American Folklore

Haunted Places in North Carolina

2013-03-28T20:55:30Z

by S.E. Schlosser

While traveling through the South, doing research for Spooky North Carolina, I encountered many spooky locations full of ghosts, hauntings and mysterious happenings. These are some of my favorite spooky spots from that trip. Enjoy!

Maco, North Carolina
    Joe Baldwin was a railroad conductor who worked for the Atlantic Coast line. Late one night in 1867, the car to which Joe was assigned became uncoupled from the rest of the train and stood helpless on the tracks as another engine approached at speed. With a shout of dismay, Joe grabbed his signal lantern and ran out on the rear platform, desperately signaling for the engineer in the following train to stop. But the train barreled forward, speed unabated and struck the helpless car. Joe was killed in the wreck; his body was smashed between the two trains and his severed head rolled away from the scene and was never located.
       Shortly after the train accident, the Maco Light began to appear on the tracks near the station. People reported that the light moved back and forth frantically, as if it were signaling a train to stop. Folks believed it was the spirit of Joe Baldwin the conductor, desperately replaying his final moments over and over again, trying to get the following train to stop before it hit his helpless car.    >>Read the Maco Ghost Light

Goldsboro, North Carolina
Polly was the sweetest, prettiest girl in Goldsboro, yes sir. She was courted by a handsome university student named George, and they planned a great big wedding. But George fell in love with another girl and ran away with her instead, leaving Polly waiting at the church in her wedding dress. When she heard abpit his elopement, she died of a heart attack right there at the church, and was buried in the church yard. The disgraced George fled town with his new wife and stayed away for many years. When George’s father passed, the disgraced man snuck back to town to visit his father’s grave, only to encounter Polly’s ghost in her wedding dress. She grabbed his hand in a burning grip and dragged him toward the church so they could be married at last. George tore himself out of her grasp and ran away, his arm black and withered where the ghost had scorched him. Infection spread rapidly through his body and George died the next day. >>Read the Handshake

Statesville, North Carolina
Early in the morning of August 27, 1891, a passenger train racing across the stone-and-brick Bostian Bridge near Statesville suddenly derailed. The train fell sixty feet and smashed into the stream. Trapped passengers screamed and moaned in agony as the twisted wreckage of the train was encompassed by the waters of the creek. Twenty-two people were killed that night in the worst train wreck in the history of North Carolina.   It is said that on people visiting the site of the wreck on August 27th will see the tragedy reenacted before their eyes.  >>Read the Phantom Train Wreck

Greensboro, North Carolina
Life seemed perfect to Mark when the widower brought his new bride Lisa home to the lovely two-story cottage he had build for his deceased first wife. Things were very happy for about a year, and Mark was ecstatic when he learned Lisa was expecting twins. The house was rather small for a double addition to the family, so Mark and Lisa put the cottage up for sale and started searching for a bigger house. Shortly after the couple received a generous bid on the cottage, a ghost appeared to Lisa while she was doing laundry in the basement. “Don’t sell my house,” the phantom exclaimed. “If you sell my house, something terrible will happen to your family.” When Lisa described the ghost to her husband, Mark recognized his dead wife. After much discussion, Mark and Lisa decided to defy the phantom and sell the cottage.   As it turned out, this was a very bad move for the whole family…. >>Read Don’t Sell My House

Boone, North Carolina
There is a stretch of trail on Grandfather Mountain where a phantom man sometimes tramps past his viewers without acknowledging their nods or greetings, and then vanishes into thin air. Folks believe the phantom must be a hiker must be a mountain man who had died somewhere near here and had returned refused to leave after death. Others say he must be a long-ago explorer who fell off the mountain while hiking. >>Read the Phantom Hiker of Grandfather Mountain

Do you have a favorite North Carolina ghost story or a favorite haunted location? Share it below in our comments section. And be sure to check out Spooky North Carolina for more ghost stories by S.E. Schlosser.

Hatchet Man

2013-03-26T19:01:33Z

A Scary Folktale

retold by S.E. Schlosser

excerpted from Spooky Indiana

      There were warnings all over campus about a Hatchet Man who was supposedly abused and killed a woman in Bloomington. All the girls were warned to walk in pairs and to stay in brightly lit areas if they had to go out at night.
      The sophomore and her roommate were staying in the empty dorm over Thanksgiving break, since both their families were out of the country. They grown very bored as day followed boring day and night followed boring night. Tired of staying inside every night for fear of the Hatchet Man, her roommate suggested they have dinner at the local bar, and the sophomore agreed.
      The two women had lingered longer than anticipated, and it was almost midnight when the sophomore, more than a little drunk, decided to walk back to the dorm. Her roommate was busy flirting with the bartender, so she headed into the dark, silent streets alone. The sophomore had forgotten all about the Hatchet Man warnings. It wasn’t until she took a shortcut through a dark, creepy alley that she remembered there was a desperate murderer on the loose.
       The sophomore shivered, feeling suddenly sober and very much alone. She felt as if hostile eyes were peering out at her from every menacing shadow and darkened doorway.    She quickened her pace. Was that heavy breathing she heard behind her? Were those footsteps walking in time with her own?
      The sophomore broke into a run; heart pounding fiercely, sure that someone was following her. She darted onto the college campus, zigzagged through the buildings and flung herself panting into the dorm. She pounded up three flights of stairs, down the hall and slammed into her room, locking the door behind her. It was only then, leaning against the door with her heart racing, that she started to feel foolish. There was no sound from the hallway. No footsteps, no heavy breathing. No hatchet breaking through the wood of the door. She'd been a fool.
      The sophomore staggered to the bathroom to wash up for the night, leaving the door locked behind her. She kept glancing in the mirror to make sure that everything was secure. The scene in the mirror was normal. And there was no sound in the empty dormitory. Everything was just fine, she told herself.
      Then she remembered that her roommate was still at the bar. She didn't want her roommate to walk home alone, so she called the bar and asked the manager if he would arrange for her roommate to be brought home in a taxi. The music in the background was loud, and she wasn't sure if the manager understood her request. But at least she'd tried.
      The sophomore curled up in bed with the reading lamp on, determined to wait up for her roommate. But the combination of heavy drinking and her earlier fright sent her into a deep sleep almost at once, and she did not awaken until the sun came pouring in the window, early the next morning.
      She woke with a hangover and rolled over, trying not to be sick in the bed. When she looked across the room, she realized that her roommate wasn't in the bed on the far wall. In fact, it looked as if her bed had not been slept in at all!
        She rolled to her feet, heart pounding with dread. Maybe her roommate had spent the night in the lobby? Her roommate had done that once before when out partying until the wee hours of the morning, saying it was too much trouble to climb three flights of stairs.
      With trembling hands, the sophomore unlocked the door and wrenched it open in search of her roommate. The unmistakable, faintly metallic scent of blood smashed into her nostrils as the door swung open. That was her only warning before her shocked eyes saw blood spattered all over the walls and floor of the third-floor hallway. She screamed in terror, leaping backward away from the partially decapitated body of her roommate, which lay dead at her feet. Her throat was slit from end to end and blood pooled under her dead body. The nails on her outstretched hand were torn and splintered where they had scratched desperately at the wooden door.
        A black shadow lay across her roommate’s body. She looked up in a daze, her gaze following the black shadow to its source. Embedded in the window frame near the entrance to the staircase was a bloodstained hatchet, outlined in the light of the rising sun.

