Fict File 13C

The train ride was not terribly unpleasant. I used the company’s short lines along the New River and north, until I was able to arrange travel east and south in Charleston. From there the train carried me past Huntington and out of West Virginia.  My

last stop on the western line was Lexington, and from there I switched to the south line, which took me all the way to Meridian, Mississippi. Finding myself in a city where I knew absolutely no one, I was still able to arrange a nice place to rest thanks to a friend’s arranging with family for me to have a room and bed for a few days. This was a nice break from the monotony and crowds of the train ride. After that it was back to the rail, westward into Texas until I reached Dallas. At Dallas I switched to a short line again, this time north, until I finally arrived at my destination, a rail hub town on the Red River. Denison, Texas.

Denison was actually a remarkable place. Founded by the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad, it immediately grew as an important primary rail hub for traffic crossing the Red River. The busy streets bustling activity throughout the town was testament to the success of that plan.

My official business in Denison was to consult with a gentleman named Thomas Munson. However recent events in my life had given me reason to do some personal investigation while I was there. Hidden amid my papers on chemistry and botany, was an old newspaper clipping I had run across. It was my hope that this ragged little clipping might lead me to some insights regarding recent events. However I was obliged to see to my official responsibilities in regards to Mr. Munson first.

Mr. Munson received me at his home and we talked at great length as he proudly escorted me through his small private vineyard. We talked in detail about phylloxera and the damage it was spreading across Europe. The disease had been introduced when vines native to the Americas had been transplanted in Europe, bringing with them a disease which the European vines had no resistance to. It had become a serious epidemic. Mr. Munson’s work in cross breeding strains for a heartier variety had proven to his satisfaction that he was well on the way to solving the dilemma, however there were still details which eluded him. Because of this we spent much of the rest of the day in his study, with him asking me endless varieties of questions about soil and minerals. He has a strong belief that the real answer lies in the plant's root development and the particular nutrients it is getting from the soil content. After spending the day with him, I would have to say that I feel he is looking in the right direction, and may one day prove successful at his goal. However Botany is not one of my strongest of sciences, so I might simply be taking a rather Pollyanna attitude towards a project I was honored to be included in. I am not as often approached for such work since West Virginia 

University let me go, so I tend to revel in it when such arrives.

The days consultation seeming to prove fruitful, and with Mr. Munson seeming both satisfied and grateful for my meager contributions, the good botanist asked me to join him for dinner. I was happy to do so, and had expected our days scientific conversations to continue, however I found myself a bit surprised when Mr. Munson turned our conversation in directions more philosophical and political. It was at that moment that I understood why a pansy flower decorated his lapel. Thomas extolled at length about his particular viewpoint in which reason, logic, and empiricism held the greatest status, above tradition, religion, or even common law. I had heard of folks like Thomas, who called themselves free thinkers, though many considered them anarchists. After spending an evening of conversation with the man, I’d have to say my impression lies somewhere in the middle of those two labels. It was an enlightening and engaging conversation, but not one I’d be inclined to record the content of, lest our musings be misconstrued or taken out of context.  After brandy and cigars I complimented his home and company and made my way back to my simple lodging.

Compared to Mr. Munson’s fine house my snug four by nine room was as Spartan as a monk’s chamber. I am not sure if it was entirely discomfort which prevented sleep that night, it might also have been a childlike anticipation. Much like what occurs the night before Christmas or some other exciting event. One is so looking forward to the morn, that one’s rest seems short and fitful. Filled not with slumber, but instead long moments of laying in the dark with ones mind a swirling fog of hope and expectations, limiting actual rest to foggy snippets of sleep. Such a night of course left me cotton headed and thick the next morning. It required numerous cups of coffee for me to find my wits and set out on my mission. It took the rest of the morning, and a small amount of bribery, to learn the location I sought. A farm just a few miles out of town, near the wide gulch.

