriedly took his leave of the gnomes and hustled his severely drunken crewmen back to the Half Moon. The entire crew slept late into the morning, as if they were under the influence of a sleeping draught. When they awakened, the crewmen who had accompanied Hudson up into the Catskill Mountains, aside from ferocious headaches, were back to normal
Hudson continued on his way down the great river, and by October 4th, the Half Moon had reached the mouth and Hudson and his crew sailed for home. In 1610, Hudson set off on another journey, searching for a northwestern passage to the Orient. Trapped in the ice through a long winter, Hudson's crew eventually mutinied and set Henry Hudson and eight of his crewmen adrift in the Hudson Bay. They were never seen again.
In September 1629, twenty years to the day that Hudson and his crew met the Catskill gnomes, a bright fire appeared on the precipice above the hollow, and dance music could be heard floating through the mountains. The Catskill gnomes spent the evening dancing, and carousing and drinking their magic liquor. At midnight, they were joined by the spirits of Henry Hudson and crew. Merry was their meeting, and the gnomes and the spirits played nine-pins all night long. Each time they rolled the ball, a peal of thunder would shake the mountains, and the fire would flare up in bolts like lightening. The party lasted until daybreak, at which hour the spirits departed from the hills, with promises to return.
Every twenty years, the spirits of Henry Hudson and his crew returned to the Catskill Mountains to play nine-pins with the gnomes, and to look out over the country they had first explored together on the Half Moon. Now and then, one of the Dutch settlers living in the region came across the spirits as they played nine-pins. They claimed that any man foolish enough to drink of the spirits' magic liquor would sleep from the moment the spirits departed the mountain to the day they returned, twenty years later. Most folks discounted the story, although several members of Rip Van Winkle's family swore it was true. True or false, wise folks who walk among the Catskills in September do not accept a drink of liquor when it is offered to them. Just in case.


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A couple of Welsh miners came to Nevada to help mine the Comstock Load. They were quite a pair of tricksters, yes sir! It got so bad that no one would believe anything they said, 'cause if'n they did, the Welshman would make them look like a fool. But they were popular. The miners dearly loved a laugh after a hard day working in the mine.

Now one evening the two Welshman started down the stope of the Baltimore shaft. They were working a late shift, and as they descended they began hearing the sound of hammers striking a drill, punctuated with the sound of voices. Neither man recognized the voices, so they assumed it was some new chaps working the late shift. The men grinned at each other. They liked pulling jokes on newcomers.
The Welshmen followed the sound of the hammers and came into a shaft flickering with the light of a single lantern. The Welshmen were amazed to see two hammers floating in mid-air, striking the head of a rusty old drill that was rotating itself. They could hear a murmur of voices, but could see no one.
Giving a startled yell, the Welshmen beat a hasty retreat. Climbing to the top of the mine, they gasped out the story to a few of their friends. No one would believe them. It was just the sort of practical joke them men had learned to avoid.
Finally, the Welshmen grabbed two of their fellows and dragged them, protesting, down the stope. When the four men entered the shaft, the invisible hands were still hard at work, hammering at the drill as they talked to each other.
"It's the bucca," shouted old Ned, who hailed from Cornwall, England. The bucca (Tommy Knockers) were small imps or spirits who haunted mines. "I'm getting out of here!"
The miners ran out of the shaft and hurried up into the starlight.
The Welshmen were not so quick to play jokes on their friends after this incident. And they stopped investigating mysterious noises.

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My friend Isabela called me one evening before dinner. She was sobbing as she told me that she and her husband Enrique were getting divorced. He had moved out of the house earlier that day and Isabela was distraught.

I called my husband, who was on a business trip in Chicago, and he agreed that I should go stay with Isabela for a few days to help her during this difficult time. I packed a small suitcase and got right into the car. It was late, and it would take me at least four hours to drive from my home to Sante Fe. Isabela was expecting me to arrive around midnight.

