I rarely do articles on paranormal events, or stray far from my main subject matter in Grail Seekers.
Being an armchair historian and researcher is more my bailiwick than delving into apparitions and unexplainable phenomena.
This is not due to any disbelief I have in such things happening, I have actually experienced one event in my life that would fall into the category of paranormal or unexplainable.
However, Saturday while I was driving home from work, my mind drifted to the little burg of
Chapel Hill, Tennessee and that singular experience.
Most folks that have grown up in Middle Tennessee have heard the ghost story of Chapel Hill. The legend, as it has been told to countless Tennesseans, is that a train brakeman had the bad luck of pulling a night shift on a train bound for Chapel Hill. The brakeman’s job was to walk along the top of the train and apply the brakes of each car before coming into a station. The job was particularly dangerous and caused the demise of many men looking to make good money with the railroads.
Our legend’s brakeman was one such unlucky fellow. He was thrown from the perch on top of a box car, and was decapitated for his misstep. After the accident, folks in the area began to see a strange light making its way up and down the tracks. The only logical explanation that could be mustered was that it was the brakeman, swinging his lantern looking for his lost head.
Most folks in the Middle Tennessee area know someone that knows someone that went to Chapel Hill and have seen the ghost light. One of the more comical tales I heard from a friend of my parents. While he was in college, he decided to take a date to the tracks. After sitting on his car hood for a few minutes, the couple saw a faint glowing light appear on the track. Steeling themselves, the couple decided to stay on station until the light got closer. And closer it did get. Close enough for the pair to realize they were looking at a solid black cow, with a white face, walking down the tracks. The moon light reflecting eerily off the bovine’s face was as close to an apparition that was seen that night. I’m not sure after that if he ever got a second date.
Fifteen years ago, a friend of mine Tracy Latham and my mother decided to be good Tennesseans and trek down to Chapel Hill to see what all the hype was about. Fortifying ourselves with Diet Coke and Ding-Dongs we made our way 40 miles south down I-65 from Nashville. It was a clear, warm late summer night just before midnight when we hit town. Having no clue where the tracks actually were, we stopped to ask directions of a social circle that was congregating at the local Food Land. Snickering, the alpha male of the group told us to turn left at the stop light by the Post office and we’d find the tracks.
A few minutes later we had turned down West Depot Street and found the tracks. A short rail trestle runs over the main road with an access road leading up to the overpass. I pulled the family’s Toyota station wagon up to the tracks and we sat. Either side of the tracks is flanked by large open fields. The tracks are built up on a good six to ten foot high embankment. The night was clear and lit enough to see the individual loose rocks that built the burm twenty feet down the track.
Midnight came and went as we peered out of the car’s windows. We were about to give up when I saw something. About fifteen feet down the track appeared a small glowing disk. It looked like someone had applied the world’s best blue-green luminous paint to a JFG coffee can lid. The disk was four feet off the ground, had no depth, cast no light and had no one standing behind it. One minute there was nothing, and the next it was like someone had flipped a switch and the disk appeared.
“What’s that down the tracks?” I thought I had said rather calmly to my companions.
The unholy shriek that came from the back seat was my mother, “It’s a (insert a string of no less than ten of your favorite expletives) ghost!”
Looking back on the event, I now understand how panic spreads through a crowd. Tracy and I both began to make unintelligible noises of despair. In reality I think we were screaming like a child on a playground that has had a spider put in their hair. All the while, the light got closer to the car. I think it was the sage voice of my mother that suggested that we get he heck out of Dodge.
Being the dutiful son, I fumbled starting the car half a dozen times before engine turned over. The light couldn’t have been more than six feet from the car when I skittered down the access road. After pushing the performance envelope of the Toyota for half a mile, our wits came back to us. We decided to go back and see if the light was still there. Alas, there was nothing.
Through various experiences in my life I have been out many nights under similar conditions. I’ve seen numerous people holding flashlights, chem lights, and torches under the exact same conditions. Every time, you can see the person holding the light source. This time there was no one there, just the oddly glowing disk. The disk’s light didn’t even look like anything I’ve ever seen before. Perfectly round, perfectly glowing a color that almost looked like the digital readout of an adding machine. Was it the Ghost of Chapel Hill? To this day I don’t know.
Over the years, I’ve been back a handful of times to the exact same spot where we sighted the disk.
I’ve never seen it again.
Most recently was this Saturday night.
I had the bight idea to take my wife Laura, and six-year old son Robert to the tracks.
Our friends
Cas and Tracey (another Tracey) tagged along for good measure.
I donned an old fishing vest I had for the event and packed it full of recording devices.
Just in case we saw something this time out.
My son was so enthralled by the idea of my Ghost Hunting gear, he packed a backpack full of toys and books that he thought would help him make sense of any phenomena he saw.
Robert and I pose as battle hardened Ghost Hunters at the Chapel Hill Post Office
All five sat beside the tracks, waiting for the light to appear. This time it was about 9:30 when we hit town. The press of a hard week and an already tired (even after a long nap) six year old will accelerate most time tables. And this time out, we did see a light. It was the light of an on coming train, but it was a light. My son was so suitably impressed with the rush of a near by train that I think he almost forgot we were looking for a Ghost. After a while, the yaws and jitters of non-activity over came us and the hunting party began to pack up.
My son turned to me as we piled in my CR-V to tell me he had a good time even though there was no Ghost. I scratched his head and told him maybe next time, and secretly hoped he didn’t think his old man was pulling his leg. Yep… maybe next time little guy
Robert and I pose as battle hardened Ghost Hunters at the Chapel Hill Post Office