The five or six miles along the south road proved a dusty and dry walk. As I strolled along my way I admit my mind wandered to my previous days conversations regarding the local agriculture. Compared to the more fertile mountain land of my home, this location seemed very hard and cruel with respect to the land. I also think that I mused upon this subject as a manner of distraction, so that I could prevent myself from making suppositions or leaps of judgments about the encounter I hoped to have. Looking back, I think I might have clutched at that old scrap from the Denison Daily News the entire walk. The sweat from my hand caused the ink to bleed onto my fingertips, and smeared the original date of January 25, 1878 so much so that I had to pencil it later on the clipping. This same excitement quickened my pace and made the journey pass quite swiftly.

The Martin farm was of modest size but obviously well tended and cared for. It’s appearance spoke well of its owner John Martin and his family. I was greeted by one of his sons immediately upon arriving at the farm, and without suspicion or frowns as academics such as I often receive when arriving unannounced. The boy cheerfully introduced me to his father and after the customary polite exchanges I explained my interest in speaking with him, bringing forth the newspaper clipping I had carried so many miles.

“That was a long time ago.” Mr. Martin related. “I remember it happened not too long after Doc Holliday closed his practice in town. I was hunting when I saw it.” It was at this time that the farmer slowed his words, making sure the seriousness of what he was relating was imparted. It was a tone meant to assure the listener of the veracity of what was to follow. “One moment it was there, just a dark speck in the southern sky, and then all of a sudden it just seemed to dash right over us. It was moving at a frightful speed, reminded me something of a hummingbird in flight. Fast, then stop, fast, then stop. “

I asked him what it looked like and without hesitation he pointed to the saucer under his coffee. “Flip that over, that that’s what it looked like. Like a round saucer. I don’t know what it was, but I am glad that some learned science man like yourself is looking in on it. I am reassured by that, even if it did take ten years before someone did.”

He went on to tell me that the object then flew off in a northeastern direction, and that he was certain it was not a balloon, and that he actually saw it. I inquired if he had seen it land or had perhaps come across any place on his property where it might appear that it had come to earth. He assured me he had found nothing of the sort on his property nor knew of any neighbors who had discovered anything.

“The only thing that was odd about it was the Preacher who arrived a day or so after the story had been printed. Friendly enough fellow, all smiles in his black suit. He spent some time trying to convince me that I had seen some planet in the sky or something called a bowl-ride.”

“A Bolide?” I asked, to which he nodded.

“He said it was rocks that fell from the sky, which sounded like a lot of rubbish to me.” Mr. Martin added, obvious humor to his tone. “He pestered me for a few hours about my not really seeing what I told the paper I saw. After awhile I got annoyed by it and told him so, and threw him off my farm. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, it wasn’t Christian of me,” he said, emphasizing, “but there was just something about the manner of that Preacher. So soft spoken and always smiling.”

I asked Mr. Martin why he thought the stranger was a Preacher and was told, “His coat and manner of dress, all black and funeral like. Only folks I see dressed like that are usually preachers and undertakers. Now that you ask that, I admit I never heard him say one word of scripture. He just talked planets and falling rocks with that odd smile. Guess I just felt he was mocking me.”

With that I finished the notes I was taking and thanked Mr. Martin for his time. As I was getting ready to part company with the farmer I begged one last indulgence of his time as I took a ferrotype from the safety of its paper cover and showed it to him, asking if the gentleman in the picture resembled this preacher he had spoken with.

John Martin confirmed that indeed the man in the picture could be the preacher he had thrown off his farm ten years prior. This was something that dominated my thoughts the long train rides back to West Virginia. John Martin, a farmer in Denison, Texas, had witnessed the exact same thing I had, except almost a decade prior.

And like myself, he too had encountered, the man in black.

From the Journal of Professor Tot

November 1888

Author'sNote: FictFiles are works of Fiction.  The FictFiles posts here in this blog are one of my ways of both sharing these stories with a wider audience, and collecting them in a easy to locate place.

