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Hey everyone, Christine here, to welcome you to our annual History for Halloween episode.

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It is our tenth year doing this, which means a full decade of drawing from the past to

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fill your ears with the strangest of tales to mark what my Halloween-loving friends call

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‘Spooky Season.’ I’m going to start us off with a story that,

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well, if you’ve ever listened before you know where this is going: it came from a historical

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newspaper. This is the “Story of a Ghost and Conjugal Fidelity” from the May 18,

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1820 edition of the Maryland Gazette. However, like many of the stories I’ve found in newspapers,

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I’ve also found it in other locations printed both before and after it. For example, it

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appears in the Australian Literary Journal of January 1849, so this tale had legs. Anyway,

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as always, I give the credit to the place where I first found it. And this is the sort

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of story that I can imagine if I lived in that time, I would have been entertained by

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and shared with my friends, so since all of you listeners are friends of the pod, I am

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sharing it with you. The so-called “Story of a Ghost and Conjugal

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Fidelity” goes like this: in an unspecified time, a man named Samuel Fisher had an acquaintance

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who was a woman living in Cork who was of exquisite character, and she was going through

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a hard time. She was widowed, and she missed her husband something fierce. Day and night

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all she did was miss her husband. She sighed and lamented during the day and cried on her

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pillow when the moon was up. It was a horrible time for the poor woman.

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One day, Samuel was visiting with his friend and she was in a particularly bad way. She

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was “in a state of mental agitation, bordering on distraction.” The cause? A ghost. More

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specifically, the ghost of her late husband. But this wasn’t a happy reunion. This was

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of the most upsetting level. He appeared by her bedside at night and had a demand of her.

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He told her that she needed to go to the vault where his coffin was and have it opened. Samuel,

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like most people reading this probably would have done, told her that this was a ridiculous

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idea. He tried to convince her that the ‘ghost’ was a figment of her imagination, that her

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grief was ruining her ability to think clearly, and all the other ways to dissuade her that

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he could think of, succeeding only in convincing her that maybe she should wait before doing

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something so drastic. No doubt he hoped she would move on from this idea.

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She didn’t, because–she argued–her late husband wouldn’t let her. For two more nights

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(since things in this type of story always happen in threes) her husband’s ghost terrorized

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her, again appearing by her bed and reiterating his demand with “loud menaces”–open

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my coffin, woman! At this point, Samuel felt he had no choice

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but to help her. He contacted the appropriate authorities and accompanied his grieving friend

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to the vault where her late husband’s coffin was. The “weeping widow” watched her husband’s

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coffin get opened and once it was revealed, she stepped forward and kissed the corpse

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on the lips. Not a course I would have taken, but to each their own. Nothing else was reportedly

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done and the coffin was once again closed. The following day, Samuel was looking to leave

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town but wanted to check on his friend before he left. He rolled up to her house and was

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greeted not by his friend, but by her maid instead. He asked for his friend and was told

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she was sleeping, but he persisted in trying to see her. The maid smiled at him, turning

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down his offer of consolation for her mistress and she dropped a truth bomb on him, saying:

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“‘It would be a pity to disturb the new married couple so early in the morning!”

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Samuel was shocked. How could this woman be married? Just the day before she had been

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weeping over her late husband and kissing his corpse and all sorts of things showing

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her love and devotion. He asked who on earth got married yesterday and the maid assured

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him it was the same widowed friend he had intended to offer his support to.

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Seeing his state of disbelief, she revealed more, explaining:

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When the widow’s late husband had been on his deathbed, he made his wife make him a

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promise. Deathbed wishes are very serious things, naturally, and this man’s was no

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small deal. He made her promise that she would not marry again until after they once again

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met, presumably meaning that she would never remarry because they would next meet in heaven.

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Still, she continued to elaborate, it didn’t take her own death to reunite the couple.

