True Ghost Stories

The story of Ol' Mr. Cartee

May 19, 2014 |  6 comments
Image Credit: CC 2.0 Ashley Chile Baz My grandmother or Mamaw, as I called her, was an amazing woman of many talents. She was a seamstress by trade and, in her day, probably had made as many articles of clothing as to outfit the entire state of Alabama. She could piece a quilt or crochet up a storm. She was, also, a self-taught furniture upholsterer. She had a green thumb and could make anything on God's green Earth grow. If you knew her, you also knew that she was a fine cook whose skills could have rivaled those of any famous chef. Truth is that many of her talents were born of love and necessity to help care for her family and make those ends meet. There is another talent, however, which sprung not only from love, but from the memories of her colorful childhood. This was her of art of storytelling.

Yes, Mamaw was a woman of many talents, but there was one thing she wasn't. She was no liar! All of her stories were true. When my siblings and I were little, we would beg her to tell us one of her stories. It didn't take much urging, though, to tell the truth, because she loved to spin a good yarn. There was one in particular that we wanted to hear before all the rest and that is the story I shall never forget. As Mamaw stirred a pot on her stove, rolled out her biscuit dough on the kitchen counter or was crocheting one of her beautiful afghans, so it would begin.....

"When I was a young girl, I lived with my family in a little house in the community of Ralph, Alabama. Back in them days we didn't have much except each other. We didn't have TVs nor all them store bought toys you children have. Radios were quite hard to come by and, at the time, we didn't have electricity. We relied on kerosine lamps to light our homes and in the rare occasions we were traveling in the dark, we used lanterns. We would sit on our porch in the cool of the evening after the sun went down where we would play and talk about the business of the day. One such evening, I heard Papa say, "Company's a comin'!" We all looked past the yard and down the hill where we saw a lantern light shining through the trees. We knew our visitor should be along in a few minutes, but, a reasonable amount of time passed, and the individual had not yet arrived. Papa called out, "Hello there!" There was no answer, so he called out again, "I say, 'hello there'!" More time passed and the lantern was drawin' closer to the house, but the holder did not reply. Papa continued to call out to our visitor, but, still, nothing. Mother and he exchanged glances; one of those looks that adults give each other like a conversation with no words, but with total understanding. Something about this brought a cold chill down my spine and I recall huggin' my doll a little closer to my chest. It was then that Papa stepped off the porch followed by my brothers. Mother called out to them to stay safely on the porch or she would go down there and snatch them up herself, but I knew better. Like me and my sisters, Mother's feet were planted on the wooden slats of the porch.

We all watched in wonder as our visitor came even closer to the house and suddenly we realized this was no lantern light and this wasn't one of our neighbors or was it? What we could see now was a large orb of light, a glowing ball which illuminated in the darkness and was seemingly carried by no one. It was sure something impressive to behold I must tell you. At times, the orb would float up into the trees, farther than any man could reach without a ladder, only to drop back down again and go forth on its journey. Many times Papa tried to reach out to the light, but, just as he he did, it would dash forward, always staying at arms length or farther away. As the hour grew late and the light became fainter and fainter, we all retired to the porch. As I rested in Mother's lap, I asked her and Papa what did that light mean. As Mother stroked my hair to comfort me and my brother and sisters listened quietly, she and Papa offered an explanation.

They reminded us of a few days back when our neighbor, Ol' Mr Cartee, had been plowing his field when something had suddenly spooked his mare. We knew the story well. The tragedy had been the talk of the Ralph Community and would be for years to come. When the mare was spooked, she took off like a bullet across the field and dragged poor Mr. Cartee with her. She entered the path along the outside of the field and dragged Mr. Cartee to his death right their in front of our little house to the horror of the community. Suddenly, predicting what Mother would say, a cold chill washed down my spine. "Just maybe," said Mother. "This was the soul of Ol' Mr. Cartee on his way home where we will all go someday. He was just following his last path on earth before he goes." ....Mamaw would pause dramatically and then say, "And that's the story of Ol' Mr. Cartee....What did y'all think of that?" "Tell it again!" my siblings and I would plea.....and so she would.

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