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    Ghosts of the Carolinas
    Ghosts of the Carolinas
    Ghosts of the Carolinas
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    Ghosts of the Carolinas

    By Nancy Roberts

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    About this ebook

    North and South Carolina are steeped in history—some of it supernatural. The “custodian of the twilight zone” shares their spookiest tales (Southern Living).

    Nancy Roberts, known as the “First Lady of American Folklore,” is a topnotch storyteller and one of the few who both write and tell their own stories. For more than two decades, Ms. Roberts has documented ghost stories and interviewed hundreds of people throughout the United States.

    A nationally known author of twenty-three books, Ms. Roberts began her career with a series of ghost stories written for The Charlotte Observer. Carl Sandburg sent her word that her stories were good, suggesting “they should be a book.” Since then her books have won her a certificate of commendation from the American Association for State and Local History and a nomination for the Great Western Writer’s Spur Award.

    Ms. Roberts has a special love for encounters with Southern specters. A native of North Carolina, she grew up listening to the ghost stories of the Old South. In this collection of her favorites, Ms. Roberts tells of the phantoms who haunt the Carolinas and the people who have witnessed their appearances firsthand.

    Praise for Nancy Roberts

    “Just about everybody likes a good ghost story. And ghost hunter/author Nancy Roberts has put together as shivery a selection of other worldly tales as you’re likely to find anywhere . . . And whether you believe in ghosts or not, these tales are guaranteed to give you a chill, especially before you go into a dark room alone.” —Southern Living
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateOct 11, 2019
    ISBN9781643360409
    Ghosts of the Carolinas
    Author

    Nancy Roberts

    Nancy Roberts is an award-winning translator of a number of Arabic novels including Salwa Bakr's The Man from Bashmour, for which she received a commendation in the Saif Ghobash Banipal Prize for Translation, and Ibrahim Nasrallah's Gaza Weddings, for which she was awarded the 2018 Sheikh Hamad Prize for Translation and International Understanding. She lives in Wheaton, Illinois.

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      Book preview

      Ghosts of the Carolinas - Nancy Roberts

      THE TALKING CORPSE

      The keeper of Old Salem Tavern never forgot the night a dead man brought him a message.

      As the keeper of Salem Tavern busily greeted new arrivals, he had not the slightest premonition that this night was to be the start of a most unusual chain of events.

      It was a bitterly cold November evening and a drizzling rain added to the discomfort of travelers. Many decided to stop early and enjoy the tavern’s cheer. It was a house of entertainment with a widespread reputation for hospitality and had often been host to distinguished visitors. George Washington himself lodged here for two days on his 1791 visit to North Carolina.

      As the hour grew late the social rooms emptied, the guests retired, and the tavern keeper sat alone before his upright walnut desk. His office door opened off one side of the rear of the large tavern hall. Behind it was the sitting room used by his own family. At the left of his desk was a small window that admitted enough light to allow him to see his accounts. And at the far end of the tiny cubicle stood a tall wardrobe.

      Oftentimes before he went to bed the tavern keeper would check his menu for the following day. As his eyes scanned the listing of mutton, venison, vegetables, kraut, cheese, and gingerbread, he thought he heard a faint rapping sound. He stepped out into the hall and listened. There was someone at the front door.

      While he threw back the heavy bolt the hall clock chimed half after eleven. He opened the door and a man staggered across the threshold. A wave of irritation swept over the tavern keeper at the thought of having to deal with a drunken traveler at this hour—and then he saw his guest’s face. It was gray and drawn with suffering.

      This was no drunk. It was a desperately ill man.

      The tavern keeper summoned the hostler to care for his visitor’s mare, seated the man in a chair in the gentlemen’s room and sent for a doctor with all possible haste, meanwhile helping the sick man to his room. The man was in such anguish that he could not even tell the tavern keeper his name. So the keeper decided to wait until morning to register him. By now the doctor had arrived. He examined the patient, administered some medicine from his bag and then drew the tavern keeper to one side.

      This man is gravely ill. If he is not much improved by morning, you must call me.

      Shortly afterward the patient lapsed into a coma and before morning he was dead.

      Unfortunately his clothes were not marked nor did the contents of his saddlebags reveal a single clue to his identity.

      After a decent burial ceremony the Parish Graveyard received his remains and the saddlebags were placed in the office wardrobe on the bare chance that they might someday be claimed.

      Several days later the innkeeper’s servants began to be reluctant to go to the basement alone. The tavern keeper at first laughed; then he grew increasingly exasperated as he tried without success to allay the fears of his staff. Nothing he could say seemed to calm them or discourage the apprehensive glances they cast over their shoulders as they went about their work. One night one of them dropped a heavy tray that he was taking to the dining room. Afterwards he swore something had followed him into the hall.

      Finally, one night, while the tavern keeper was in his office struggling over his accounts, a young maid burst in upon him, pale with fright.

      Something awful is out in that hall! she declared hysterically.

      Overcome by annoyance, the tavern keeper left the maid trembling in his office and strode out into the corridor. At first it appeared to be empty. Then to his utter amazement he heard a scraping sound and a shadowy, faceless form appeared before him.

      He managed to conquer his impulse to flee and heard a voice speak to him. In hollow tones the voice begged him to notify my brother of my death. It gave the dead traveler’s name and the name of a brother in Texas. Then the hall was again empty.

      When he returned to his desk the tavern keeper’s hands were shaking but he grasped his pen the more firmly and began a letter to the address in Texas that the voice had given him. He described his guest and went into detail about his illness and death.

      It was not long before he received an answer. The reply confirmed his guest’s identity and asked that the saddlebags be forwarded to the Texas home.

      The instructions of the spirit were no sooner carried out than the peculiar manifestations ceased, nor did the servants ever complain again about the tavern being haunted.

      The ghost had departed as soon as his errand was accomplished. But for the rest of his life the keeper of Salem Tavern told this story of the talking corpse and steadfastly vouched for its truth.

      THE RING

      Death brings a coveted ring—and disaster—to a greedy young woman.

      Mary was the proud, petulant one of the two sisters, while Kate was gentle hearted and kind. Orphaned during their teens the girls lived in a small cottage from which could be heard the roar of the surf when the wind was high.

      The men of Dare County along the Outer Banks of North Carolina first begin to test their mettle against the honing of the sea while they are still boys. And

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