Ghosts of Graveyards Past Read Free Page B

all, it was in the 1800s. Those kinds of stories get changed every few decades.”
    “What sort of trouble?” She took the seat across from him, unable to help the journalist-like stance after weeks of interviewing historians on similar subjects. Though none of those stories had puzzled her as much as this one, with its allusions to past lore.
    He laughed, another soft chuckle of amusement. “Depends on who you ask. There’s some who believe it was a sickness that caused a series of deaths. Others say it was a possession of sorts or a haunting. There were legends that a Celtic curse had been levied on the town for the wrongdoings of its people—probably the old folks’ idea of things back then.”
    “No one knows for sure what it was?” She was surprised, given how proud the community seemed of its past. Surely, someone had researched the strange event, combing through whatever documents were preserved in the town’s historical society.
    The funeral director offered an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid the answer is pretty much a mystery, even to our ancestors. All we really know is that people were dying, terror had a grip on the community in general, and many feared a judgment was upon mankind for the bloodshed in the fighting.”
    She nodded, feeling foolish as she posed yet another question. One that had stayed on her mind since she first arrived last night. “The banner for the festival has some interesting symbols,” she began, unsure how to describe the scrawls that seemed so primitive. “Someone told me they were —”
    “Celtic,” he answered, finishing her sentence. “And Druid, I suppose. Symbols for harmony, energy, mortality…any number of things. Many of our native families trace their roots back to the Celtic culture with all its legend and lore, and to Scotland, in particular. You’ll find that both have influenced our stories and arts. It’s very much a part of us as a town, even with our Southern pride.”
    Pulling a ring from his right hand, he held it up to reflect the light. “A Scottish thistle ring, passed down from my father’s side of the family,” he said. “The local jeweler produces similar designs, as well as the knots of the Celtic region. Just one of the ways our town reflects the ancient customs.”
    “And the old superstitions,” she wondered aloud, “did those carry over, too? I mean, nobody believes it was a Druid curse that struck the town, do they?”
    He frowned. “These days, we see the festival as more of a celebration of history or as a cultural memorial. To those who suffered the trouble and those who survived. It was a dark time in so many ways, with the war going on, and the town was lucky to survive so much turmoil.”
    Jenna stayed silent as the funeral director scanned the rest of the ledger. Her thoughts were focused on this strange piece of the past, and the way it seemed to be etched into the lives of the modern-day citizens.
    A curse. Rumors of ghosts and malicious spirits wreaking havoc at home while a battle raged miles away. Nothing about the legend made sense to her, but every new facet flamed her curiosity as much as the possibility of a lost burial site from the same era.
    Sylvan Spring seemed laden with secrets. Like a time capsule buried in the earth, the remnants of its previous civilization were lingering somewhere just beneath the surface.
    “I’m sorry,” Mr. Stroud told her a moment later, flipping the folder’s cover closed. “But we have no records of business with a local craftsman. It appears your friend was wrong.”
    Disappointed, she shouldered her knapsack. The caretaker must have confused his memory of the stone carver as being more recent then was actually possible. Not a surprise, really, considering he seemed to know of the man mostly through word of mouth or old newspaper advertisements.
    “Thanks so much for checking,” she said. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
    “It was no trouble.” He rose to see her to the