Mythical Monday: Spring Heel Jack by Mae Clair

Posted on June 10, 2013 by Mae Clair

For today’s Mythical Monday, I’m visiting an era steeped in gas lanterns, cobbled streets, carriages, and gentleman callers in top hats.

Enter Spring Heel Jack, a macabre phantom who terrorized the English countryside in the 19^th century. First sighted in 1837, he gained notoriety during the height of the Victorian era.

This maniacal creature was described as a tall, thin man with powerful bony fingers resembling claws. He favored the appearance of a strolling actor or opera-goer, usually spotted wearing a long flowing cloak. Beneath, his clothes were tight-fitting and of a material that several witnesses said resembled white oil skin.

His name was earned from the springs he attached to his boots which enabled him to leap great distances and hop towering eight-foot high walls. A tall metallic helmet and a small lantern strapped to his chest completed his bizarre outfit. Some reports say he breathed blue and white flame, others that he had a devil appearance and eyes that resembled red balls of fire.

In all instances Jack seemed set on terrorizing those he came in contact with, usually preying on females.

On February 19, 1838, eighteen-year-old Jane Alsop was attacked by Jack when she answered the front door of her home after being summed by the violent ringing of the bell. The man who waited on the threshold demanded a lantern, snapping, “For God’s sake bring me a light for we have caught Spring Heel Jack here in the lane.”

When Jane gave the man a candle, he tossed his cloak aside and applied the flame to his breast, “vomiting forth a quantity of blue and white flame from his mouth.” The man seized Jane and began tearing her dress with claws she reported as being metallic in nature. She managed to get away from him and was later rescued by one of her sisters but suffered scratches to her shoulders and neck. Her assailant even ripped out a length of her hair.

By Penny Dreadful Newspaper (Penny Dreadful Paper 1838) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Eight days later, eighteen-year-old Lucy Scales and her sister were passing Green Dragon Alley in Old Ford when a man in a large cloak stepped into their path. He squirted blue flame into Lucy’s face, temporarily blinding her. Unable to see, she fell to the ground and was overcome by a violent fit which continued for several hours. Lucy’s sister said their attacker had a gentlemanly appearance, wore a large cloak and carried a small lantern.

Jack made several notable appearances during the 1870s, including one where he was shot at by a soldier on guard duty. The bullets had no effect on him and he disappeared into the darkness with “astonishing bounds.” As his exploits spread, he became a popular subject for newspapers, “penny dreadfuls” and small theatre.

Despite his infamy, some believe Jack was nothing more than a myth given birth by a culture prone to embrace folklore of faeries and impish creatures. Others believe he was the product of mass hysteria and hallucination. Still others insist there was nothing remotely supernatural about him – that he was a disturbed man with a ghoulish sense of humor.

For a time the Marquis of Waterford, an Irish nobleman was considered a prime suspect. An aristocrat who’d had numerous run-ins with the police for public brawling, he was a heavy drinker known to have a strong contempt for women.

Spring Heel Jack was never caught and remains a fixture of myth. He has appeared in literature, movies, comics and even video games. Whether man, phantom or demon, he has left his mark in everything from archaic legends to pop culture.

Have you heard of Spring Heel Jack?

Mythical Monday: The HMS Friday, by Mae Clair

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Mae Clair

Hello, everyone, and welcome to another Mythical Monday. I’m still in a nautical frame of mind. :)

Last week, I shared a number of seafaring superstitions. Today, I want to focus on a single belief that spurned an entire urban legend.

Anyone remotely familiar with maritime folklore will tell you it’s considered bad luck to begin a voyage on a Friday. Why? Because bad things happen on a Friday.

Jesus was crucified on Friday, and biblical disasters such as the Great Flood and Adam biting the apple in the Garden of Eden supposedly occurred on a Friday. Whether the latter two are true, the fact remains that Friday is a day to avoid when setting sail.

This belief was so ingrained and so widespread, that in the 19^th century the Royal Navy took drastic steps to dispel it by commissioning a ship named the HMS Friday. The ship’s keel was laid on a Friday and she set sail on her maiden voyage on Friday the 13^th. If that wasn’t enough, she was commanded by Captain James Friday.

All of this Friday-ism would have certainly proved a point had it worked. Unfortunately for Captain Friday, his crew, and his ship, they were never seen or heard from again. *cue eerie music*

Isn’t that great fodder for an urban legend? As it turns out, the tale of the HMS Friday is precisely that – an impressive story for inspiring goose bumps, but without a shred of truth. False or not, it’s an intriguing snippet of maritime folklore I couldn’t resist sharing. It has all the perfect components of an urban legend with just enough what-if leeway to make you wonder.

