The Last Of The Ice Dragons

Thousands of years ago mythical beasts such as minotaurs and centaurs, as well as Pegasus, walked the Earth and they became legends because of stories told time and time again throughout the centuries. The creatures were real and when they died out they became, not the history they should have become, they became myths and legends.

One creature though lasted through the centuries and, some say, they can still be found in distant forests and mountains. Those creatures are dragons. Tales have been told of massive winged dragons breathing fire and terrorizing the people of Earth. Those tales have been told as recently as the 15^th century.

The last surviving dragon was supposedly killed in the British Isles in 1487 when a knight found it sleeping on the shores of the Thames River outside of London. However, one remained that no one, outside of a small town in New Zealand knew about and it was known as the Ice Dragon.

When the aboriginal people first colonized the island there was a population of dragons that measured into the hundreds. Green dragons that lived in the woodlands and blue dragons that called the air, sky and clouds their home…a home that the gods had granted to the dragons when the world was young and man was just a glimmer in the gods’ eyes.

When the settlements of humans began there was a tenuous peace between them. The humans farmed and hunted animals which were not the prey of the dragons and the dragons lived the same as they had since the beginning of time. That was until one day when the humans and the dragons clashed.

A young warrior was out hunting when he spotted a deer grazing on the side of a mountain. It was a hard climb but the warrior made it and, with one throw of his stone spear the deer fell to the ground. A slash with his obsidian knife cut the deer’s throat and as it took its last breath a blue dragon flew up from the valley and landed next to the warrior and his deer. This particular breed of deer lived only in the mountains and was well known to be the food of the blue dragons.

The dragon rose into an aggressive stance, roaring loudly. The roar was loud enough for every dragon with a hundred miles to be put on alert. His open wings measured nearly 12 meters from one end to the other, its eyes were mere slits and its mouth was open wide showing a set of teeth that no other creature had in the history of time. Claws that were twice the size of a lion’s gripped into the soil and an armor pointed tail whipped wildly in the cool air.

The warrior kept working on the deer trying to pretend that he did not notice the monster standing before him but the dragon roared again and tore deep gashes in the ground. Looking up the man saw that the dragon was standing over him. Things stood frozen for several minutes until the dragon made a move. It reached down with his fore claws and grabbed the deer, cutting it nearly in half as it lifted it into the air.

The warrior was not about to let this creature steal a deer that he killed so he grabbed his knife and lunged forward, slashing into the dragon’s abdomen. Greenish blood flowed onto the ground covering the rocks where the deer once laid and the dragon’s head whipped wildly as the pain of the wound sunk it. Finally it froze perfectly still. Slowly its head turned toward the young man. The dragon looked at him and as it did his eyes grew from slits into dish shaped orbs of fiery reds, oranges and yellows. The black pupils swelled so large that looking at it was like looking into a cavern. There was another roar. It was not the same as the first. It was deeper, more guttural…more menacing! The dragon’s throat grew into a glowing red as the roar got louder. It was only a second until white hot flames shot from the dragon’s mouth. The warrior immediately turned to ash and then to smoke as he fell.  The dragon gasped for another breath and collapsed next to the warrior as it used the last of its strength to defend a meal for its young. This was how the war between man and dragon began and it lasted well over a millennium.

As weapons improved it became easier for the humans to hunt and kill the dragons. It came to a point where adults were not the only ones the men hunted. They went into the dragon’s dens searching out the hibernating males but also the young and even the females who were ripe with eggs. Each and every one died a sadistic death, slowly bled to death and their parts cut off for food or medicine or even trade with other islands and the people on the mainland of Chin. It got to where a dragon’s tooth or a small bottle of blood could make a man rich though the trade.

Of course the dragons did retaliate against the human’s aggressions. Dragons that had never seen the towns now flew in stealing cattle, sheep and even resorting to stealing young children as they played in their yard. Adults were never touched but hundreds of children, some as young as newborn, were taken from every village on the island.

