Local Legends II

One of the neat things about Southern Maryland is that there are a lot of back country, winding beautiful roads that have very little traffic.  It’s what makes them creepy too, especially when you breakdown after midnight and have to hike a mile down a wooded road to find help.  Thankfully, I had friends to keep me company, of course they brought up every horror movie we’d ever seen while we were walking and the house that we lived in at the time was old, creaky and built next to an abandoned plantation, so none of got sleep any when we made it home.

It was on one of these many back roads that a friend first told me of the Legend of the Goat Man who supposedly haunts P.G. County, no more than twenty minutes from me.  The Goat Man is an axe-wielding, half-man, half-beast who attacks cars as they go through his territory.  Some claim that he was once a scientist at the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center who experimented on goats until it all went bad.  Others claim that the scientist, Dr. Stephen Fletcher, created the creature by mixing the DNA of a goat with his assistant, who then escaped.  Another version is more harmless, where the Goat Man is actually an old hermit who wanders the back roads and lives in a cave nearby and runs away when people approach.

 There are several different locations in the area where the Goat Man is supposed to pop up.  Fletchertown Road is one place, another is the roads behind the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center.  (Lucky me, I went to college right next to there.)  Or near an old tuberculosis sanitarium near Governor’s Bridge which also has another legend connected to it, the Cry Baby Bridge.  Supposedly, if you stop there at night, you can hear the sound of a baby crying.  Apparently, the baby’s mother threw her child off the bridge when the baby’s father refused to acknowledge it and abandoned them.

 

As you can tell, I love ghost stories of all kinds.  I’ve recently submitted my own ghost story, Ghosts in the Wind, which has a few things in common with these local legends.  Like the Legend of the Blue Dog, my story involves the ghost of a murdered man and like the Legend of the Goat Man, my story has a hybrid creature.  There are Jackal Wraiths who feed off the spirits who linger in limbo and at one point, the murderer gets possessed by them.  There’s even the ghostly sounds of a crying baby.

Andrei Cuza and Dean Marshall just celebrated the ten year anniversary of their commitment ceremony only to have their happiness shattered. On his way home from closing a business deal, Dean stops on the side of the parkway to help a young mother with her flat tire when her ex catches up with her. Blake Olsen murders her and Dean and takes off with his two kids.

Andrei has been haunted by ghosts all of his life and bears the guilt for his younger sister Ileana being stuck in limbo. When Dean returns to him as a ghost the double-punch of losing him and now having to watch him founder if he doesn’t move on is almost more than Andrei can bear. Ghosts are stuck at the moment they died, unable to adapt to the changes in their living loved ones.

Dean has made a promise though, and until he helps Andrei track down the missing kids, he isn’t going anywhere. There are dangers in limbo that Andrei doesn’t know about, Jackal Wraiths that devour souls who succumb to their anger and they’re hunting Dean. And dangers to Andrei as well, who pays a price so he can have Dean’s touch one more time. Time is slowly running out as Dean and Andrei try to figure out how to say goodbye while they track down a killer who’d be more than happy to kill again.

Local Legends

I love a good local ghost story.  Not an urban legend where you can find the same tale with minor variations almost anywhere (though those are fun too), but a legend that’s linked to your local area.  When I first moved to Southern Maryland, I had no idea how far back the history went.  There’s a small village nearby, Port Tobacco, that became the county seat back in 1658. 

Since it was located on the Port Tobacco River, it became a seaport and the 2^nd largest town in Maryland until they were upstaged by the coming of the railroad to another town.  The population moved, and the town dwindled back to a village, but quite a bit of local legends and history remained.



Dr. Gustavus Brown's house, near where Sims was killed.



One of my favorites is the ghost of the blue dog.  Back when Port Tobacco was a busy seaport they had many waterfront taverns.  Following the American Revolutionary War, a soldier, Charles Thomas Sims, and his blue tick hound had come to one of the taverns on February 8.  He boasted of having gold and a deed to an estate. 

When he left the tavern and headed down Rose Hill Road, he was followed by a local man, Henry Hanos who murdered Sims and his dog and buried the treasure.  When Hanos returned the next day to recover his stolen treasure, he was confronted by the ghost of the blue dog, and died. Ever since then, the ghost of the blue dog has been seen up and down Rose Hill Road, guarding the treasure of his slain master.

The first written account of this story came from Olivia Floyd, confederate spy, and the owner of the property where Sims was killed.  She told the Port Tobacco Times that she had seen the ghost of the Blue Dog. 

The first time I heard the tale I was coming back from a play at high school and we were taking Rose Hill Road home.  Beautiful country road during the day and damn dark at night.  I’ll never forget the shiver that went through me as I searched the trees, hoping (and not hoping) that I’d catch a glimpse of the dog.  What made it so scary, was the legend claimed that if you saw the blue dog near the rock where his master was killed, you would die soon after.  Supposedly, you can hear him on the anniversary of his master’s death.  I haven’t been anywhere near Rose Hill Road on February 8^th, let me tell you.

Now whenever I pass Rose Hill Road and the Blue Dog Saloon named after the legend, I point them out to my son and tell him the tale of Charles Sims and his blue dog and how the dog howls and mourns for his slain master.  It’s usually at night and we both shiver and watch the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost dog.  One of these nights, I'm sure we will.  Please tell me some of your own local legends.  I love hearing about them.