Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "D"

Day four and the letter "D" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues...
A lot of people come here as a half way point between destinations. So we see a little bit of tourism,from people on their way to or from California or to and from Utah. Most people are employed here as motel and restaurant workers, and gas station personnel. We have a very modest grocery/general store.
Should I tell you this story? It's not exactly something they advertises in our thin brochures. In order to capitalize on any tourists, there was a weak movement to maybe show people around to some of the old abandoned mines and lead a few mountain hikes, pointing out some of the old shacks and tumbled down buildings where the ghost town is. Or was.
There's a hidden place in the back of the ghost town's graveyard. The ghost town backs up right against the canyon face, and there's a natural formation of rock there that looks like a bench. It think that 's one of the reason the original settlers picked this stop--it gave a place for mourners to sit with their loved ones for a while. This was at the middle to the end of the nineteenth century when the town was a booming mining village, and while a lot of people don't associate the Wild West with the Victorian era, but the people who came to these mining towns came from all over the country--and even Europe--after the Civil War. It was a custom of the time to have places of mourning in the cemetery, so here seemed like the perfect place.
A lot of the rocks, and consequently the mud and the dirt, is red here, but the mourning bench is no exception. There are deep red streaks in it, staining the very color of the stone, but it never watches out with rain.
There are a lot of legends about why this stain doesn't come out. Or why there is red only on the seat of the chair and not on the surrounding rocks. One is that this was a popular place for lovers, and once (or twice) a jealous spouse caught their betrothed with someone they shouldn't have been with. Another is the legend of the young mother whose husband was so jealous and possessive of her he accused her of being unfaithful and brought her to the chair to silence her forever and cut out their unborn child.
Teenagers, the few that we have around here, use the ghost town as their own personal playground. You can walk through the ruins of the old hotel, and even the old jail, and see evidence of their passing. Mostly liquor bottles and the occasional condom wrapper.
But the one place you don't see debris is the Devil's Chair. Even the eternally skeptical teenager won't go up there, especially after dark. At night, its said you can hear whispers and wails, but probably what people are hearing are coyotes or the wind raking across the ridge.
And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories. Like Tina@LifeisGood, my dream is also to have a book published, and this is a great way to push myself to do it!

1 comment:

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