As I traveled down the dark, wet highway, I kept feeling chills, as if someone or something were watching me. I kept looking in the rear view mirror, and glancing into the back seat. No one was there. Don't be ridiculous, I told myself, wishing fervently that I was home in my bed instead of driving on a dark, rainy highway. There was almost no traffic, and I heartily wished that I would soon reach Sante Fe.

I turned off the highway just before I reached the city, and started down the side roads that led to Isabela's house. As I approached a small crossroads, I saw a woman step into the street directly in front of my car. I shrieked in fright and slammed on my brakes, praying I would miss her.

The car shuddered to a halt, and I looked frantically around for the woman. Then I saw her, right beside my window, looking in at me. She had the face of a demon, twisted, eyes glowing red, and short pointed teeth. I screamed as she leapt at my window, her clawed hands striking the glass. I put my foot down on the accelerator and the car leapt forward. For a few terrible moments, she ran along side the car, keeping up easily and striking at me again and again. Then she fell behind and in the rear view mirror I saw her growing taller and taller, until she was as large as a tree. Red light swirled around her like mist, and she pointed after me, her mouth moving though I could not make out the words. I jerked my attention back to the road, afraid what might happen to me if my car ran off the street.

I made it to Isabela's house in record time and flung myself out of the car, pounding on her door frantically and looking behind me to see if the demon-faced woman had followed me. Isabela came running to the door and let me in.

"Shut the door! Shut it!" I cried frantically, brushing past her into the safety of the house.

"Jane, what is wrong?" she asked, slamming the door shut. She grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. I sank onto the couch and started sobbing in fear and reaction. After several minutes, I managed to gasp out my story. Isabela gasped and said: "Are you sure you were at a crossroads when you saw her?"

I nodded, puzzled by her question.

"It must have been La malhora," Isabela said, wringing her hands.

"The bad hour?" I asked.

"This is bad, Jane. Very bad," Isabela cried. "La Malhora only appears at a crossroads when someone is going to die."

Ordinarily, I would have laughed at such a superstition, but the appearance of the demon-woman had shaken me. Isabela got me a cup of hot cocoa, brought my luggage in from the car, and sent me to bed. She was so concerned for me that she didn't once mention the divorce or Enrique.

I felt much better the next morning, but I could not shake the feeling of dread that grew within me all day. Neither of us mentioned La Malhora, but we were both thinking of her when I told Isabela that I wanted to go home. Isabela insisted on accompanying me. I flatly refused to drive after dark. I was afraid I would see the demon-woman again when I passed the crossroads.

We left the next morning, and we hadn't been home more than twenty minutes when a police car pulled into my driveway. I knew at once what it meant, and so did Isabella.

The officers spoke very gently to me, but nothing could soften the news. My husband had been mugged on the way back to his hotel after dinner last night. His body had not been found until this morning. He had been shot in the head and was killed instantly.

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We were on our way back to Yuma following a futile attempt to find Pegleg's lost gold mine out in the heat and dust of the desert. We stopped to make camp for the night between a rock and a hard place, and soon my friend Eddie was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. I drifted off myself, and started dreaming about the pretty girl I was engaged to marry.

Suddenly, I was rudely awakened by a shout in my ear. I looked up into Eddie's ugly mug and almost slugged him. He was pretty panic-stricken about something, so I hauled myself up and looked around. Eddie was clutching his rifle and babbling away about a skeleton. I figured Eddie'd had a bad dream and I had just decided to give him a thrashing for waking me up, when I saw the light.
At first I thought it was reflected firelight. But the light was flickering oddly, and seemed to bounce up and down. I grabbed my rifle and walked away from the fire towards the light. It was a lantern. A lantern suspended within the chest cavity of a huge skeleton. From the aimless, stumbling way it was walking, the light from the lantern wasn't doing the skeleton much good.
I'd never admit it to Eddie, but the sight of that eight-foot tall skeleton made my flesh creep. I told myself it was just Eddie playing tricks on me. To prove it, I took aim at the ghastly creature and fired off a couple of shots. The shots didn't faze the skeleton at all. In fact, my shots didn't even make the lantern flicker. That scared me. I knew then that this was no trick. It was some kind of terrible phantom, stalking the desert at night.
Well, we didn't fancy staying in a desert populated with eight-foot skeletons. We grabbed our packs and hightailed it out of there in the dark. As soon as we reached Yuma, Eddie hopped a stagecoach headed east. He'd had enough of lost gold mines and skeletons, and was going home to work in his Pa's store in New York!