What We Plant, We Will Eat

2013-03-03T01:32:04Z

A Korean Folktale

retold by S.E. Schlosser

Many moons ago, two brothers lived with their father in a small house in Korea. The younger brother worked hard and was kind to all he met. The elder, knowing he was to inherit his father's prosperous rice farm, was arrogant and proud. He scorned his younger brother and ignored his aging father.

Every night after supper, the father would say: "Remember, my sons. What you plant you will eat. " The younger son nodded politely, for he loved his parent and honored him. But the elder son would yawn and walk away. The father watched him go with sadness.

On his deathbed, the father beckoned the two brothers close to him. "Remember, my sons. Nothing is as important as family. Share this property and work together. I leave this land to both of you." And so saying, he died.

The elder brother was furious. The law of the land said that an elder son inherited everything. As soon as the funeral ceremonies were past, he thrust the younger brother from their home, ignoring the last wish of his dying father.

Heartbroken, the younger brother walked for many miles, far away from his home and village, until he found some broken down land that nobody wanted. He tended it carefully, planting a small crop of rice and building a mud cottage that was thatched from the dirty straw that dropped from passing farm carts. By saving and scraping, he managed to make enough money to build a small house and make a profit. So he was able to marry and have a family.

One year, a drought overcame the land and the younger son's rice crop failed. Without assistance, his family would starve. It broke his heart to hear his wife and children moaning with hunger in their sleep, so he went to his wealthy brother to ask him to share some of the rice raised on the property which their father had willed to them both. "It's my rice crop now," the elder brother cried with a cruel laugh. "Go away." So saying, he slammed the front door in his younger brother's face and locked it against him.

Brokenhearted, the younger brother turned away. As he left the village, he heard a shrill cry from a tree above him. A snake was attacking a baby swallow. Flapping frantically, the tiny bird tried to escape, but it was too young to fly and fell to the ground instead. The younger brother picked the helpless baby up and cradled the tiny bird in his hands. Its leg was broken, and so he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and set the swallow's leg. When the snake slid away, he returned the baby to its nest and went home to his starving family.

The next few weeks were hard. The younger brother gave every spare scrap of food to his tiny children, who were so thin he could count their ribs. His wife walked over the fields searching for any edible plants she could find, but her harvest was scant.

Then one day a tiny swallow flew to their house and landed on the thatch. It was the baby swallow the younger brother had rescued. Leg now healed and able to fly, the swallow sat on the thatch and sang a merry song of thanks to the marveling family. Then it circled the younger brother's house three times and then dropped a large seed into a damp patch of earth.

The family stared at the seed, and the youngest daughter wanted to touch it, but her father held her back. As they watched, the seed put out a root, and started to grow. The starving family watching in astonishment as the seed became a vine and the vine grew and grew. Within minutes, luscious melons were growing on the vine. Within an hour, they were ripe and ready to pick.

"Father, father! May we eat a magic melon?" cried the hungry children. Laughing in delight, the younger brother pulled a melon off the vine and cut it open. Beside him, his wife gasped in astonishment. Inside, the melon was filled with so many gold coins that they spilled to the ground all around the starving family's feet. Every melon was full of gold.

The younger brother and his family were rich beyond their wildest dreams. They had plenty to eat, they bought a large house with land, and they had brand-new clothes to wear. It was amazing.

When the elder brother heard of this good fortune, he was filled with jealousy and started searching for his own magic bird. He spent days combing the lands around his village, greedy for more power, more money, more land. When at last he stumbled upon a little bird with a broken leg, he picked it up, saying: "I will help you, little bird if you will help me." The little bird stared up at him with wise eyes, seeing through the fake sympathy into the greedy heart beneath.

When the bird's leg healed, it flew to the elder brother's house, circled his head three times and dropped a seed into the moist soil. With a triumphant laugh, the elder brother watched the seed grow into a vine. Melons swelled up larger and larger until they were as tall as a man. The elder brother was delighted. Obviously he was much worthier then his brother, to merit such large melons. He picked the largest melon and cut it open. Instantly. a band of warriors burst from the melon and fell on him with clubs. They stole his money and left him moaning on the ground.

Unable to believe that all the melons were bad, the elder brother crawled over to the second largest melon, expecting to find enough gold and silver to make up for the beating he'd received from the warriors in the first melon. Whack! He cut open the first melon and was overwhelmed by a huge ball of hissing snakes that slithered straight into his house. He cut open a third melon, and had to dodge out of the way as a huge colony of rats rustled past. By this time, the magical melons were overripe and began bursting on their own. Spiders, ants, termites, bees, and many other hissing, biting, crawling creatures invaded the house and yard. Within an hour, the elder brother's property was completely destroyed.

The elder brother ran away from his ruined house and lands. Poorer even then his younger brother had once been, he wandered from village to village, begging for food. One day, he looked up from his begging and saw his younger brother standing a few feet away, holding a hoe. Ashamed, the elder brother looked down, until the blade of the hoe landed on the ground beside his foot.

"I have lost everything," the elder brother said, staring at the blade of the hoe. "I have no place to go. No food. I won't blame you if you send me away too."

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come, brother," the prosperous farmer said. "Let us sew a new crop, together. For what we plant, we will eat."

The elder brother looked up with tears in his eyes, and accepted the hoe from his younger brother's hand.

