The Last Survivor

   The Last Survivor

November, 1860 Suzanne Marsh

The cold moonless night brought the two emaciated figures to a small gray stone house; a single candle burned in the window. The taller of the two figures rapped on the door two raps, then waited for three raps then waited, once again two raps. Cautiously the white front door opened, and a small voice waited for a password: “freedom”. Sarah Harris clad in her night dress motioned the two figures into the living area. The faces peered at her praying she would aid them in their flight from the Maryland plantation they had fled. Sarah quickly motioned them to stand away from the braided rug as she opened the floorboards to a hidden room. The dark brown eyes thanked her as she closed the door, placing the rug back over the trap door. She knew they would be spending at least several weeks until a conductor could be found to take them to Canada. There was little chance that slave hunters would come to the stone house, it was well hidden in the brush that overtook the land years before.

The hounds began to howl as the slave patrol grew near, Sarah knew the slave catchers or worse slave patrols were in the area, she just hoped they would not notice the small stone house. This had been her home along with her sister Mary, since both their parents were killed years ago by the Iroquois. Sarah hated the thought of one human being belonging to another, so she became a conductor, she had also hidden slaves before. The hound's howling was becoming louder as Sarah prepared for the slave patrol. She could hear the hooves pounding on the road. Sarah wore a calico dress, she draped a white shawl over her shoulders as she waited for the knock on the door. She opened the door just a crack, a revolver in her right hand as she motioned her sister Mary to go out the back and hid in the brush until she came to get her. They had gone over this plan several times to be sure.

“What do you want? This is my home, you have no right to be here. Get out!” The shoddy-looking man with bad teeth smiled:

“Sorry we are lookin fer two runaway slaves, you seen anybody around here as of two days

ago?”

Sarah pointed the revolver in the man’s face:

“I ain’t seen anyone, now if you want me to shoot you I can do that real easy.” The man not wishing to aggravate her motioned the other two to leave. He gave her a leer then left, Sarah sighed a sigh of relief, at least for a moment.

Two days later Sarah hitched up two mules to an old covered wagon with straw piled high to hide the slaves she was moving to the next stop on the underground railroad situated closer to the Niagara River and freedom. The wagon lurched as the mules moved, there was a loud crack, and Sarah felt a sharp pain in her back. She could not allow the two slaves to be captured, if they were her effort to help would be in vain. Blood was beginning to show on her calico dress, and her head began to swim as she toppled off the wagon onto the dirt road. The two slaves hidden in the straw did not make a sound. One of the men began poking around in the straw when he found nothing he motioned the leader there was no one on the wagon except the young woman they had just killed. They felt no remorse, it was part of their job.

November, 1960

The white-haired old woman hid behind the green velvet curtains, time had not been kind to her. She owned the old stone house, she was the last survivor of the Harris family and owned the stone house for almost one hundred and twenty-five years. She preferred that people believe the house was haunted, so no one would realize she was there. She hid in the room under the rug, where she had hidden as a small child. She watched as the two children turned to see the slight movement of the curtains:

“Hey, do you suppose that house really is haunted?”

“There are such things as ghosts or haunting think about it logically.”

They moved on past the old stone house:

“You know I really would like to get a look inside, no one has lived there for years.”

“Oh, really then why did that curtain just move?”

“You have a wild imagination, you know that!”

They continued on their way home from school and decided to visit the old house late at night, maybe even catch a ghost.

Friday night the two girls waited patiently, they both snuck out at around eleven o’clock. They strode toward the old gray stone house, but abruptly stopped, there in the window a single candle burned. This made no sense to them, they began trying windows, if there was one unlatched they would find it and enter the old house.

The girls had seen the old woman outside raking leaves but did not consider that she had secrets that could cause them trouble if they intruded. Kathy found a window ajar so they snuck in. They stood in a kitchen that seemed to have stepped out of another age, it was a wood-burning stove with a huge tea kettle sitting on one of the closed burners. The girls explored the kitchen; and then heard ghostly groans from inside the house.

Things were alive in this old house, they were almost to the window when a kerosene lantern lighted the kitchen, there stood the old white hair woman, a rolling pin in her hands:

“What in the name of Sam Hill; are you two doing bustin into my house? I have a good mind

to call the cops. You ain’t got no right to come in here. You two got any idea of who I am?

For all you know, I could be a murderer, but I am not. I am a widow with no one to care

about me.”

The girls apologized, and then they heard the moan again:

“What was that noise? We heard it when we first slipped in the window. It ain’t Halloween.”

The old woman motioned them to follow her, there in the living area she moved an old braided rug aside, then pulled open the trap door:

“This house belonging to my daddy was on the underground railroad. The moans are

those slaves hungry and cold, waiting to leave for the next safe house. My sister Sarah

was shot and killed by a slave patrol, I hid in the brush, and I saw them shoot her in the back.

The slaves she was transporting made it safe to Canada. I have been here all my life

this old house is haunted. Sarah moans as she lay dyin in the road, the sounds of horses

hooves, it’s all here. Now you know the secret of my stone house, please keep it a secret. I am

the last surviving Harris.