Gilda Joyce: The Bones of the Holy (11 page)

TO: WENDY CHOY

FROM: GILDA JOYCE

RE: St. Augustine ghost-hunting update

 

Dear Wendy:

One thing's for sure: Ghosts are drawn to St. Augustine like moths to a cashmere sweater in the back of an old lady's closet. They're everywhere. I've already had my first unexplained encounter at Mr. Pook's house (strange voice calling for help; source not yet identified). Not only that, the girl who lives next door has amazing psychic abilities. (Unfortunately, she's a bit of a wuss when it comes to actually facing real ghosts.)

 

NEWS FLASH:
MAJOR DISCOVERY ABOUT MR. EUGENE POOK !

I just discovered that a long time ago, Mr. Pook was engaged to a woman named Charlotte Furbo, who wisely left him for another man. Apparently, Eugene never got over Charlotte until he met my mom.

What can I say, Wendy? Life is very strange.

On a positive note, St. Augustine has not failed to provide a healthy dose of intrigue.

 

MYSTERIES IN PROGRESS:

 

What was the source of the cries for help I heard in Eugene Pook's house when Mom and I first arrived? Is the voice connected with Darla's story about seeing skeletons and severed limbs in this house? Is there some link with traumatic events that happened way back during the Civil War and who is the ghostly woman in white? What was she trying to tell Darla about Mr. Pook's house?

 

HOW CAN I HELP DARLA?

 

I feel bad for her; it can't be easy to be scared literally all the time. How can I convince Darla to get over her fears so she can help me do some ghost hunting? Yes, Wendy, there is a selfish motive here. At the same time, I really do want to help. So far, I helpfully told her that she's “not normal,” which resulted in tears. (NO INSULTS ABOUT MY LACK OF TACT, PLEASE.)

More to come: I need to pause to write my travelogue for Mrs. Rabido before she goes into withdrawal as a result of my absence from her class.

 

TO : MRS. RABIDO

FROM: GILDA JOYCE

RE: ST. AUGUSTINE TRAVELOGUE Entry #2

 

Dear Mrs. Rabido :

You might be interested to know that I'm writing to you from a haunted house. Now, you might think this isn't a big deal, since most of the houses in the old part of St. Augustine are at least a little bit haunted, but let me assure you, it is still quite scary.

Just so you can picture me: I'm sitting up in an old-fashioned bed complete with a feather-stuffed mattress and hand-sewn quilts. I'm trying not to look around the room too much, because the faces of about a hundred antique dolls look kind of freaky in the dim light. Listen ! The click, clack, clack of my typewriter is punctuated by bursts of thunder and flashes of lightning from outside. Indeed, Mrs. Rabido, here in St. Augustine it is literally “a dark and stormy night.”

If I'm lucky, both this homework submission and I will reach you in good health, allowing you to carefully print the letter A with a steady hand, using your lovely red pen. Let's keep our fingers crossed, Mrs. Rabido!

Since I know you love excitement, I've arranged a special treat for you tonight. Get ready, Mrs. Rabido: Strap yourself into your corset and bonnet, and grab a few extra batteries for your flashlight. We're heading out for GILDA'S GHOST TOUR OF YE OLDE CITY!

Our first stop--the lovely Huguenot Cemetery, which is filled with mossy, teetering tombstones. This cemetery “opened for business” in the year 1821 as a final resting place for “non-Catholics,” partly because there was nowhere else to bury all the people who died during an epidemic of yellow fever. What is yellow fever, you ask? Let's just say that if you got the yellow fever, you would have been lucky if you died right away. (Notice that this was the “lucky” outcome, Mrs. Rabido.)

If you were NOT lucky, you went into a coma. And all too often, that meant that you were hastily stuffed into a coffin and enthusiastically buried by the overzealous townsfolk, who might have overlooked one teeny, tiny detail.

OOPS! YOU WERE STILL ALIVE!!

“We know that A LOT of people were buried alive by accident,” Debbie Castle, a local ghost-tour guide and student archaeologist, cheerfully explained during tonight's ghost tour. “They've found the scratch marks on the insides of coffins when they are exhumed.”

But if you were rich, Mrs. Rabido, then you might be able to afford being buried a very special way. A string would be tied to your finger--a very long string that would also be attached to a little bell ABOVEGROUND at the other end. That way, if you just happened to have the nasty surprise of waking up to find yourself inside a coffin, you could let someone aboveground know about the terrible mistake before it was TOO LATE.

Of course, this service wouldn't come cheap, Mrs. Rabido, so don't go expecting anyone to do it for free. You had to pay someone to hang out near your tombstone around the clock--hopefully someone who would stay there without taking too many long bathroom breaks; someone who would remember to listen for that bell! And let's be frank--hopefully someone who received good grades from you in history class! Let us hope that you choose the right person, Mrs. Rabido, should you ever find yourself in such an unfortunate position.

 

 

Next, Mrs. Rabido (if you're still conscious and haven't passed out from fright), I will lead you down to the Castillo de San Marcos (also known as “The Old Fort”).

In the darkness, with only our flashlights and the moon shining down on the dark water of the bay, we can imagine a time back in the 1600s, when the Spanish soldiers paced back and forth during the night, keeping watch over the horizon and prepared to launch their cannons at any moment if they fell under attack.

Follow me across a drawbridge suspended over a murky moat where alligators used to lurk. Inside the fort we go, down the steps and into the living quarters. Notice the old communal latrine where soldiers went to poop. Here, the ghosts of smells past sometimes waft through the air.

Now we see a row of sleeping quarters where the walls are smudged with the graffiti and carvings of bored, homesick Spanish soldiers.

There are many ghost stories from the old fort, Mrs. Rabido, so I'll share one of the local favorites:

 

 

PRISONERS
OF LOVE

Once upon a time, some archaeologists were doing an excavation of one of the rooms in the old fort, and they found bones. People speculated about the bones: Had they discovered an old dungeon in the old fort? Maybe a torture chamber?

Well, eventually someone came forward to tell the tragic tale of a jealous Spanish colonel whose young wife fell in love with another officer in the Spanish army. When the colonel discovered the affair, he decided to punish his wife by giving her exactly what she wanted--the opportunity to be with her lover forever. The Spanish colonel ordered his men to chain the two lovers together and seal them into an airtight room where they would gradually suffocate and die in each other's arms.

(Sorry Mrs. Rabido; I warned you that this was a scary story!)

But here's good news : Now you can breathe a sigh of relief, Mrs. Rabido. As it turned out, this story is about as true as the headlines in our school newspaper. That's right; the story is completely made up--a local legend. The truth was that the archaeologist had discovered animal bones in the fort's old trash room. Of course, that's not as exciting as lovers sealed in a dungeon, is it?