The war escalated year after year until the human’s desires for the death of all dragons were so advanced that the dragons could no longer defend themselves. It came to the point where the skies and forests of the island were void of evidence that dragons ever existed.

One day and boy who was about six years old come running back to his parents with a remarkable story. He had been playing at the bottom of a nearby glacier when he looked toward the top of the mountain and he saw a white dragon. He said that he thought at first that it may have been an angel but when he looked and looked again he saw the shape of the dragons he had heard legends of.

As word spread the hatreds of ages before came back into light. Talk began of how the dragons had brought first blood and how they hunted the children of the villages. It did not take much provocation to incite the men of the village to decide to kill the creature.

The mountain was a day’s walk from the village and the air near the top was thin and cold…cold enough a glacier that lasted for a million years but the men of the village dragged the boy with them as they went hunting. It was a long, hard climb with near vertical ice as smooth as the surface of a mirror and crevasses deep enough to seem to reach the center of the Earth. It took two days to complete the climb but finally they reached an ice cave which was protected by rocks lifted by ancient earthquakes and ice a thousand years old. Before the cave entrance were footprints both human and dragon prints that could easily fit the body of the young child.

One man volunteered to be the first to go in. It was cold and the light was filtered into shades of sky blue. It would have been almost beautiful except for the fact that he was there to kill the last dragon.  He walked for what felt to be miles before he turned the corner and walked face to face with a large, white female dragon. It was barely breathing as it slept. Its eyes closed he just stood and looked at the creature. It was sleeping but there was movement. Under its massive wing was a newborn baby white dragon.

The man looked around the cavern and saw bones of animals and humans but, going by their clothes, they had died too many years ago to count. All were carrying crude weapons made of flint and granite and all were wearing fur wrappings. It was clear to him that these deaths were not from his village and were of no matter to him.

“I can’t do this,” he said as he turned away from the sleeping creature.

“Thank you young man,” the dragon said as it opened its eyes and raised its head.

“Are you one of the dragons who killed our children,” he asked as he took a step forward.

“No, I only killed to defend me and my babies. There were so many men who wanted to end my life and the lives of my children. I am sure that human females are the same with their young…willing to kill to defend them.”

“They are,” he replied. Thinking for a moment he took a step forward and looked into the eyes of the baby dragon. “Can he fly yet?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Dragons can fly the moment they are hatched.”

The man thought for another moment before saying anything else. “There are mountains on a land north of here. They have animals and the ice that you need to live,” he said. “I will leave you alone but you and your child must leave when the sun sets in the west. Other men will come and not listen to you or what you say.”

“Then I will defend my baby,” she said as smoke wafted up from her nostrils. “I will do what I have to.”

“Then leave and fly north,” he said in a stronger voice. “They have new ways to kill you and I do not want that to happen.” As he finished that sentence he turned and walked back down the cave. He heard a soft roar behind him but it was not a roar of anger. It was a roar telling the baby that it was time to go.

The man walked out of the cave. Immediately he was surrounded by those who wanted to know where the dragon was. He looked and saw that the sun was setting and he said, “It is too dangerous to go in after the sun has set. Wait until morning and we will take the dragon when it sleeps.” The men bought it and they settled in for a night’s sleep.

During the night, when the new moon was at its apex, a huge wind came from the cave and then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone and everything returned to a quiet state without even a breeze.

The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, all of the men rushed into the cave and quickly entered the cavern. The bones were still there along with a pile of broken egg shells. The mother and baby had gone and there was nothing to kill so the frustrated men left the cave and walked back to the village where stories of the fight with the vicious white dragon became legend.

Meanwhile the white dragon, her baby and countless other generations found a home deep within the mountain range of the north where they live in peace.

The Call Of The Raven

The Call Of The Raven

It was not a normal night. Yes, the sun had set in the west, over the Alisicain Mountains, but there was something different about that night. Despite the fact that the day had been cloudy and rainy as soon as the light died the clouds parted and the rain, which had puddled on the ground, had returned to the skies the air cleared so that looking at the stars was like looking into the Lord’s most perfect diamond.

