Credit for much of this story goes to the town of Manitou Springs, Colorado, where real events provided the basis for the story below.
It really was a dark and stormy night. The entire summer of 1990 seemed to be extra harsh on the community. Temps were higher than normal, a brush fire ignited at a local campground destroying nearly 30 square miles of forest in the National Park just to the west. Torrential rains dumped throughout the region for most of August to the point that roads and basements alike were flooding regularly. All were hoping for the rain would stop soon, and generally get a break, but reports were disheartening with forecasters predicting more of the same for another week or so.
The Chief of Police grew up in town and would join his staff as they made their rounds. These days, he would use an old truck just big enough to get through the flooded Main Street. Andrew Proctor had been on the force going on 15 years, and Chief for the past two, taking reins when Rick Kline finally retired.
Rick had grown up in the community, much like Andrew did, joined the Springfield’s police force soon after graduating high school, becoming Chief just before his 35th birthday and staying in that role another 25 years. Rick’s roots in town ran deep. Several of his forefathers helped found the community in the early 1800’s, with men working primarily in farming, poultry, and the lumber mill in the next town over. The women tended to be teachers and homemakers, with the occasional secretary after their kids were grown.
It was hard to see Rick finally retire, but he seemed happy. He had been a mentor to Andrew for from the time he was just a kid. Andrew found himself in trouble quite a bit growing up, with Chief Kline pulling him out of more than a few sticky situations, a couple of which could have been dire if they had gone much further.
But Chief Kline saw potential in Andrew, took a liking to him, and helped when he could, stepping in as a surrogate when Andrew’s father passed away. It was Chief Kline that eventually gave him a chance with the force, and from there, Andrew has continued to grow. He never imagined becoming Chief himself. Andrew had been offered a position with the State Patrol about the time Chief Kline nominated him for the role but didn’t have the heart to take the State job when Chief Kline brought it up.
Andrew thought about that conversation with Chief Kline, and many others they had over the years. Those conversations, along with many other experiences growing up and, on the force, prepared him for just about everything that came his way. But this evening was different. With everything that generally occurred during a storm … trees down, power out, the occasional accident, or stranded driver … this one was unique. Nobody had ever called about a runaway casket now resting in the middle of Main Street.
A casket? A casket! Several drunks were leaving the bar off the north end of Main during the storm saw the casket come floating down Ruxton Ave. They watched it go with the flow make a right on Main and continue for about a hundred yards before stopping in front of the ice cream shop. Oddly, the funeral home wasn’t missing one. The hospital’s morgue wasn’t missing any either. So where did it come from? It would take a little time, but Chief Proctor would eventually find out.
On the bright side, could you imagine what was going through the minds of those drunks was they watched the casket floating down the road? The driver of the cab the drunks hailed saw it too. Being the only one sober at the time, probably had the biggest laugh of all involved!
Once the coroner was involved, and the police finished their investigation, it was determined that the casket was occupied by the late Heather Smythe. Heather was the daughter of Roger and Sara Smythe who moved to town in the late 1880’s. The Smythe’s were fairly well off and quickly become pillars of the community. Unfortunately, young Miss Crawford had been stricken with tuberculosis and was told she’d be lucky to see her 20th birthday.
Heather was also quite pretty, outgoing, and had a talent for music, especially the piano. So once the Smythe’s settled down, it didn’t take long for the young men to notice. The young Miss Smythe loved the attention her male audience provided, but also realized her life was to be cut short, and politely turned away any potential long-term suitor. She couldn’t imagine someone becoming a widower at a young age themselves.
Well, except for one. There was the young Jacob Brown, a handsome, talented, and suave young man in his own right, was so smitten with Miss Smythe that he couldn’t stay away and refused to take no for an answer. After nearly a year of pursuit, Jacob convinced Heather to marry. Unfortunately, that marriage would never occur. In early August 1905, Miss Heather Smythe succumbed to her illness. It was just a couple of weeks prior to the wedding.
After her passing, those closest to her would recall how much she loved the view outside her bedroom window. Her view of Red Mountain and the way the suns setting light was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. She hoped to be buried at the summit so she could watch the sun set forevermore. And that is exactly what happened!
Jacob, along with several of his closest friends, her family, and Pastor in tow, carried Heather and her casket to the top of Red Mountain. They proceeded to dig a grave and held a funeral right there! Afterwards, the crowd watched the sun set once more with the late Heather Smythe before making the trek back down.
That site on the top of Red Mountain remained a sacred part of local lore for years. Many would pass one version of the story or another from one generation to the next. Those who knew Heather and her widowed fiancé would regularly gaze at Red Mountain from below, remembering her pain, her dreams, and the love the two shared.
Elements would take their toll on that poorly dug grave. And during that fateful storm some 85 years later, the late Heather Smythe decided to resurface, and pay a visit to the town below! But this time, reinterred in the town’s cemetery, where not only could she watch the sun set over her beloved Red Mountain, but enjoy the company of those who decided to stop by.
And for those drunks who witnessed her casket sail down the street … they would continue to meet regularly at the same local bar, until they came to an odd drunken decision, just a year after that dark stormy night. They determined the city cemetery was NOT where she should remain, scoured the neighborhood for shovels, picks, and anything else with which they could dig, exhumed poor Ms Smythe and return it to the top of Red Mountain where she belonged!
Once her casket resurfaced a second time, the drunks proceeded to carry her back up main, make a left on Ruxton, and tried to reinter her in someone’s front yard, just 50 yards up Ruxton! Chief Proctor wasn’t on shift that evening responded to the scene when he received the call, and could only laugh at what had taken place! Who else would think of pulling a stunt like that?! Leaving a mess to be cleaned, the destruction of two plots of land they didn’t own, and poor Miss Smythe had to be interred for a third time.
If she only knew …..