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We were on our way back to Yuma following a futile attempt to find Pegleg's lost gold mine out in the heat and dust of the desert. We stopped to make camp for the night between a rock and a hard place, and soon my friend Eddie was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. I drifted off myself, and started dreaming about the pretty girl I was engaged to marry.

Suddenly, I was rudely awakened by a shout in my ear. I looked up into Eddie's ugly mug and almost slugged him. He was pretty panic-stricken about something, so I hauled myself up and looked around. Eddie was clutching his rifle and babbling away about a skeleton. I figured Eddie'd had a bad dream and I had just decided to give him a thrashing for waking me up, when I saw the light.
At first I thought it was reflected firelight. But the light was flickering oddly, and seemed to bounce up and down. I grabbed my rifle and walked away from the fire towards the light. It was a lantern. A lantern suspended within the chest cavity of a huge skeleton. From the aimless, stumbling way it was walking, the light from the lantern wasn't doing the skeleton much good.
I'd never admit it to Eddie, but the sight of that eight-foot tall skeleton made my flesh creep. I told myself it was just Eddie playing tricks on me. To prove it, I took aim at the ghastly creature and fired off a couple of shots. The shots didn't faze the skeleton at all. In fact, my shots didn't even make the lantern flicker. That scared me. I knew then that this was no trick. It was some kind of terrible phantom, stalking the desert at night.
Well, we didn't fancy staying in a desert populated with eight-foot skeletons. We grabbed our packs and hightailed it out of there in the dark. As soon as we reached Yuma, Eddie hopped a stagecoach headed east. He'd had enough of lost gold mines and skeletons, and was going home to work in his Pa's store in New York!


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The infamous Red Dwarf (Nain Rouge) of Detroit was reputed to be the foul offspring of the Stone God, who only appeared when there was to be trouble. The Red Dwarf was called "The Demon of the Strait" and its appearance heralded disaster. Cadillac, founder of Detroit, encountered the Nain Rouge while sitting on the bank of the Detroit River. The Red Dwarf had jumped down right in front of the French Colonial governor, startling him nearly out of his wits, and thrust a long stick at him as if it were a sword. Harried by the imp's whacks, Cadillac drew his own sword and parried, beating the creature back with the flat of his blade until it ran away, cackling madly. From that moment, Cadillac's fortunes took a down-turn, and he was eventually recalled to France, losing his trade monopoly and all his privileges.
The Red Dwarf was next seen during Pontiac's Rebellion, a period in which the Native American tribes had banded together against the British following the French and Indian War. The united tribes had attacked a number of settlements, and laid siege to Fort Detroit. The British had attempted to end the siege with a sneak attack on Pontiac's encampment, but their plan was betrayed to the rebel leader. Pontiac defeated the British in the Battle of Blood Run, which took place at a creek two miles north of the fort. Several survivors of the battle claimed to have seen the Red Dwarf running along the shores of the lake shortly before the battle began.
The imp was spotted once again in 1805, racing through the streets of Detroit just before the city burned to the ground. And during the War of 1812, when the forces of British General Brock began bombarding the American forces within Fort Detroit, General Hull acceded to a demand for unconditional surrender after he saw the Red Dwarf leering at him through the fog.
To this day, the creature continues to be the herald of misfortune for Detroit. The Red Dwarf dashed down 12th street, doing back flips and cartwheels on the night of the police raid that sparked the race riots of 1967. And it was observed by Detroit Edison linemen taking a lunch break in 1976. The Nain Rouge climbed up a utility pole right in front of their eyes. When they yelled at it, believing it was a child, the Red Dwarf dropped to the ground, leered rudely at them, and scampered away. The next day, an ice storm left 400,000 Detroit residents without electricity.


