Author's Note: This was written for Season 2, Circulation 4 of the Newsies Pape Writing Competition. Task One: Write about the boys telling scary stories around the campfire (I took a few liberties with that last part). Prompts: red. Word count: 1,119.
The small group of newsies was quiet as they walked down the street. Race led the group with David near the back. Between them, Les, Snipeshooter, and Tumbler walked, speaking only in low whispers if they spoke at all. Streetlights and the full moon provided the only light to guide them.
"This is it," said Race, stopping at the northwest corner of Washington Square Park. He looked up at the giant tree. "Yes, siree, this is where it all happened."
"This is it?" said Snipeshooter. Being the oldest of the younger newsies, he was finding his skepticism, yet held the older newsies in such high regard that he was inclined to believe what they told him.
"Mm-hmm," Race nodded, looking up at the giant elm tree. "They call it The Hanging Tree. You know why?"
Les and Tumbler looked up at Race with big eyes, waiting for his answer.
"Because this is where they would hang criminals," Race said in a low whisper. He looked at each of the boys in turn. "You feel that? That feeling you get when you look up at the branches?" Race looked up at the branches, their dark shapes only illuminated by the moon. He shivered a bit. "Kinda feels like all those guys who were hung from this tree might still be here, ya know?"
Tumbler and Les stepped a little closer together, looking up at the branches.
"You see that one there?" Race asked, pointing to a large one that hung over a grassy area. "That branch was reserved for the worst of the worst. The state prison used to be just a couple o' blocks away and this here is where they'd bring those prisoners to be hung."
"Hanged," David said under his breath. He had no patience for ghost stories (and less for improper grammar). He only acquiesced to go along because he knew his mother would have his head if he let his brother roam the city with newsies after dark.
"This here tree was here before this was even New York," Race continued, patting the trunk of the tree. "Just think about how many men took their last breath hanging from these very branches. Now, legend has it that on Halloween every year, if you're very quiet and still, you can still see all the criminals swing from the branches, like they was decorating a Christmas tree or somethin'."
"How did they get the criminals way up at the top?" asked Tumbler.
"Well, you see, those branches at the top were closer to the ground when the tree was smaller, weren't they?" Race, ever the expert on everything, explained. "So the guys you'll see hanging from the top have been dead the longest. But," he paused for dramatic effect, "the guys you'll see closer to the bottom," he pointed to a nearby branch, "like maybe that one right over there, those guys haven't been dead for very long. Their souls haven't had a chance to really rest. So they'll probably show up first. Maybe even talk to you."
Snipeshooter shivered a bit and dug his hands into his pocket, looking up at the branches. He could've sworn he saw something move up there, so he resolved to keep his eyes at ground level.
"There was this one fella, Lazy Eye McGee," Race started. "He was hung on Halloween. Rumor has it he kicked and twitched for hours after they pulled the trap door from under him. For years after he was hung, you could still the branch he was hung on moving on the anniversary of his death." Race bent down a bit next to Les, getting down to his level, and pointed to a branch about twenty feet up. "It was that branch, right there. Watch closely."
The group stood in silence for several moments. Race, Les, and Tumbler kept their eyes on the branch, while Snipeshooter and David shared a look.
"This is stupid," said Snipeshooter.
"I agree," said David. "And it's cold. Let's head back to the lodging house."
As David grabbed Les' hand, several things happened in quick succession. David turned around and was promptly met with, what his eyes perceived as, the ghost of some criminal dropping in front of him and hanging from the lowest branch. He immediately screamed and, intending to run and flee but tripping over his own feet, landed on the ground. Snipeshooter cursed loudly and backed away, bumping into Les who thought a ghost was attacking him so he curled up on the ground, while Tumbler, whose first instinct was to fight, took his stick and began beating the thing senseless.
Meanwhile, Race, and two voices from the branches above, began to laugh. It took the boys several minutes to figure out what was happening.
Race was doubled over laughing and two figures hopped down from above. Blink, Race, and Mush had a good long laugh while David and Snipeshooter got up and brushed themselves off.
"That wasn't funny, guys," said David, helping Les up off the ground. He cast a glare at the hanging dummy with its face painted on in red paint.
"Oh, yes it was," said Race, breathless.
"You shoulda seen their faces!" Mush laughed, brushing the tears away.
"Davey, I didn't know you could scream that high!" said Blink, causing the three of them to relapse into laughter once more.
"Real mature, guys," said David. "Come on, Les." David took Les' hand and dragged him off in the direction of home.
"Oh, my stomach," said Mush, holding his stomach as he laughed. The boys had to lean on each other to keep from falling over.
"Uh, guys," said Snipeshooter, his eyes glued to the branch Race had pointed out earlier. It was shaking. But the boys paid no attention.
"Guys," Snipeshooter repeated. Something in his tone made the three boys listen and follow Snipeshooter's gaze. They all saw Lazy Eye McGee's branch shaking.
"Ah, it's pro'ly the wind," said Blink.
"There is no wind," said Snipeshooter. "And it's just that one branch."
The five of them watched the branch for several moments – it didn't stop shaking.
"That's it, I'm out," said Mush, turning and speed walking down the street.
"Me too," said Blink, quickly followed him. Soon, all five boys were booking it back towards the lodging house.
When the street was one again deserted, the branch stopped shaking. Jack stepped out behind the tree, and pulled the rope down from around the branch, a satisfied smirk on his face. Those three scared gullible newsies every single Halloween and it was about time they got their comeuppance. He coiled the rope, put it over his shoulder and walked away from the Hangman's Elm.
Author's Note:
The legends surrounding the Hangman's Elm are simply that – legends. No public records indicate that any hangings took place at the site, save for one Rose Butler, who was executed about 500 feet from the tree.
The tree was estimated to have sprouted circa 1679 (in 1989 it was estimated to be 310 years old). The English took control of New Amsterdam in 1664 and promptly changed its name to New York. Obviously, Race is exaggerating in the story, but I think its safe to say he never received a formal education to know better.
Special thanks to Air for her suggestion of using the Hangman's Elm as the story's centerpiece.