There was no moon that night but some swore on their bibles that they could see a faint mist of red surrounding where the moon should have been. Many, including the local priests, said that it was a bad omen. They called it a Blood Moon but that night it was different…so different.

The birds and animals were strangely missing or quiet that night. Even pet dogs were nowhere to be seen. The night birds usually made such a din that some found it hard to sleep were deathly still that evening. It was most disconcerting to some of the older residents who had heard their song for generation upon generation. One 75-year-old gentile said that it was the first time in his many years that he had heard such a silence from the woods. The silence though did not translate over to the humans of the town.

Most of the town’s people were in the square that night. They weren’t celebrating anything in particular. They were just drinking, dancing and going on just because they were alive. Even the youngest children were allowed to stay awake until the wee hours of the night and more than a few got their first sips of mead from their fathers, uncles and older brothers. It is said that a couple children, under the influence, painted slogans on the town’s main building. There was no proof of this but it made a nice story since no one else would ever take credit for the pranks that night.

In the morning the bodies of the intoxicated lined the square. A few of the slighted stronger spirited were walking on unsteady legs as they tried to find their way home or, in most cases, trying to find their clothes and relatives lost the night before. The children, who had for the most part remained sober, ran around the square yelling and banging pots and pans much to the dismay of the adults.

Unnoticed the birds and animals were still absent save one. A raven, black as the coal they used in their fires and as large as a good sized turkey, sat on the church’s cross. It was silent as it looked down on the square. If anyone would have been able to look into its eyes they would have seen a distain for the town and its people.

A young man of no more than 13 looked up and saw the bird. “Look,” he yelled. “Look up on the church.” Everyone stopped and looked and as they did the raven let out a screech that was unlike anything anyone in the square had ever heard before. “What does it want?”

“I do not know,” the priest answered. “Some would say that a raven that pure of blackness is a bad omen. It is said that a family or even an entire town can be cursed by just its appearance. It is never just an individual and a raven will never harm a child.”

Just then the raven let out another hideous scream as he flew down and landed on a statue in the center of the square. Some tried to scare the bird off but they were greeted with violent movements and demonic hisses. Some of the children threw rocks but the bird caught the closet to his beak and threw them to the ground.

While everyone looked at the bird a young woman asked a question. “But Father doesn’t the raven live on the islands four days travel south of here? They never come this far north. Surely, we have crows and grackles but ravens…there has never been one in our lands.”

Another voice came from the crowd. “Maybe God sent it to us,” it asked. “Maybe it is not a curse maybe it is the sign of a forthcoming miracle?” Not one other person said a word or uttered a question. They were all deathly silent.

Suddenly, without warning the raven let loose with the loudest scream yet as it opened its massive wings and launched itself from the cross. It circled the square not just once or twice but three times before it silently glided between two buildings and out of sight. However, the echoes of its final scream lasted for what seemed to be an eternity before it also left through many passages out of the town.

The people were unknowing as to the meaning of the raven’s appearance or the strange noises it was making. Some panicked and scrambled to their shops or homes. Others stood and talked trying to explain what was happening or if there was going to be the downfall of the town. The children, the most innocent of all played on the cobble stone plaza as if they were unaware of anything special happening. To them it was just another day and the raven was just another bird…loud but just another bird just the same.

During the next few hours the raven circled the square an uncounted number of times. Each time the image of the bird invoked feelings of fear and dread as well as ideals of wonder and curiosity. Finally as the sun began to set on the mountains the raven landed on the steps outside the church. Looking proud and brave it walked back and forth on the steps looking around at the growing crowd of people.

An old man, one of the town’s elders and a chancellor in the church walked to the steps and sat down, watching the raven the whole time. “What are you doing here,” he asked as the bird walked closer to him. “Are you a messenger from God or a demon sent to us by Satan?”

The raven launched himself from the steps, circled the square looking at the people who had assembled below and landed on the old man’s knee.

