The Mystery at Sag Bridge

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Halloween was two days away, and the Lemont Area Historical Society's Fright Night program was about to begin in the Old Stone Church. People gathered to tell, and listen to, scary stories about local ghosts. Candlelit, the atmosphere was gloomy and mysterious. Volunteers, dressed in frightful costumes, greeted and seated the audience. A creepy-looking manikin, a butler in a tuxedo with red, black-rimmed eyes, stood at the door glaring at those who dared to enter. Historical society staff had named him Bill Mum.

A casket, made of rough boards, sat on a pedestal beyond the altar railing. It was sized to fit a child, and it added a sobering, poignant note.

Cora was the last speaker. Her talk was about Saint James at Sag Bridge, a popular location for ghost tales. It was known that Indian villages had once existed on the site, so legends included phantom Indians, but also disappearing carriages, monks and brides, glowing infant caskets, and other eerie sights were reported, many tales allegedly told by reliable witnesses.

Cora was dressed in black and wore no jewelry or makeup. Her pale face and demeanor suggested a macabre appearance as she glided to the lectern, standing stiffly erect behind it, hands resting on its reading surface. She stood silently, somberly eyeing the audience for a full minute before beginning to speak, slowly and dramatically, in a hushed voice that forced the audience to strain to hear her.

"My story is a true and remarkable tale.

"In the sixties, during my college days, one of my friends was a priest who was fascinated by the supernatural, and he sometimes visited cemeteries at night. He told us stories about his experiences in graveyards, stories that frightened and amazed us. So when he invited us to go with him to the old cemetery at Saint James at Sag Bridge, we were delighted. He knew the pastor there, and arranged for the gates to be left open for us. But at the last minute, he had to visit a sick parishioner. Not wanting to disappoint us, he told us to go anyway. There were five in our little ghost-hunting group.

"Tall gates guard the entrance to Saint James, but they were open, as we were told they would be. We parked in the deserted lot. Fierce dogs protected the place at night, we were told, but the dogs wouldn't be out if the gates were open...would they? We were very cautious anyway.

"With our headlights off it was seriously dark, forest all around, and what about those vicious dogs...who knew what other creatures could be out there, unseen? We looked around anxiously and contemplated the next step-to venture out into the cemetery. Our every sense was heightened, every movement, every sound, even odors, everything seemed ominous. We imagined creatures lurking in the woods, and listened apprehensively, startled at little noises from the forest, each creak or snap or rustle suggested sinister intent.

"Heh, heh, heh-," Cora barked out a malevolent laugh, and the audience jumped and then laughed in embarrassment.

"Do you know what it's like there? Have you been there? The old church is on top of a hill, ringed by an old cemetery, and surrounded by dense forest, impenetrable with underbrush. There are abundant places for things to hide at night! Heh, heh, heh."

Cora paused. When she spoke again her voice was bright, lively, and amused.