The Unquiet Grave

The Unquiet Grave *, a traditional English folksong, from 1916, is the forerunner to Alan Schwartz story, “Cold as Clay”. This story can be found in his first book, Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark.

This song and story are similar. Both highlight two lovers separated by death. But in the traditional song the woman dies, in Schwartz’s story, the man dies.

In both versions, the dead lover comes back as a ghost.

*  Other variations of this ballad include William and Margaret and Scarborough Fair.

The Unquiet Grave

Cold blows the wind to my true love,
And gently drops the rain,
I never had but one sweetheart,
And greenwood she lies slain.

I'll do as much for my sweetheart
As any young man many;
I'll sit and mourn all on her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.

When the twelvemonth and one day was past,
The ghost began to speak;
Why sittest here all on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?

There's one thing that I want, sweetheart,
There's one thing that I crave,
And that is a kiss from your lilly-white lips
Then I'll go from your grave.

My breast is cold as clay,
My breath smells earthly strong;
And if you kiss my cold clay lips,
Your days they won't be long.

Go fetch me water from the desert,
And blood from out of a stone;
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast
That a young man never had known.

O down in yonder grove sweetheart,
Where you and I would walk,
The first flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk.

The stalk is wither'd and dry, sweetheart,
And the flower will never return;
And since I lost my own sweetheart,
What can I do but mourn?

When shall we meet again, sweetheart,
When shall we meet again?
When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again.

Here is one version of The Unquiet Grave song.

Whereas the song picks up the story after the true love has died, in Alvin Schwartz’s tale, Cold as Clay the backstory for this tragedy is described.

A farmer’s daughter is denied her love and sent to live with relatives. Her male lover dies of a broken heart. The farmer regrets his mistake and cannot tell his daughter her lover has died.

Her lover appears to bring her home. She goes with him, not knowing he is a ghost.

Here is Schwartz’s version.

Rings on Her Fingers

This traditional ghost tale is about a grave robber who digs up a female corpse in order to steal her jewelry.

This modern version, which is often shared with children, is based upon an old English/Irish folktale entitled, The Thievish Sexton.

I share another ghost story in this subset entitled The Golden Arm, here.

A classic popular American version is, The First Snowfall Ghost, which I share here and another English version is The Cripplegate Ghost, which I share here.

All of these versions have the basis premise that a body is dug up in order to rob it of its jewelry. These stories never end well for the “robber” normally pays in some way at the end.

Most versions have the robber having to cut off fingers to steal the jewelry at which point the corpse wakes up—having been mistaken for dead and then buried alive.

In Rings on Her Fingers these traditional elements are included. Alvin Schwartz shares this story in his book, Scary Stories to tell in the Dark. A recording of this story is below.

Here is a shortened version of the story:

Florence Wynsham took ill and fell into a coma. The doctors could do nothing for her and to the grief of her husband she died. He had her buried in a small cemetery at the edge of town—making sure she wore her golden promise and wedding rings

In the middle of the following night a gravedigger entered this cemetery with the express purpose to steal her jewelry.  He carried a lantern and shovel with him.

The dirt around her grave was fresh and soft so it did not take him long to hit the top of her wooden coffin with his shovel. He quickly pried the lid off.

In the moonlight he spotted the sparkling golden rings. He tried to remove them but they were stuck. He decided the only way to retrieve the rings was to cut fingers off the corpse.

He took out his pocketknife and sliced the first finger with it. To his horror the finger started to bleed. He heard a rustling sound and the corpse began to stir.

Suddenly, she sat straight up in the coffin. Terrified, the grave robber dropped his lantern. Now only darkness surrounded him. He felt ten cold fingers encircle his neck.

He screamed and scrambled out of the grave. He blindly ran not caring about the direction as long as it took him away from the coffin.

As he quickened his steps he dared not look back. In the pitch darkness he did not realize he was headed for a steep cliff. He stumbled and fell over this cliff.

He hit the rocks below. The knife he still held pierced his heart as he hit the bottom and he died.

The following is the recording of Alvin Schwartz’ version.

Urban Legend: Killer in the Backseat

Just like ghost stories, urban legends often take on the flavor of the area or region where they are told. I decided to write about “Killer in the Backseat” because it is a good example of how stories morph as they are spread. 

This legend first appeared in the late 1960s and quickly caught on. Urban legends just like folktales most often are circulated by word of mouth but what is unique about this one is that it appeared in a widely syndicated newspaper column in 1982.

One advice column, “Ask Ann Landers” appeared in newspapers across America for 56 years. During this time several woman wrote this column but in 1982 when Ann Landers was at its helm she published a letter sent in by one concerned woman. 

In this letter the woman states that a young female friend of hers experienced a terrifying incident where a car had followed her all the way home. But as it turned out the man who followed her was actually a Good Samaritan because he warned her about an armed and dangerous man who was hidden in the backseat of her car. This letter was represented as being true.

This woman’s story was the urban legend, “Killer in the Backseat”. 

