A Hometown Girl Haunts the Genre

Every year around this time, my name has started being invoked in print. I mean, I'm not mad about it, but it's been nine years, so I think I can say "invoked" and be happy about it. I am honored, I am smilingly proud, and I am a hometown girl.

I am the Charlotte ghost lady, such as it is.

Ok. It's true that I have moved on personally -- there is no "Williams" any more, but I've also moved on professionally. I've quit writing so much about the subject of ghosts and moved to the more universal subject of food (we all love food!!), but I remember that time long ago when I wanted to be remembered for something. Well, now it looks like I am remembered for documenting that weird shadow on the stairs ... or that stale scent of cigar smoke.

If that's how it is, ok.

It's that time of year, so I am happy to report my little book, Ghost Stories of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County: Remnants of the Past in a New South is once again in the slick pages. Thanks to Charlotte Magazine for your kind inclusion of three of my stories and multiple quotes. There ARE ghosts afoot to be sure this time o' year -- I just hope they are interested in reading about pickles, cause that's what is hot in 2012. Well, that and pimento cheese. So I hope they're hungry.

Anytime is a good time for a ghost story

My book, Ghost Stories of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County was really a labor of love for me back in 2003 when I wrote it. I'd grown up reading southern tales of ghosts from Nancy Roberts and others, but I never read any about my hometown, and finally I decided to remedy that. I researched the stories like the budding journalist I was, and in the process, happily became the first to collect some of Charlotte's tales of the past in the present.

And no matter what you think of Charlotte, its shiny buildings, its NASCAR hub, or it's suburbs endlessly bleeding out into the former tobacco and cotton fields of the Carolina Piedmont, it has a history. Really. I'm talking Revolutionary War. There's a little thing called the Mec Dec, still celebrated today.

Here I present a case in point: Rosedale, ca. 1815. And its growing legend of paranormal activity. I recently came across this account a reporter from The Charlotte Observer wrote about a night in 2007. And by the way, I'm "the writer about ghosts" Jeff Elder mentions in the story. I was there, one of the ones creeping about the darkened house on All Hallow's Eve ...

Ghost Lady indeed

Well. It's official. Based on the article this month in Today's Charlotte Woman (check out pages 44-45), I'm officially the "ghost lady" of Charlotte. And although you'll see me photographed in a jaunty top with a smile on my face, I know it's true. I do write about ghosts, I have spoken about ghosts, think I've encountered ghosts, and yes, even worn black pointy toe boots to multiple book signings.

It's the 7-year anniversary of Ghost Stories of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County, and it's wonderful that people are still interested in the book and my writing of it. 

So there it is -- I happily embrace my ghost lady persona in October of each year. No matter how sunny the streets of Charlotte are, ghosts be afoot. Happy haunting!

Mountain spooks

I'm off to the Highlands/Cashiers area this coming weekend for some book signings, and I am glad to once again be able to see the fall colors so beautiful on winding Highway 64. I'll get to pass one of my favorite waterfalls too -- a little grotto fall just off the highway between Cashiers and Highlands. It's shaded by rhododendron, so it's easy to miss, but it is especially beautiful in the deep summer when covered in moss.

But this time of year, it's all about ghosts, not waterfalls, and the mountains have their share of stories. One of my favorites that I got to research for Haunted Hills surrounds the High Hampton Inn in Cashiers, a lovely historic structure with beautiful rolling scenery. The tale is far from beautiful:

Louisa Heaton was by all accounts an eccentric Southern lady, and when her husband wanted to sell some of the land connected to High Hampton, she became distraught. She said, "If you sell my family's land, I'll commit suicide." Well, being the "man of the house," he decided to sell anyway, only to come home to find her lifeless body swinging from a barn rafter a while a white-face barn owl screeched above. The story goes he was so overcome at the funeral he tried to commit suicide (unsuccessfully) over her open grave by slashing both sides of his neck with a hunting knife.

This sordid account is still connected with the Inn, for many people over the years have reported seeing a white owl on the property. Ahh, what a great cheery bedtime story. And yes, I do usually sleep well at night, despite my ghoulish research!