To close, I’m sharing a snippet from my upcoming contemporary romance/mystery, TWELFTH SUN. In this scene, my heroine, Reagan Cassidy is having breakfast with the novel’s hero, Dr. Elijah Cross, a twenty-five year old marine archeologist who is brilliant, annoying and good-looking. :) Reagan considers their first encounter humiliating, and is still irritated over what happened. At thirty-five, she’s also thrown by Elijah’s age in contrast to his professional achievements. The scene picks up with them discussing the Twelfth Sun, a 19^th century schooner.

~ooOOoo~

“Getting back to the Twelfth Sun,” Elijah continued as if her interruption were of no consequence. “She was built in the 1790’s when Baltimore led the nation in shipbuilding, and came out of Fells Point like most clippers.”

“I thought you said she was a schooner?”

“Pretty much an interchangeable term. The Twelfth Sun was owned by the Wheeler Shipping Company and captained under Samuel Storm. During the war of 1812 she turned privateer and was responsible for single-handedly sinking or capturing ten British vessels. When the war ended, she floundered. The clipper era was on the wane. Changing maritime conditions and economic trends combined to make it almost obsolete.”

Reagan tilted her head. She vaguely recalled her uncle saying something along the same lines. She’d always viewed old sailing ships as poetic, romantic images, but had never taken the time to learn their history.

“Wheeler Shipping fell on hard times and sold to a pair of brothers out of Massachusetts,” Elijah continued. “The Rooks were wealthy, but inexperienced. Samuel Storm stayed on as captain of the Twelfth Sun and continued making cargo runs. In 1836, Chester Rook sent his younger brother Jeremiah along as the shipping company’s onboard representative.”

“The Twelfth Sun sank in 1836.” That much she did know.

Elijah nodded. He eyed her fruit again. “Are you really going to eat that?”

Exasperated, she pushed the plate across the table to him. He grinned broadly and attacked the pieces of cantaloupe, honeydew and pineapple with relish. Munching contentedly, he continued his tale.

“The voyage was doomed from the start. Chester Rook ordered the ship to launch on a Friday in direct opposition to Samuel Storm’s wishes.”

Reagan waited, expecting to learn there’d been a horrible gale or unstable weather conditions.

Elijah simply let the sentence hang.

“So?” she prompted, annoyed by the lapse.

“Friday, Reagan. Anyone familiar with sailing lore knows you never begin a voyage on a Friday. It’s bad luck.”

She bristled. “Ms. Cassidy, please.”

“A little too proper for first names?”

“Just tell me what happened.”

He finished the last of the fruit and drained his coffee. Slumping back in his chair, he folded his arms over his chest and stared at her across the table. The thick black line of his lashes made his eyes intensely blue, as vibrant as cut glass caught in the sun. Dark brown hair curled in long, riotous waves against his collar.

For one unsettling minute, Reagan had the insane desire to lace her fingers through it. Disturbed, she sat straighter and lowered her eyes. She’d always had a weakness for men with tousled, unkempt hair, but so what? Elijah Cross might be good-looking, but he was also a royal pain in the posterior.

~ooOOoo~

I hope you enjoyed my excerpt. TWELFTH SUN doesn’t release until August 5, but I’m getting excited thinking about it! And, although my fictional vessel didn’t vanish like the HMS Friday, the mystery of what happened to her is at the heart of the novel.

Do you find old ships fascinating? What about the legends attached to them? Is there a particular ghost ship or legendary vessel that intrigues you?

Mythical Monday: The Boogeyman and Other Childhood Monsters, by Mae Clair

Posted on March 11, 2013 by Mae Clair

Childhood days are filled with fun, a time of delight and discovery. But children also have vivid imaginations for conjuring the denizens of make-believe. Like most otherworldly elements, the fantastical is inhabited with beings of light and dark.

Most of us remember the boogeyman under the bed, a malevolent creature born from the blood of midnight, dust and shadow. When darkness settled, the boogeyman left its realm, oozing to life through the floorboards beneath a child’s bed. We knew better than to dangle a hand or foot over the edge of the mattress. The temptation was a blatant invitation for the boogeyman to “get us.” Although it was never really clear what that amounted to, we knew it would be terrifying.