Despite the persistence of this story there are not any documented cases proving it ever actually happened. * Instead it is a cautionary tale that warns women that they must be vigilant about their surroundings. This legend unfortunately is both sexist and sometimes racist. 

The assumption is that that the woman in the scenario is helpless—in all versions she needs a man to save her. In some versions of this story the male who lurks in the backseat is represented as being a minority--often a black man. In this legend this bad man’s unspoken intent is to rape and then murder his victim.

Here is one typical version of this legend:

A woman, who lived in Salt Lake City, was visiting friends in Ogden. When she got in her car to leave it was early in the morning, around 2:00 A.M. She was startled to hear a car engine start up behind her as she drove off. 

There were not many cars on the road so she was surprised to see this car follow her onto the highway. Picking up speed she noticed the car behind kept close on her bumper. Now worried, she slowed down so that the driver behind could pass. But he slowed down as well.

Concerned she picked up speed hoping to leave the other car behind but this car sped up too. After what seemed an eternity, she was relieved to see her exit up ahead. But the car followed her down the exit ramp. 

Frightened now, she ran several red lights but the driver behind did the same. Entering the street that led to her house she started to honk her horn, as she pulled into her driveway her husband hearing ran out.

The car that followed pulled in right after her. Her husband ran passed her car and grabbed the other driver as he stepped from his car. The woman ran toward the two men as her husband slammed the man back against his car. The woman quickly explained, “He followed me all the way from Ogden.” 

As the husband went to hit the man, he managed to blurt out, “As your wife got in her car…I saw a man duck down in her backseat…” The threesome glanced over just as a back door on the wife’s car opened and a man got out and ran down the street.

Despite regional variations of this legend the main story stays the same. One version has the woman stop at a gas station where the attendant lures her away from her car in order to tell her a man is hiding in her backseat. 

In another version the car that follows her keeps turning its headlight brights on and off. As the driver of the car later explains he did this every time the man in the backseat popped up, holding a knife, but the light flooding the car forced him to duck back down. 

Yet an even more violent version involves gang members hiding in a female's car as a part of gang initiations.

Some state this legend is based upon a real news story. 

In 1964, in New York City there was a case of a killer in the backseat of a car. An escaped murderer did hide in the back of a car but in this case ironically the car belonged to a police detective who shot the felon. 

Considering this story does not involve a lone female, it does not happen late at night on a lonely road and it does not have a third person that becomes involved makes it a bad fit.

Alvin Schwartz’s book, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark has a version entitled, “High Beams”. Here is a recording of this story.

Bloody Fingers

One of my favorites ghost stories, "The Ghost with the Bloody Fingers," is one that I shared with students of all ages over the years. 

This story is more fun than scary. Despite the title the story is not gory. My students always loved it. I never used it as a read aloud since it is short enough to just tell. It is not a jump story but it does have a surprise ending.

Stephen Gammell
Illustrated
Schwartz's Books

I first heard it as a young girl scout and then years later I read a version of it in Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. 

I love this story because the main character is a free-spirit 1960’s hippie who just like the family in Oscar Wilde’s The Carterville Ghost is unfazed by the presence of a ghost. I also love it because you can act it out as you tell it.

Another reason I always liked this story is it conveys a useful message—which is that often fears can be conquered by just not taking them too seriously. This message I feel is a great one to impart especially to children.

“The Ghost with the Bloody Fingers” story fits into a classic ghost category—that of a person who is brave enough to stay in a haunted house overnight. 

Many ghost stories from around the world focus upon this theme. Another example of this kind of story is entitled “Wait Until Emmett Comes” a traditional African ghost tale.

The following is my version, which I call “Bloody Fingers.”

There is an old Victorian House in the Eastern part of my state that was converted to an inn several years back. It is off the beaten path, but it gets quite a few guests as it is the last lodging for eighty miles in any direction. 

Because of this many a weary traveler has stayed there for the night. This fact in itself is not unusual but what I am about to tell is.

Because it was a small inn with only six rooms, the house would fill up quickly especially in the summer months. On one such summer evening a weary businessman entered the Inn looking for a room. 
The bored clerk at the welcome desk stared at him.
 "I have no more rooms available."

The businessman not accepting no for an answer persisted. 
“Listen son, I am bone tired do you have a couch or something I can use for couple of hours."
The clerk hesitated. 
“I do have one empty room in the attic but the owner doesn’t like me renting it because it is haunted.”

Relieved, the businessman slapped him on the back. 

“I’ll take it. I don’t believe in ghosts.” 
The man paid, the clerk gave him the key and then he pointed the way. 
“I don’t believe in them either.”

The businessman settled in quickly and climbed into bed grateful that he would be able to get a good night’s sleep. A few minutes later he heard the closet door open with a loud creaking sound. Annoyed he turned toward the closet. To his horror a wispy figure floated out of the closet, it was holding it’s hands outstretched and it was moaning,

“Bloody Fingers, …Bloody Fingers.”

In a panic the man grabbed his car keys and ran.