The Phantom Bellman

2012-10-31T17:56:25Z

A Yellowstone Ghost Story

Excerpted from Spooky Yellowstone

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

     I gasped a bit as I wheeled my heavy bag toward the white-trimmed double doors leading to the hotel lobby. I was having some trouble adjusting to the altitude in Yellowstone after living my whole life at sea level.   My husband Frank, on the other hand, took to the elevation as one mountain-born, much to my annoyance. He'd already dragged the rest of our luggage inside the hotel and was checking in at the front desk as I doddered my way into the lobby and collapsed in a chair near the fireplace.
      "Come on, slowpoke, we are on the fourth floor," my husband called happily, and dashed down the hall carrying a load of luggage as expertly as any of the bellmen. I struggled out of the chair, which was very comfortable, and aimed myself somewhat erratically for the hall. About halfway down, a compassionate bellman overtook me and claimed my heavy bag. Relieved, I hitched my handbag over my shoulder and followed the bellman. We chattered about my trip all the way up the elevator, and the bellman had some great suggestions for hikes we might take along the lakeshore, and where we might see wildlife.
     The elevator let us off on the fourth floor, and we walked to the end of a long, rather spooky hallway. I shivered a bit, feeling uncomfortable and not understanding why this was so. But the friendly bellman distracted me with his gentle conversation. He left me in front of the open door with my bag, bowing slightly like an old-fashioned gentleman in a movie. I fumbled in my handbag, looking for my wallet, then realized I'd given it to my husband so he could check us in.
      "Wait a moment," I told the friendly bellman and hurried inside the room, calling to my husband. Frank was locked in the bathroom, but my wallet was on the bedside table. Pulling out some money, I hurried to the door, only to find that the friendly bellman had vanished.
      "Were you calling for me, honey?" my husband asked, coming out of the bathroom.
      "I was looking for my wallet to tip the bellman that helped me with my bag," I explained. "But he disappeared while I was looking for it."
      "We can leave a tip for him at the desk in the lobby," my husband said.
      "Great idea," I said. "Don't let me forget. He had some great advice for our trip. Told me to drink lots of water to help me adjust to the elevation and recommended the hike out to Storm Point. Apparently, the view of the lake is lovely!"
      Frank's face lit up at this suggestion. He loved to hike.
      We turned our attention to unpacking our bags. We were staying at the hotel for two nights before heading up to Canyon. Frank was going fishing for lake trout tomorrow, while I took a tour around the lower loop, learning all about the Yellowstone volcano and looking at the geysers and other hot springs.
      Our room was quite lovely. It was at the end of the hall on the back side of the hotel, but I could see the lake out of the side window. Still, something about the room felt a little strange, as if someone was watching. I had goose bumps all along my upper arms as I unpacked. "What nonsense," I said aloud, trying to make the feeling go away.
       "What did you say?" Frank asked, looking up from his fishing tackle box.
      "Nothing," I said hastily. "Let's go down to dinner."
      We had reservations for 7 p.m. at the hotel dining room, and it was almost that time now. I grabbed my wallet, remembering that I wanted to tip the friendly bellman. The being-watched feeling returned full force as we walked down the spooky hallway to the elevator. I shivered, and my husband suggested that I go back for my sweater. "No I'm fine," I said hastily, not wanting to be alone in the room.
      We descended in the elevator and walked down the lower hall to the lobby. I paused for a moment at the bell desk, hoping to see my friendly bellman. A nice young man greeted me with a smile, and I asked about the man who'd helped me with my luggage, explaining that he'd vanished before I could tip him.
     "Do you know his name?" the young man asked.
      "I'm sorry, I don't," I said. Then I spied the picture on the desk, showing a group of bellmen.
      "That's him," I said, pointing.
       The young man's smile slipped a bit. "That is an historic picture, taken many years ago," he said cautiously. "None of those men work here now."
       "Really? That's strange," I said, feeling cold again.   "The bellman who helped me looks just like this man."
        "That man was the bell captain," the young man said. “He’s since passed away.” Face devoid of expression, he added: "I'm sorry, I don't know who it was that helped you today."
        "Oh well, maybe I will see him again," I said with an uneasy glance at the photo on the desk. Strange that the man who helped me looked exactly like the former bell captain.
     I shuddered and hurried over to my husband, who was examining some of the lovely photographs displayed round the lobby.
      "All done?" he asked, taking my hand and leading me toward the dining room.
       "Not really," I said uneasily, and told him about picture.
       "So you’re saying a ghost helped you with your luggage?” Frank asked when I finished. Hearing it put that way sent cold shudders down my spine.
     “Pretty much,” I said. “I’m not sure I want to spend the night at this hotel. What if the ghost comes back?”
     “If the phantom bellman comes back, we’ll ask him to take our luggage down to the car,” said Frank. “That way, we can make a fast getaway and we won’t have to carry our bags. Works for me!”
      “Get out of here,” I said with a reluctant grin.
      He smiled back and took my hand. “Let’s go to dinner,” my husband said.

Haunted Places in New York

2012-10-18T19:54:47Z

by S.E. Schlosser

This Halloween, you may want to check out some of these haunted spots throughout New York.

Sleepy Hollow
Long before Ichabod Crane took his fateful ride through Sleepy Hollow, the local inhabitants were talking about the headless horseman who terrorized the region. Folks passing by the cemetery would see a light rising from the ground. Before their startled eyes, a white mist would burst forth from an unmarked grave and form into a large horse carrying a headless soldier dressed in a Revolutionary War Hessian uniform.
>>Read the Story: The Headless Horseman

The Adirondacks
There is a cabin deep in the woods that was abandoned a long time ago by its Native American owners. They say an old hermit lived and died in the cabin, and asked to be laid out on the floor of the loft, where his skeleton can be seen to this day. What they do not say – at least not aloud – is that the old hermit was really a vampire…
>>Read the Story: The Vampire Hermit

New York City – Times Square
A Harvard graduate meets two members of the Royal Air Force of England who are visiting time square. After conversing with them for a few minutes, the Harvard man invites them to eat with him at a local restaurant. During a leisurely dinner, the soldiers talk with intimate familiarity about events that happened during World World 2; almost as if they’d really been there. When they finish eating around midnight, the two men thanked their host and vanished. The Harvard man had just dined with two ghosts!
>>Read the story: Ghost Pilots

Rochester – Durand Eastman Park
The ghost of the White Lady often walks the grounds of Durand Eastman Park. The White Lady is not a friendly spirit. She dislikes men and often seeks vengeance against the males visiting the park on behalf of her dead daughter, who was murdered by an unknown man. There have been reports of the White Lady chasing men into the lake, shaking their cars, and making their lives miserable until they leave the park.
>>Read the Story: The White Lady

The Catskill Mountains near Hudson
On his famous voyage to the Americas, Henry Hudson heard the sound of music floating across the Catskill mountains while he was sailing up the Hudson River.   Taking a few members of his crew, he went ashore found 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 must be the metal-working gnomes of whom the Native Americans had spoken at length.