Trying to convince an adult of the boogeyman’s existence was pointless. Once a light switch was activated, or a parent peered under the bed to reassure us, the boogeyman retreated, seeping back through the floorboards before it could be spied. Clever and ghastly, it wasn’t the only menacing creature to haunt our bedroom.

Kindred of the boogeyman, the closet monster was every bit as sinister. Like the boogeyman it appeared at night, summoned when a closet door was left standing ajar. That crack, no matter how minuscule, summoned it with the lure of slipping into our world. Shut the closet and the monster would be trapped inside. For all its menacing presence, it was powerless to open the door on its own.

With the closet monster contained and the boogeyman prowling beneath the bed, that left only the dark enchantment born from the night. Wind, moonlight and shadow had the power to turn everyday tree branches into writhing snakes and skeletal fingers. When those same grasping fingers tapped against night-blackened window panes, we knew the danger lurking outside actively sought a way indoors.

In the morning, the touch of sunlight banished all dark creatures to their shadow-draped warrens and we could almost believe the danger wouldn’t return. Almost. In the bright wash of daylight, darkness and the denizens that inhabited its realm held no power.

We rode bikes, raced across open fields, picked wild strawberries and climbed trees. When dusk fell, we danced with fireflies, told ghost stories and played hide-and-seek. Twilight was magical, nothing to fear. But night eventually settled, forcing us to crawl into bed, certain the boogeyman had returned.

Somehow, despite all the ghoulish creatures that wanted to “get us,” we emerged from childhood unscathed. In time, we reached an age where they no longer existed, and ceased to trouble our sleep.

Maybe it’s just me, but dangling my hand over the edge of the bed is something that still gives me pause. Even as logic tells me there is nothing down there, I get that shivery sensation that has me snatching my hand back to safety after a short time. Silly? Yes. But a writer’s imagination is every bit as vivid as a child’s. How about yours?

Bet honest. How comfortable are you dangling a hand or foot over the edge of the bed? What nighttime creatures frightened you in childhood?

Mae Clair’s Mythical Monday: Resurrecting the #Mothman

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Mae Clair

Before I jump into today’s legend, I want to mention I’m also visiting with Sara-Jayne Townsend, sharing a post about fear. And that’s a perfect segue for my Mythical Monday topic.

Even if you don’t live in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, you’ve probably heard of the Mothman. Much like Bigfoot and the Abominable Snowman, this semi-human creature has reportedly been seen by numerous eyewitnesses. Most of the sightings, many documented, occurred during the mid-1960s.

In 1965, a woman told police her son had come in from playing and reported seeing an angel in the yard.

On November 15, 1966, Roger and Linda Scarberry, along with friends Steve and Mary Mallette, were driving toward Point Pleasant when they saw a large white creature, close to seven feet tall, standing on the side of the road. According to the four friends, the being had wings folded behind its back and red eyes that glowed in the darkness. It took to the air and followed their car as they drove. They described it to police as a ‘’flying man with ten foot wings.’’

Newell Partridge also saw the Mothman later that same night. He was watching TV when the screen suddenly went blank and emitted a loud whining noise, like a generator winding up. Outside, his dog Bandit, began howling. Partridge grabbed a flashlight and hurried to investigate.

Shining the beam around, he spied a creature near his barn, its eyes “two red circles which looked like bicycle reflectors.” Bandit raced after the creature while Partridge darted inside to grab a gun. He later told reporters he was certain the creature had not been an animal. It frightened him so baldy, he thought better of returning outside and slept with the gun by his bed throughout the night. In the morning, he discovered Bandit had disappeared. Tracks in the mud indicated his dog had run ‘round and ‘round in a mindless circle, as if chasing his tail.

Two days later, Partridge was reading the local paper when he stumbled over an article detailing what Roger Scarberry, his wife, and friends had witnessed the night Bandit disappeared. Scarberry reported seeing the body of a large dog on the side of the road during their drive into town. When he and the others left, returning by the same route, the body was gone.

Bandit never returned and Partridge never saw the dog again.

The bulk of Mothman sightings occurred from 1966 to 1967. During that period over 100 people reported seeing the creature, most on a tract of land about five miles north of Point Pleasant in an area locally known as the TNT Area. During WWII it was used to store ammunition and is located adjacent to what is now a wildlife management station. Densely forested with steep hills, wetlands and tunnels, it’s a virtual labyrinth of secluded hiding places.

