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  The Glow Stone

  The night is darker than usual. The moon has slipped behind the clouds. A faint light comes from a small bulb on a cattle barn on a faraway hilltop. That is the setting for the glowing tombstone of Veal Station Cemetery near Springtown, Texas.

  The first white settlers founded Veal Station in the early 1850s on horseback, and I had trouble finding it in a car, with directions. For some reason, I hesitated to go at night, alone, in the dark. Did I say by myself?

  The local newspaper editor directed me to a cordial gentleman named Steve, who gladly agreed to go with me. Not to hold my hand—just for protection in case I needed it. I had visited dozens of haunted cemeteries before, but this eerie glow thing intrigued me.

  Dusk finally turned to dark, and we arrived at the cemetery. We parked the car facing west, close to the big gate, but we found it locked. (I never saw a gate I couldn’t squeeze through or a fence I couldn’t crawl under.) We could see the luminous stone from the car, all the way across one hundred yards to the back fence. That might not be a bad idea—not leaving the car, I mean. But after all, we were here for a reason, and the pedestrian gate stood ajar.

  Steve assured me he had seen the stone glow in all types of weather, even rainy. On this clear, quiet night, not a field mouse squeaked as we continued our walk. We lost sight of it for a moment or two, but on cue, brightness appeared from the far end of the graveyard.

  “There!” I said. “There it is.” I shivered.

  We scarcely needed our flashlights. Strangely, when we approached, still several yards away, the luster disappeared. We moved back, careful not to step in a gopher hole, and the marker again served as our illumination—bright as ever.

  Similar markers stood in the same family plot, but they were dark. Of course, a few decades separated the burials, and they were not from the same granite slab. It is generally accepted that if there is no scientific explanation for a phenomenon, something paranormal is at work.

  Before we left, I asked Steve about the rumored apparition of a woman who roamed throughout the graveyard as if looking for something, or someone. He said, “No, I haven’t seen her. I believe that’s what it is, just a rumor.”

  I tend to agree. We’ll put that one to rest. We saw what we came for, embedded the visual in our minds and climbed back into the car, suggesting aloud that any spirits not come with us.

  We discussed if minerals in the granite caused the glow. This tombstone may forever be a conundrum.

  But wait, there’s more. A couple years after my book on haunted cemeteries came out, a reporter from our city’s newspaper called me. He asked if I’d give him specific instructions on how to get to Veal Station. He wanted to write an article about the phenomenon. I told him and asked if he’d like me to go with him.

  “No, but thanks. I can find it.”

  He called again the following day. “I found the cemetery but couldn’t see anything glowing.” He thought he misunderstood the directions.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I must’ve missed a turn.”

  The phone rang the next afternoon. “Olyve, would you mind going with me?”

  Good idea. I wanted to go all along.

  The problem was, from the time I wrote the book and when the reporter couldn’t see the stone like I said he could from the front gate, tree limbs must have grown and obstructed the view. I thought I saw something shining. Maybe a frog’s eyes…or a snake’s.

  But after passing the tree, we saw the stone. Again, when we came closer, the glow ceased. We backed away, and then repeated the movements. Same thing.

  Now I wish I could take credit for this suggestion, but I can’t. My reporter friend said, “What would happen if we got down really low and walked toward the marker?”

  “You mean walk like a duck?”

  I admit I wondered how he arrived at that idea. So we gave it the ol’ knee bends and waddled all the way to the tombstone. The glow did not stop until we got there!

  For whatever we learned, it was interesting—a generic term which should have been more scientific. Could the little 100-watt bulb actually have caused the glow after all? The thing is, only the rough sides glow, and one side faces away from the light—it couldn’t have reflected on it.

  The reporter shot a great picture, an un-retouched glowing tombstone. We headed back home, and he left to write his story. I went to sleep that night, laughing to myself. I had actually walked like a duck.

  I also wondered about light being a form of energy. Incandescence from heat. Luminescence from cold.

  Ghostly light? Reflect on that.