One of the bushy-bearded chaps spotted the explorer and his men and welcomed them with a cheer. 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 spoke with the chief of the gnomes about many deep and mysterious things.
>>Read the story: Henry Hudson and the Catskill Gnomes

Poughkeepsie
There once was a crazy ghost over Poughkeepsie way that got folks so scared that nobody would stay more than one night in its house. It was a nice old place, or was, until the ghost began making its presence known. It got so no one would enter the house, not even kids on a dare.   Folks claimed that glowing pieces of body kept popping into existence at the top of the staircase and would roll down the steps toward anyone who dared intrude on the ghost’s territory.
>>Read the story: Piece by Piece

Cohoes
It is midnight in the town of Cohoes. The night is dark, and the wind whispers softly, touching the trees and houses, rattling a window pane here and there. Suddenly, the soft rumble of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves echo through the still night. A dark closed coach drives slowly down the street. There are black gaping holes where the windows should be and the shafts at the front of the coach are empty. The sound of invisible horses' hooves is heard distinctly as the coach moves slowly through the town. It is the Cohoes Death Coach, and when it stops in front of a house, someone in that dwelling will die.
>>Read the story: The Death Coach

Bloody Mary Whales

2012-10-15T16:41:58Z

Excerpted from Spooky Indiana

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

     Old Man Whales was an evil man who loved money more than anything in the world, except his wife. In his lust for wealth, he supplemented his farm income by catching runaway slaves who were escaping to freedom through Indiana. Whales would chain the ex-slaves up in his barn cellar until he could collect the reward on them. When he couldn't find slaves, he'd capture free men and sell them into slavery.
    When the Civil War ended slavery, it was a disaster for the evil Whales, who no longer had a profitable source of income to supplement his farm work. And then his beloved wife died childbirth. Overnight, Whales fell to pieces. He hated the child – a little girl named Mary - that had killed his wife. He neglected her, dressing her in rags, making her do all the farm choirs and half-starving her. In spite of this cruel treatment, Mary grew into a sweet girl who loved her wicked father.
      As Mary reached adulthood, the resemblance to her dead mother was striking. Whales saw his dead wife every time he looked at the daughter who had caused her death. One night, after a hefty bout of drinking, Whales lumbered into Mary's bedroom and stabbed her repeatedly. Mary woke screaming and thrashed around in agony, trying to fight off her demonic father as blood spurted everywhere and bits of torn flesh littered the bedclothes and fell to the floor. When she was dead, Old Man Whales carried her down to the basement, dug an indifferent grave and tossed her body into it.
      Two nights later, when Old Man Whales came back from doing his nightly chores, he found Mary standing in the kitchen, her nearly severed head lolling against one shoulder as she stirred an empty kettle. A pool of steaming blood lay beneath her feet, and bits of skin from her knife-slashed face were breaking off and falling into the kettle. "Faaaaaather...." Bloody Mary hissed. Old Man Whales screamed and leapt out the kitchen door. When he glanced over his shoulder, the apparition was gone.
     A week later, Old Man Whales looked up from reading the newspaper to find Bloody Mary sitting in the chair opposite him, her knife-slashed dress covered in blood.   Her tattered hands were busy knitting him a shirt. "Faaaaaather...." she hissed through knife-scored lips. Blood fell from her body like rain as she flew across the room toward him, knitting needles held like knives. Old Man Whales fled from the house in panic with two deep cuts scored across his back.
     Old Man Whales cowered in the barn for several days, afraid to go near his house. After nearly a week of sleeping in the hay and eating raw food from the garden, he decided it was safe to return to his house. The spirit must be gone by now.
      Old Man Whales hurried into the kitchen, eager for a wash and a shave after sleeping so many nights in the barn. He pumped an ewer of water and took it over to the little shaving mirror they kept on the far wall. When he looked in the mirror, Old Man Whales saw the glowing red eyes and knife-scored face of Bloody Mary. Her once-fair lips were split down the center and blood dripped from them as she smiled evilly. "Faaaaaather...." she hissed, raising blood-stained fingers. Her nails were long and sharpened like the claws of a beast. She reached out of the mirror and slapped her father twice across the face.  Old Man Whales screamed, blood streaming from four slashes on his cheeks. He ran from the house and leapt into the safety of the barn, his heart pounding so hard his chest ached with it.
         "Faaaaaather...." a voice hissed softly a few paces to his right. Old Man Whales screamed and whirled around. Blood Mary stood smiling at him through her blood-stained, razor-sharp teeth. Her tattered tongue was bleeding from several places as if it had been scored by a butcher's knife. She pointed above her head, and Old Man Whales saw a noose hanging from the rafters beside the ladder to the loft. The rope looked inviting, hanging there in a dust-speckled sunbeam. Obediently, Old Man Whales placed his hands on the rung of the ladder and started to climb.

Read the complete story of Bloody Mary Whales in Spooky Indiana by S.E. Schlosser. You can also read about ...

The Purple Hand of Vincennes
The Ghost of Ossian in Greencastle
The Black Widow of La Porte
The Hatchet Man of Bloomington

...plus 20 more spooky tales of hauntings, strange happenings and other local lore.

How the Rainbow Was Made

2012-10-10T19:55:13Z

A Creation Tale from the Ojibwe Nation
retold by
S. E. Schlosser

One day when the earth was new, Nanabozho looked out the window of his house beside the wide waterfall and realized that all of the flowers in his meadow were exactly the same off-white color. How boring! He decided to make a change, so he gathered up his paints and his paintbrushes and went out to the meadow.

Nanabozho sat down in the tall grass and arranged his red and orange and yellow and green and blue and violet paint pots next to him. Then he began to paint the flowers in his meadow in many different colors. He painted the violets dark blue and the tiger lilies orange with brown dots. He made the roses red and pink and purple. He painted the pansies in every color combination he could think of. Then he painted every single daffodil bright yellow. Nanabozho hummed happily to himself as he worked in the brilliant daylight provided by Brother Sun.

Overhead, two little bluebirds were playing games with each other. The first little bluebird would chase his friend across the meadow one way. Then they would turn around and the second bluebird would chase him back the other way. Zippity-zip went the first bluebird as he raced across the sky. Zappity-zing went the second bluebird as he chased him in the brilliant sunshine.

Occasionally, Nanabozho would shade his eyes and look up…up into the endless blue sky to watch the two little birds playing. Then he went back to work, painting yellow centers in the white daisies. Above him, the two birds decided to see how fast they could dive down to the green fields below them. The first bluebird sailed down and down, and then pulled himself up sharply just before he touched the ground. As he soared passed Nanabozho, his right wing dipped into the red paint pot. When the second bluebird dove toward the grass, his left wing grazed the orange paint pot.