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Tommy Knockers are the spirits of departed miners that help miners find ore. They also knock on the walls of the mines right before a cave-in. When you hear a Tommy Knocker knocking, it's best to depart the area right quick. They have saved the life of many a miner who has been in a danger. Some folks say that the very first man to hear the sound is jinxed, but that is not always the case.

It's important to stay on the good side of the Tommy Knockers. Many miners leave a bit of their lunch for the spirits, and to please them, they fashion the little clay figures of their spirits. The Tommy Knockers can be spiteful creatures if they don't like you.
One unlucky miner named Eddie became a target of the Tommy Knockers. They drove him crazy, pelting him with stones, stealing his tools, blowing out his lantern. He couldn't figure out why the Tommy Knockers had singled him out until one day he heard a voice calling to him from the dark opening of a nearby shaft. "Eddie, I want my five dollars!" the Tommy Knocker said.
Eddie was so startled he dropped his tools all over the ground. The voice sounded just like that of his old friend Joe who had died in a cave-in a few months back. Eddie had borrowed five dollars from Joe and had never returned it. Eddie went into the shaft, and sure enough there was Joe Trelawney's ghost, shrunk to the size of a two-foot dwarf with a big ugly head, large ears and a crooked nose. He wore a peaked hat, a leather jacket, and water-soaked leather boots.
The Tommy Knocker was not pleased to see Eddie. "Give me back my five dollars, Eddie!" the ghost of his old friend demanded.
"I don't have any money on me, Joe," Eddie said, patting his pockets for emphasis.
"I've heard that before," said the Tommy Knocker dryly. "I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now!" The Tommy Knocker disappeared into thin air, leaving an uneasy Eddie to wonder what the ghost would do next. He soon found out! All day long, Eddie was plagued by the Tommy Knocker. His ladder was shaken so hard that he almost fell. The loud tapping noise of an invisible drill nearly drove him mad. He just missed being buried by a rock fall. And through it all, Joe's voice would taunt him: "Give me back my five dollars, Eddie!"
"All right, Joe, all right!" Eddie finally yelled into the mouth of the tunnel where his friend had appeared. "I'll get your bloody five dollars!" Abandoning his work for the day, Eddie made the long climb to the surface and took five silver dollars from the moneybox he kept under a loose board in his bedroom. The he climbed back down into the mine and stuck the five dollars into a crack in the wall next to the place Joe's spirit had appeared to him.
"There's your five dollars, Joe!" Eddie shouted, his voice echoing oddly in the dark tunnel.
"It's about bloody time," Joe said, appearing next to him and peering critically into the crack where the money lay.
"Are you going to leave me alone now?" Eddie asked.
The Tommy Knocker grinned impishly at Eddie. "Maybe," he said. He scooped up the five silver dollars and disappeared into the dark.

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A preacher was riding to one of the churches on his circuit when darkness fell. It was about to storm, and the only house nearby was an old mansion which was reputed to be haunted. The preacher clutched his Bible and said: "The Lawd will take care o' me".

He went into the mansion just as the storm broke. He put his horse into the barn and made his way into the house. The door was unlocked. He went into a large room which contained a fireplace that filled one wall. There was wood laid for a fire. He laid a match to it. Then the preacher sat down to read his Bible.
Gradually, the fire burnt down to a heap of coals as the storm howled around the mansion. The preacher was roused from his reading by a sound. He looked up from his Bible. A very large, black cat was stretching itself. Then it walked to the fire and sat down among the red hot coals. It picked a coal up in its paw and licked it slowly. The cat got up, shook of the ashes, and walked to the foot of the preacher's chair. It fixed blazing yellow eyes upon him, black tail lashing and said quietly: "Wait until Emmet comes".
The preacher jumped from Genesis to Matthew in shock. He had never heard of a cat talking before. Nervously he kept reading his Bible, muttering to himself, "The Lawd will take care o' me."
Two minutes later, another cat came into the room. It was black as midnight, and as large as the biggest dog. It lay down among the red-hot coals, lazily batting them with enormous paws. Then it walked over to the other cat and said: "What shall we do with him?"
The first cat replied: "We should not do anything until Emmet comes".