  A Different Drummer

  Why is a hotel haunted? For centuries, the belief is that a tragedy either happened there, the structure stood over a cemetery, or the hostelry simply appealed to the ghost as a comfortable place to hang his…his…well, it looked comfortable.

  Occasionally, someone lived and died in a place and never wanted to leave. That may be the case with this lovely, two-story, white-frame hotel in Central Texas.

  After the town of Calvert settled, it soon bustled with saloons, “pleasure houses,” gambling halls, and businessmen with minds aimed toward the future…and pleasure houses. The town expanded, but in the 1870s, a yellow fever epidemic broke out, killing three hundred and striking down two thousand other residents. The situation looked grim.

  A German named Gottlieb Dirr and his family found their way to Calvert. Gottlieb worked in the coal mines until a surprise flood occurred, forcing the mines to close. He used his baking talents and opened a bakery and grocery business. It flourished, and Dirr built the hotel as a five-room cottage in 1872 for his family of five children.

  After Gottlieb’s death in 1898, his widow, Hannah, showed she had a business mind of her own. She added a second story onto their house. With a few additional modifications, she was all set to open the “Cottage Hotel.” Hannah knew of extra perks for her clientele. She designated a special room for “drummers,” the traveling salesmen of today.

  They realized right away that the hotel offered them selling opportunities. After the drummers visited the town’s businesses, they returned to the “Drummers’ Room,” where they displayed their merchandise and wrote orders.

  Fast forward to the twentieth century when a fire destroyed most of the business district. And further, into the 1980s, two brothers whom I’ll call James and Fred, purchased the hotel and changed the name to the Calvert Hotel Bed and Breakfast. They shipped their own antiques from the northwest coast and created a lavish hostelry.

  When I visited the Calvert, everywhere I turned I saw glorious antique furniture and accessories—a charming place in a small Texas town. From the time I researched Calvert’s recent history, I knew dinner guests made reservations far in advance for Fred’s delectable full-course meals and wines of their choice. They dined on white linen tablecloths, with flowers and candles. People drove for miles around for such dinner parties.

  The brothers soon became aware of unusual occurrences—hearing voices with no one there and footsteps after they had retired for the night. There was something about the hotel that attracted the “other world.” They told me of several incidents they had experienced.

  I contacted author Trana Mae Simmons, whose Aunt Belle lived in Calvert. They shared their own experiences at the hotel. Both women are sensitive to the paranormal, so perhaps it’s hereditary. On an occasion in 2004, Trana, her husband, and Belle visited the hotel, armed with cameras. Two other friends arrived soon after.

  It could have been only a temporary chill, but no, Trana sensed a definite presence next to her on the settee. Belle, sitting across from her, could see the image of a small woman holding a feather duster and dressed in dated clothing. She obviously wanted to clean the room and preferred the ladies to leave. They all decided to make a hasty exit. Belle later identified the woman from a photo, as Mrs. Dirr.

  They decided then to look throug
h the rest of the hotel and take more photographs. On the way down the hall, Trana envisioned a white dog racing past, brushing against her as it ran. James told me that a white ghost dog has indeed made appearances both inside and outside the hotel. It’s a small dog and will turn in a circle before running off. It might be he wanted someone to follow him. But where?

  Later that same evening, when they returned for one of Fred’s famous dinners, they arrived for a meeting in the former Drummers’ Room. Within a few minutes, Trana sensed a female presence rushing out of the room, mumbling, “Too many men, too many men!”

  After dinner, she told James of the incident. He didn’t even have to think when Trana told him what had happened. He immediately said she had to be a woman named Leona. His explanation was that in life, Leona had married one of the Dirr men. They divorced, and she received the hotel in the settlement.

  Later, male family members took her to court to regain the hotel.

  They lost, but the result caused Leona to lose her liking for men there and then. Whether or not men were in the room, if Leona saw them…well, they were there to her. A ghost can see anything he or she wants to.