Nanabozho scolded the two birds, but they kept up their game, diving down toward the grass where he sat painting and then flying back up into the sky. Soon their feet and feathers were covered with paint of all colors. Finally Nanabozho stood up and waved his arms to shoo the birds away.

Reluctantly, the bluebirds flew away from Nanabozho and his paint pots, looking for another game to play. They started chasing each other again, sailing this way and that over top of the giant waterfall that stood next to Nanabozho's house. Zippity-zip, the first bluebird flew through the misty spray of the waterfall. The first bluebird left a long red paint streak against the sky. Zappity-zing, the second bluebird chased his friend through the mist, leaving an orange paint streak. Then the birds turned to go back the other way. This time, the first bluebird left a yellow paint streak and the second left a pretty blue-violet paint streak. As they raced back and forth, the colors grew more vivid. When Brother Sun shone on the colors, they sparkled radiantly through the mist of the waterfall.

Below them, Nanabozho looked up in delight when the brilliant colors spilled over his meadow. A gorgeous arch of red and orange and yellow and green and blue and violet shimmered in the sky above the waterfall. Nanabozho smiled at the funny little bluebirds and said: "You have made a rainbow!"

Nanabozho was so pleased that he left the rainbow permanently floating above his waterfall, its colors shimmering in the sunshine and the misting water. From that day to this, whenever Brother Sun shines his light on the rain or the mist, a beautiful rainbow forms. It is a reflection of the mighty rainbow that still stands over the waterfall at Nanabozho's house.

You can read more Michigan folklore and ghost stories in Spooky Michigan by S.E. Schlosser.

The Headless Bride

2012-10-01T19:55:16Z

Excerpted from Spooky Yellowstone

retold by S.E. Schlosser

Once there was a lovely young woman growing up in a wealthy shipping family in New York. In those days, wealthy young women were expected to make their debut in society and to marry a wealthy young man from a good family. But our young lady was a bit of a rebel. When she grew old enough to marry, she scorned the wealthy young society men in favor of an older man who was working as a servant in her house.

Of course, there was a big argument within the family when the young woman announced her choice of husband. Her parents were furious, particularly her father, who accused the servant of courting his daughter in order to gain a prominent position in the shipping company. When the young lady insisted upon the marriage, her father gave the couple a lump sum of cash with the stipulation that they leave New York after the wedding and never come back.

By the time the young couple reached the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone, the new husband had gambled away all of the money that his wife’s family had bestowed upon the newlyweds. There was barely enough money for the couple to finish their honeymoon trip, and nothing whatsoever with which to buy a house or start a family.

The young woman was upset with her husband. They had quarreled often about money during their honeymoon journey, and by this time, she knew that her father had been right about the greed of her new husband. He was obviously more interested in her money than in her. Still, the couple was flat broke and needed something to pay the concessioners here at Yellowstone, so she telephoned her father to ask him for some money. Her father refused to give her a penny.

That night, the couple had a terrific fight in the relative privacy of their bedroom at the inn. The husband stalked out of the Inn in a fury, leaving his bride locked in her room. The bride did not emerge for days, and finally the staff of the Inn sent someone to check on her.

No one answered when the housekeeper knocked on the door. Using the housekeeping key, the staffer sent stepped into the room and gasped in shock. The room looked as if a hurricane had swept through the interior. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and the bedclothes were partially on the floor. Worse, the housekeeper was overwhelmed by the metallic odor smell that permeated everything. There was no sign of the bride, but the stink that wafted from the attached bathroom hinted at what the housekeeper might see. Lying in the bathtub in a pool of congealed blood was the body of the unhappy bride, which ended grotesquely in the ragged stump of a neck. Her head was nowhere to be seen.

The housekeeper’s screams summoned the rest of the staff. The authorities were summoned, the family was notified and the room cleaned. Everything was done to locate the murderer, but the husband was never apprehended. Finally, the whole story was hushed up to avoid scandal to the prominent family.

A few days after the discovery of the murder, a foul smell up in the Crows Nest where the musicians often played for the evening dances was traced to its source: The bride’s severed head. Tousled blond curls framed the wide-eyed, horror-twisted face; already beginning to rot.

The burial of the poor, murdered bride should have been the end of the terrible incident. And so it proved, until one midnight when a staff member who was up late reading a book heard a strange noise coming from the lobby. It was the stroke of midnight when he hurried out onto the balcony and looked upward, seeking the source of the noise. He looked up towards the Crows Nest, far above, and saw a glowing figure in white slowly descending the stairs from the Crows Nest. Tucked under its arm was a tousle-curled, wide-eyed head! Frozen with horror, the man watched the bride descend the steps and float along the corridor until she reached the door of her room. Then she vanished!

From that day onward, there are people who say they can see the headless bride walking down the stairs from the Crows Nest at the stroke of midnight; sadly seeking for her lost husband and her lost dreams. Myself, I’ve never stayed up to see.

The Box Song

2012-08-12T03:20:56Z

A Tongue Twister

by S.E. Schlosser

Listen to the Box Song

We know its unorthodox, but we really love our lox,
And better still we love to box, and gift-wrap too.
Woodbox and workbox and toolbox and tinderbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?

We're standing on our soapbox to save all the muskox;
Eliminate the fowlpox and cowpox too.
Shoebox and shadowbox and saucebox and sandbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?

We know it's a paradox to outfox a jukebox;
To laminate a letterbox and boombox too.
Postbox and pillbox and pepperbox and pegbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?

We don't mean to flummox the champion chatterbox
Who handles the hatbox of Mrs. La Foux.
Juicebox and junkbox and loosebox and lunchbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?

Now try out Xing-Xing Sings; a story-length tongue twister featuring the Box Song!

Storytelling, Folklore Lectures & Other Folklore Programs

2012-08-03T19:43:47Z

S.E. Schlosser is the author of the Spooky Series by Globe Pequot Press, as well as the Ghost Stories deck by Random House. She has been telling stories since she was a child, when games of "let's pretend" quickly built themselves into full-length tales acted out with friends. A graduate of both Houghton College and the Institute of Children's Literature, Sandy received her MLS from Rutgers University while working as a full-time music teacher and a freelance author.

Sandy is a frequent guest on radio/TV shows and at schools, conferences, and storytelling events all across the United States. The list below is just a sample of the many talks she has given to various venues.