The two cats, black as midnight, sat watching the preacher, who read through the Gospels at top speed, aware of blazing yellow eyes watching him.
A third cat, big as a tiger, entered the room. It went to the fire full of red-hot coals and rolled among them, chewing them and spitting them out. Then it came to the other two cats facing the preacher in the chair.
"What shall we do with him?" it growled to the others.
"We should not do anything until Emmet comes," the other cats replied together.
The preacher flipped to Revelation, looking furtively around the room. He closed the Bible and stood up.
"Goo'night cats. I is glad of yo' company, but when Emmet comes, you done tell him I been heah and went."

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A storm was raging that night in 1735, when Mother Leeds was brought to bed in child birth. The room was full of woman folk gathered to help her, more out of curiosity than good will. They had all heard the rumors that Mother Leeds was involved in witchcraft, and had sworn she would give birth to a devil.

Tension mounted when at last the baby arrived. It was a relief (and to some a disappointment), when the baby was born completely normal. But a few moments later, before their terrified eyes, the child began to change. The room erupted with screams as the child grew at an enormous rate, becoming taller than a man and changing into a beast which resembled a dragon, with a head like a horse, a snake-like body and bat's wings.
As soon as it was full-grown, the monster began beating all the woman (including his mother) with its thick, forked tail. With a harsh cry, it flew through the chimney and vanished into the storm.
The Monster of Leeds, or the Jersey Devil as he was later called, still haunts the pines of New Jersey, wrecking havoc upon farmer's crops and livestock, poisoning pools and creeks, and appearing on the New Jersey shore just before a ship wreck.


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It was a week of pandemonium! In January of 1909, the Jersey Devil emerged from the Pine Barrens and began terrorizing the local communities, both in New Jersey and in Pennsylvania. Devil hunts failed to catch the flying creature, which danced on rooftops, stalked small animals, and frightened the good people of the area with its unexpected appearances in their yards and businesses. The newspapers carried the reports along with sketches of the unusual creature.

Mrs. Sorbinski, a resident of South Camden, followed the stories of the Jersey Devil with skepticism tempered with fear. She wasn't sure if a creature that resembled a dragon, with a head like a horse, a snake-like body and bat's wings could possibly exist. It seemed a lot of hokum to her, although several prominent people claimed to have encountered the critter.
Toward the end of the week, Mrs. Sorbinski discovered the truth about the Jersey Devil the hard way. Hearing a commotion in her yard, she hurried outside with a broom in hand. She was concerned for the safety of her dog-and with good reason. The pet, which had been left outside, was in the claws of a beast which resembled a dragon, with a head like a horse, a snake-like body and bat's wings. It was the Jersey Devil. Mrs. Sorbinski valiantly flailed at the Devil with her broom, trying to make the creature let go of her beloved pet. Upset by the stinging blows of the broom, the strange creature released the dog. Then it flew right at her. Mrs. Sorbinski was terrified. The attack had come so unexpectedly that she had no time to move. At the last second, the Jersey Devil veered away and sailed over the fence.
Relief unfroze her muscles. Grabbing up her dog, Mrs. Sorbinski screamed in panic and shock as she carried her pet indoors and phoned for help. Patrolmen Crouch and Cunningham were dispatched to the house. As they strove to calm Mrs. Sorbinski and the gathered neighbors, the officers heard piercing screeches from the standpipe in Kaighn Hill. The officers ran to the location. Silhouetted against the sky was a large creature which resembled a dragon, with a head like a horse, a snake-like body and bat's wings. The Jersey Devil was still in town!
The officers emptied their revolvers in vain at the creature, but their bullets did not faze the creature. It stretched up and up into the darkened sky as if it mocked them, ignoring the clamor of the patrolmen and the crowd. Finally, the creature flapped its large wings and flew lazily away into the night.
For two more days, the Jersey Devil continued to plague the area. Then it disappeared as suddenly as it had come. No one knew why it had emerged from the Pine Barrens, or why it so suddenly stopped its foraging. But everyone, especially Mrs. Sorbinski and her dog, was relieved that the Jersey Devil was gone.