  I don’t know if Hannah and Leona ever run into each other on their visits to the hotel. I believe they would, but my thought is, it belongs to Hannah.

  After a tour of historical Calvert homes, Belle and Trana probably expected other incidents to occur at the hotel. They retired for the evening and sometime after midnight, they heard men’s vigorous voices. The following morning, James said he, too, had heard voices, but when he checked into it, he saw no one.

  He could see light beneath the closed door to the Drummers’ Room.

  When he opened the door (with caution, of course), a phantasmagoria of small bright lights flew around, as if coming right at him, and then circled back. He watched them in amazement for several seconds before they vanished.

  Since ghosts are not limited only to former humans in this town, James and Fred, on more than one occasion, have seen that little white dog trotting in front of the hotel, then across the railroad tracks. While he should have still been in sight, he vanished. Other people in town told them the previous owner had a white dog, just like the brothers and their guests had observed. The truth is, it died years before.

  A few months later, after selling the furnishings at auction, they sold the hotel and moved away. It never occurred to me the reason might have been because of the guests who never checked out.

  The Calvert Hotel is now a private residence, so we can no longer experience the paranormal for ourselves.

  If you visit this quaint Victorian town of antique shops, you might catch a glimpse of a little white ghost dog by the railroad tracks.

  I hear he trots to a different drummer….

  “Here’s to Your Ghost”

  The intoxicating liquid of many colors existed five thousand years ago in Babylon, China, Mesopotamia…. An ancient Egyptian tombstone bears the inscription, “…satisfy his spirit with beef and fowl, bread and beer.” In taverns across Egypt, the favorite toast was, “Here’s to your ghost.”

  According to the history of the Magnolia Brewery Building in Houston, in 1892, Hugh Hamilton founded the Houston Ice and Brewing Company, also known as Magnolia Brewery. Architect Eugene Heiner designed and built the four-story structure, which he completed in 1893. In less than two years, they brewed more than 60,000 barrels of beer annually. The one building expanded into more than ten by 1915, dispensing close to 250,000 barrels. The beer flowed like…well, beer.

  Hugh Hamilton died long before witnessing the demise of his company in 1950, which began with Prohibition, major floods, the Crash—all contributing to economic stress. Buildings washed away, or fortunate owners found buyers.

  Eminent architect, designer, and developer Bart Truxillo bought the remaining two buildings in 1968 and restored the declining property. The history of the company shows the Magnolia Brewery Building survived, thanks to Mr. Truxillo. It is a registered Texas Historic Landmark and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.

  In 1978, beer found its way back from a long absence to the Brewery Tap. This was long after people cooled beer in cellars with ice brought from ponds, the same way they did vegetables to keep them fresh through winter.

  The Brewery Tap, the popular bar that occupies the lower portion of the building, has an old-world atmosphere with large tables and an ambiance, which makes customers—many regulars—right at home. There may be others who also feel at home. We just can’t see them.

  It seems one specific ghost craves attention or at least wants his presence known. Lana Berkowitz, staff writer for the Houston Chronicle, wrote about the spirit as interacting with Kathy, the bartender, by playing “Kathy’s Waltz” on the jukebox. He also teases by moving things from place to place.

  Picture this: The bartender places your choice of ice-old tap beer on the bar. She smiles. You nod thanks. You pick up the glass and head for the dartboard with a friend. But something happens on the way to the back wall. A cold brush of air sweeps against your cheek.

  “What was that?”

  The bartender smiles again. “Not ‘that,’ it’s who. We call him William.”

  The story is, there is at least one revenant resident in the Brewery Tap. The bartender had decided he really needed a name, and she thought he responded to William better than any other. Not Bill, it had to be William.

  The building is the second oldest in Houston. The upper floor is The Brewery Ballroom, a formal hall, ideal for weddings, receptions, dinners—a myriad of celebrations. Who is to say an occasional spirit doesn’t join the high-spirited affairs?