Spooooky!
Hear ghost stories, spooky tales, and things that go bump in the night retold by author S.E. Schlosser. This presentation features famous and not-so-famous folklore from all over the United States. Pecos Bill takes on a haunted house; a vampire stalks a couple in the Adirondacks; Tailypo haunts the woods of Tennessee; the witch known as Bloody Mary casts her spells in Pennsylvania; and many more! Program may be customized to feature a particular state or region upon request. Based on the Spooky Series by S.E. Schlosser.
Hysterical Hauntings and Funny Supernatural Tales
A look on the lighter side of the supernatural! A ghost plays tug-of-war with a sceptic in NY; black cats talk to a woodsmen in Texas; Pecos Bill takes on a haunted house; Paul Bunyan turns matchmaker for a witch; a man visits a haunted house in order to win a cartload of watermelons; and many more. Not every ghost story is a scary one!
American Tall Tales
What in tarnation is a tall tale anyway, and how do you write one? Learn what it takes to tell a really TALL tale, then listen to some of American's best stories, including stories the Birth of Paul Bunyan, Pecos Bill Rides a Tornado, Davy Crockett and the Frozen Dawn, Brer Rabbit Meets a Tar Baby, and more!
The Devil Made Me Do It
He is called by many names; Satan, the Prince of Darkness, Lucifer, Old Nick. In these folktales, you will learn about that rascally fallen angel Lucifer, who is up to the same old tricks in the New World. Meet a girl who learns the hard way that you should never dance with the Devil, some lonely lumberjacks who make a deal with Satan, and a horse that is called Old Nick because he really is!
Supernatural Tales
Hear are the best of the best supernatural folktales from the darker side of American life. The Devil, sea serpents, monsters, witches like Bloody Mary, the Jersey devil, and other dark powers work and play and cast their spells in this collection of stories from all over the United States. Make sure you leave the light on!
Historical Folklore
George Washington, John Henry, Johnny Appleseed, Kate Shelley, Jesse James and many other famous American figures all feature in the folklore of America. Learn how history influences folklore and the impact folklore can have on history. Not all folklore is fiction!
Women in Folklore
What role have women had in American folklore? We discuss folktales about strong women, witches, legendary heroines, female ghosts, miraculous tales, and some curious girls who get themselves into (and out of) trouble! Stories include Bloody Mary, Kate Shelley, Sally Ann Thunder Ann Whirlwind Crockett, Annie Oakley, the Blue Lady of the Southwest, and more.
Campfire Tales
Haul up a log and set awhile while S.E. Schlosser spins some of the spookiest Campfire tales in the country. You'll laugh, you'll sigh with relief, you'll get goosebumps, and you may just jump out of your skin in fright! Remember to leave the light on, or you'll end up sleeping in your car!
American Myths & Legends
From Native American lore to tales exported from Europe, Asia, Africa, and beyond, America the Melting pot has developed a rich collection of myths and legends that have a special American twist to them that is unique. Legendary heroes like Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, creation myths from many tribes, funny tricksters like Brer Rabbit, and old-world characters like Saint Nicholas take on a new dimension when seen through the eyes of America.
Happy Holidays!
Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza and New Years come to American in these holiday tales! Meet a poor family who give up their last meal to a stranger; a baker who learns to be generous; and the people of Chelm, who have a very special way to celebrate Hanukkah. You will also hear some African folklore come to America in celebration of Kwanzaa.
The Jersey Devil & Pine Barrens Folklore!
What is the Jersey Devil and where did it come from? Can it still be seen in the Pine Barrens? Learn about the myths and legends surrounding this famous figure in New Jersey folkore, plus many other stories coming from the mysterious Pine Barrens.
Customize your own program!
From weatherlore to children's folktales, railroad stories to ethnic folklore, Sandy can customize a storytelling program or lecture to fit the needs of your group, society, conference or classroom. Try listening to some tongue-twister tales and get your students laughing out loud as they try out their own tongue twisters! Or learn about the folklore of Mexico, Canada and beyond as we look beyond our own borders. Whatever folklore topic is of interest to your group, Sandy would be more than happy to tailor a presentation to your specifications!

To request a school visit, radio/TV interview, lecture, or program, please email: webmaster@americanfolklore.net

Reprints & Permissions

2012-08-02T19:31:23Z

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In all cases, if permission is granted, stories must be reproduced in their entirety, unedited, and accompanied by the following copyright statement and credit: "Used with permission from S.E. Schlosser and AmericanFolklore.net. Copyright 20__. All rights reserved." Permission applies only to the material and use specified in correspondence. New requests should be made for subsequent use or for other uses of material.

2011 Countdown to Halloween

2012-08-01T15:23:59Z

Story: Heartbeat
Something was going on. Jason felt it in his bones. Polly was too happy, too cheerful. No woman could be that upbeat and still be faithful to her husband. Jason sat down to a delicious, warm meal every night, and Polly sang to herself as she washed up. What kind of woman could be cheerful doing dishes? Try as he might, Jason never heard anything that hinted of a secret romance. It drove him crazy. Life was not this perfect.

Bonus Story: The Brick Wall
Massey was a soldier unfortunate enough to cross me, his commanding officer. He did not live to regret it. There was something very satisfying in the moment when I thrust the tip of my sword into the soldier’s heart during our duel. I watched him fall to the ground with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Video: Jack O'Lantern
After a long day of unlucky hunting, I found myself stuck in the middle of the marshlands for the night, without a flashlight or a lantern to guide my stumbling steps. So I settled beside a fallen log to rest until daylight. As I tossed and turned, I recalled the story my great-uncle told me about a ghost that haunted the marshlands.

Halloween Game:The Withered Corpse
Play this gross Body Parts guessing game at your next Halloween party!
WEEK 2:
Story: Vampire Hermit
She was nervous when her husband said they were to stay in the abandoned house, for it contained the corpse of the hermit who once lived there, enshrined in a coffin in the loft. It was an old custom and one no longer popular among the Iroquois people, but the hermit had insisted upon it before his death. There was good hunting in this place, her man had declared, and so they moved in and she unpacked their few belongings in the front room, refusing to go up into the loft where the hermit’s body lay.

Podcast: Bunny Man Bridge
The Bunny Man was an insane killer who escaped from a local asylum in D.C. with his buddy and went into hiding in the woods nearby.

WEEK 3:
Video: Wraith in the Creek
When he left his tribe to work with the white lumbermen, he changed his name to William Cloud, and the lumberjacks started calling him “Cloudy.” They liked to hear Cloudy tell the story of the wraith that lived in the creek that powered the local log chute. The wraith was an evil creature that desired nothing more than to wrap its long arms around humans or animals and pull them down into the water to drown.

Podcast: Don't Turn on The Light
A college girl returns to her dorm room to find her roommate murdered! From Spooky Maryland.

WEEK 4:
Story: The Shrouded Horseman
When the Civil War ended, Jeremiah Jones found himself a free man. Eager to make a new life for himself, he made his way north to Milwaukee. For several years, he worked odd jobs until he earned enough money to buy himself a big white horse and a dray...