Many believe the Mothman sightings of ’66 and ’67 were an omen of looming catastrophe.

Tragedy struck on the bitterly cold day of December 15, 1967. Rush hour traffic was at its peak when the Silver Bridge connecting Point Pleasant to Kanauga, Ohio, abruptly collapsed. Thirty-one cars fell into the icy waters of the Ohio River, resulting in forty-six deaths. Two of the victims were never found, their bodies forever claimed by the frigid river.

Were the Mothman’s appearances and the collapse of the bridge related?

An eyebar-chain suspension bridge built in 1928 and named for the color of its aluminum paint, the Silver Bridge was not well-maintained and was known to sway in strong winds. The mayor at the time even banned its use during parades. Later analysis revealed the bridge collapse was caused by a small, 0.1 inch defect in a single eyebar—a straight metal bar with a hole at each end for connecting to other bars in the chain.

Scientific and rational scrutiny aside, it’s interesting to note sightings of the Mothman virtually stopped after the Silver Bridge collapse. Had the creature been trying to warn of impending danger?

Skeptics claim the Mothman may have been a sandhill crane, a bird that can reach a height of over three feet, with a six-foot wingspan. Given the wetlands and wildlife refuge nearby that may be a legitimate argument, but cryptozoologists and many residents of Point Pleasant believe otherwise.

If you visit the small town, don’t be surprised by the sight of an imposing stainless steel Mothman statue leering down at you. You can find “Mothy” in downtown Point Pleasant’s Gunn Park, a reminder of the brief span during the 1960s when sightings were rampant. You can also take part in the annual Mothman festival, held every September. Whatever you do, I caution against visiting the TNT Area. Who knows what danger lurks among the concrete munitions igloos and densely treed hillsides?

Harbinger of doom, or messenger sent to warn of danger, the Mothman legend continues today. I’m intrigued by it so much I’m already planning a novel!

Mae Clair’s Mythical Monday: Robert Johnson and the Crossroads

Posted on November 26, 2012 by Mae Clair

There are plenty of mythical beasts and legends to rifle through each Monday, always making it hard to choose just one.

This week I’m going to venture off the beaten trail to resurrect the tale of legendary blues guitarist, Robert Johnson. Step back into the dusty days of the Mississippi delta when folklore and music intertwined. When a hardscrabble existence and a hunger for fame, led a young man to bargain his soul for the trappings of success.

According to legend, Robert Johnson was already a moderately successful blues guitarist when he walked down to the crossroads on a moonless night. At the stroke of midnight he recited an incantation to summon the devil (or Legba, depending on the version of the tale). In exchange for his soul, the devil tuned Johnson’s guitar. From then on Johnson played with amazing skill no other musician could match. When Son House, a friend and mentor to Johnson, was overheard saying “He sold his soul to play like that,” it only served to stoke the fire of superstition.

There was no question Johnson had peculiarities. He lived the life of a nomad, roaming from town to town peddling his music. He had an uncanny ability to pick up tunes at first hearing, and was once taught by a man rumored to have learned music in a church graveyard. He often turned his back to the crowd while playing, but could easily engage a group of listeners. Outgoing in public, he was reserved in private, well-mannered and soft spoken.

Having lost his sixteen-year-old bride and unborn child years before, he became a bit of a womanizer which may have led to his downfall. Legend has it Robert met his end when he drank from an open bottle of whiskey in a juke joint where he’d been playing. Some say a jealous husband poisoned the whiskey with strychnine, others that it was an ex-girlfriend. He suffered convulsions and died three days later. Still others whisper he was shot or stabbed. Whatever the cause, the man who sang “Hellhounds on My Trail” had nowhere left to flee.

Robert Johnson died at the age of twenty-seven on August 16, 1938 not far from a country crossroads in Greenwood, Mississippi.

Among his songs, six mention the devil or something supernatural. “Crossroad Blues” which has been recorded by a number of other musicians is also rumored to carry a curse. Several of those who have recorded, or played it frequently, experienced tragic circumstances–Eric Clapton, The Allman Brothers Band, Lynryd Skynrd, Led Zepplin and Kurt Corbain. I think it speaks volumes that all of these musicians and many others, kept Johnson’s song alive long after his demise.

In 1980 he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986. Perhaps most telling of all, on September 17, 1994, the U.S. Post Office issued a Robert Johnson 29-cent commemorative postage stamp.

For Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues, his legend along with all of its inherent mystery, lives on!