General Fiction posted May 12, 2022 |
a bridge too far
The Sceptic & The Gullible
by giraffmang
“Really, Aoibheann, are we really going down there?”
“Well, Gearoid , that’s why we came, isn’t it?”
I sighed, there was no arguing with my littlest sister. We’d come to Bellamy Bridge on the hunt of the famous ghost of Elizabeth Jane Croom Bellamy and she was determined that was what we were going to do.
Aoibheann had explained the legend to me many times. It goes like this - Elizabeth Croom fell in love with Dr Samuel Crowell Bellamy and they wed on May 11th 1837. The bride’s vows ended with the words ‘I will love you always and forever. Never will I leave you.’ The events of the day took their toll on Elizabeth and she retired upstairs for a nap. Unfortunately her wedding dress caught alight from a nearby candle. She ran through the house, engulfed in flames. She died a few days later with her last words to Samuel being those of the wedding vows.
To say I was sceptical, given I knew the actual facts, would be rather an understatement, like saying Sherlock Homes is only good at children’s riddles. Anyway, I digress.
We hiked down the half mile heritage trail which, quite frankly, I’d have expected to have been better kept. When we arrived at the bridge, dusk was rolling in and the sight was… completely underwhelming.
“That looks just like the scaffolding outside my house,” I stated to Aoibheann.
She elbowed me in the ribs. I yelped in pain causing a couple of elderly ladies to spin around in shock.
I blushed. “Sorry, no ghost, just my annoying sibling.”
They frowned, muttered under their breath, and moved closer to the bridge.
The bridge itself was unpassable, the wooden planks were no longer there, and the iron framework had seen better days. It did give credence to my notion that the ghost story had been drummed up to give the thing some significance and draw gullible folk to the area.
Before coming, I’d done some of my own research about the place. Turns out the events bore no resemblance to the legend – even the dates were all wrong and none of the events actually took place at Bellamy bridge, better bet was the plantation itself where Elizabeth and her son died of malaria. I tried to explain this to my wee sister but, as usual, she was having none of it.
A darkness fell, and the moon rose high, a swirling mist crept across forest floor, almost as if someone had decided to pipe in some dry ice.
Aoibheann shivered beside me, and I draped my jacket over her shoulders. An eerie silence fell about us, not even the sound of a badger relieving itself could be heard… or a rabbit doing what they do best.
Suddenly a flash of white flitted amongst the foliage above us, and an ear-splitting shriek filled the air.
Sis huddled into me. “Think it’s the ghost?”
“Nah, big bird… I got a pic on my phone, look!”
Reluctantly she looked. “Oh.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Okay.”
As we made out way back down the heritage trail, we were almost run over by a wagon driven by a mad man with no head!
But that’s a tale for another time….
“Really, Aoibheann, are we really going down there?”
“Well, Gearoid , that’s why we came, isn’t it?”
I sighed, there was no arguing with my littlest sister. We’d come to Bellamy Bridge on the hunt of the famous ghost of Elizabeth Jane Croom Bellamy and she was determined that was what we were going to do.
Aoibheann had explained the legend to me many times. It goes like this - Elizabeth Croom fell in love with Dr Samuel Crowell Bellamy and they wed on May 11th 1837. The bride’s vows ended with the words ‘I will love you always and forever. Never will I leave you.’ The events of the day took their toll on Elizabeth and she retired upstairs for a nap. Unfortunately her wedding dress caught alight from a nearby candle. She ran through the house, engulfed in flames. She died a few days later with her last words to Samuel being those of the wedding vows.
To say I was sceptical, given I knew the actual facts, would be rather an understatement, like saying Sherlock Homes is only good at children’s riddles. Anyway, I digress.
We hiked down the half mile heritage trail which, quite frankly, I’d have expected to have been better kept. When we arrived at the bridge, dusk was rolling in and the sight was… completely underwhelming.
“That looks just like the scaffolding outside my house,” I stated to Aoibheann.
She elbowed me in the ribs. I yelped in pain causing a couple of elderly ladies to spin around in shock.
I blushed. “Sorry, no ghost, just my annoying sibling.”
They frowned, muttered under their breath, and moved closer to the bridge.
The bridge itself was unpassable, the wooden planks were no longer there, and the iron framework had seen better days. It did give credence to my notion that the ghost story had been drummed up to give the thing some significance and draw gullible folk to the area.
Before coming, I’d done some of my own research about the place. Turns out the events bore no resemblance to the legend – even the dates were all wrong and none of the events actually took place at Bellamy bridge, better bet was the plantation itself where Elizabeth and her son died of malaria. I tried to explain this to my wee sister but, as usual, she was having none of it.
A darkness fell, and the moon rose high, a swirling mist crept across forest floor, almost as if someone had decided to pipe in some dry ice.
Aoibheann shivered beside me, and I draped my jacket over her shoulders. An eerie silence fell about us, not even the sound of a badger relieving itself could be heard… or a rabbit doing what they do best.
Suddenly a flash of white flitted amongst the foliage above us, and an ear-splitting shriek filled the air.
Sis huddled into me. “Think it’s the ghost?”
“Nah, big bird… I got a pic on my phone, look!”
Reluctantly she looked. “Oh.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Okay.”
As we made out way back down the heritage trail, we were almost run over by a wagon driven by a mad man with no head!
But that’s a tale for another time….
As tends to happen with these 'haunted' places, more than one tale abounds....
Several ghost legends revolve around the bridge and trail including the story of an early 19th century moonshiner murder and the tale of a wagon driven by a headless driver. The story that brings most visitors to the bridge, however, is the fabulous tale of Elizabeth Jane Bellamy, the 'Ghost of Bellamy Bridge.'
I may choose to re-visit this piece and place multiple times in an effort to milk it for its worth....
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Several ghost legends revolve around the bridge and trail including the story of an early 19th century moonshiner murder and the tale of a wagon driven by a headless driver. The story that brings most visitors to the bridge, however, is the fabulous tale of Elizabeth Jane Bellamy, the 'Ghost of Bellamy Bridge.'
I may choose to re-visit this piece and place multiple times in an effort to milk it for its worth....
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