Video: Sifty-Sifty San
Sam agrees to spend the night in a haunted house to rid it of a terrible ghost.

WEEK 5:
Story: Lady in the Veil
He had not expected to meet the woman of his dreams, but there she was strolling along in the moonlight beside the cemetery. Carlos quickened his pace until he was level with her, hoping for a glimpse of her face under her veil.

Podcast: Fifty Cent Piece
A couple spend a night at a haunted house in upper State New York.

WEEK 6:
Story: Satin Dress
She worked in a box factory, and her salary was not large. She made just enough to cover the cost of food, shelter, and the clothes on her back. So when she received an invitation to a fancy-dress party from an old friend, she did not know what she should do...

Podcast: On Washington Rock
The Devil appears in a dream...and in person!

WEEK 7:
Story: The Hitchhiker
Our friends Josh and Sandy were firm believers in ghosts and claimed to have seen the mysterious red-haired phantom that haunted Route 44. My wife and I were sitting with them at dinner one night, and we started kidding them about it.

Podcast: Amber
In an instant, a game of Ouji board turns deadly serious.

WEEK 8:
Story: The Figure in the Window
Late one evening the three of us were hanging out when Alec said he wanted to go up to Peapack to check out a house for sale. Once in the car, Alec said it was an old, run-down Italianate mansion with twenty-six fireplaces that used to be owned by nuns but had been abandoned. It sat on fifty acres of property, including beautifully terraced grounds. By this time, I was feeling a little nervous about the whole thing. It was a funny time of night to be checking out houses, and I was convinced Alec was more interested in adventure than in real estate!

Video: The Black Cat's Message
Mysterious black cats stalk an old man on his way home from work.

Ten Red Crows

2012-07-29T01:26:11Z

A Chinese Folktale

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

First the world was in darkness, my son. All who dwelt in the shadow of the East Mulberry Tree had never seen the light, nor could they imagine what it was. And so ten red crows – each with three paws – began a perilous journey away from the tree seeking to bring light to this dark world.

Long they flew, through paths both dangerous and dull, until their eyes saw something glowing before them in the darkness of space. They came to a heavenly realm; a place of brilliant light and heat. The red crows were delighted with the new-found realm, and dwelt there a long time, learning the secrets of light and heat. As they grew more skilled in the magic of the heavenly realm, their bodies were transformed so that they gave forth brilliant light of many colors and radiated the same intense heat as their hosts.

When they had plumed all the mysteries in the brilliant heaven, the ten red crows turned and flew back toward Earth. They were each as bright as a star, and the heat they emitted from their bodies was intense. Those who dwelt near the East Mulberry Tree first knew of their coming when a faint glow appeared on the dark horizon. Then the world lit up, colors shining brilliantly against a sky that was azure blue. But as the crows grew nearer, the light became a searing blue-white light, and with it came heat that was unbearable. It burned everything it touched. When the ten red crows perched in the East Mulberry Tree, the whole of the Earth began to dry up and wither in the intense heat. All who dwelt in the shadow of the Tree were afraid.

“Help us!” they cried in pain, rolling on the green grass and covering their sore eyes against the heat and the brilliance of the ten red crows.

Yi, the Good Archer, heard their cries and saw that the ten red crows were bringing death to the world instead of light. So he took up his bow and counted out nine arrows. Then, one by one, he shot the red crows. Each fell out of the brilliant blue-white sky and burned away to nothing in the darkness of space. But Yi spared the life of the tenth red crow so that light would not be lost to the world. To this day, the tenth Red Crow rises each morning from his perch on the East Mulberry Tree and flies once around the world until he comes to rest once again in the Great Solar Tree.

And so it comes to pass that the Tenth Red Crow now dwells in the Heavens as the Sun.

Xing-Xing Sings

2012-07-28T18:24:02Z

An Extremely Hard Tongue Twister

By S.E. Schlosser

The Xenos family lived in a rambling old house called Xanadu. Xavier was a xylographer, which meant that he worked all day engraving words on wood. His wife Xenia made lovely xenogardens; gardens in which all of the plants - like cactus and sage brush - thrive in dry weather.

The Xenos' children, Xander and Xylana, were twins. Xander played in the band at school with his best friend Max Pax. Xander played the xylophone and Max Pax played the sax.

Xylana Xenos loved to bake. Every day after school, she and her best friend Trixie Pixie extracted juices, examined ingredients, and cooked creative cookies. They hummed along as Xander and Max played duets on xylophone and sax. In the corner of the kitchen, Xing-Xing Xenops, their pet parrot, would sit on her swing and sing.

"My, something smells lovely in here," Xenia exclaimed exuberantly, breezing in the kitchen door one sunny Saturday afternoon. She kissed her daughter, waved hello to Trixie Pixie and wandered out to work in the garden with Xephyr her pet Xenurine armadillo at her heels. "Xander, play the Box Song," she shouted over her shoulder as she slipped through the screen door.

"Box! Box!" exclaimed Xing-Xing Xenops excitedly. Everyone in the Xenos family loved the Box Song. Max blew a long note on the sax and Xander thundered a dramatic chord on his xylophone. Then they played the Box Song while Xylana Xenos, Trixie Pixie and Xing-Xing Xenops sang along.

"We know its unorthodox, but we really love our lox,
and better still we love to box, and gift-wrap too.
Woodbox and workbox and toolbox and tinderbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?"
We're standing on our soapbox to save all the muskox;
eliminate the fowlpox and cowpox too.
Shoebox and shadowbox and saucebox and sandbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?"

Xavier came into the kitchen with Xypher the Xenurine armadillo to claim a cookie from Xylana, as Xander and Max played a musical interlude on xylophone and sax. Xenia came to the back door to listen to the last verse of the Box Song, carrying an ailing Xanthium plant in her arms.

"We know it's a paradox to outfox a jukebox;
To laminate a letterbox and boombox too.
Postbox and pillbox and pepperbox and pegbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?"
We don't mean to flummox the champion chatterbox
who handles the hatbox of Mrs. La Foux.
Juicebox and junkbox and loosebox and lunchbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?"

Everyone shouted out the last line at the top of their voices as Xing-Xing Xenops flew around the kitchen exclaiming: "Bobby Fox! Bobby Fox!"

It was lunchtime on Sunday when the Xenos family realized that Xing-Xing Xenops had gone missing! The Xenos family rushed around the house, calling frantically for Xing-Xing. Xavier looked under the bed in the Master suite while Xenia climbed up to examine the attic. Xander rushed into the living room to look among his comic books and Xylana explored the creepy corners of the cellar. But Xing-Xing nowhere to be found.

