Work Text:
October 31, 1955
John Lennon approached the old bridge, just through a small bit of woods, outside of town. The old Smith-Hollow bridge was built on what some called, Madman’s ledge, even though the wooden structure balanced over a short drop into a shallow creek. Rather dramatic, but the young man found this to be a common trait among his elders. This area had been a regular passageway for thousands of years, going back to pre-christian tribes. It had a long history, but with new roads and drainage, the bridge that was rebuilt in the 1880s last, had become less practical and rarely used after the 1920s.
Now old, and not in the greatest condition, the bridge was really more of an aesthetic than a necessity at this point. However, with the exception of a few loose boards that the locals patched up, the path remained steady, so far. The creek would feed the old town well before plumbing, and now this spot was more decorative than practical, like the barrier across it. People came out of their way from the street to go a little further through a patch of the woods to exercise or simply to commune with nature, in the mostly urban town.
“Years ago,” John’s mother Julia had explained to the future Beatle, while they had one of their strolls together, “… that creek would swell deep during the heavy rains, until they installed the new sewer system.” She told her only son this fact on a beautiful sunny afternoon in mid summer. This was when the landscape was bright and colorful. You could see little lavender flowers growing wildly in the tall grass as the water trickled down nicely, while day time animals would run across the trails.
However, that bridge had a dark history. According to local legend, more than fifty years ago, a mad woman named Louise Smith drowned her four children and herself in the creek during a grand storm. Only three of the bodies were found and were buried in the cemetery in view of the bridge. However, Louise and her youngest baby Stephen were never found. That was the local youth’s explanation to why there were only the three names on the Smith family stone. Robert D., Benjamin A., and Mary C., but no Louise or Stephen. Well, that’s what he heard from the other school children, but the adults had a more conservative take on the story.
Some said Louise’s children had all died in infancy and it’s believed after she found her most recent child Stephen dead, she took his body to the creek and just killed herself. Other say Stephen was a stillborn and she killed herself right after giving birth. Though John’s grandfather, who was a young man at the time, insisted that was her first child Robert who was the only one stillborn and she lived to have three more children. The story of the fated woman and her unfortunate children had become a bleak tale among the town folks, but it was mostly light gossip. It was only rekindled when the woman’s surviving husband recently died.
Arnold Smith was the town drunk and was a nuisance to his own society. People weren’t too sympathetic towards the man who lost his wife and four children. By all accounts he was cruel to Louise and unsympathetic about her loosing her babies. Talks of miscarriages were also spoken about, along with tales that the husband caused them. Regardless if that were true or not, the man was openly blamed for his family’s demise. Women claimed he drove Louise mad, and that’s why she killed her children. Men called him a coward and failure of a father. Old man Smith never argued with his critic’s and just took further refuge in the bottle. He did that everyday until he finally drank himself to death. Even though it was well recorded in the paper that old man Smith’s body was found in the room the drunk had been renting most of his life, stories were already circulating that his bloated roughed up corpse was found in this very spot that John was standing.
On the bridge that had so many wild tales, but nothing confirmed. People say on Halloween, or midnight on any given night, the ghost of the ill fated woman and her children could be seen. So, fifteen-year-old John Lennon wanted to find out for sure. That’s why he was here on Halloween before midnight and planned to stay for at least an hour, as to see if there really were ghosts. There were lots of sightings in the area. Some people would say it’s just Louise crying for her children. Others say they just see her daughter Mary, who some say was the oldest child or second youngest, the stories always conflicted. Other witnesses came forward claiming to see all five together. John’s grandfather insisted those sightings were rubbish! He knew Louise and recalled all her children. It was just a sad story, the old man insisted.
Stephen was the confirmed youngest baby according to all accounts. Everyone agreed with that and there were records too, though the teenager never thought about looking at them. Little was said about the other two children. Virtually no one talked about Benjamin and very little about Robert. There was a picture with Louise and her daughter hung up at the church John attended with his aunt, in which the Smith family were members. This is likely why the two female characters in this myth remained fresh in people’s minds.
John used to study that picture after hearing the story. The murderous mother was a frightening thought. Lennon knew he was so fortunate to have Julia, while still given the advantages of a better life with his aunt. In a way, he had the best of both worlds. Even though he long to live with his mother, his aunt gave him a more stable environment and he both resented and appreciated it at the same time. This mad ghost woman intrigued the youth, who had such conflicting female role models in his life.
So tonight, he would find out if the legends were true. Would he see Louise, her daughter Mary or will all five of the apparitions appear to him together? He didn’t know, so he leaned forward against the rail and lit a fag as he waited. After some time, the young man lit a match to check his watch. It was almost midnight. Quietly, he waited, listening attentively to see what would happen. Midnight came, with another cigarette, so not to waste a perfectly good match. Still nothing but quiet.
Feeling bored and rather frustrated, John sat down and leaned against the post of the rail. Closing his eyes, John could hear an owl hoot near by, but no woman crying, so he didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he relaxed and day dreamed about fucking different girls he had seen that day. God, he began regretting not just hooking up tonight with some slut, but he could do that any night, only tonight would he be able to fully test the lore. Then feeling his dick stirred at the thought of one of his classmates riding his lap, when he heard a woman’s voice.