“I am neither from God nor from Satan,” the raven said as he looked into the old man’s eyes. “I am here to give you a sad message but it comes from me and not one of your self designed deities.”

The old man and the assembled people just stared at what they considered to be a miracle. No one spoke. They were scared to even move…scared that they may offend the bird that came to be among them.

“I bring dire news to you,” the raven said.

“What is that,” the old man asked expecting to hear that there was going to be a disaster that would affect everyone in the town or maybe the bird was a forecast of death. They didn’t know and they actually didn’t want to know but they were too amazed to walk away.

“Last night during your celebration there was a moment of sadness,” the raven replied. “You did not know of it but I am sure that some of you felt it in your hearts.”

The gathered people looked around. No one said anything but there was a look among a few of them. It was if they knew what the raven spoke of.

“Two of your young died last night on Mount Celaius,” the raven continued. “It was a male and a female. They threw themselves from the ledge, landing on sharp rocks beneath. They suffered greatly and their bodies are still untouched. I know this because I was there and watched their death. It was not pleasant to watch and less pleasant to tell you of.”

The people looked around. A few dashed to their homes to search for their relatives who were not among the crowd. Within minutes a scream of grief and then another was heard echoing through the square.

“They who lost their loved now realize their loss,” the raven said. “The young ones were in love but were forbidden to consummate their love and that was what caused their death. Nothing else could have. They were meant for each other but hatred and envy murdered their love and stole their lives.”

“What do you mean,” the old man asked.

“Ask the elders,” the raven replied as his spread his wings and lifted into the air. “Ask the elders!” The bird circled the square repeating the words, “ask the elders” over and over again until his voice was drowned out by the sobbing of those who had lost their loved ones.

“Who was it, who were those young people,” the old man asked.

One of the town elders stepped forward. He was Jacob Pakert. He was one of the founders of the town and it was said that he was not a day less than 150 years old. No one knew if it was true or not but then again no one questioned what was said by Pakert or any of the other elders. Their word was law.

“The two who died are Eliesa Togon and Joshua Longh,” he said. “They ask my permission to marry weeks ago. They told me that they had been in love since they were young children playing in a sandbox. I told them that I would approve their marriage however; I must have consul with their families. Both fathers were angry because the young people went to me before asking their permission. The fathers ordered they be ship to distant villages as a punishment. They decided to run away together and marry in the next town. Instead of that they chose to be together among the spirits. That was the only thing they could do.”

The town began a mourning period as some of the men walked the many miles to Mount Celaius. At the base of one of the many sheer cliffs they found the bodies. Eliesa was dressed in a white dress to signify her innocence while Joshua was wearing the colors of his family. The bodies were close together as if they feel together and one thing the searchers noticed…the hands of the couple were together and they were holding a pair of gold bands…the rings they were going to use to become husband and wife.

It took many hours to get back to town and when they did it was a moment of mourning and a moment of decision. The elders met with the parents. The discussions lasted through the night and well into the morning. Finally, they emerged with a decision. Pakert and the elders stood behind the parents who were strangely silent.

“Eliesa and Joshua died because of our stupidity,” Pakert said. “They came for help and were turned away, left to the judgment of parents who did not realize the true feelings of their children. It has been decided that the two young people shall be married as of this moment and they shall be buried together holding hands and wearing the rings they carried. This is our decision and it is beyond contestation. Also, in the future parents must learn of their children’s feeling and respect them. Our children must never be afraid to come to us and talk without retribution. It is our word that a tragedy such as this will never happen again.”

That afternoon Eliesa and Joshua were buried together, holding hands and wearing the rings that they died with. There were tears shed by family, friends and the elders but there was also a feeling of celebration. A new age of openness was spread across the town. Young people spoke with their parents./ Many married and others lived new and happy lives and because of the sacrifice of two young people there was never another couple whose lives were ended because of ignorance.