FictFile 13B

Odd little Doodlebug

This was near where Leading Creek meets the Tygart. Senator Davis had sent myself and some others there, to give a scientific survey. It was an area Senator Davis and another Senator had an eye to develop for Coal and Timber. That morning I was surprised to find the stranger standing in the field near my canvas home, seeming content to simply admire the landscape. His arms were folded in the quirksome manner he employed, with his hands shoved up under his armpits as if taken with a chill. I was told later, by our cook, that my odd friend had been standing in that same spot for several hours. The cook had taken him for some sort of minister, given his square cut black suit. 

The stranger greeted me with the same cordial smile, and asked me several questions about the foliage of the area, many of which I found to be very specific and unable to give proper response to. He mentioned a fondness for a nearby mountaintop, though he confessed he did not know the local name for it. As we talked he took from his pocket what appeared to be a brass winged beetle about size of the palm of his hand. It’s ‘face’ was made from a chunk of amethyst, with the filigree body terminating in a frosted faceted quartz. The legs appeared to be segmented pearl, and it was covered in springs which seemed to continually tighten and release. The stranger then set the clockwork ‘insect’ into the grass where it immediately scurried out of sight. 

I inquired from him what he was hoping to detect with this new contraption. He simply looked at me with that bobcat grin of his and replied that this particular ‘critter’ didn’t actually detect anything, but rather assisted the others. He attempted to explain how this was the case, but I admit I failed to understand it with any certainty. We had coffee at the Kit, and as usual Cook’s coffee was poor and well burnt, but the stranger did not complain. I did note he added even more honey than his usual copious amount, which drew grins from several of the men working the survey. As we sat together the stranger again turned the talk towards the local foliage, which I was unfamiliar with. This seemed to disappoint him a little. Afterward he simply shook my hand and walked away from camp into the woods with the same manner a gentleman might stroll a street in Wheeling. 

It would be several weeks before I saw that stranger once more. I confess I never did see that little gold brassy bug again, though I frequently found myself looking for it about the camp.

-From the Journal of Professor Tot, 
Oct 1888



Author'sNote: FictFiles are works of Fiction. Recently I had been composing various stories to accompany different sculptures and jewelry I've been working on. After sharing them else-site, I was encouraged to collect and produce more of these stories. The FictFiles posts here in this blog are one of my ways of both sharing these stories with a wider audience, and collecting them in a easy to locate place.

FictFile 13a

I could tell when I entered the room that the two officers had already questioned the suspect at great length. The room was stagnant, and the sputtering oil lantern didn’t help. Instead it gave the air a shrouding mist that hung irritably about the throat and nose. I introduced myself as the Detective on Duty and began to question the suspect, a one Richard ‘Dickie’ Crest. Dickie was the owner of a pub Elkside of Charleston, a place were questionable things were rumored to happen. Tonight he had been brought in on charges of attempted arson.

The officers [Names Redacted] informed me when found it appeared Dickie had removed all the money from the register and the safe, and had attempted to set two fires. When the officers found him he seemed dumbstruck, staring at the small burnt spots with the monies in a carpetbag beside him upon a table, next to which sat an empty small shallow box, which they assumed he had kept the tinder in.

Richard told me quite a different tale, once I had calmed him and convinced him I had no plans at start to resort to violence. The monies from the register and the safe had been taken that evening to the basement lock up and were still upon the premises. (A fact which was confirmed.) The cash he had been found with had been brought by two gentlemen, who were meeting him to purchase a necklace Richard had come to possess. (He claimed this was what the box had contained.) Covered in pearls, tourmaline, citrine, and other stones, all Richard knew about the necklace was that it was valuable. He admitted he thought it looked ancient, despite many modern elements of design. Richard claims that while meeting with these two other gentleman that a third individual interrupted them. He described the man as having a wide smile despite being dressed for mourning. He raised an object that looked like a candlestick at them which erupted with a great flash like that of a camera's powder. When Richard had recovered from the dazzling light, he realized that his two companions had been reduced to small piles of smoldering ash, and the stranger in black was calmly walking away with the necklace.