“Well, that seems like a pleasant dream.” The feminine sound said. Right before opening his eyes, Lennon saw an image of an exquisite red-headed woman, but opening his eyes, he saw no one else was there. Queer, but no big deal. He sat and waited but nothing happened. The owl came back, it’s hooting could be heard quite clearly. The carnivorous bird was definitely close, but no ghost. The lad was disappointed, but not surprised. Just another bullshit story from Liverpool!
Looking at his watch, it was almost one. He decided enough was enough and it was time to go home. Maybe he’d catch the end of a party and find a quick hookup. Then suddenly a noise came from a bush.
“Louise?” he called out to the apparition. However, no ghost appeared, but a long-haired white cat walked from the shrubs. It was a beautiful creature and John being a feline friend called it over. The creature noticed him and didn’t seem startled. It may be a stray, but clearly trusted people. Gracefully the beast made it's way to the lad and butted his hand for the mandatory massage, obligated to be performed on all demanding cats. Naturally the cat lover complied. Lennon stroked the animals back and along her puffy white tail. She even hopped on his lap and nudged his face, before curling into his warm lap for a nap.
“I see my cat likes you.” A mans voice protruded from the darkness. This startled Lennon who almost leapt from his spot. “Oh, don’t get up my boy. I wouldn’t want you to disturb Curiosity.” It was then a short old man appeared, with white hair and hand stitched clothes.
“Curiosity?” John asked, then he realized that was the cat’s name. “Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?”
“Which is why I’d rather she be a cat killer than be killed herself.” The elder teased causing the teenager to laugh.
“That does make sense.” The youth agreed, affectionately petting the animal.
“Curiosity,” the man began. “Despite her name, is rather a good judge of character. She likes you.” John smiled; she wasn’t the kind of pussy he was thinking about, but he had to appreciate the irony as her purring vibrated his pants.
“Yeah, cat’s follow me everywhere I go.” Lennon admitted.
“That’s good.” The elder assured. “Animals know who will be good to them.” Then the white-haired man in simple clothes gave the lad a look over. “Why are you out so late?” John felt a little embarrassed. Chasing ghosts at his age was kind of silly, but he couldn’t come up with a lie, so he admitted the truth.
“I wanted to see if this bridge was really haunted.” He confessed sheepishly. The old man laughed upon hearing such an adventure.
“Ah, you brave lad!” The stranger announced. “Are you seeking to see the ancient priestess?”
“Priestess?” John questioned. He never heard that story.
“Ah yes, the warrior priestess who died defending her tribe here.” The man told his tale. “This creek ran red with the blood of the fallen.” He continued as if he were there himself. “During that time the bridge was just a log.” Then the elder realized how strange he was sounding. “Well, tell me, who was it you were hoping to see?”
“Louise Smith.” The teddy boy replied.
“Ah yes Mary.” The man said calling the woman by a different name.
“Wasn’t Mary her daughter? “The young man inquired.
“That Mary rest there.” The short arm pointed a stubby finger at the iron cemetery gates.
“Then why did you call her Mary? “John wanted to know.
“Because that is what she is now called.” The mouth under the white mop told him.
“But didn’t she and her children drown in this creek during a storm?” Lennon asked. The man laughed.
“Of course not!” the older person replied. “My boy, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”
“Well, that’s what people say.” The teenager answered.
“I would imagine people would make up such stories,” the elder acknowledged. “…but think on it my boy. For a woman desperate to save her last child, would she kill it and herself, or would she run away?”
“Me aunt says Louise ran off to Germany to be with another man.” John remarked. “Me uncle used to argue she went to Spain where her cousin who had married a man from there.” The man just shook his head with a chuckle.
“Well, those tales are better but still wrong.” The short older person pointed out.
“Then what happened? “The young man was curious.
“She ran away and had a new life, with her youngest son.” The cat owner explained. “Mary is old now and her youngest son is a man.”
“She’s still alive? “John was surprised.
“For now.” The old man replied. “She’s up in age.”
“Where did she go? “The boy inquired.
“Far away.” The elder answered. Then the cat leapt from Lennon’s lap. “Well, that’s Curiosity’s way of telling you it’s time to go.”
“I guess you’re right.” The youth agreed as he stood up. He turned around to stretch, but to also look down at the darkness beneath the bridge. It was so dark, how he could be expected to see a ghost in this blackness was ridiculous. Returning to face his elder and thank him and his cat for the company, John found himself alone. “Sir?” Lennon cried out. The old man and his cat were gone. The owl had returned, as it’s hooting began again. Then the white bird perched at the end of the bridge. It was incredible, but came with the feeling of being watched. In the darkness all around him, John could feel eyes upon him. Accepting he was done with ghost hunting and spooked by this bridge the youth ran back to the road, seeking refuge in the street lamps light.
When the lad was out of sight, the owl leapt from it’s post and transformed into a beautiful redhead woman dressed in Celtic warrior garb. The old man stood beside her.
“Mortals believe such strange tales.” The red-haired apparition noted.
“Indeed, they do.” The old man agreed. “Isn’t that right Curiosity? “The aged faced asked the white cat that walked between his legs to be in the front. In a puff of white smoke, the cat was no more, and a white-haired old woman with milky eyes, stood before the pair.
“Almost as wild as the real thing.” The cat lady replied and with that, the spirits disappeared.