And the raven, it never returned to the town. It had delivered its blessing and was not needed again…and that was the real blessing

Murder In The Hollow

Murders In The Hollow

There is, rather was, a rumor circulating that a house outside of town was the scene of several murders back in the middle of the last century. We heard about it as kids but as we got older we learned that, according to the elders in town, the events never happened and we should never, ever talk about it. Of course they made a few of the more rebellious of us not only talk about it but we decided to investigate it for ourselves.

The story said that the murders took place in a farmhouse out on Akron-Peninsula Road out by Wetmore Road. Back in the day it was all private property but in the late 1980s it became part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

A friend of mine and I took our motorcycles and drove out one afternoon. When we got to the spot…at least close to the spot…we parked and went into the woods on foot. We didn’t really have the location of the house but we heard enough to make an “educated” guess.

We wandered around for about five hours and didn’t find anything then, in the seventh hour; we looked down in a valley and saw the foundation of a building. It didn’t look the big from the crest but once we got to the bottom we found the foundation to a house with at least four rooms. At the end of the foundation was a fireplace and chimney that showed that the house was at least two, maybe three, stories. A closer look at the foundation showed that the building didn’t die of old age…it was burned and the fire must have been extreme from the char marks.

“What in the Hell is that,” I asked. There was no noise or anything like that. It was more of a feeling than anything else.

“I have no idea,” my friend said as he held his arms to his chest. “I don’t like this feeling.”

I hadn’t noticed but my arms were up on my chest in pretty much the same position as his. “It feels hot and cold here,” I said. It was impossible for it to be cold. When we left the house it was somewhere around 80 degrees and it hadn’t changed much…except when we got here. The temperature change was hard to ignore but we moved to the edge of the clearing and settled down for the night.

Then it started. The first thing was floating pairs of whitish yellow orbs starting flying around the entire valley. It wasn’t just one or two pairs…we were watching hundreds of them. They never got close to either of us….staying about fifty feet from us but a couple stopped in flight almost as if they were looking at us trying to see what we were doing.

The next thing was we heard voices coming from the foundation. There were four, maybe five, distinct voices. They were young, very young and they were a mixture of boys and girls. The voices didn’t seem to be in pain or anything like that. Rather they sound like a bunch of kids playing with laughs, giggles and shouts of happiness. One thing we both heard were a couple names…Ruth and Ezekiel. I knew, from my Catholic school days, that those were names from the bible.

“That has got to be the wind through those pines over there.” My friend said as he pointed to the woods on the other end of the valley.

“What about the names and the laughter,” I asked.

“Our minds must be playing tricks on us,” he said as he sat up.

“How could both of our minds be playing tricks on both of us,” I ask with a touch of sarcasm in my voice but just as I expected he just turned away from me and, I assume, he went to sleep. Me, I wasn’t the least bit tired so I just laid there looking at the stars and the waning crescent moon until I dozed off sometime around 4:00 a.m. I guess but I did not have a good night sleep.

The next morning the two of us packed up what few things we brought with us…yes, we even cleaned up the Bud Light cans we emptied the night before, and we got back on our bikes and headed back to town, with a couple notes I took when we first got there.

It only took us about 25 minutes to get home. I got home first. My friend made sure I got in the door and then I heard him rush off. Instead of staying there I got back on my bike and rode into downtown to the Summit County Hall of Records to see who the last people who lived on that site. A stop there and another stop at the Summit County Tax Office let me find the information I wanted. The person who owned the property was a doctor…Dr. Anthony B. Paine…a local surgeon who, according to the hall of records, died in 1872.

The public library was my next stop. I know that they had census records all the way back to the 1830’s so I knew that they might be able to help. They were. According to the 1870 census Dr. Paine lived on the property with his wife and their four kids…two sons and two daughters. After that I went down to the archives and found out that Akron didn’t have a newspaper but Cleveland did…the Cleveland Register.

“That’s a good thing,” I said out loud as I stepped over to the computers and started my search. It took a while and I felt like I skipped lunch but I knew I had to find the information and there it was…a headline that read, “Akron Doctor Killed in Mysterious Fire.” The story was short basically giving just the facts and a list of the dead. I wrote down the information and left for the day.

