Hauntings of August Eve

Creeping up the south eastern coast line, Hurricane Ernesto had introduced dark low lying clouds and cooler temperatures more befitting a New England coastal town than a southern city. Rain dimpled the puddles that had collected on the streets as I huddled next to the brick front of the bookstore to avoid being soaked by the passing cars. Gust of wind cleansed the air of the heavy seared steak smell emanating from the Lone Star Steak House around the corner and whipped the smoke from my cigarette. The awning that protected me from the rain popped like a wet towel and complained of the visiting wind.

As the windshield wipers slapped back the rain, the wife and I decided tonight would be the perfect night for soup and baked apples. I had hoped that we might find pumpkins at the local grocery store for some pumpkin stew, but it’s still too early in the season so we settled on Rosemary Chicken soup in a sourdough bowl and some white wine. Pumpkin stew would have to wait.

The wind is continued to pick up and by the time we arrived home, the scene was very reminiscent of the early stages of Hurricane Ivan in Pensacola Florida and the windows rattled and the house creaked as it was assaulted by the storm.

Our stomachs warmed, the aroma of baked apples filling the house and the skies murky, the mood was never so ripe for ghost stories, and so we lit a fire in the fireplace, prepared some homemade hot chocolate and assembled for some tales that were sure to have my son asking random trivial questions on bizarre subjects. I’ve always been enthralled with ghost stories, whether told by the fireplace on nights like tonight, or surrounding a campfire in the middle of the woods. Not the gory Texas Chainsaw Massacre type of stories, but the ghouls and goons variety that typify the lore and legend of days gone by. The Legend of Sleepy Hallow comes to mind and stories of vampires and werewolves.

My fascination extends beyond the nighttime attraction and well into the daylight hours where, feeling adventuresome, we travel to some of the local places of myths. One such place is Bunnyman’s Bridge in Fairfax County.

According to local lore, the location was the scene of a bus wreck; the bus was described to be transporting inmates from a D.C. insane asylum, which was being closed due to budgetary cuts, to a new local facility. Once word reached the officials about the accident, they set out on a manhunt to round up escaped patients. By nightfall, all but two inmates had been found and transported to the asylum.

Reportedly residents began finding dead rabbits around the bridge, apparently food for the two inmates that remained at large and although law enforcement continued to search for the fugatives, other than the dead rabbits, no trace was found until one day one of the missing patients was found hanging from the bridge, murdered by his fellow runaway. This is the local legend that gave the bridge its name.

While as legends go the story is obviously fabricated, there were no reported asylums for the insane in that area or recorded accidents, the designation of the bridge might also be attributed to a documented incident that occurred in the 1940’s where law enforcement officers responded to a call regarding a man dressed in a Halloween bunny suit and throwing hatchets at passing cars from the trestle.

A good tale and an excellent afternoon outing to visit the locale of local folklore and the memories used to spin our own good yarns in front of a fire on a blustery August evening.