The Stone of Blood (2 page)

I took all of the ghost stories and legends of my home town; Bardstown, Kentucky, including the ghost of Jesse James, the haunting of the Old Jail House, the Talbott Tavern, My Old Kentucky Home and the history of the paintings at St. Joseph’s Cathedral and combined them all into one centralized story with an underlying theme that includes a ghost of a Confederate Soldier that I once actually saw myself, and a cave that my cousin and I discovered at an old abandoned rock quarry; a cave that we subsequently named the ‘werewolf cave’. I put all of this into motion in the book along with the ghost stories of my grandfather’s, transcribed here for you upon these pages.

This is a work I have wanted to complete since I was nine years old. At times it even gave me cold chills! As I was writing it, I found more things to be true about this story; than anything I could have ever possibly imagined as fiction.

Go ahead, look it up! See for yourself! I dare you!
- Tony

Introduction:

She came to me in the night, a vision floatin’ in the air just outside of my bedroom window, tappin’ on the windows glass, whisperin’ my name. “Toby…” She whispered hauntingly and slow. “Toby…” She whispered again beggin’ me to let her in.

I opened up my window and the girl floated into my room, crawlin’ like a cat upon my bed. And as I went to her she reached out for me …and ripped the flesh from my bone!

Part One

Beginnings

Prelude:

For this reason the spirit cries, no stone has been uncovered.

In unmarked grave his body lies, for secrets yet discovered.

One

The Ghost of the Confederate Soldier

I sat up there on that old fence post like a modern day Tom Sawyer of sorts,
at least wise in my mind and all
; and except for I was wearin’ shoes. I sat up there contemplatin’ on life like I was a King or somebody important like that; chewin’ on a piece of tall grass I’d picked up from outta the field.

The shadows from Mr. Roberts’s red barn were playin’ catch with the lights comin’ in from the other side of it. The sunlight was dancin’ back and forth across the yard like sparklin’ diamonds on the water; the grass still bein’ damp from the early mornin’ rains and all. The sunrise had been a particularly beautiful mixture of bright oranges and yellows that mornin’, and there was just the faintest scent of honeysuckles blowin’ in on that warm summer wind.

I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I growed up then mind you. And I don’t reckon as I ever gave it much thought actually. At twelve years old, growin’ up to me was like bein’ in a whole other place and time entirely. I figured I’d be somebody else by the time I got there anyways, so I’d have plenty of time to be thinkin’ about stuff like that later on. From right where I was sittin’ at, right there on that fence post, life for me was just fine! And as a matter of fact, it couldn’t have gotten any better!

“Toby! Where are you son? You alright out there?” My mama shouted from the back porch.

“Yes Ma’am. I’m alright!” I shouted and waved back. “I’m over here by the gate on the fence!”

Mama stood outside holdin’ the screen door open with her hip wipin’ her hands on a dish towel.

“Well, the weather man says there’s a storm comin’ in. So don’t you be out there too long! You hear me?” she asked and then she nodded.

Mama was always lookin’ out for me and stuff. She said it was her job. But I don’t think she ever got paid for it.

“Okay Mom!” I shouted back just before the screen door slammed shut.

My mom and dad named me Toby; they said it was my nickname, but it wasn’t my
real
name. I was supposed to have been named Tobias, meanin’ “
God is good
” or somethin’ like that and they were gonna call me Toby for short. But when I was born, they just up and decided to name me after my dad instead; so they just kept the nickname I reckon since they already had their minds set on it. I only ever heard my real name anyways when they were mad at me for somethin’.

We lived out in the country
;
in the heart of the bluegrass state. None of us knew exactly why it was called
bluegrass
mind you. That’s just what they called it we guessed. The grass really wasn’t blue; it really wasn’t! It was just as green as everybody else’s!

Sometimes the grass grew so tall that we could play hide and seek out there in the fields. But mostly we weren’t allowed to play in it cause of snakes or for some other reasons. It didn’t mean that we didn’t play in it; it just meant that we played in it until we’d get caught!

‘
Not rememberin
’ was always a good excuse when Mama would catch us, and that ‘
other kids got to play in the tall grass
es’ worked as a reason too. But Mama said that she, “
didn’t raise those other kids!”
and if she had, then
“they wouldn’t get to play out there in those tall grasses neither!
”

So there you go!

