The Lurker in the Ruins
By Philip Leibfried
A tale is told of a young widow who came to grief when she lost her only child in 1878 during the last yellow fever epidemic to hit New Orleans. Her husband, a riverboat pilot, had perished barely a year earlier when his vessel exploded. The mother had cherished her daughter as the symbol of her brief time with her husband. After the little girl was committed to the earth, the woman stood gazing down until the priest left. She then turned and walked away, never to be seen again in the Crescent City. Legend has it that she stopped only when she reached the remains of some ancient ruins outside the city limits, so old that no one knew who had built the place. There she settled and waited for her child to return to her, for she was not fully resigned to the three-year-old girl's passing. Over the years, stories circulated in the neighborhood of a female moving about in the ruins.
More recently, on a languid, moonless summer night outside New Orleans, a young single mother was walking home with her three-year-old daughter in tow. They had just come from a birthday party for the girl's best friend. The little one was telling her mother about the party as she fingered the bright red macrame necklace she had received as a favor. The woman's cell phone rang as they passed the old ruins; as she stopped to answer it, her child let go of her hand and ran toward the eroded structures.
The woman quickly ended the conversation and ran after her daughter. As she stumbled through the underbrush, she called the girl's name, but received no response. The mother continued calling as she made her way slowly through the tangled shrubbery.
Up ahead, the child's tiny feet carried her closer and closer to the dilapidated structure, as she trailed a glowing female figure. The apparition turned and beckoned to the little girl, who followed eagerly. The inside of the building was dark, yet the aura about the phantom made her visible to the toddler. Through labyrinthine twists and turns the figure led the child until they reached a stairway leading downward. Descending slowly, the woman watched as the tot carefully took the steep steps one at a time. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the spectre glided across the dank floor toward an alcove wherein sat a very pretty canopy bed. The bed clothes were all cream-colored; a diaphanous curtain covered the whole. The woman drew this back and lay on the bed. Looking at the little girl, she crooked her finger, then patted the mattress, indicating that she wished the child to join her.
Giggling with delight, the girl climbed onto the bed, laid her head on the soft pillow and said no more after the woman hugged her tightly to her breast.
As the young mother entered the building, she felt a damp chill, even though it was a sultry night. The farther in she went, the colder she felt; soon her very marrow felt like ice. The darkness was daunting; how would she ever find her child? She recalled the flashlight attached to her key ring; it didn't give much light, but it was better than nothing. Aiming it ahead of her, the young woman stepped carefully over the debris scattered about the floor. Reaching the stairway, she cautiously descended.
As she stepped onto the basement floor, the distraught parent stopped to catch her breath. She aimed the beam around the moldy space and thought she saw something off to her left. Continuing in that direction, the woman came upon a pile of musty brown cloth in an alcove. Spotting what looked like a human foot under the pile, she stretched out her own foot and moved the rags aside. She gasped as she uncovered the mummified forms of a woman with a child clasped to her breast. The young parent knew of the legend, so that her initial feeling was one of pity. That soon turned to horror when the light revealed a red macrame necklace about the child's neck. The young mother's screams reverberated through the empty rooms and continued until the shocked mother could scream no more.
Combing the ruins three days later, a search party suddenly froze as they heard a female voice coming from the basement. Descending the stairway, the four men pointed their flashlight beams toward the source of the sound.
The light revealed the woman they were seeking, sitting cross-legged, clutching a handful of dirty rags while she swayed and cooed. She seemed not to notice the light or the men as they slowly approached her. One of them called her name softly; still no response. Another reached for her arm to lift her up; as he grabbed her, she crumbled into a mound of dust.
- - -
Previously published works all in the field of film history. I have dropped that and now writing sword-and-sorcery and horror stories.
By Philip Leibfried
A tale is told of a young widow who came to grief when she lost her only child in 1878 during the last yellow fever epidemic to hit New Orleans. Her husband, a riverboat pilot, had perished barely a year earlier when his vessel exploded. The mother had cherished her daughter as the symbol of her brief time with her husband. After the little girl was committed to the earth, the woman stood gazing down until the priest left. She then turned and walked away, never to be seen again in the Crescent City. Legend has it that she stopped only when she reached the remains of some ancient ruins outside the city limits, so old that no one knew who had built the place. There she settled and waited for her child to return to her, for she was not fully resigned to the three-year-old girl's passing. Over the years, stories circulated in the neighborhood of a female moving about in the ruins.
More recently, on a languid, moonless summer night outside New Orleans, a young single mother was walking home with her three-year-old daughter in tow. They had just come from a birthday party for the girl's best friend. The little one was telling her mother about the party as she fingered the bright red macrame necklace she had received as a favor. The woman's cell phone rang as they passed the old ruins; as she stopped to answer it, her child let go of her hand and ran toward the eroded structures.
The woman quickly ended the conversation and ran after her daughter. As she stumbled through the underbrush, she called the girl's name, but received no response. The mother continued calling as she made her way slowly through the tangled shrubbery.
Up ahead, the child's tiny feet carried her closer and closer to the dilapidated structure, as she trailed a glowing female figure. The apparition turned and beckoned to the little girl, who followed eagerly. The inside of the building was dark, yet the aura about the phantom made her visible to the toddler. Through labyrinthine twists and turns the figure led the child until they reached a stairway leading downward. Descending slowly, the woman watched as the tot carefully took the steep steps one at a time. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the spectre glided across the dank floor toward an alcove wherein sat a very pretty canopy bed. The bed clothes were all cream-colored; a diaphanous curtain covered the whole. The woman drew this back and lay on the bed. Looking at the little girl, she crooked her finger, then patted the mattress, indicating that she wished the child to join her.
Giggling with delight, the girl climbed onto the bed, laid her head on the soft pillow and said no more after the woman hugged her tightly to her breast.
As the young mother entered the building, she felt a damp chill, even though it was a sultry night. The farther in she went, the colder she felt; soon her very marrow felt like ice. The darkness was daunting; how would she ever find her child? She recalled the flashlight attached to her key ring; it didn't give much light, but it was better than nothing. Aiming it ahead of her, the young woman stepped carefully over the debris scattered about the floor. Reaching the stairway, she cautiously descended.
As she stepped onto the basement floor, the distraught parent stopped to catch her breath. She aimed the beam around the moldy space and thought she saw something off to her left. Continuing in that direction, the woman came upon a pile of musty brown cloth in an alcove. Spotting what looked like a human foot under the pile, she stretched out her own foot and moved the rags aside. She gasped as she uncovered the mummified forms of a woman with a child clasped to her breast. The young parent knew of the legend, so that her initial feeling was one of pity. That soon turned to horror when the light revealed a red macrame necklace about the child's neck. The young mother's screams reverberated through the empty rooms and continued until the shocked mother could scream no more.
Combing the ruins three days later, a search party suddenly froze as they heard a female voice coming from the basement. Descending the stairway, the four men pointed their flashlight beams toward the source of the sound.
The light revealed the woman they were seeking, sitting cross-legged, clutching a handful of dirty rags while she swayed and cooed. She seemed not to notice the light or the men as they slowly approached her. One of them called her name softly; still no response. Another reached for her arm to lift her up; as he grabbed her, she crumbled into a mound of dust.
- - -
Previously published works all in the field of film history. I have dropped that and now writing sword-and-sorcery and horror stories.
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