The Coroners Ghost

The High Back Chairs at the Top of The Stairs

I know of two gruesome events where my path had crossed. My college town Fraternity House was supposedly haunted by a Clinton County Coroner who committed suicide. In my home town, A Boy Scout leader whom I knew was stabbed to death by two men he had abused when they were boys. Another is a railroad worker ghost with a lantern in Hacketstown, NJ that is documented in one of the Weird NJ publications. I suspect this last one is a phenomenon – one I did see, but that is very likely an optical illusion. The first two are real stories.

I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts, but I strongly believe that humans are sensitive and can feel something that happened at some place at some time in history. Pearl Harbor and Gettysburg are two most famous – and several in Europe attributed to WWI and WWII.

On a less Gothic note, when I visited Stuttgart, Zurich, London and Devon in the UK, I could feel that my ancestors had been there. No apparitions, just this sensitivity of something spiritual I suppose. These were very good feelings, almost like my ancestors appreciated that I thought of them and made a concerted effort to seek out their “old haunts”. And I guess just getting the good vibes is all that really matters.

There is a room
At the top of the stairs
A dining room table 
With High Back Chairs

Its in a house 
That no longer exists
Bulldozed down
In a dreary mist

87 Susquehanna
Lock Haven, PA
Fraternity Home
Phi Mu Delta Days

The entire town
Has a haunting chill
That runs through the river
And up through the hills

Nothing there
Lasts very long
All of its businesses
Seem to have come and gone

One fateful night
The farmhouse owner
Shot himself
He was a Coroner

He had an affair
With an under aged girl
The things made of legend
That make your blood curl

Filled with such shame 
And tortured remorse
Out in his work shed
His shotgun blast force

Shot in the head
A terrible scene
Gruesome sad story
Now its serene

Since that occurrence
That farmhouse did reek
A vinegary smell
When the floors creaked

The house is no longer
On that sad hill
A new parking lot
Seemingly still

But late at night
Once a year
A shot rings out
That's heard loud and clear

The students who park there
Assume its back fire
Engine trouble
Maybe a tire

But those of us
Know this sad Columberia
Of Leo the Coroner
Mors Volunteria
Leo the Coroner

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