These woods, with their sorry history and rocky ground, were left undeveloped for all these centuries while the town of Canaan, its factories, houses and schools, even its churches and cemeteries developed all around it. The woods dominated literally as well as figuratively, as did the Huffingtons. It was small wonder that the area developed a lore over the years.
Sightings and tales of wandering spirits grew and became embellished over the centuries, largely by adolescent males—as one would expect. Naturally, the ghost of Colonel Carleton himself figured prominently. It became a male rite of passage to spend one night in the woods. Local scout troops made it a point to have an annual camporee there. An evening of history and ghost stories around the campfire was usually capped by an accomplice in the woods, acting the part of the tortured Colonel, pleading to be killed.
These were, of course, evening activities, which is why it was so odd to see Speedy Huffington racing at full throttle towards the highway in the bright sun of midday. It was odd and comical to see Speedy do anything fast, and Ralph Taylor, one of his classmates, who was thumbing a ride into North Canaan, would have laughed except for what happened next. Speedy, yelling something incoherent, came bounding out of the woods towards Ralph.
Ralph just stood there, awed by the vision of anything so large moving so fast. Ralph was, in fact, considering and rejecting numerous clever options of what to say to Speedy when he finally got close enough. But Ralph became further distracted at Speedy's approach when Jerry's color and expression became clearer. Speedy was normally pink and often sweaty, though perhaps this was just Ralph seeing Speedy exert himself in gym. Here, Speedy was neither. He looked white and clammy, which was odd for someone of such bulk undergoing such exercise. Ralph frowned as Speedy approached, slowed and then collapsed. Dumbstruck for a second, Ralph first walked, then ran over. Speedy's color was awful. He lay on his side, his face in the gravel, his eyes open and pained. Ralph knelt down. “Jerry, what's going&mdaash;”
“Don't let them get me!” Jerome suddenly lurched up and grabbed Ralph by the shirt. Ralph, surprised by the move, involuntarily pulled back, losing several buttons. Jerome held on. “Don't let them…” His eyes never changed, although Ralph felt his grip loosen. Jerome thudded into the gravel, facing the woods from which he came. Ralph stared a moment, dumbstruck, then realizing where he was, he jumped up to flag a passing motorist.
The rest of that afternoon, mercifully enough, passed in chaos for Ralph: the motorist, the police, the ambulance, the hospital. It really didn't strike him until the newspaper article the following day. Jerome “Speedy” Speedwell Huffington, III was dead and he was the last person to see him alive.
Copyright © 2008, 2010 by JohnW. Warnock