Tag Archives: stories

Williamsburg: The Ghost Minefield

The Setting:

Historic Williamsburg, an age of old fashioned, colonial dresses and horse drawn carriages. Its a place of education, information, and people walking about for the sole purpose of enjoying history live (or as alive as possible). However, what most people don’t think of are the ghosts of the past. Axwild Tours will take you into the past and give you a detailed description of the hauntings that would normally send people running.

 

The Path:

You start in front of the Wilma Sonoma, on the Duke of Gloucester Street, standing in the middle of the street to talk to your tour guide. He or she tells you about ghosts that people had seen all the way to the famous Jamestown (Island). You progress without moving all the way back to the school before starting off on the official walk. You head away from the college on the same street, stopping in front of the theatre before continuing again. Just past the barricade, to the right are the bathrooms and visitor’s/ticket center. The tour will continue, stopping outside Martha Washington’s house (before she was a Washington) and then again beside the courthouse, right in front of the stocks. Then, you’re taken to the Randolph Peyton house before going towards the Palace Green. Then, to conclude the trip, your tour guide takes you to just outside (or inside if you’re lucky) the cemetery.

 

The Stories:

While you’re on the ghost tour, there are a few stories you get to hear.

 

There was a theatre that used to be Annie’s House. During the Civil War, Annie found an injured confederate soldier and brought him home. She tried her best to save his life, but he died. Annie called in the town for the Union soldiers who had taken over the city. She showed one the soldier and it was his brother. They buried him. Afterwards, the Confederate soldier marched around her property, keeping her safe. After the Rockefellers bought the property and turned it into a theatre, people started seeing the man in gray sitting in the back row during intermission between two movies in a double feature.

 

The Palace used to have grand parties and the Wythes would attend. Mrs. Wythe loved the color red and she was also quite the red head. No one knows what she wore on her last night, but everyone remembered her red slippers. Well, she went looking for her husband in the garden, only to find the man she loved in the arms of another woman. Mrs. Wythe’s temper was well known and in a fit of rage, she rushed from the mansion and halfway home, lost her shoe. She ran inside the house and up the stairs, but she tripped, lost her balance, and fell to her death over the bannister. Now, today as a rite of passage, pledges will bring a red shoe or sandals and knock on the door, telling her they brought her slipper. They hear someone having a fit inside and run off.

 

My Reaction:

Our tour guide, Alison was awesome. She was well informed and very friendly. She even let me (pregnant as I am) go to the bathroom when the tour first started. I loved listening to her talk. We had fun. Lots of fun. We even had our own ghost experiences while on tour. Alison was a delight and my fiancée and I enjoyed every second of our ghost tour.

 

I give Axwild Tours 4.5 stars out of 5.

 

My only complaint was that the lantern Alison carried had a fake candle instead of a real one.

 

You can find out more about their tours on their facebook page here and on their website here. Call 757-565-0311 for reservations.


A Mystery

I started this, fully intending to finish in one go, but it couldn’t seem to pull itself from my mind like I wanted to. So it’ll be continued. If you have a suggestion for a better title let me know.

I watched the lights flash off my Glock as I took aim at the motherfucker who had decided to kill my mother. His eyes were wide, shocked that I had come all the way to Hickory to find him. I breathed out through my mouth, allowing a surreal sense of calmness to encircle me. It steadied my hand and I no longer blinked.

“How did you find me?”

“It was simple,” I said. “It started the day I spoke to the police.”

“Why don’t you tell me the entire story?”

“No.”

“I want you to know before you kill me,” he said, backing away with his hands up.

“You’ll hear it soon. You’ll read it soon,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He shuddered as I took aim at his right knee. He started blabbering about something for a moment and I listened before I pulled the trigger. He screamed and I took pleasure in that scream before taking off, purposely dropping my note.

None of this would have happened if I hadn’t entered the room the exact moment my mother died. A man stood, facing me with a mask on and his Glock in hand. He dropped the gun and sprinted out the window, towards the fire escape. I was screaming and crying so loudly over my mother’s body that the next door neighbor had walked in to check on us. The police tried to pin it on me, but my alibi checked out and all was well. At least that’s what they told me. They had never caught the guy because my mother was  a prostitute.

I could never remember much about my mother’s attacker, but his pale blue eyes. It was like looking into ice and that ice had started burying into my soul.

As soon as I could I got emanicipated from my grandparents and moved to a small apartment close to the college I wanted to attend. I never got in, having to drop out of school to afford my apartment, but I started studying at the library. I was there so often that I was offered a job.

I had been there for ten years before I saw the man again. At first I wasn’t sure. He was the same height, sure. I hadn’t seen his entire face, so every man that tall scared me a little, but his eyes were those same ice blue. Ice blue that spread cold throughout my body. I followed him from the library until I knew what he had done, what he could do. I caught him…..

(To be continued).


True Home

Someone was bound to have noticed my escape the moment my feet hit the ground, but it would never matter because we live in that kind of neighborhood. You know…. The ghetto. We hadn’t been here long when I met Edmond. We had hit it off splendidly in history class where I outsmarted Mister Fisher, who turned out to be Edmond’s biological father. Edmond introduced me to his stepfather, Emperor Edwardic (or Edward for short). He showed me the wonders of the Vampyre subculture and I’ve been hooked ever since. Which is what led me to sneaking out via the window.
I ran the twenty to twenty-five blocks to the higher class district where I paused at the tall gates of Villa de Vampyre, named for the gothic castle look you see in all those Vampyre movies. At least all but those horrid Twilight movies. Seriously, why change something that’s already working so damn well?
The guard let me in with nothing more than a wink and a wave. He never spoke. When I asked why Edmond told me that it was a story that would destroy my soul. I never asked again.
I walked up the long driveway that seemed to be as far a walk as the walk to the villa itself. The front door was a basic black, but had gold trim in the shape of bats and wolves. Emperor Edward never believed those silly legends about wolves being evil.
“Its because I’m evil incarnate myself, my dear… vic- I mean friend of my son,” he had said.
Remembering our meeting always brought fond thoughts to mind. Here, I feel wanted. It feels like family here. No God forsaken father who never really wanted me. No mother who blames me for all that goes wrong. This is where I’ve felt I belong since I first met Edmond. The door opened.
“Welcome, my dear Karmin.”