Tag: perseverance

December 26, 1859

Advertisements

     Murder is nothing new. Nor is the effort some go to hiding the body – or bodies – of the slain.

     Mathias Cooper traveled from England in 1840 and found work on the marina in Cross, repairing the barrels on ships replenishing their stocks.

     One ship, in particular, the Sea King out of Newburyport, Massachusetts, preferred to have its barrels built and repaired by Mathias. His uncle Elbridge, it turned out, was the ship’s master, and after work, the two would drink long into the night.

     In 1859, inspectors from a shipping insurance firm from New Bedford, MA arrived to investigate the repeated loss of life aboard the Sea King. They were unable to ascertain anything from the folk at the marina, but the suspicions of the townspeople were raised.

     Gentle inquiries were made, and soon it was discovered that the Sea King had a habit of losing new sailors in Cross. These losses were chalked up to the wandering nature of most young men, but as the older members of Cross continued their investigation, they discovered a far more sinister practice.

     Mathias Cooper made at least one new, larger than normal barrel for the Sea King every time she put into berth.

     On December 26, 1859, nephew and uncle were questioned directly and with force, and the newest barrel was opened. The fresh corpse of an unknown sailor was removed from the barrel, and the body was given a decent burial in Cross Cemetery.

     Mathias and Elbridge Cooper were placed in the barrel, alive, and they were buried as well.

Help Support Cross, Massachusetts!

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, please consider putting a dollar in the pot. 🙂 Every little bit helps, and each dollar allows me to spend more time creating posts and stories for you to read. Thank you for your support!

$1.00

December 24, 1914

Advertisements

     The holidays, it is said, are a time for miracles.

     For wounded German troops returning from the Eastern Front during the First World War, such a miracle occurred on the morning of December 24, 1914.

     At 7:37 am, immediately after the departure of the northbound Boston & Maine commuter train, a strange locomotive rumbled into the Cross station. As amazed residents watched, the tracks shifted to adjust to the new train’s gauge, and the engine came to a staggering halt.

     When the doors opened, surprised German soldiers and nurses stepped out onto the platform.

     Seeing the desperate need of the troops, the Cross citizenry sprang into action. Homes were opened to the wounded, and operating theaters were set up in the train station, town hall, and in the First Congregationalist Church.

     By the time evening fell, not a single soldier had died.

     As the Germans were being cared for and fed, welcomed into homes to celebrate Christmas, a young German officer stood beside Duncan Blood. Matthew Dube, one of the train station’s porters, paused at the ticket counter, exhausted from the madness of the day. As he leaned against the marble, he heard Duncan murmur something unintelligible, and the German officer nodded.

     “I’m not for either side, despite what they say from their pulpits,” the officer said in perfect English. “I am quite content to let them sort it out by themselves. Everything works out in the end. It always does.”

     Matthew watched as the officer shook Duncan’s hand, turned, and went back to the platform. When the officer stepped onto the train, all its doors closed, and it faded from view.

 

Help Support Cross, Massachusetts!

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, please consider putting a dollar in the pot. 🙂 Every little bit helps, and each dollar allows me to spend more time creating posts and stories for you to read. Thank you for your support!

$1.00

December 23, 1941

Advertisements

     This unfortunate picture was taken at 10:14 am on December 23, 1941.

     Mr. Jonathan Rivell and his 12-year-old son, Thomas, were looking for interesting subjects for Mr. Rivell’s new hobby – photography. Thomas, an avid swimmer, was in the water, attempting to see if there might not be a far more enticing picture that could be taken of the shore.

     As the father and son prowled along the edge, one near the water and the other in it, they heard a sweet, beautiful voice raised in song. While they were unable to understand the words, the melody drew them on toward the curve in the shore which marked the end of the public’s access to Duncan Blood’s land. Beyond the protrusion in the photograph, no one, not even the police, dared to cross.

     There were dark creatures in Duncan’s lands, and in the waters of Blood Lake as well.

     Instead of stopping and returning the way they had come, the two Rivells continued toward the outcropping.

     Mr. Rivell felt there was something magnificent approaching them, something wondrous. Thomas felt the same.

     As the boy was treading water, the father readied the camera, and when the singing grew louder, he raised the camera to his eye and prepared for the shot.

     He took the photograph a moment after the singer appeared, his horror forcing his reaction.

