The House at Harper's Ferry

The house intrigued me. Every day on my way to school I looked at it. Why was the silhouette of a missing house painted on the end of it? Why didn't the owners just block it in? Why was the missing house not rebuilt? What dark and tragic events happened here? Questions that dared my imagination to provide answers. The apparent demolished house had been smaller than its attached neighbor, rising only to its eaves. A wooden fence bordering the vacant lot where the house once stood was about eight feet high and though I searched several times for gaps I could peer through, somebody went to great lengths to avoid prying eyes by lining the inside. The fence was meticulously maintained year in year out, but no one ever observed it being worked on. A year ago, a visitor tried to climb the barrier and fell to the sidewalk while attempting to straddle the top. He broke 2 his right leg and swore he was pushed from the inside.

Most people who came to Harpers Ferry were tourists and paid much attention to this site and I m sure left with curiosity about the secret behind the fence.

A spectacular maple on the sidewalk shone like a burning beacon, aflame in colors of orange, yellow and red. Its leaves stayed that color all year round, like the tree was suspended in it's own permanent autumn. Even in winter the leaves didn't drop and experts called in to investigate the phenomena offered no explanation.
The town's church was erected atop cliffs that looked down upon the neighborhood. It was barely visible from here, but from the opposite side of the street, one could see its flint stone and brick tower rise all-seeing above the houses. Its steep spire pierced the sky and bore a menacing cross. Families migrated to what was mostly a ghost town after the end of the Civil War and the lower town, where this vacant lot was located, was a shell until the early eighteen nineties. Most settlers preferred the upper reaches , where they were safe from recurring floods at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. The town is picturesque and set among scenic mountains which draws millions of visitors every year, yet it is more beautiful to the people who live here year round and witness changes that seasons bring. To them, a foot of snow is as wonderful as a summer's day So it was with deep regret that I took one last look over my shoulder as I left town for college in Dallas. It s bad enough that I m so far away, but I'm a Redskin's fan in the heart of Cowboy country gosh darn it. In a way I relate to the city of Dallas, but mostly at night when the city becomes a ghost town after the bustling daytime hub of activity subsides and it becomes home to joggers, walkers and sightseers. As cities go, 3 Dallas is breathtaking, with big spectacular skyscrapers and clean airy streets. People are friendly, but I miss home. Spring break finally arrives and I'm impatient to

buckle into my seat on the U.S. Airways flight to Reagan Airport, where mom should be waiting. I had the best night's sleep in my own bed and was awakened the next morning by the odor of food cooking. My dad was the breakfast specialist and greeted me with a plate of scrambled eggs, scrapple, sausages, bacon and toast. I left the table with a full stomach, showered, dressed and went for a walk by the river before cutting up to the vacant lot. Trees were breaking out their green coats, but the maple defiantly glowed its fiery foliage. I looked up inside the tree as I had hundreds of times before at its branches perfectly arranged like the spokes of an umbrella. I felt that if I reached up, I could climb forever, like Jack and the Beanstalk. There was a branch within reach and after a quick look around I grabbed hold and pulled up. My hands got very warm and the branch I gripped became so hot I had to let go. I dropped to the ground and looked at my palms. They were red. I headed to the general store and arrived as Mr. Jefferson was opening up. Hi Jimmy. How s college going? It's fine. I replied. I need Vaseline or something. Sure, for what? He asked. I showed him my hands. Wow, these are pretty bad burns, how'd you get them? How could I tell him? He d think I was nuts. I was.. climbing a tree and slid down a branch. I lied. The store owner inspected them more closely. Must have been some smooth tree, he said, there are no 4 abrasions - looks more like you touched your mother s iron! he smiled. I'll get some burn gel. Thanks. So how did it really happen Jimmy? he asked, while applying gauze and bandages. I told you - on a tree. You'd better think up a better one than that before you