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Joseph Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon, was the King of Spain. Unsuccessful in defending Spain against England during the Peninsular Wars, he was forced to abdicate his throne in 1813. Following Napoleon's defeat, he went into exile in America. Joseph purchased eight-hundred acres at Bordentown, New Jersey because it was between the two great sea ports of New York and Philadelphia. From this place, he could obtain the very latest news from France and Spain.

As befitting royalty - even the dethroned sort - Joseph built himself a lovely mansion with beautiful, landscaped grounds and plenty of parkland. Joseph Bonaparte entertained many of the great men of his day, including John Adams, the Marquis of Lafayette, and Daniel Webster. He led a very glamorous social life, throwing marvelous parties with mountains of food and many guests. The Americans were very impressed with him.
One snowy afternoon, the ex-King of Spain was hunting alone in the woods near his house when he spotted some strange tracks on the ground. They looked like the tracks of a two-footed donkey. Bonaparte noticed that one foot was slightly larger than the other. The tracks ended abruptly as if the creature had flown away. He stared at the tracks for a long moment, trying to figure out what the strange animal might be.
At that moment, Bonaparte heard a strange hissing noise. Turning, he found himself face to face with a large winged creature with a horse-like head and bird-like legs. Astonished and frightened, he froze and stared at the beast, forgetting that he was carrying a rifle. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the creature hissed at him, beat its wings, and flew away.
When he reported the incident to a friend later that day, Bonaparte was told that he had just seen the famous Jersey Devil, who had haunted the Pine Barrens ever since he was born to Mother Leeds one dark and stormy night in 1735. Bonaparte was impressed by the story of the Jersey Devil, and thereafter kept a lookout for the fabulous creature whenever he went hunting. Once things settled down in Europe, Joseph Bonaparte returned to Europe and was reunited with his wife in Italy. He never saw the Jersey Devil again.

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If you travel to Bear Lake in Utah on a quiet day, you just might catch a glimpse of the Bear Lake Monster. The monster looks like a huge brown snake and is nearly 90 feet long. It has ears that stick out from the side of its skinny head and a mouth big enough to eat a man. According to some, it has small legs and it kind of scurries when it ventures out on land. But in the water - watch out! It can swim faster than a horse can gallop -

makes a mile a minute on a good day. Sometimes the monster likes to sneak up on unwary swimmers and blow water at them. The ones it doesn't carry off to eat, that is.
A feller I heard about spotted the monster early one evening as he was walking along the lake. He tried to shoot it with his rifle. The man was a crack shot, but not one of his bullets touched that monster. It scared the heck out of him and he high tailed it home faster than you can say Jack Robinson. Left his rifle behind him and claimed the monster ate it.
Sometimes, when the monster has been quiet for a while, people start saying it is gone for good. Some folks even dredge up that old tale that says how Pecos Bill heard about the Bear Lake monster and bet some cowpokes that he could wrestle that monster until it said uncle. According to them folks, the fight lasted for days and created a hurricane around Bear Lake. Finally, Bill flung that there monster over his shoulder and it flew so far it went plumb around the world and landed in Loch Ness, where it lives to this day.
Course, we know better than that. The Bear Lake Monster is just hibernating-like. Keep your eyes open at dusk and maybe you'll see it come out to feed. Just be careful swimming in the lake, or you might be its next meal!

