A Mashpee Ghost Story

“Hello?” she said. “Is there someone there?” The fog was thick this night, and it seemed to somehow billow thicker around the dark figure.

The figure stepped closer, and she was no longer afraid. He had a kind face and wore the familiar skins and clothing of her people, though his looked a little worse for wear.

“May I warm myself by your fire?” he asked. “My clothes are wet and I have travelled far this day.”

She invited him inside and added another log to the fire. As the stranger sat, she returned to her knitting. After a few moments, she glanced at the man over the fire, and that is when she saw it. The blanket on which the man sat could still be seen--right through him. As if he was made of the mist that had surrounded him outside. She realized, with a jolt, that this was no man. He was a ghost!

The young mother was brave and showed no fear. He had not threatened her with harm. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at her sleeping children to see that they were safe and returned to her knitting, keeping a close eye on the man. They sat in silence for several minutes before he spoke.

“I see that you are not a rich woman,” the Ghost said.

The young mother said nothing for it was not a question.

“I see that you have little,” he said again, “but you have helped me this night. If you would like a large pot full of gold, you will find one buried behind your wigwam near a large rock. It will be enough to keep you for many years to come.”

And with that, the Ghost stood and left her home.

The young mother shivered. It was not until he was gone that she noted the extra chill in the air that the ghost had brought with him. She waited a few minutes, tucking the blankets tighter around her little ones while she waited. She wanted to be sure that the ghost, or man, or whatever he had been, was gone before she considered what to do.

After a few long moments, thoughts of the gold crept in to her mind. She needed the money.

The mother took her hoe and walked out and around to the back of her wigwam. There, as he had said it would be, was a large rock sitting beside a patch of freshly dug earth. She began to dig. As she did she heard her daughter cry out. She ran around to the door of her home to check on the child. But her daughter was sound asleep, the blankets undisturbed.

The young mother was confused, for she was sure that she’d heard her scream. She walked back around to the back of the wigwam and began to dig again. With each strike at the ground with her hoe, she heard her child cry as if in pain. This time it was her young son. She dropped her hoe and ran around the wigwam. This time she was sure it was her child.

But she was wrong again. Her son lay quietly next to his sister, sound asleep.

One more time, she returned to the site of the large rock and the promised riches. She picked up her hoe and began to dig. This time she heard them both, clear as they could be, screaming as if something was hurting them, killing them! Dropping the hoe, she ran!

Again she found them sleeping.

She had to clear her mind of the memory of the screams. She climbed into the bed with her children, pulled them close and emptied her mind of their screams and the pot full of gold. She slept.

In the morning, she woke with the sun. She wondered if the last night’s visitor had been a dream. After wrapping her children into their papoose, she couldn’t help but venture out into the cool, gray morning. As she reached the spot where she’d left her hoe the night before, she knew it wasn’t a dream. Near the large rock was a deep round hole. The earth had been dug and whatever buried treasure had been there was long gone. She had no time to lament this before she heard the scream.

This scream did not come from her home. Instead it came from far away. The sound was unmistakable—the earsplitting shriek of grief.

The whole village had run to the sound. They had tried to comfort the woman who’d woken to find her child dead. They had tried to stop her when she’d run toward the cliffs.

They had tried, but they had failed. The mist swallowed her forever.

The young mother never forgot that cold night or her ghostly visitor. She held her children close to her and they lived for many years. They never had riches but they were happy having each other.