go on home, Jefferson advised, The only way to get burned like that on a tree, is if it was on fire. he said. It is, kind of. I took Jefferson to the door and pointed to the maple - that one. You're telling me that tree caused these burns? he asked. Yes. How? I grabbed a branch and was climbing up when all of a sudden it got red hot and I had to let go, I explained, its the truth. You re telling me if I grab that tree, I'll get burned? I did. I shrugged. Let's go. Mr. Jefferson locked the door and we walked to the maple. Which branch? He asked. That one. Although he didn't believe me, Mr. Jefferson was tentative when touching the limb. He placed a finger on it and when there was no reaction as he touched with open hands. He swung on the branch smiling, That was a good one Jimmy but it's not April Fools. I'm telling you it burned me. I swore. Okay - touch it then. he invited. I gingerly raised the back of my hand to the branch and rested my flesh against it. After just a few seconds, I withdrew in shock and looked at my skin. A red welt developed even as we watched. 5 My God! Jefferson exclaimed, I don't believe it. Told you I said. He reached his hand up again and felt the branch exactly where my hand had been, Its cold. Jimmy, did you ever try to climb this tree before? No. Why today? I wanted to see what was on the other side of the fence. I answered. And the tree prevented you?

I hadn't thought about that We're both made out of skin and bones, so why burn you and not me? He questioned. Do any other odd things like this happen to you? No, I m completely normal, thank you very much. Well, there s something about you and this tree though, he said. The only 'thing' with this tree is that I used to stop here almost every day since middle school and look up at the inside sometimes, I replied, and I used to wonder about the missing house. What missing house? That one I gestured. Ah, a lot of people wonder about that house.. he said. I used to wonder why the imprint of the old house was never painted over when they did the rest of the house. I told him. They did... Twice, he said, after they did it the first time, the paint vanished from that area, they had the painters come back and re-do it. And? I asked. And... the guy doing it had just finished when he fell off his ladder - very odd. he said. I looked up at the wall and imagined. It was about thirty feet off the ground, I estimated. Why odd? I asked. 6 Because they said he always was wore a safety harness and the ladder had one of those stabilizer things attached - requirements of his insurance policy. Maybe he forgot to clip it. I suggested. Nope - the guy said he remembered fastening it, said he never took out a brush until he did. It was his routine. So what happened then? He said the ladder started shaking so bad he thought someone on the ground was doing it, but he was alone in there. Said he saw his harness unfasten. Next morning, all the paint was gone again., funny thing is... the paint didn't run off and leave a puddle, it just plain disappeared. Now nobody will go behind that fence.

So why is the yard fenced anyway? I asked. I don't rightly know, but I've heard a few tales in the bars in town. Some say there was such evil in that house that it was torched, along with people inside, and torn down, stone by stone, as never to see the devil's work again. Who lived there, when did all this happen?" I asked. This was fascinating. Escaped slaves, making their way up north from the Carolinas and further. When? Late eighteen fifties, sixties - somewhere around then. There were thousands came here after the town's arsenal and armory were destroyed and the Federal troops moved out. So what was the evil? Voodoo, they say. Voodoo! Here? I thought that was an African thing. I said. It is. I've been researching the town's history ever since I came here thirty years ago and traced the slave trade from its roots to here. Most slaves that made it here were captured by Stonewall Jackson when he attacked Harpers Ferry and they were marched back down south to be 7 forced into slavery again. Slaves entered this country one of two ways - from Africa or from Africa via Haiti. Voodoo coming here from Haiti developed into a new strain, much more satanical and primitive. Human and animal sacrifice became a normal part of their culture along with spells and curses. Sticking pins in dolls and effigies turned from the original medical connotation into bringing harm to others. The African culture came to this country through Charleston, Carolina whereas the Haitians came in through New Orleans. During their migration north, the two cultures intermingled, producing yet a third strain, a more violent strain fueled by rebellion against captivity. Wow, you really know about this stuff, I intended to research it myself but you've saved me tons of time. I