"Where can she be?" Xenia wailed woefully as the family met back in the kitchen.

Suddenly, they heard a cackling cry from outside. The Xenos family started in surprise. The cry sounded like Xing-Xing Xenops. But what was she doing outside? The family burst out the back door and looked wildly around for Xing-Xing.

"There she is," cried Xander, pointing toward the top of Xavier's Xenography workshop.

"Bobby Fox collects socks!" Xing-Xing Xenops chirped cheerily from her place on the roof.

"Xing-Xing Xenops, you come down!" cried Xylana.

Xing-Xing blinked at Xylana. Then she flew over to sit on a nearby statue of Xenophon, the Greek philosopher.

Xenia tiptoed up behind the naughty Xenops parrot, hoping to catch her by surprise. Xing-Xing stepped sideways to avoid Xenia's outstretched hand. Then Xing-Xing Xenops saw Xavier sneaking toward her from the far side of the statue. Xing-Xing squawked and flapped away. Up and up she flew, until she landed on a thin branch at the peak of a tall pine.

"Bobby Fox collects socks!" Xing-Xing exhorted exuberantly from the top of the tree while the Xenos family exclaimed in frustration.

"Now what do we do?" Xander cried.

"We need a ladder," Xylana said. "I'll get one from the garage."

"That ladder in the garage is too small," said Xavier gloomily. "We will have to call the fire department and ask them to rescue Xing-Xing Xenops."

"It wouldn't work," Xenia said. "Xing-Xing Xenops would just fly away as soon as the firemen climbed up to her perch. But don't worry. I have an idea!"

The Xenos family huddled around Xenia as she whispered her plan. Xing-Xing Xenops watched suspiciously from her place in the pine. She couldn't hear what Xenia was saying. Her perch was too far away. But Xing-Xing Xenops could see what was happening in the yard below.

Xing-Xing watched the children hurry into the house while Xavier and Xenia set up several deck chairs in the xenogarden. She saw Max Pax and Trixie Pixie trot up the lane and gallop through the front gate of Xanadu. She smelled wonderful baking smells wafting from the kitchen while Xavier and Xenia discussed the climax of the Codex Caper, a movie they'd seen recently at the Duplex Theater.

Xing-Xing fluttered to a lower branch in the pine tree, feeling peeved and perplexed. Why wasn't anyone paying attention to her? Couldn't they see Xing-Xing cutting a caper in the tree above their heads?

Xing-Xing watched Xypher the Xenurine armadillo nudge through the back door and climb into Xavier's lap. Xing-Xing hooted harshly in annoyance. She wanted to sit in Xavier's lap! But she wasn't ready to abandon her tree.

Xylana came out of the kitchen carrying a huge plate full of chocolate-chip cookies. Xing-Xing perked up. She loved chocolate-chip cookies! A moment later, Trixie Pixie came outside with a tray. On the tray were tall glasses full of milk. Xing-Xing loved milk even more than cookies! Xing-Xing fluttered to a lower branch, watching eagerly as Xylana handed around chocolate-chip cookies and Trixie gave out glasses of milk.

Xander came through the back door wheeling his xylophone on its travel trolley, followed by Max Pax carrying his sax. Xing-Xing reared back on her pine perch and flapped her wings excitedly. "Bobby Fox collects socks! Bobby Fox collects socks," she called exuberantly.

Starting with a dramatic roll on the xylophone, Xander Xenos and Max Pax played the introduction to the Box Song, and everybody sang:

"We know its unorthodox, but we really love our lox,
and better still we love to box and gift-wrap too.
Woodbox and workbox and toolbox and tinderbox
Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?"

Xing-Xing Xenops fluttered down from the tree and landed on the back of Xyphyr the Xenurine armadillo, who was still curled up on Xavier's lap. Xing-Xing fluffed up her feathers until she was as round as a ball and sang her favorite song at the top of her voice. She was louder than the whole Xenos family combined, even with the help of their friends.

Xing-Xing didn't bat an eye when Xavier Xenos scooped her up with both hands and marched her inside the house. She was too busy singing the Box Song to care about her capture.

"Hurrah!" shouted Xylana and Trixie. "The plan worked!"

"Should we stop singing?" Xander and Max asked as they played the musical interlude between the first and second verse.

"Bobby Fox collects socks, so why don't you?" Xing-Xing called from the kitchen. Everyone laughed.

"There's your answer!" said Xenia Xenos, "Xing-Xing wants you to sing!"

And so they did.

White Riders

2012-07-27T17:41:46Z

An Arizona Ghost Story
retold by
S. E. Schlosser

They were not even close to the main camp when the sandstorm storm hit, blasting hot sand into their eyes, hair, and skin. The wind whirled above, around, and under the hasty shelter the two cowboys had set up, offering no protection at all. They took small sips of water every hour or so to relieve the dryness of their throats and to shift about to keep from being buried completely under the sand.

A day passed in these terrible conditions. The two cowboys drank the last of their water and ate the last of their food, while the wind and sand whipped about in an impenetrable curtain and the heat dried out their bodies. One after the other their horses dropped dead and were gradually buried under the sand. Through his increasing misery, one of the men noticed that the sound of the storm was muted, though there was no decrease in the pounding of the wind and the sand. Through the sandstorm rode a man dressed all in white. He was followed by eleven riders, who were also dressed in white. Their spurs, bits, and stirrups gleamed like silver; their belt buckles were gold. They were leading a white horse behind them. He tried to call out to them, but his lips were swollen shut.

The procession stopped in front of the half-buried cowboys and two men dismounted. They walked over to the man beside him. Tenderly, they helped the other cowboy over to the riderless horse and set him in the saddle. Then they mounted their horses and the men in white started riding away. The remaining cowboy pried his lips apart with shaking fingers and gave a hoarse cry of protest. But the white riders disappeared back into the storm, leaving him alone in the whipping sand. Just before the last rider vanished, he turned back towards the cowboy and said: ""It is not your time yet. We will come back for you presently." Then he passed out of sight.

Stricken, the cowboy buried his face against his arm and gradually lost consciousness. He was awakened by someone shaking his shoulder. He looked up into the eyes of some of his fellow cowpokes who had come to find him and his friend as soon as the storm let up. They forced some water through his dry lips and helped him sit up and told him he was lucky to survive.

Something in their grim air made him turn to look at his friend, who lay dead at his side. His heart beat rapidly as he realized suddenly how narrow his own escape had been. And suddenly he understood something else. The riders he had seen had been the white riders of death. By leaving him behind, they had spared his life when they came through the storm to take his friend home.

You can read a longer version of this Arizona folktale, plus 29 other stories in Spooky Southwest by S.E. Schlosser.