“She would find it distasteful, her treasure bartered in a back room like this. She was a Queen. But then again, your history holds no memory of her I imagine. Pity. See you in time, Mr. Crest. Perhaps next April, on your birthday.” Richard claimed the man said, adding he had a pleasant and polite tone. He was certain he remembered the words exactly, and it was at this time in his story that Richard seemed to display genuine fear.

He would not reveal the identity of the individual who had supplied him with the necklace, nor those of the two alleged ‘victims.’ So there is no way to verify this story.

At this time I recommend we at least continue holding Richard Crest until Dr. Perrin can decide if he is sane. I have my doubts.

-Report filed by Rodney Jacobson, Detective, CPD
Oct. **, 1882

Mr Crest's Stranger?

Author'sNote: FictFiles are works of Fiction. Recently I had been composing various stories to accompany different sculptures and jewelry I've been working on. After sharing them else-site, I was encouraged to collect and produce more of these stories. The FictFiles posts here in this blog are one of my ways of both sharing these stories with a wider audience, and collecting them in a easy to locate place. I hope folks enjoy. 

I would also like to apologize for the gap in postings, October was a very busy month for the Captain and I, however I have had some great experiences I hope to share with folks soon.

Travels of the Cat In Black

Medics, Mounds and Marx

So today I found myself in Moundsville, West Virginia. I was there to attend a FRN Meeting as Vice President of Vandalia-Con. (https://www.facebook.com/vandaliacon.org) It was a very nice meeting and visit, and a good bit was accomplished. What was especially nice however was that I was able to use the rest of the afternoon to visit some of the more popular sites in the area. The day was overcast and it continually threatened to rain on our visits. There were a few small cloudbursts, but the only rain we were caught in as we strolled was a soft summer rain, which accented the day quite well.

It did pound rain a fair bit on the drive home however, but we made the trip safe and sound.

           

Gives one a sense of the scale of this sacred place.

Naturally the first visit had to be the location the town is named for, the Grave Creek Burial Mound of Moundsville. Almost 70 Feet high and roughly 240 feet in diameter, it is the largest conical burial mound in the United States. Built prior to 100 B.C. by the ‘Adena’ Peoples during the Woodlands period, the mound is believed to have built up in successive stages over a burial, with each layer spanning a previous period of time.  In 1830, Jesse Tomlinson and his partner Thomas Briggs dug into the center of the mound, discovering and looting the bodies they found there. Afterward Mr. Tomlinson opened a museum inside the Mound where spectators could pay to see the treasures the two men discovered for themselves. Sadly the profit minded actions of these two men polluted the site, making any further study problematic at the very least.

The Grave Creek Burial Mound was nearly destroyed in 1908, when development threatened the Mound’s destruction. However it was saved at the last minute by a local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. After that time it was designated as a historic spot, and was finally declared a National Historic Landmark in 1964. Today it still strikes one as a sacred space, solemn and peaceful with a commanding view of the entire river valley. The Delf Norona Museum located onsite is educational without seeming pandering. The history displays are respectful and the displays that feature the work of local artists were a great deal of fun to view. Quite inspiring. It is a remarkable place to visit.

When one literally turns one’s back to the Grave Creek Mound they are greeted with an imposing site.

A very LARGE building..

It’s pretty big..

Seriously… Big..

This is the West Virginia State Penitentiary. A gothic architecture style prison of massive proportions, it was in operation from the 1870’s till the early to mid 1990’s. At its peak it hosted about 2000 inmates and was known as one of the most violent prisons in America. It was the scene of several historic riots, and hosted a number of notable criminals. Unfortunately we did not have the time to take the tour today. But I do hope to return and do an entry specifically about that location sometime in the future.

Right nearby these two landmarks we did discover a remarkable little location. Much like the Penitentiary, this building is very hard to miss

That elephant is -really- excited to see you!