Our farm was every bit of three acres big! Big enough for the four of us: my mom and dad, my sister Anna and me. We had great views from our front porch swing when the weather would permit. We had views of fields; views of corn and grains outlined by trees at nearly every point of horizon.

I always kind of imagined it lookin’ out across those fields, that God himself must’ve placed an invisible bubble around our home so that no kind of troubles could ever happen there. It was kind of hard to explain, yet in my mind’s eye that’s just how I saw it. It was a safe place.

We had a garden just this side of Mr. Roberts’s field. It wasn’t a big garden but it was more than enough for us, anyways I didn’t like most of what came out of it. We had a fenced in field behind our house, with a hen house an outhouse and an old barn in it. The barn was located way out there by the pond and the woods, but the hen house and out-house were closer to us, just on the other side of the gate that exited our backyard. The hen house was always full of chickens and eggs. And …the out-house? Well …you don’t want to know what it was full of.

We had to check them regularly; the chickens in the hen house I mean.

Our dog named Candy was a white Jack Russell terrier, and she would run around and round them chickens up at nights. She would herd em’ up while my mama would shoo em’ into the chicken coop to keep em’ safe!

On the left hand side of our hen house, we kept an old beagle hound. His name was Mr. Whiskers, named for self explanatory reasons. And the field all around us was just big enough for a few cows and a pony to run around in.

My pony’s name was Prince and he was about thirty years old or somethin’.

I’ve been told he was pretty old for a Shetland pony, but he sure did run around like a young colt out there in the field! Grandpa gave him to me when I was five I think, once we’d moved out to the country.

Our house was completely surrounded in the back by woods and brush. It made it very private; so that nobody would be lookin’ at you every time you’d come outside or if you had to step out behind the shed or some tree somewhere’s to relieve yourself or somethin’. That’s just how it was out in the country. We didn’t have no inside bathroom, like we did in the city! It was different! And you couldn’t be doing stuff like that up there in town, no sir!

And Bardstown, well it was even a small town and all, as far as towns go; known as the Bourbon Capital of the world!

Bourbon is a special kind of whiskey that is made from corn. Not that I’ve ever had any! My dad worked at Barton’s Distillery about five miles from where we lived. They made Bourbon whiskey there. The name Bourbon comes from a time when
Kentucky
was originally a part of
Virginia
. And cause the French had helped us defeat the King of England in the Revolutionary War, the Virginian government named several of their new counties after em’. One of em’ was called Bourbon, named after the French royal family, the House of Bourbon.

Bourbon whiskey was made in
Kentucky
and was different cause it was the first corn whiskey most people had ever tasted. I aint never tasted none myself, but when Dad come home from work he always smelled of whiskey. And I don’t know that it smelled nothin’ like corn.

But like I said, Bardstown was a small town and all. B
ig enough for growin’ up in I reckon’, full of history and stuff; at least wise accordin’ the stories I’ve heard. Mostly true stories, at least wise I never found a reason to doubt any of em’.

My daddy’s daddy I never got to meet cause he went on up to Heaven before I was born. But I knew my mama’s daddy real well. He was a storyteller. I guess maybe that’s where I got it from. He was born here in Bardstown just like me; only back in nineteen and thirteen.

Mama told me that when she was little, Grandpa used to gather up all of his kids, and tell stories to em’ around the coal oil lantern or old wood stove at night before bedtime; or at least the smaller kids who still lived at home. She said that ‘
this was back before they had TV and radio, when folks would gather around in the nighttime and talk to one another like civilized folks
’.

Grandpa told me tales of how things were when he was a kid. But mostly, he told me stories about witches! I really never saw a witch before nor nothing myself personally. At least wise I don’t ever think that I did.

Witches gathered in dark places, keepin’ their rituals and surnames secret. Like stories of old they’d catch children found, who’d wandered too far from their homes. Fairy tales disguised the truth in plain sight; with unbelieving mortals unable to ascertain the difference
.

Witches were real! They turned themselves into animals and such, my grandpa told me; castin’ spells upon would be travelers who crossed their paths along lonely roads and amidst the darkened shadows!