The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.
A/N: Many thanks to Winter Gray who found this ghost for me and did a lot of initial research on the haunted lighthouses of Door County, Wisconsin.
Real Ghost Stories
Chapter 4
The Lighthouse Keeper's Wife
She stood on the balcony at the very top of the tower and looked out over the ice-choked, heaving water. The wind whipped at her, vicious frozen fingers tugging at her shawl, trying to rip it off; stealing it for itself. The shawl and her skirts and her long dark hair, all playthings of the greedy air
She rested her gravid gut against the ice covered railing and listened to the groaning lake. As the cold lake waters surged under the frozen surface the ice was stretched and groaned against the pressure. Along the shore the shards of glittering, broken ice beat upon the sands.
She remembered that noise from her first delivery. The groans of the ice seemed to match her own sounds as she labored throughout the day and long into the night to finally deliver her beloved first born, Isaac.
When they finally lay him upon her breast the chains of love grappled her heart. All the pain went away; she no longer noticed the blood as she gazed into his eyes. Three years later those chains snapped as the Whooping Cough took him and her sweet baby girl, Molly.
So they buried those two in the little graveyard below the light and she was already carrying her third. In a way that child, Mildred, got to attend the funeral of her brother and sister.
The winter wind blew stronger now and she remembered the summer before she married William; how warm the days, how soft and green the springtime grass. She had been pursued by all the young men. They were attracted to her like bees to spilled honey. They just wanted a taste, a kiss, a look and she twirled the flowers they brought in her fingers and flirted.
Among the blonde haired farmers' daughters she stood out, an exotic plant. She was dark, they were light. She was slim and danced. They were solidly grounded to the earth. There were ill-tempered mutterings about mixed blood but the young men paid no mind.
In the end it was William she chose. At their wedding they danced and laughed but then he betrayed her and brought her here, to the bitter cold lighthouse overlooking the rocky shore
And here they stayed on the Door Peninsula, for decade after decade. She marked the years with births and deaths. Nine children numbered the pages of her life; five already were in the ground. Isaac had died the night after Molly and those first deaths were the hardest to bear. Molly, so tiny, gasped and coughed on her breast and finally, breathed no more. Isaac followed the very next night. She really did not want more but her only comfort was her husband's arms and, lost in passion, she forgot the pain.
Now she felt old, all her life's pages torn and stained and here she was again, pregnant, with her tenth. It could not be borne any longer. Her body had rebelled. Her hips ached constantly; she now walked with a cane. She could hear her dead children's voices, playing below in their little fenced graveyard. She didn't understand why they weren't cold but, then, it was her job, her only job, to keep them safe and warm. She had failed them, as her life had failed her, of every promise.
When she threw herself over the balcony her only thought was 'It is ended, Thank God'.
XXXXXXX
"Don't we usually go south for the winter"' Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. "What's the name of this Winter Wonderland again?"
Dean snorted, "It's called Rock Island. "
"Sounds lovely," Sam replied as he flipped open a brochure with a colorful picture of a red house on the front. "Is it some kind of a tourist destination? Our usual hunts don't run to pretty, glossy maps."
The brothers had left Lebanon, Kansas in the early morning and now, nine and half hours later, they were on the outskirts of Des Moines, Iowa.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon and they agreed it was way past time to take a break and have a late lunch.
Dean pulled into a chain restaurant parking lot and parked the car. Sam stomped around the lot for a little bit, getting the sensation back in his legs. These long drives always were hard on his legs. They were too long for the seat well and he couldn't really straighten them out anywhere in the Impala without literally standing on his head.
Once or twice as a teenager he had done that in the back seat when his father insisted that they were in way too big of a hurry to save strangers to give consideration to his own son's comfort. Sam always felt he and his brother came in second to random strangers in his father's heart.
Dean had already gone inside and secured them a booth by the window where he could see the Impala. Sam watched his brother pull a goofy smile and wave big at him.
"Idiot," Sam thought, feeling a momentary tug to a long gone Bobby.
Once inside he dodged an overly aggressive hostess by pointing at his waving brother. He felt threatened. He knew if she got her hands on him he would be in for some uncomfortable groping. Dean would never let him live it down.
She did manage to cop a feel under the guise of pointing Dean out with a hand on his back that somehow just slipped all the way to his ass.
When he was safely seated away from roving hands he focused on his brother who was sniggering into a menu.
"Found another cougar, bro? It's amazing. What do they see in you?" Dean could hardly contain his amusement.
Sam huffed and lifted his messenger bag containing the lap top on to the table. He booted it up and then asked Dean,
"Where exactly did you say we were going?"