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After all, Samuel had witnessed the reunion himself just the day before when he helped

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the widow have her husband’s coffin opened so that she could meet him again and kiss

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his lips. While Samuel likely stood there in a stupor,

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aware of being played by the widow, who I guess now was a newlywed, the maid concluded,

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“My mistress, Sir, sends you her compliments and thanks, together with this bride’s cake,

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to distribute among your friends.” And there our story ends, with a befuddled

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Samuel, a tasty cake, and one very happy newlywed woman who was ingenious in her method of fulfilling

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the promise she made to her first husband in order to tie the knot with her second one.

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This story certainly made me chuckle, and I hope it did the same for you. Happy Halloween!

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In the late twelfth century, in Japan, a civil war was fought between the Heiké, or Taira

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clan, and the Genji, or Minamoto clan. Its last battle was fought at Dan-no-ura. And

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that sea and shore—so the story goes—have been haunted ever since. On dark nights thousands

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of ghostly fires hover about the beach, or flit above the waves; and, whenever the winds

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are up, a sound of shouting, like the clamor of battle, comes from the sea.

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The restless ghosts would wreck ships and drown swimmers, and to appease them, a Buddhist

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temple was built nearby. A cemetery also was made near the beach; and within it were set

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up monuments inscribed with the names of the drowned emperor and of his great vassals;

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and Buddhist services were regularly performed there, on behalf of the spirits. This put

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an end to the shipwrecks and drownings… but not entirely to the restlessness of the

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ghosts, as the following story makes clear. Some centuries ago, there lived a blind man

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named Hôïchi, who was famed for his skill in recitation and in playing upon the biwa,

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a stringed instrument. At the outset of his career, Hôïchi was very poor; the priest

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of the Buddhist temple near the seashore was fond of poetry and music. Having heard Hôïchi

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play and recite, he invited him to live at the temple, receiving room and board in exchange

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for playing music for the priest… when Hôïchi didn’t have other plans.

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One night the priest was called away to perform a Buddhist service; and he went there with

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his acolyte, leaving Hôïchi alone in the temple. Midnight passed; and the priest did

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not appear. But Hôïchi remained on the verandah, practicing his biwa. At last Hôïchi heard

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steps approaching from the back gate. Somebody crossed the garden and halted in front of

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him—but it was not the priest. A deep voice called the blind man’s name—unceremoniously,

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in the manner of a samurai summoning an inferior. “Hôïchi!”

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“Hai! ” answered Hôïchi, frightened by the menace in the voice,—“I am blind!—I

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cannot know who calls!” “There is nothing to fear,” said the stranger

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more gently. “I have been sent to you with a message. My present lord, a person of exceedingly

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high rank, is staying nearby, with many noble attendants. He wished to view the scene of

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the battle of Dan-no-ura; and having heard of your skill in reciting the story of the

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battle, he now desires to hear your performance: so you will take your biwa and come with me

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at once to the house where the august assembly is waiting.”

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So Hôïchi donned his sandals, took his biwa, and went away with the stranger. The hand

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that guided was iron; and the clank of the warrior’s stride proved him fully armed,

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—probably some palace-guard on duty. Presently the samurai halted; and Hôïchi became aware

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that they had arrived at a large gateway; — and he wondered, for he could not remember

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any large gate in that part of the town. They passed on, and crossed a garden, and the retainer

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cried in a loud voice, “Within there! I have brought Hôïchi.” Then came sounds

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of feet hurrying, and screens sliding, and doors opening, and women speaking. Hôïchi

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could not imagine to what place he had been conducted. A woman’s hand guided

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him along polished planking and over widths of matted floor—into the middle of some

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vast apartment. There he thought that many great people were assembled: the sound of

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the rustling of silk was like the sound of leaves in a forest.

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Hôïchi was told to put himself at ease, and he found a kneeling-cushion ready for

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him. After he had tuned his instrument, he was asked to recite. So Hôïchi lifted up

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his voice, and chanted the chant of the fight on the bitter sea — making his biwa to sound

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like the straining of oars and the rushing of ships, the whirr and the hissing of arrows,

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the shouting and trampling of men, the crashing of steel upon helmets, the plunging of bodies

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in the flood. And to left and right of him, in the pauses of his playing, he could hear

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voices murmuring praise. Then fresh courage came to him, and he played

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and sang yet better than before; and a hush of wonder deepened about him. And when he