Who, me? Just visiting.

This is Johnny Shar’s Big Dipper Ice Cream Parlor, and it is where we stopped to have a quick bite to eat. The Captain got a scoop of red velvet ice cream, and I had a coca-cola and pepperoni roll. The Captain gave the ice cream a thumbs up, and I will say the same for my meal. The pepperoni roll was offered with a marinara sauce, which I declined, and was made in the ‘folded slices’ style as opposed to the ‘cheese and sticks’ style. It was served very warm, and the bread was nice and soft without being overly greasy. I am fond of the West Virginia Pepperoni Roll and I will say this place serves a very enjoyable one.  Classical Television theme songs played in the background and we were surrounded by Carnival memorabilia as we enjoyed our food. It was a really fun atmosphere and a very nice place to grab a bite to eat.

Finally as we headed out of town the Captain allowed me to divert us long enough to enjoy a brief visit to the Kruger Street Toy & Train Museum. At first I was a bit surprised, as it seemed that most of the Toys displayed were more recent varieties than vintage ones, but then I looked closer. The museum has a remarkable collection of Marx produced toys, as I had hoped. A great deal of my childhood was spent playing with Marx toys, everything from army men and other plastic figures to the larger Johnny West Style dolls. The company had a factory in West Virginia and so I remember Marx toys being everywhere when I was growing up. My favorites were the Gold and Silver Knights, and the Vikings that they had made. While they did not have one of the Vikings on display, they did have the two Knights with all their gear on & they also had the same Geronimo doll that I had in my younger days, so those were fun and nostalgic to see. The upstairs of the museum featured model train displays, which were all very impressive and fun to witness as they wound around their little model towns. Each display featured little electronic elements spectators could trigger at the push of a button adding a level of interactivity, which accented the enjoyment of seeing all the fine details of the models. I would recommend the Museum to any Toy or Train fan and most certainly to anyone fond of Marx toys growing up.  To learn more about the museum visit www.ToyandTrain.com

 All in all, it was a good day.

C.I.B. CaseFile 1-B

Adventures of the Cat In Black

Case 1

Second Entry

The Headless Ghost of Booth Creek

     

Booth Creek

Many years ago, a body was found near the curve in an old coal road, right beside where the road came up against the bank of Booth Creek. It was the headless corpse of a Drawer from Pennsylvania. This was said to have happened near where the creek fed into the Monongehelia River. After that body was found, there were reports of a haunting that occurred at that spot. On different occasions witnesses reported having seen the specter of a headless man riding atop a coffin crossing the road before disappearing out of sight.  The sightings were all said to have taken place during the dusk hours of a night with a full moon. So on May 15^th, the Captain and I packed a bag, and set out to walk to the location where this haunting was said to take place.

     I had never been to this location before, despite it’s close proximity to where I reside. However, as I had mentioned prior, once I discovered that it was not a terrible distance from me I became resolved to walk there, locate the site, and photograph it.  In that respect the Captain and I’s endeavors were quite successful. I must state upfront that we did not witness nor capture any evidence of the haunting in question, but we did have a marvelous adventure in our journey discovering the location.

Rail Trail

            The walk proved longer than I had originally projected, and the point that I had previously walked to and thought halfway, proved to be closer to a third of the distance to be trod. The weather was unseasonably hot, however we did not allow that discomfort to dissuade or impede our progress, instead it simply added to the challenge of the adventure at hand.

     While the weather was initially hot and uncomfortable, it did not turn against us as we had initially feared. Storms had threatened overhead for most of the day, and atmospheric rumbles had echoed since the early afternoon, never ceasing our entire journey. That said, it never rained upon us, and as the evening approached the temperatures became much more pleasant.