     From descriptions Mr. Rivell gave to the police, and later to Duncan, it was decided that Thomas was snatched by a naiad.

     The boy’s body was never recovered, nor was the naiad’s song heard again.

     Mrs. Rivell left Jonathan, and he spent the rest of his life wandering the shores of Blood Lake, searching for some sign of the thief who had stolen his child.

Help Support Cross, Massachusetts!

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, please consider putting a dollar in the pot. 🙂 Every little bit helps, and each dollar allows me to spend more time creating posts and stories for you to read. Thank you for your support!

$1.00

December 22, 1925

Advertisements

     In 1920, Frau Issa Gewitter emigrated from Germany to the United States after her husband, a German veteran of the Great War, was slain during the Munich uprising in 1919. By 1921, Issa found her way to Cross, where she became the nanny for the Anderson family on Norwich Road.

     Mr. Paul Anderson and his wife, Ellen, traveled extensively, and on most occasions, they were unable to bring their three daughters with them. During these times, Issa had full run of the home, and she made certain that the children and the structure were well cared for.

     Mr. Anderson was a successful author, writing under several different pseudonyms. One of his passions was collecting rare weapons. His most prized firearm was a Browning Automatic Rifle, gifted to him in 1916 shortly before the United States’ entry into the Great War. Like many collectors, Mr. Anderson had an ample supply of ammunition for his firearms, including the Browning.

     On the morning of December 22, 1925, a heavy snowfall had fallen over Cross, ensuring that there would be little travel on the roads.

     It was at 7:13 am that the first of the goblins attacked the Anderson house.

     Issa Gewitter had survived four years of war, and a devastating battle in her home city of Munich. She was not flustered by the sudden assault, despite the hideous appearance of the assailants.

     Instead, Issa put the Browning to good use. With the children loading magazines and passing them to her, Issa is said to have slain at least 32 of the goblins, and wounding many more.

     When her employer returned and asked where the ammunition for the Browning had gone, his daughters pointed to the pyramid of heads in the backyard.

     To this day the skulls of the goblins are mounted on the corners of the home, and this photo of Frau Issa Gewitter hangs above the fireplace of the Anderson house.

 

Help Support Cross, Massachusetts!

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, please consider putting a dollar in the pot. 🙂 Every little bit helps, and each dollar allows me to spend more time creating posts and stories for you to read. Thank you for your support!

$1.00

What Motivates You?

Advertisements

     What motivates you?

     This seems like a straightforward question, and I suppose for some people, it is.

     For myself, this is an extremely difficult question to answer. Answering it, truthfully at least, requires intense soul-searching, which I’m not exactly a fan of.

     But, using myself as an example, I’ll give some of the basics.

     First, there’s the undeniable need for me to write. And that is a brutal truth: I have to write. It doesn’t matter if it’s a poem, a short story, a longer work of fiction, or a piece of nonfiction. I have the need to write. This need has been there since I was 9 years old and listening to my mother and stepfather argue. It was there when I sat in class – drawing, and writing – and being too much the antagonist and futile rebel to pay attention to what the nuns were trying to teach me.

     In high school, I met Mr. Richard White, a patient, intelligent author, and journalist who taught my English class of hormonal and testosterone-fueled students. He taught us how to craft our sentences and how to form our paragraphs into coherent stories, whether they were fiction or to deliver the news in a succinct fashion.

     My writing has always been a way to release the tension within myself, although I didn’t always see it as such. I harbored dreams, of course, of becoming a famous writer, someone as successful as Stephen King, or at least with the cult-like adoration of Lovecraft fandom. I wanted to create worlds where people could escape reality, just like I did when I was younger (and still do when I write).

     At this point in my life, as a husband, a father of three, and approaching the half-century mark, I don’t want to be famous anymore (although a healthy royalty check would be appreciated). What I want, what I need, is to create a place where the reader can seek refuge. We all desperately need to forget about the troubles and issues that we face in reality. I want my readers to find that in my stories. I want them to pick up the book, or click on the link, and read a story that takes them away, if only for a few minutes, where they don’t have to worry about the bills, or illness, or the ten thousand other problems and irritations that creep up in daily life.

     That’s my motivation.

     What’s yours?

Help Support Cross, Massachusetts!

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this post. If you did, please consider putting a dollar in the pot. 🙂 Every little bit helps, and each dollar allows me to spend more time creating posts and stories for you to read. Thank you for your support!

$1.00