American Folktales
The Black Dog of Hanging Hills
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
He smiled as his sipped at his coffee. It had been an excellent hike. He was glad his friend had recommended coming to the Hanging Hills in Connecticut; not the first place that had come to his mind when considering a vacation. But it was beautiful here. When his friend arrived tomorrow they would tackle some of the more challenging terrain.
“Did you have a nice hike?” asked the innkeeper as she refilled his cup.
“Yes indeed. I had some unexpected company,” he said with a smile.
“Really? I thought you were the only one crazy enough to go hiking in the rain,” she teased.
“It was a little black dog,” he said. “Cute fellow. Followed me all the way up the mountain and down again.”
He looked up from his coffee to see the innkeeper’s face had gone pale.
“A black dog?” she asked. “That’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“We have a saying around here,” she replied. “’And if a man shall meet the Black Dog once, it shall be for joy; and if twice, it shall be for sorrow; and the third time, he shall die.’” He laughed. “That’s just superstition.”
“That’s what Mr. Pynchon said. He saw the black dog twice. The second time he saw the dog, the friend he was climbing with fell to his death. And later, Mr. Pynchon decided to climb the same mountain, and he died too. Everyone here believes he saw the dog just before he fell.”
“Nonsense. It was just a cute stray,” he said uneasily. She shrugged and took the coffee pot over to her other customers.
His friend arrived the next morning and they both laughed about the story of the black dog. They set out on their climb. About halfway up the mountain, he looked up and saw the black dog.
“There’s the dog,” he called to his friend.
And then his foot slipped and he plunged down the side of the hill, desperately grabbing at saplings and rocks, trying to halt his descent. It seemed to take forever for him to stop sliding. There was a stabbing pain in his leg. When he looked at it, his head swimming, it was bent at an odd angle. They had to send in a mountain rescue team to get him down. At the hospital, they told him his leg was broken in two places and he was very lucky it wasn’t worse.
“You know, that was a very strange fall,” said his friend uneasily. “You don’t really think it had anything to do with that black dog?”
He looked down at the cast that extended all the way up to his hip.
“I don’t know. But I don’t really want to find out. Next time, let’s go to Colorado.”
His friend agreed.
American Folktales
The Telltale Seaweed
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
Two sisters were motoring through Cape Cod late one stormy night in the early 1900's when their car broke down in an unpopulated area. Seeing an old, neglected house nearby, they went to the door and tugged on the bell-pull. When no one answered, they looked through a nearby window whose shutter was banging in the bitter wind. The window was broken. Through the window, they could see a library. The dust lay heavy over everything.
The women decided to take shelter for the night and find someone to tow the car the next day. They brought blankets in from the car, their feet leaving tracks in the thick dust of the floor as they settled in for the night.
Sometime later, they were both suddenly awakened. A bedraggled sailor, dripping wet, was standing next to the fireplace as if he were looking to dry himself before a non-existent fire. The sailor was glowing in the dark. The braver of the sisters finally called out a strangled: "Who is there?"
The sailor muttered something they could not make out and disappeared. Deciding it was a dream, the sisters lay back down to sleep. But the next morning, they found a patch of wet salt water by the fireplace, and a piece of seaweed. And there were no footprints in the dust by the fireplace save their own.
The sisters hurried out to their car. Soon, they were given a tow to the nearest village by a passing motorist. There they asked about the abandoned house. They were told the house had been empty for years. The people who owned it had a son who was driven from home by his father and had drowned at sea. The family had moved away because they claimed strange things kept happening at night.
A few months later, one of the sisters told her tale at a dinner party. A museum curator seated near her volunteered to test the seaweed for her. The curator sent her a message several days later. The message simply said that the seaweed she had found in the abandoned house was a rare type of seaweed only found on dead bodies.
American Folktales
Army of the Dead
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
A laundress, newly moved to Charleston following the Civil War, found herself awakened at the stroke of twelve each night by the rumble of heavy wheels passing in the street. But she lived on a dead end street, and had no explanation for the noise. Her husband would not allow her to look out the window when she heard the sounds, telling her to leave well enough alone. Finally, she asked the woman who washed at the tub next to hers. The woman said: "What you are hearing is the Army of the Dead. They are Confederate soldiers who died in hospital without knowing that the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce Lee in Virginia to strengthen the weakened Southern forces."
The next night, the laundress slipped out of bed to watch the Army of the Dead pass. She stood spell-bound by the window as a gray fog rolled passed. Within the fog, she could see the shapes of horses, and could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of canons being dragged through the street, followed by the sound of marching feet. Foot soldiers, horsemen, ambulances, wagons and canons passed before her eyes, all shrouded in gray. After what seemed like hours, she heard a far off bugle blast, and then silence.
When the laundress came out of her daze, she found one of her arms was paralyzed. She has never done a full days washing since.
American Folktales
Why Dogs Chase Cats
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
Once long ago, Dog was married to Cat. They were happy together, but every night when Dog came home from work, Cat said she was too sick to make him dinner. Dog was patient with this talk for a while, but he soon got mighty tired of fixing dinner for them both after a hard day's work. After all, Cat just stayed home all day long.
One day, Dog told Cat he was going to work, but instead he hid in the cupboard and watched Cat to see if she really was sick. As soon as Cat thought Dog had left, she started playing games with Kitten. They laughed and ran about. Cat wasn't the least bit sick.
Dog jumped out of the cupboard. When Cat saw him, she stuck a marble in her cheek and told Dog she had a toothache. Dog got so mad at her he started chasing her around and around the house.
Dogs have been chasing Cats ever since.
Hoosiers
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
There's an ongoing debate here in the great state of Indiana over the origins of the word "Hoosiers". My Granddad, he falls into the first camp, and me, I fall into the second.
My Granddad says Indiana folk are called Hoosiers because folks in Indiana are so curious they are always popping here and there, poking their heads into every door they see, and calling "Who's here?".
Me, I think we are called Hoosiers because of the hushers. That's what they used to call the town bully, because he could hush his opponent. Since we Indiana folk are so big and strong, we get called "hushers" or "hooshers" as our neighbors in Louisiana like to say.
I don't know if we will ever reconcile the two sides to each other. But anyhow, Indiana folk are called Hoosiers, right enough. And we're proud of it, too!