     We used the old Rail Route as it seemed by my research that such would pass directly by where the haunting was said to take place, and I was proved correct.  It proved a fascinating walk in many respects. Since we took up the route from downtown Morgantown, (West Virginia, ) we found that the initial mile we walked was filled with a variety of folks taking the air and trying to enjoy the break of the recent rains. We saw many people along this particular restaurant laden section of our trip, but that soon gave way to a small collection of shops and businesses which had their backs to us, their fronts facing the busy street that ran alongside out route. All this gave way to municipal buildings and finally a riverside facility for a local mining interest.  After that, the pavement of our pathway ended, and we walked upon packed earth and gravel as we left downtown Morgantown behind, and stepped onto the verdant path which lay before us.

   

  At this point the environment around us drastically changed. On one side the trail followed the River, keeping close to the bank as it had done throughout our journey so far. The other side of the path immediately began to loom threateningly as it increased in elevation sharply, resulting in an immediate cliff  which dominated over the side opposite the river like a confining crumbling wall.  However there wer e places where this stony buttress however that the Captain and I discovered many fascinating places as we walked toward Booth Creek from downtown. In more than one location the emerald green that hugged the cliff face would give way  to views of melodious waterfalls cascading their cache of recent rains and spring melt. One of these spots in particular was well cut into the rock and nature had crafted a remarkably peaceful little grotto, which we photographed and vowed to return to at a later date so we might explore and document it further.  It was not the only location we took note of in such fashion, another also immediately caught our attention and was added in our notes as a place to return to for the same reasons as the grotto. In short, both simply had amazing qualities which immediately captured the imagination. This latter location that I mention was home to a collection of large concavities in the cliff face that might strike one’s fancy as purposeful rather than natural in their make-up, despite their obvious appearance of being brought about by normal erosion.

Remarkable Grotto

Curious Concavities 

     After these side glances and notations we were unable to linger along the route for any length of time as there were signs warning one not to due to the risk of rockslides, so we hurried as much as possible till we curved along the riverbank and the steep cliff side gave way to a rolling and noisome swampy area filled with gnats and round little pools of still water thick with vivid green algae. This fit the description of the area we had come to investigate, this meant that we had arrived.

The roadside bank of Booth Creek, below the curve.

The curve in the road, alongside the Creek

     We did indeed find the location where the haunting took place and photographed it from a variety of viewpoints. Much of the property there was marked as private and so out of respect to that we kept our investigations to the pathway & the public road. As I stated before, we did not witness any manifestations or ghostly activity, though we did try to time our visit to correspond to the appropriate time of evening.  

Location of the Haunting

C.I.B.

     While I myself cannot speak to what these witnesses of the haunting saw or did not see, I can speak to the location I visited. Approaching the location in the manner that the Captain and I did, from Morgantown along the Rail Route, there is a sense of dread and danger on that trek because such is very real in respect to a falling rock. One that the Captain and I passed had obviously fallen quite recently and was the size of small automobile.  So there is a degree to which one’s body has a tenseness and is at alert to the danger as one walks the route. Sound also travels a bit odd here, as conversations happening on the opposite bank of the river can be heard very clearly as one walks the trail and the sound rebounds against the cliff face. We noted that we could very clearly hear the conversation of two men gardening at a small house on the far bank, and could note well their comments on the day and their complaints in respect to the heat. These conditions make for a very unusual sensory experience in many respects, and could be a factor in what people have witnessed there over the years.

     The Captain and I discussed this and other aspects of the trip as we walked back to town, the thunder continuously threatening but never truly giving in to the full fury of a storm.  When we reached home, tired from walking the unexpected distance, the storm had finally broke and given way to the clear stars of the night. Glittering in the darkness.

C.I.B CaseFile 1-A

 Adventures of the Cat In Black

Case 1

First Entry

The Headless Ghost of Booth Creek

I first became aware of the Headless Ghost of Booth Creek many years ago as a young teen when I discovered The Telltale Lilac Bush and other West Virginia Ghost Tales by the late Ruth Ann Musick. While it was one of many tales contained within the book, one of the elements of it that had always kept my interest was that it was that this particular apparition had been seen on different occasions by separate witnesses. In each instance it seemed to adhere to a specific set of patterns in behavior and appearance. One of the reasons I chose it as my opening adventure was because it was originally sited at a spot just south of Morgantown, WV.  After a small amount of investigation I discovered that it was a location I felt I could easily walk to from my place of residence.