Dean didn't even look up from the menu, as if everybody in the Continental U.S. didn't know what he was going to order, "Pottawatomie Lighthouse."
"Where?"
"The Pottawatomie Lighthouse."
"Where?"
"I said", Dean huffed, "The Pottawat….Damn it, Sam!"
Sam was giggling. "I just wanted to see if you could say it three times. Do you think Beetlejuice will show up?"
Shut up, bitch." Dean was angry at being suckered.
"Shut up yourself, jerk. No need to laugh at me getting groped."
"Fine, I'm sorry." Dean growled.
"Good, you should be," Sam snapped back.
The waitress came and took their orders. After she left the table Dean said "You know, I've been driving since 5:30 this morning. I think you should drive the next eight hours or so into Sturgeon Bay."
"Fine by me," Sam responded. "At least it'll keep my legs awake."
Dean went on, "Since we won't get there until about eleven tonight maybe you should use the magic box to get us some reservations somewhere."
Sam was happily clicking away when Dean noticed Sam's typing speed go into an abrupt decline.
"Hey, Dean," Sam said slowly, "Have you taken a close look at where we are going?"
"No, not really, " Dean answered. "Why?"
"How did you find this hunt?"
"Remember Ranger Brad McDonald at the Fort Laramie Wyoming Park?" Dean answered. "He was at a Park Ranger convention. Who knew they have conventions? And he was talking us up to a group of his friends. This Wisconsin Park Ranger asked him for our contact number."
"Is this another paying job?' Sam asked.
"Yep," Dean replied with satisfaction. "You may have been right about getting those uniforms, I guess. We are officially the "guys about the Ghost" on Park bulletin Boards."
"Well, Mr. Guy about the Ghost, take a look where we're going." Sam turned the laptop to face Dean.
"What is that?" Dean traced an outline on the screen.
"That is the Door County Peninsula. It is a narrow witch's finger more than 50 miles long , pointed straight out into Lake Michigan. The west side is Green Bay, yes like the football team, and the East side faces the Lake. That little dot at the top? Looks like the witch's finger nail? Or, if you like, the peninsular looks like a crone's nose with a wart on the tip. That is Rock Island."
"Crap." Dean said. "You can't get out any further in the lake, can you?"
"No," Sam replied. "Your Pottawatomie Lighthouse stands on the north most tip of Rock Island, backing on to the lake. It has to be one of the coldest, most isolated buildings in the U.S."
Dean bit into his burger. "Come on, it can't be that bad. I though Door County was like Adult Disneyland for the good people of Wisconsin."
"According to the tourist brochures you gave me, that's right. It is a fascinating and beautiful piece of Lake History." Sam went on. The Pot Lighthouse, yes that's what they call it, is Door County's oldest lighthouse. In 1834 Detroit merchants and ship owners petitioned congress to build a lighthouse to guide ships into Green Bay."
"The first lighthouse, a circular tower and a free standing Keepers house went up in 1836. In 1856 the original structure was demolished because the wrong mortar was used in building it and moisture got into the walls. The new lighthouse was a house with the lamp on the roof. That light could be seen 14 nautical miles out to sea. The lighthouse is now on the National Register of Historic Places along with 63 other Historic structures and shipwrecks on or near the Peninsula."
"The Door County peninsula is known as the 'Cape Cod of the Midwest'. This County, just over 2,000 square miles in size with just 480 square miles above water, has 5 State Parks, in addition to the 64 recognized historical sites and 298 miles of shoreline. There are 12 lighthouses, three of which are supposed to be haunted. The main business of the entire peninsula is tourism. The population goes from 27 thousand in the winter to almost a quarter of a million in the summer."
"What's the ghost that they want us to handle supposed to be?"
Dean put down the burger again and tented his hands under his chin. "It's supposed to be a screamer. A woman throws herself off the roof and screams all the way down. The Ranger-In-Charge, a Mr. McAllister, can't keep his docents in the museum. One experience and they all go home. He's running out of people to ask."
"I know who we're dealing with," Sam said as he packed up his laptop. "Eat up. Her name is Emily Betz and she has been screaming for 150 years. It's time to give her some peace."
XXXXXXX
Early the next morning they garaged the Impala at the ferry terminal and rode over to Rock Island from Washington Island. It was their second ferry ride of the day. At the dock Mr. McAllister met them and gave them a ride to the lighthouse in a vehicle Dean called a 'golf cart'. Sam just rolled his eyes and ignored his brother.