I was at home. My wife and kids had left for the week. I think it was something to do with a family get-together or something like that. I never went. They didn’t like me and I didn’t like them so why go. The one and only thing I did was think…think about the man and his family and the more I did the more I wanted to know the truth.

The next morning I called my friend and told him to call off work. We were going back out to the site and see what we could find. He got to the house around nine in the morning and we set off as soon as he walked in the door.

It didn’t take us long to stop at Steak & Eggs on Market St. get a couple sandwiches, coffee and a donut for each of us, fill the tank and get out to the woods.

We got there. The sun was shining and there was no chance of rain. So, we parked the car and set off.

The trail was still there from the day before so we found the site, the ruins and our campsite. We set up a tent and started looking around. We started around the foundation. The area inside was covered with weeds, grasses and flowers. Other than that there were straight lines of flagstone but, after searching, I found a break in the wall. I probed with a sharpened stick and found a void under the gap.

“Hey, come and look at this,” I yelled to my friend who came running. Shining a flashlight into the void I saw a flight of steps leading down into what I could only think was the basement of the house. “Let’s go,” I asked with a bit of trepidations. He nodded and, after we cleared out a decent sized opening we went down.

It was dark. There wasn’t enough light to see no more than a couple of feet in front of you. We both turned on our lights and saw a large room with walls and shelves filled to the top with old pots, pans, three pronged forks and a cauldron over by a place that looked like the fire pit my neighbor had in his backyard. There were several tables throughout the room. It was hard to tell what they were ever used for and to tell the truth I didn’t want to know.

Looking some more we found some bodies in the corner of the room. Their decay wasn’t much at all…they looked as if they had just recently passed on. I looked carefully at each one. One was a woman of maybe twenty year, a child who was five or six if he was a day and a man with a muscular built and showed signs of a very hard life. They all had a couple things in common. They were all black and they all had marks on their wrists and ankles as if they had been bound.

“I’ll bet they were slaves down somewhere in the South,” I said.

“Then what are they doing here,” my friend asked.

“I heard that the Underground Railroad ran through this area. They taught us in school that a long time before the war northern whites help the slaves get to Canada.”

“That early,” he asked

“Yeah, I am not sure of the year but it started sometime in the eighteenth century,” I said remembering some piece of trivia I picked up somewhere.

We spent about an hour down there finding what was out in the open to find and reading whatever writings were lying around. Most of it was just notes about who came through and their medical problems. According to the notes there were about 50 or 60 people come through and they said that every one of them was sent to a house in Cleveland so they could cross the lake into Canada.

It was a huge treasure trove that no had seen in almost two hundred years so we didn’t touch anything preferring to leave them for the Historical Society we would be contacting when we got home.

The minute we got outside we were met by a scrawny guy with a long black and grey beard. He was dressed in brightly colored clothes like the kind we used to see when we watched old movies about gypsies but the thing we noticed was that he was pointing a gun at us…a big gun so we became very submissive very quickly.

“What in the hell are you doing here,” he asked as he pointed the gun first at me and then at my friend. We both stood completely still and silent. “I asked what in the hell are you doing here and I want to know now.” I heard the click showing that the trigger had been set.

“We heard a lot of stories about this place and we just wanted to check them out,
I said as I tried to stay as calm as possible. “We did not plan on hurting anything and we meant no disrespect to you or anyone.”

“You want to know the truth,” he asked as he lowered the gun. “Most come up to find the bodies or perform satanic rituals.” He laughed just a little. “You would be surprised how many naked people I have chased out of here.”

We felt a little more relaxed although it was pretty much impossible to feel totally safe when you are facing a stranger with a gun.

“I can imagine,” my friend said. “Once a place gets a paranormal reputation it is hard to keep the nuts away.”