On Friday, under continual threat of thunderstorm, I tested that theory and walked the route I had planned out to the location of the original sightings. My concerns about the weather prevented my walking the entire route on this occasion, more than any other factor, but I came away encouraged that the trek was indeed as simple and straightforward as I had predicted.

What was a tad frustrating was that the threatened storms never struck till well after I had backtracked and reached town again. In fact I was safe at home again when the first raindrops fell, which I suppose in some regards can be considered good timing, and likely sensible as well considering the strength of the winds displayed by the storms that blew through that eve. That I had cut my initial outing short still frustrated me however.

Frustration aside, I must remark in saying it was still an invigorating day in many regards despite the oppression of the weather. The impending thunderstorms heralded their approach with a morning of hot balmy air dusty with spring spore and seed. The air clung at a person except upon those occasions when a hotter wind blew against one like the exhalations of a malevolent djinn. Altogether this crafted a surprisingly uncomfortable spring day, one which felt more suited to the latter days of summer when the August sun drew dancing waves of heat up from street and rock, rather than what one normally experienced in early May.  

Decker's Creek meets the Monongehelia River 

As the evening approached the increasing winds carried cooler air to buffet against the days heat, fueling the storms that mostly just rumbled threateningly overhead. The air became much more pleasant, and I took to the front porch on several occasions to enjoy my vape and the now rain cooled winds that whisked about the house. Maple seeds danced upon the winds like mad squadrons of gyrocopters and the dogwoods bloosoms bounced upon their branches, opening their petals wide to the rain of the lingering storm.

Dogwoods on the Riverside

Despite the beauty that the mercurial weather was displaying, it did result as said in my initial outing being cut short, so as I enjoyed the cooling of the evening I reviewed the initial reports with which I had grown familiar. I will only briefly touch upon the highlights of these, and encourage interested parties to consider obtaining a copy of Ruth Ann Musick’s work, should more detail be desired. the book is a excellent collection of folklore and ghost tales centered around West Virginia. I am sure I will reference it again in my adventures.

The Headless Ghost (or Floating Coffin) of Booth Creek was described as sighted near where the creek flows into the Monongehelia River. Another landmark of the sightings seems to be along the creek bank where Smithtown Road meets an old coal road, which is also right near the mouth of the creek. The apparition was reported as being a floating coffin being ridden by a headless man. This headless ghost is suspected of being a haunting by a Pennsylvanian Drawer who’s body had been reputed to have been found along the creek bank near where the old road met the new road. The apparition was reported on multiple occasions as being seen crossing the road heading creekward before disappearing. The sightings all report to have taken place on a night of a full moon and during the late evening, just as the sun was setting but before night had completely fallen.

In the days to come, as I investigate further into this case I will share more details as I discover them and the secrets unfold.  The full moon rises soon, and I plan to make the trek again.

Note from Bret:

It is my intention to locate, photograph and document the location that the related sightings took place at mostly as a matter of personal interest and whimsy. I do not have any expectations of encountering anything untoward, revealing any great mysteries, or really shedding a special new light on previous investigations. My primary goal is to get out a bit more, take a lot more photographs, and try and frame such in a fun narrative that I hope folks will enjoy.  I plan to sprinkle these adventure narratives in as occasional weekend entries to this blog.  

Throwback (to a few Mondays ago) Thursday. aka Better Late than Never?

Throwback Thursday!!

Well, let us pretend that it is at least two Mondays ago when I was supposed to start this thing, and let folks know a little bit about me and the kindsa stuff I’ve been doing.

Let’s just say I’ve been a little busy.

First things first however, let me introduce myself. I am a mid forties dad, a husband, an artist, a martial arts instructor, and a generally open minded fellow.