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reached the end, with the tragic death of the emperor, all the listeners uttered one

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long, long shuddering cry of anguish; and wept and wailed so loudly and so wildly that

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the blind man was frightened by the violence of the grief that he had made. For much time

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the sobbing and the wailing continued. But gradually the sounds of lamentation died away;

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and at last, a woman’s voice said: “Although we had been assured that you were

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a very skill- ful player upon the biwa, we did not know that anyone could be so skillful

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as you have proved yourself to-night. Our lord intends to bestow upon you a fitting

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reward. But he desires that you shall perform before him once every night for the next six

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nights. To-morrow night, therefore, you are to come here at the same hour. The retainer

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who to-night conducted you will be sent for you. Butspeak to no one of your visits here,

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because our lord is traveling incognito.

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It was almost dawn when Hôïchi returned; but his absence from the temple had not been

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observed, — as the priest, coming back at a very late hour, had supposed him asleep.

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In the middle of the following night the samurai again came for him, Hôïchi gave another

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recitation with the same success that had attended his previous performance. But during

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this second visit his absence from the temple was accidentally discovered; and after his

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return in the morning he was summoned to the presence of the priest, who said:

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“We have been very anxious about you, friend Hôïchi. To go out, blind and alone, at so

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late an hour, is dangerous. Why did you go without telling us? I could have ordered a

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servant to accompany you. And where have you been?”

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Hôïchi said that he had to attend to some private business; and could not arrange the

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matter at any other hour. The priest felt this to be unnatural, and

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suspected something wrong, fearing that the blind lad had been bewitched.

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He did not ask any more questions; but he told the servants of the temple to keep an

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eye on Hôïchi. On the very next night, Hôïchi was seen to leave the temple; and the temple servants

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lighted their lanterns and followed after him. But it was a rainy night, and very dark;

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and before the temple-folks could get to the roadway, Hôïchi had disappeared. Evidently,

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he had walked very fast —a strange thing, considering his blindness. The men hurried

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through the streets, making inquiries; but nobody could give them any news. At last,

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as they were returning to the temple by way of the shore, they were startled by the sound

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of a biwa being played in the cemetery. There the men discovered Hôïchi —sitting alone

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in the rain in front of the emperor’s tomb, chanting the chant of the battle of Dan-no-ura.

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And around him, and everywhere above the tombs, the fires of the dead were burning, like

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candles. So, the moral of this story, dear listeners, is that sometimes even ghosts want to hear

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a good ghost story.

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Hello, Footnoting History friends, it’s Kristin – back again with some more spooky

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stuff for you. A little while ago, I mentioned Kate and Margaret Fox – aka the Fox sisters

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– in my spirit photography episode. I didn’t get to tell you much about them, then, but

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Halloween seems like a good time to tell you a bit more of the story of their first contact

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with the spirit world. Alleged contact with the spirit world. Because there were some

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recantations of their claims and then recantations of the recantations and well … here we go.

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So, Kate and Margaret were the younger daughters of the Fox family who lived in Hydesville,

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NY, which is in the Rochester area. They were young – I’ve read various versions of

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their ages, but Kate was about 11 and Margaret was about 14 – when, in 1848, they claimed

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they heard soft tapping from the floor and walls of their bedroom. It took some convincing

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but eventually their siblings and parents agreed that they heard something too – only

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they couldn’t figure out where the noises were coming from. The taps got louder, the

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house started shaking, and there even seemed to be someone walking around in the pantry.

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So, creepy stuff.

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Their mom was pretty freaked out, and Kate and Margaret decided to try to talk to whatever

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spirit was obviously behind these disturbances. The two theories are that they had to keep

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the prank going or they’d get in some real trouble – or it was no prank. Kate and Margaret

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asked who the spirit was and what they were doing there. And they got some answers, via

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more taps and knocks. I guess it was like a ghost morse code or something. The spirit

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revealed that he was a he – a 31-year-old man who had five children (3 sons, 2 daughters)

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and he had been murdered in the house a year before. Oh, and he was buried in their cellar,

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10 feet under. The sisters identified the phantom house knocker as Mr. Splitfoot, a

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traveling salesman who had been murdered with a butcher’s knife.