would never have thought to include slaves. I added, What happened next? A family dedicated to this new cult arrived at Harpers Ferry, he went on, Apparently they stayed in the abandoned armory for a while, but it soon became overpopulated. They derived a plan and visited each house in town to offer themselves as slaves in return for food and lodging. That house - he pointed to the silhouette, took them in. The missing house, or the one still standing? I asked. The missing one. It didn't take long for them to take advantage of the owner's weakness and take over the house. They confined the terrified couple to their room and tortured them each time they threatened to kick them out. he related. What about the neighbors? Didn't they try to help? I don't know, there's no evidence one way or the other, but think about it - back then folks were Godfearing and tended not to interfere in others' lives. Don't forget, there was no law here after the troops pulled out. Would you involve yourself? Animals were taken into the house and 8 slaughtered during pagan sacrifices and more and more blacks filled the house for rituals every week. Me? I'd bar my doors and windows and pray for deliverance. So what ended it? One morning the owners wife's body was found - up on the hill there. he pointed. Her throat had been cut and she was wrapped in a bloody sheet. I looked up, Where the church is? Yes, but the church wasn't built then. Then what? The pastor from the Mission House bullied five or six townspeople including the blacksmith, who was a big man, and also my great, great, grandfather, into going the house to kick the slaves out. They arrived early in the morning and bro ke in while the slaves slept. They found the floor caked with dried blood and chicken heads hanging from strings tied to the beams.

The walls were blackened by candle smoke and sleeping bodies lay everywhere - there were estimated to be about thirty or so in the two lower rooms. The ones nearest the door wakened at the noise of intrusion yelled to waken the others and many jumped out of windows, but the original core stood their ground and fought back until they were overcome. They also fled the house but not before one of the slaves was caught. What about the old man - the owner? I asked. That comes later my boy, so, they took the captured slave to the stables behind Robert Harper's house and flogged him. He wouldn't tell who killed the wife even when he was whipped half to death. The report read that he acted possessed and spat and cursed each one of his captors to hell, so it wasn't long before someone produced a rope and dragged him to the place where the woman s body was discovered. The tree he was hanged from was eventually cut down and used to make the cross for the church spire, which was built on the same spot. 9 I looked up at the spire and shivered. What about the other slaves? I asked. They left the lower town for several days while folk cleaned up the house and tended to the owner. They broke in again on the third night and near killed him also. Luckily, he managed to escape. he answered. Then what? I asked. People didn't know what to do. The town committee held a meeting which lasted pretty much all day but couldn't come up with a plan that everyone agreed to. By now the slaves were armed, as the Mayor discovered when he tried to reason with them, so storming the house wasn't much of an option. They considered calling in Lt. Robert E. Lee, who captured John Brown, but he had traveled deep south by this time. They adjourned without resolution, planning to reconvene the next morning. Night fell and the town grew quiet except for the sound of drum beats and chanting from the house reoccupied by slaves. People stayed home and double bolted their doors in fear except for one person who stirred in the darkness

and sneaked toward the house using the darkest shadows to avoid detection. A cloth covered the tin can he carried blocking the moonlight from catching its shiny metal and give him away. When the destination was reached, he lashed the front door with rope so that it could not be opened and set about splashing the contents over the porch and sides of the house. After allowing a few moments for the kerosene to soak in, he set the house ablaze. The pastor and people who lived nearby were quickly drawn to the fire, but the pastor left almost immediately. Do they know who set fire to the house? I asked. Oh yes, it was the old man the owner. Its said that he danced as the place burned. What's of interest is that the fire truck never arrived to douse it. That's odd, why? Because when the fire chief arrived at the engine 10 room, he found the doors chained and padlocked. After getting over the shock, he set about breaking in with a crowbar, but was stopped by a man in black who told him to let the house burn because it was 'God's will'. God's will...? The Pastor? I pondered. Yes. He chained the doors? Did people find out? Not for a long time. After the fire chief died, they found a letter along with his will telling what happened. He had to keep the secret or he would have been blamed for not putting out the fire, so he left the doors chained as proof. He and the priest struck a gentleman's agreement not to divulge who did it and the pastor preached in his Sunday sermon that 'The Lord works in mysterious ways' so the townspeople didn't question any further. Who on earth would have believed? I gasped. Then what? Well the house burned all night, aided in part by several inhabitants throwing combustible materials onto it and when it cooled down, the Mayor declared that it be torn down, stone by stone until nothing remained. The slaves died? Its believed that they all perished.

Do you think this maple tree was here then? I asked. I don't know. That's an intriguing question. Maybe the maple was scorched by the fire and that's why it burned you because you wanted to know about the house. Jefferson suggested. So what force do you think cause the paint to disappear and people get pushed off fences and ladders? Voodoo or God? I don't know but strange things started happening in the house next door soon after. Word is that the house that burned down possessed it too. Like the evil burned into it, you mean?' Could be.. maybe that's a question only the maple tree can answer.... he mused.