I like taking pictures of flowers, making Steampunk and Fantasy related artwork, and studying things that randomly interest me.  All in all except for some rather odd quirks, such as not being at all interested in organized sports for the most part, I’m a pretty average fellow.

I had a good life growing up. My relatives were positive role models for me, and I was blessed to be able to spend a great deal of my childhood around a wide variety of relatives. It was a generally positive experience I have to admit.

I plan to use Monday Blogs to talk more about me in the future, so that I can be open with folks about my perspectives and share with you all some of the reasons why I might come to look at certain maters in the manner I do. I tend to lean towards some odd perspectives, and so I do not expect folks to agree with me always. You might not agree with me at all, and that’s fine. I encourage that. I even encourage you to state so in comments or an email. I will ask that folks try and do so in a polite and respectful manner.

Now.

What have I been doing lately you might ask?

If you’re one of my Facebook friends or such I’ve been bombarding you over the last several months about the Steampunk Convention I was helping to set up called Vandalia-Con, which we held in Parkersburg, WV this past Weekend.  It was Amazing!

The Convention was a fundraiser for WV BCCSP and Bonnie’s Bus. We raised more money than expected, (and we are still awaiting a final count to my understanding) and we also exceeded the projected turnout for the event as well. So from the goals we were trying to accomplish, Vandalia-Con was a success. Many business minded people dressed in nice suits are meeting and discussing our future all this week and into next week at various points. I can say prospects are strong, and things keep swinging in our favor, so I am staying positive.

If things go the way I hope they do,  we will have big news to share in our future!

I do want to make sure to take the time to express my appreciation and gratitude to so many folks.  Dr. Cream’s Elixir, Painless Parker, The Battle Weary Band, The Dead Frets and most especially Unwoman, who flew in from California to support our cause. We are grateful to our Featured Artists Thomas Wileford, Mark Twain, Professor Bubblemaker , The Airship Hyapatia & the Crew of the Dead Rabbit. All of whom came and supported us through panels and presence. I am also very appreciative of the authors who came and supported us, Cindy Lynn Speer whom I’ve crossed blades with many times in the past and have a great admiration for, and Susan Sheppard, a lady of incredible narrative talent who also treated guests to a in depth ghost tour of the city. Next up, the Local Ghostbusters and the amazing White Zombie Cast and crew insured that all our guests young and old were entertained throughout the weekend, and for that we are indeed grateful.

Thank you to all who attended!!

However I would be remiss if I were not to give a huge Thank You to the Staff of the Historic Bennerhassett Hotel and to all the people from BCCSP, Mountains of Hope, Hot Tomato Pin Up Academy, The Crew of the Inferno, and so many others who gave of their time as staff to help make this past weekend happen. 

Thank You ALL!!! Thank You So Very Much

And Finally, to My Lady Wife, My Captain, Shelly Dusic for heading this up and giving everyone an incredible weekend all while helping women across the State. I would also like to thank my two daughters Zena & Lilly, who were the best assistants I could have asked for all weekend. 

Bravo.

You All show the Community the Wonderful I see everyday.

Ok.. So despite it being over a week and a half late..

I think that’s a pretty good start.

I had a Blast!

And We're Off!

Here we go!

It was suggested to me that I consider doing a blog, so here I am.
I am also in the classical position of wondering what the heck I am going to be blogging about to begin with. So to that end I'm planning to get things underway next week with two posts in particular. One of these will be a review of my experiences at the Steampunk Symposium in Ohio, and the other will be the launch of what I hope to be the weekly outline of topics. It is my plan to use a certain subject matter for particular days of the week and see how things go from there.

So tune in Monday, April 28 when I launch things off with 'Me Me Me Mondays,' in which I tell you more about me so you might have a better idea what you'll be in for in the future.

I hope folks will find this fun and entertaining.
Thanks for giving it a look.
It'll be underway soon!

-Bret B. Dusic