Several weeks past and then late one night a young women entered the inn. The clerk informed her, “Sorry, lady we don’t have any vacancies.” 
The woman sighed, “I can’t drive another mile.” 
The clerk taking pity on the pretty young woman stated, “Well, I do have one room available but some say it is haunted.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“I am just too tired to care; I will take it.” 

Finding the room neat and tidy the woman forgot about the clerk’s warning. She changed into her pajamas and switched on an old TV set in the corner. She lay down on the bed watching an old black and white movie. She fell asleep leaving the set on.

Awakened moments later she noticed the TV was now off. Hearing a loud creaking sound she came fully awake. She glanced over and noticed the closet door was slowly opening. A transparent figure floated out moaning softly,

“Bloody Fingers, …Bloody Fingers.”

She froze in terror. As the ghost came closer she saw that blood was dripping from its outstretched fingers onto the carpet. It moaned louder,

“Bloody Fingers, …BLOODY FINGERS!”

Gathering her wits she ran from the room. She awakened the clerk and insisted he retrieve her belongings and then she quickly left the inn.

Later that month a violent summer storm hit the area. Rain poured from the sky relentlessly. A young hippie with a long beard, his hair tied back in a ponytail, holding a motorcycle helmet with a peace symbol attached and a guitar case rushed into the inn’s lobby. Water dripped from him as he approached the clerk.

“Man I haven’t seen a storm like this in the desert in years. I need a room so I can dry off.” 
The clerk shook his head. 
“I don’t have one.” 

The young man glanced over at the lobby couch. 
“How about that?” 
The clerk again shook his head in the negative. 
“The owner wouldn’t like that.” 
The young hippie set down his helmet and guitar and spread his arms. 
“Come on man,” he indicted the storm outside, "You are not going to send me back out into that?”

The clerk reached for a key. 

“There is one room at the top of the stairs but most folks say it is haunted, and none of them stay long.” 
“Cool!” The young man grabbed the key, saluted the other man and went upstairs.

Grabbing towels from the bathroom the young man dried himself off. He then removed his boots and took his guitar out of its case. He propped the pillows up on the bed and stretched out. As he started to play his guitar the closet door opened with a loud bang.

The young hippie glanced over briefly as a ghost floated out of the closet with its arms outstretched and then turned back to his playing. The ghost moaned,

“Bloody fingers, …Bloody fingers”.

The young man continued to play so the moaning became louder.

“Bloody fingers, …BLOODY FINGERS!”

The young man continued to ignore the ghost. Agitated it floated right above him, and wailed even louder,

“BLOOODY FINGERS!, …BLOOODY FINGERS!”

As blood dripped down upon the guitar from its fingers, the young man stopped playing, looked up and announced,

“Cool it man, …get yourself a Band Aid.”

Traditional Versions: Knife in the Grave

One modern day version of this story was retold in Alvin Schwartz’s book “Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark.” 

The basic structure of this story begins with a group of teenagers who are attending a Friday night party near a graveyard. The conversation always evolves into a discussion about the cemetery
One teenager states that you should never stand on a grave after dark because the dead occupant will pull you under.

At this point in the story a brave person in the group, usually a girl announces that she doesn’t believe this—it is just a superstition. The group then always “dares” the brave one, in this scenario a girl, to stand on a grave that very night. 

She accepts announcing she isn’t scared. The group gives her a knife and tells her to stick it in a grave as proof she was there.

This brave teen then has no choice but to follow through on the group’s dare because if she doesn’t, she will lose face. 

So the story follows the “girl” into the graveyard where she tries to put up a brave front, but she is terrified. She reassures herself by talking aloud she hastily picks out a grave bends down and sticks the knife into the soil.

The catch here is as she turns to leave she finds that something is holding her. In a panic, she struggles in the dark but whatever has her will not let her go. She screams in terror and collapses. 

Meanwhile, at the party, it is getting late, and her friends notice she hasn’t returned, so they go look for her. They find her body sprawled across the grave. 

It seems that when she had plunged the knife into the dirt, it had caught her skirt pinning her to the ground. At this point, the reader is told she died of fright.

Marie Laveau's grave.

Another version of this story takes place in New Orleans in the French Quarter. This story involves three young male tourists who have drunk too much. They are bored, so their talk turns to one of New Orleans’s famous Voodoo witch queens “Marie Laveau.” 

One of these three men is enticed into a wager—thirty dollars if he dares to climb the wall of St. Louis Cemetery #1 and drive an iron spike into Marie Laveau’s final resting place. Courage is needed for this task because Laveau’s tomb is considered haunted.

The foolish young man takes the thirty dollars and throws himself over the wall. His friends wait for him to return for over an hour. They drink more and pass out. 

In the morning they curse their friend for he has not returned. Angry now, they walk through the cemetery gates calling to their inconsiderate comrade. 

They find him by the side of the witch’s grave dead—thirty dollars in coins strewn about. In his drunken state, he had hammered the spike through his coat and into the stone sarcophagus.

The misguided nail had held him in place as he rose to leave. Panic and fear settled over his drunken hazy mind for his stressed heart gave out as he struggled to free himself. 

When his friends find him dead, his frozen features tell the story of his last emotional moments: horror and despair.