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Oksana lived in a small house on the edge of town with her father, her stepmother and her stepsister. Oksana's stepmother disliked Oksana, favoring her true daughter, Olena.

Soon after her father's remarriage, Oksana found that all the housework fell to her while Olena idled her days away. Oksana's father was a timid man, and could not bring himself to defy his wife. So Oksana wore Olena's cast off clothes, and her hands grew red and chapped from scrubbing in the cold, while Olena attended parties, growing lazy and spoiled.
One year, when the winter snows were particularly fierce, Oksana's family ran out of money. Oksana's stepmother began nagging her father to send Oksana away, because they could not afford to keep two girls. Reluctantly, Oksana's father agreed. He took Oksana to a cottage deep in the woods and left her there.
Oksana was very frightened. The woods were said to be filled with demons and monsters. But Oksana was also practical. She entered the cottage with her small bundle and found a fireplace, a lopsided table and a rusty old pot. Oksana put away the loaf of bread, the knife and the slab of cheese her father had given her. She folded the blanket and laid it near the fireplace. Then she collected wood and built a fire.
Oksana knew the bread and cheese would not last her all winter. So she made a snare using the thin, flexible branches of the trees and caught a snow rabbit to eat. She also dug under the deep snow, and found some roots and berries for food.
By dark, Oksana had melted water for drinking, and used the rest to make a stew. So Oksana ate well. Then she lay down near the fire for the night, listening to the wind howl and pretending to herself that she was not frightened of the woods.
It was midnight when the knock came.
Knock, knock, knock.
It echoed hollowly through the dark cottage. Oksana woke with a start, her heart pounding in fear. It came again.
Knock, knock, knock.
Oksana thought of the monsters. She hid under her blanket, praying the thing would go away.
Knock, knock, knock.
Oksana rose, grabbing a branch. She crept towards the door. The wind howled eerily down the chimney. Oksana swallowed and swung the door open. There was nothing there. Her heart pounded fiercely as she stared out at the snow whipping about in the light of her small fire. Then she looked down. Oksana let out a shriek of terror and leapt back, dropping her stick. It was a demon. An evil spirit.
It had no body!
"Who are you?" Oksana stuttered, clutching the door with shaking hands.
"I am Cow's Head," it replied.
Indeed, Oksana saw at once that it was. The head was brown, with curved horns and strange, haunted eyes.
"I am cold and hungry. May I sleep by your fire?" the Cow's Head asked. Its voice was cold and lifeless.
Oksana gulped down her horror.
"Of course," she said.
"Lift me over the threshold," demanded the Cow's Head hollowly. Oksana did as she was bidden.
"Place me near the fire."
Anger warred with compassion inside her, but compassion won. Oksana put it next to the fire.
"I am hungry," said the Cow's Head. "Feed me."
Oksana thought of her meager food supply. The stew left in the pot was for her breakfast. She fed it to Cow's Head.
"I will sleep now," it said. There was no softening in its attitude toward her. Nonetheless, Oksana made it comfortable for the night, giving it her blanket and sleeping in a cold corner with only her cloak to keep her warm.
When she woke in the morning, Cow's Head was gone. Where it had slept was a large trunk, filled with the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. Under the gowns lay heaps of gold and jewels.
Oksana stared blankly at the riches in front of her. Her father's voice roused her.
"Daughter, I am come."
Oksana forgot the trunk in her joy. She ran into his arms. He had defied her stepmother to come and bring her back to their home.
"Papa, come see!" Oksana exclaimed as she pulled him into the cottage. Her words tumbled over each other as she explained.
Her father took her home. She was honored in her town for her compassion and her bravery, and won scores of suitors. She married soon after her return from the cottage.
Hearing Oksana's story, and seeing the riches she had received, Olena went to the cottage in the forest and spent the night there. But when Cow's Head appeared, she was too lazy to serve it. In the morning, all her gowns had turned to rags and her possessions to dust.
But Oksana lived to a ripe old age in happiness and prosperity.


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