The man smiled and stuck out his hand in friendship. “My name is Dooriya Stachnev. My family has lived on this land since the end of the 18^th Century.” He pointed with pride to a cabin, more like a shanty, on the edge of one of the nearby ridges. “That is my home. Come with me and we will share a beer and I will tell you the history of this land.”

That sounded good to me and my friend. We weren’t going to get shot today, we were going to learn what we came here for and we were going to get a cold beer on top of it. When you added that to everything we had just seen and it was turning out to be a pretty good day…except we had to climb up the side of that valley but…then again…there was beer wasn’t there?

We got to the house about a hour later. I was surprised because it wasn’t as bad as it looked from below and you could see the whole valley from the porch.

“Come in, sit down and relax,” Stachnev said with a big smile. He went to the kitchen and brought back a couple Labatt Blues. “Here my friends,” he said as he handed us the cans. “I have a tale to tell.”

We took our beers, went out on the porch and settled down for what we knew was going to a long day with a lot of beers.

“Like I said my family moved here in the 1700’s just before Ohio became a state,” he said. “The doctor moved down there a few years later…around 1815 according to what I have been told.”

“That sounds about right,” I said. Then I ask Stachnev where he heard the story.

“The story has been passed from my father’s father’s father’s father and I was told of it when I was a child.” He smiled, took a long sip of his beer and continued as if I hadn’t interrupted him.

“Dr. Paine moved here from Alabama,” he continued. “He told my family that he was tired of the slavery and racism down south so he figured that Ohio might be a place he would like.

The first thing he did was open an office for not only those who lived in the city but also those who wanted a life in the woods. That was my family. Being Gypsies they weren’t welcome in a lot of cities so they settled here and lived as farmers.

Anyway, a few years after he moved in there were a long of former slaves going to him for medical treatment. It wasn’t until much later that my family figured out that he was helping them to get to Canada. The thing was that they arrived during the day. The woods were a lot closer to his house then but no one ever seen them leave. Another thing about visitors at his house…the neighbors weren’t allowed down there. If they were sick…he went to their house and that was firm, no one in the area saw how he lived. Hell, there were a few who got shot at for being too close.

One day one of those slaves showed up and, they were followed by a pair of southern boys who were looking for the path of the railroad. When they got there they ran away screaming. In the house were dozens of bodies. Not one of the slaves who came for help made it to the next ‘station’. They were all stored in the basement. My family said that there were a lot more slaves than that went to the house. My grandpa told me that he heard that there were times when 8 or 9 slaves would come at a time.

The doctor must have known what was going to happen next. My family wasn’t sure how it happened but they saw the results.

It was strange that the law would listen to two slave hunters but a few hours after they left they came back with the law and a lot of the people from Akron who followed just to have something to do. By the time they got there the house was an inferno…far beyond anything the people there knew how to handle. So, they just stood and watched.

The smoke was dark, black and hovering just above the ground. A number of the people there got sick and had to be carried back to town but once the fire ended the sheer terror was just beginning…the doctor’s wife and kids all burned to death in the fire. His body was found nearby, his head split in half with a grimace my grandpa said was something his grandfather would never forget. There were the bodies of three slaves in the basement and a mass grave north of the house near the tree line. According to the story more than one hundred slaves ranging in age from newborn to 70 years old were found out there. By the way…they never tried to find the doctor’s killer. I guess they figured that he deserved it.

They had a priest come out and bless the ground and have it declared hallowed ground. None of the bodies, except the doctor’s wife and kids, were moved. They were buried in a marked graved somewhere in town but nobody knows where.

Ever since that day there have been pairs of light that float around the site. They say that those are the eyes are the eyes of the slaves who died at the doctor’s hand and the voices are the children, both slave and the doctor’s playing in the fields.

That is the story I have been told and the story I will share with anyone who is interested.”

I thanked the man and went back to my car. When I relayed the story I was told by researchers that the lights were just mating fireflies and the voice were the wind blowing through the trees.

Me, I prefer the story that gypsy told me…it is a lot more fun that fireflies and besides that…How can you see fireflies in the winter…