The house stood four square with a bright red paint job and a shiny new roof. Sam wondered if they had run into another 'neat and tidy' ranger like Ranger McDonald in Laramie. He was beginning to think it might be training instead of personality.
Sam stood and stared. The lighthouse looked nice but he wondered just what it had been like to live there 150 years ago with no running water, fireplaces for heat and 9 children to raise. Emily Betz must have been an Amazon. Every drop of water in the house had to be carried by hand. She had to home school her children and her husband had to dig their graves when the all too common childhood diseases carried more than half of them off. Sam knew from his searches that there were descendants on the peninsula related to the four children who had made it into adulthood.
He turned to Mr. McAllister. "Do you know of any living relatives to a former keeper couple who lived here, William and Emily Betz?
"You know, that's odd. I do know someone and she happens to be right here. One of my docents, Amelia Crocker, is a direct descendent of the Betz family. Mr. McAllister replied. "Do you want to meet her?"
Sam nodded. "Yes, I want to do more than meet her, I want to get her help in putting this ghost down. Can you find her for me?"
Mr. McAllister took off in quest for Ms. Crocker.
"What are you up to Sam?' Dean asked.
"I'm pretty sure I know why she falls and why she screams but I think it will take a descendant's blood to stop her." Sam answered.
"Oh," Dean hesitated. "I was wondering if we were going to have to dig up and burn babies tonight.
"I'll tell you what," Sam said. "You go check out the graves. See if they're active. Watch out for the Indian graveyard. I understand that it is active too. We don't need them. Just try to find her kids. I'm going to set up the ritual on the balcony around the lens."
Dean stared up at the light. "How far off the ground do you think that is, Sam?"
"Man up, big brother. I won't let you fall. The Lighthouse Keeper's Wife could handle it, so can you." Sam laughed at Dean's expression. "I know, it hurts but go do your work. I have to go get this woman's blood. I don't necessarily want her hanging around here tonight just in case we do have to dig up the kids."
XXXXXXX
Sam sat on the balcony planking. He had his favorite brass summoning bowl with fragrant herbs splashed with the blood of Ms. Amelia Crocker and the two Winchesters. It had been a bit of a chore to explain to Ms., Crocker that her donation was going to put her great, great, grandmother to rest, but he had finally convinced her. She was shocked to realize that she was directly related to the famous "screaming woman" but felt bad for Emily and offered to do anything that would put her to rest.
Sam had decided to do the ritual alone. He had stationed Dean and the undeniably attractive Ms. Crocker along the graveyard fence, to be called up if needed and to keep the children quiet. He had given Dean strict instructions not to hit on Ms. Crocker and to keep it in his pants if she came on to him. He had to agree with his cranky brother that after the ritual was completed, all bets were off. Dean really hated being told 'No', especially by his little brother.
The lighthouse lens was lit. This he had not expected and watched the beam pass over his head and shine on the glittering ice. Periodically the fog horn, located out on the cliff, would sound. The atmosphere was sufficiently spooky, he thought. He was also freezing important parts of his anatomy.
During a sweep of the beam he caught the flicker of a form. Next time around he saw it more clearly, a tall woman clutching a shawl in the wind and leaning on the balcony railing. He lit the bowl and began a prayer. It was the Hail Mary, not particularly appropriate but it caught the woman's attention. She turned to look at him.
"Hello, Emily." She moved closer to the small flame and waved a hand through the smoke.
"Yes, can you feel her blood?' Sam asked her. " Your granddaughter's blood, Her name is Amelia. She's alive because of you."
The beam swept around again and the woman's form thinned in the light, she flicked back to the railing.
"No, Emily, stay with me ." Sam ordered. She looked at his face again and then glanced at the ground. She could not hear her children's' voices.
"Emily, stay with me," Sam ordered again and wafted more smoke at her. "My brother and Amelia, your granddaughter, are with the children, they are fine."
Emily flickered up to him again. He slid back down to the floor
"Amelia would not be alive except for you." He told her. "It's ok, you did fine. There are more children alive because of you. Be at rest. You did fine."
Back and forth they went, Sam reassuring her, her looking down to the ground for her dead children.
He chanted the Lord's Prayer and the Prayer for the Forgotten Dead. The prayers seemed to sooth her. The flickering form became more stable and didn't dissipate in the light.
He was hoping to speed this up a little. He ass was freezing to the planking. "Emily," he ordered. "Let go. You did fine. The children are sleeping. You can go now."
She turned in a circle, unsure of which way to go. Finally, as his teeth started to chatter, she made a decision to let go of her grief. With a smile she dissolved in to mist and blew away on the wind.