  A paranormalist organization investigated the ballroom and captured several anomalies on camera. With so many people having worked or lived in the building when it was briefly a hotel, our ghost or ghosts of interest could be any one of them. The majority vote, however, goes toward an employee who met death in the basement years ago. He was in the wrong place when a beer keg fell down on him.

  They say a cloud of light will occasionally hover high above the bar. Taking a picture at just the right time can capture an orb. For those who believe an orb is electromagnetic energy of a ghost, then William is your man.

  And if not William, perhaps Hugh Hamilton never left. Maybe.

  Ghostly books by Olyve Hallmark Abbott:

  Ghosts in the Graveyard: Texas Cemetery Tales

  A Ghost in the Guest Room: Haunted Texas Hotels, B&Bs and Inns

  Texas Ghosts: Galveston, Houston, and Vicinity

  Here’s one of Vic’s favorite recipes. He likes to make these at Halloween to pass out to Salt Lick’s ghostly trick-or-treaters.

  SPOOKY BLACK-CAT COOKIES

  1 cup crunchy peanut butter

  2 eggs

  1/3 cup water

  1 pkg. chocolate cake mix

  small candy-coated chocolate candies

  red hots

  Preheat oven to 375°F.

  Beat together peanut butter, eggs, and water.

  Gradually add cake mix. Mix well.

  Form dough into 1-inch balls. Place on ungreased cookie sheet. Flatten balls with bottom of glass dipped in sugar. Pinch out two ears at top of cookie. Add small candy-coated chocolate candies for eyes and red hots for nose. Score with a fork to form whiskers. Bake at 375° for 8 to 10 minutes.

  Makes about 4 dozen cookies.

  Edwina continues to write her Advice to the Lovelorn column in the Salt Lick Weekly Reporter. As she has grown wiser with time, her comments have become more profound.

  Dear Edwina,

  My husband of thirty-seven years has become obsessed with the TV show Dancing with the Stars. He goes around the house in black tights with his shirt tails tied in a knot around his expansive waist, which, in reality is a beer gut. Occasionally I hear him yell, “Merengue!” or, “Paso Doble!” I don’t know what those words mean, but when I hear him say them, I try to stay out of his way. I’m afraid this phase he’
s going through is going to destroy our marriage. Should I be patient with it and just let it run its course?

  Anxiously awaiting your advice,

  Dancing Without a Partner

  Dear Without-a-Partner,

  You’re without more than a partner. You’re without a clue. This is a tough one, hon. I’ve got a lot of answers for you, but the picture of your beer-gutted husband in tights keeps clouding my mind. Wish you hadn’t shared that.

  Any-hoo, what’s to keep you from joining him? Have you seen those female dancers’ bodies? Dancing sure as hell hasn’t hurt them. And when he yells those foreign words, yell them back and see what happens. You might end up in your own horizontal dance of love, if you get my drift?

  You’ve got your “workout” cut out for you, sister.

  Edwina “Got a Partner” Martin

  Dear Ms. Perkins-Martin,

  My concomitant in marriage and I are attorneys. We once worked closely together. Six months ago she shared with me that she has chanced upon her old boyfriend from high school on Facebook. I thought that was nice, but now she’s on her computer night and day, supposedly working on a difficult litigation case that could alter the state of jurisprudence as we know it. She hasn’t asked for my elucidation or riposte and if she were really engaged in that endeavor, why would she stop to cachinnate or attenuate the screen when I come into the room? We haven’t been intimate in months, she barely affirms I’m in the room, much less the bed, and she told me this morning we need to sit down this weekend and have “a talk.” Give me your presupposition of what I should expect.

  With profound gratitude,

  Barrister of the Courts

  Dear What-in-the-Hell Did You Say?

  I’d like to be a fly on the wall at your house this weekend. Maybe when you talk, what you say is easier to follow than what you write. I got out my thesaurus and here’s what I think you said: Your wife has hooked up with an old boyfriend online and has been giving you the cold shoulder. And now you’re afraid she wants to do the nasty with her old flame. Is that close?