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Soon the neighbors were hearing about the ghostly-goings-on at the Fox household – because

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they were actively told. And the floodgates were opened, and people started coming to

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the house and witnessing Kate and Margaret talk to spirits. Mr. Splitfoot had to share

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the spotlight. People wanted to hear from their dead relatives and the Fox sisters did

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not disappoint. Their older sister, a 30-something divorcee named Leah, made it her job to be

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the sisters’ agent and started booking them for public demonstrations. Their debut appearance

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was in 1849 at Corinthian Hall in Rochester – and about 400 people paid to see them

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do their thing. And that was just the start – they went to New York City, Philadelphia,

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St. Louis, Washington, D.C. and The Cleve (Cleveland, OH). They went all over. They

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were wildly successful and many historians credit them with sparking off the American

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Spiritualist movement – a diffuse belief system that held, among other things, that

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the living could communicate with the dead. A lot of 19th century people were eager to

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accept this as a possibility. A lot of people wanted to talk to their dead relatives. And

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the Fox sisters’ success inspired other mediums to emerge and things just kept getting

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bigger. I mean, not everyone bought what the Foxes were selling, so to speak. There were plenty

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of skeptics who did not believe in talking to ghosts – and Scientific American called

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the Foxes the “Spiritualist Knockers from Rochester.” Which, I just love. The magazine

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would go on in later years to offer $5,000 to anyone who could sufficiently convince

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a panel of Harvard and MIT guys – and Harry Houdini – that psychics like the Foxes were

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legit and … lets just say no one got that money. And yes, Harry Houdini, the famed illusionist,

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was a huge skeptic of this stuff. He knew a thing or two about creating illusions, and

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he had a sort of side-vocation of debunking mediums and psychics.

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As for Kate and Margaret … well, Kate went to England in 1871 and married an English

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barrister who was pretty into the Spiritualist thing, and Kate had a steady séance business

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for a time. Eventually, Kate was widowed and left with two small children, and she had

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developed a drinking problem. As for Margaret, she met a man named Elisha Kane, in 1852;

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he was a Navy man and Arctic explorer, and he was actually pretty skeptical of Margaret

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even though he was just utterly charmed by her. He kind of made it his mission to rehabilitate

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her. His plan sort of worked – she left the medium circuit, went to school, and married

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him in 1857. When he died, she converted to Catholicism, started drinking too, and by

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some counts, dipped her toe back into Spiritualism. In 1888, she gave an interview in the New

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York World where she confessed that she and Kate had made it all up. Those knocks? They

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were the sisters cracking their joints. Margaret demonstrated how she did it. This was right

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before a much-anticipated Fox sister appearance at the New York Academy of Music. Kate was

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in the audience. Historians speculate that perhaps they were both pissed at their older

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sister, Leah, who was telling people that Kate was unfit to care for her children because

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of all the drinking. People were floored. People cheered that they knew they were fakes all along and Spiritualism

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was a bunch of crap. And people who had believed in them still continued to believe.

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A year later, Margaret recanted her confession. She said she made up that she had made it

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up. No one quite knows why, maybe she really did just do it to get back at her older sister,

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maybe it was the residual influence of her late husband, maybe she missed the business

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and the fame. Could be a lot of things. Both sisters would die a few years later in New

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York City – Kate in 1892 and Margaret in 1893. The final twist to this story is that,

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years later, in 1904, when some kids were playing in the ruins of the Hydesville house

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– known locally and affectionately as “the Spook House” – they found some bones in

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the cellar, behind a crumbling wall. A doctor confirmed that the bones were about 50 years

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old … about as old as Mr. Splitfoot would have been when he started his ghostly knocking

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(or, you know, didn’t). Later examination of the bones determined that some were chicken

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bones but … there were a few other “odds and ends” and “a few ribs” so … maybe

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someone was trying to make contact from the other side. Maybe Mr. Splitfoot had something

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to say and the Fox sisters helped him say it. I do know one thing: it makes for a perfectly

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creepy story. Stay safe and stay spooky, Footnoters. And Happy Halloween!