A Revolutionary Spy and a Cursed-Hanging Tree, Part ll

As Mary Post was hanged for being a British spy during the Revolutionary War in 1777 she placed a curse on the tree used to hang her. Before she died, she stated if anyone harmed this tree, they would suffer.

More about Mary’s story is shared in Part l, here.

Camp Glen Gray in the Ramapo
Mountains in northeastern NJ.

The curse placed on this tree was first documented after a Boy Scout camp was built in 1917 on the site where Mary Post was hanged. The ancient maple tree still stood on the camp property.

Are the following stories truth or legend?

In 1935, a scoutmaster wishing to stamp down belief in this curse cut a limb off the tree to prove the curse did not exist. Three days later he and his family perished in a house fire.

Sixteen years later a camp official attempted to chop down the tree, again to put an end to the legend. As he fiercely swung an ax at the trunk, it flew back and sliced his throat. He later died from this wound.

A camper that knew nothing about the curse unwittingly carved his initials in the tree in 1940. Everything was normal until he fell asleep in his tent that night. When he awoke the next morning he felt severe pain, he discovered one of his legs had a compound fracture.

Camp Glen Gray

Fifteen years later a camp worker decided to defy the curse. He chopped off pieces of the Mary Post tree to sell as souvenirs. Soon after he started to have horrible nightmares—they continued until he went insane. This man lived the rest of his life in an asylum.

By 1969, this tree was so diseased New Jersey officials decided to have it chopped down. Two men were sent to do this job. The first professed he did not believe in the curse—the night before they were slated to cut down the tree he died of a brain hemorrhage. His partner left quickly.

Another six years passed and the tree still stood, but by this time it was dead. Some believed the curse would now end, but they were wrong.

In 1980 on Friday the 13^th a group of 13 men including 3 scouts decided to tempt the old curse. With chainsaws, they succeeded in felling the tree.

A portion of this tree can still, be seen at Park Headquarters. When the boy scout camp closed in 2001, Bergen County turned the old camp into a public campground.

So what happened to the 13 who finally felled the tree?

One was killed in a car accident two weeks after the tree came down. A second man perished in a ski accident, and the third died of liver disease—he started to drink after he participated in the felling.

The other 10 participants did not escape misfortune all suffered bad injuries within 12 months after the tree came down.

The locals now believed that the evil that surrounded this maple had finally come to an end but something else unusual began to happen.

Lake Vreeland

Witnesses reported seeing Mary Post’s ghost near where she was executed. Then others came forward to state they saw her at Lake Vreeland near where her inn once stood.

Her ghost is seen floating above the water unusually late at night in the autumn months. Her apparition has also been spotted in the nearby-untouched forest.

In Part l of A Revolutionary Spy and a Cursed-HangingTree how Mary Post betrayed the American Patriots is shared.

Campfire Tale: Not Myself

I stepped off the bus shading my eyes from the bright sunlight. The familiar stately stone buildings that lined my hometown’s downtown area surrounded me.

I looked at the bustling crowd that walked passed me on the sidewalk wondering which direction I should take.

As I walked down the sidewalk I was confused. Why was I here instead of at work? Where had I been earlier? Where was my car? Why was I riding a city bus?

It dawned on me that I didn’t even know what time it was.

As a woman approached me I smiled and said, “Miss, I am sorry, I forgot my watch . . . before I could ask for the time she dropped her purse, screamed and ran.

The faces of the other people near me—all looked frightened. They were going out of their way to avoid me—some flattered themselves against the building—others ran across the street.

I realized that there must be something wrong with me. Scared myself, I decided I best head home. I hailed a cab.

When this taxi driver got closer to where I stood he sped away.

Why is everyone acting so crazy?

Not understanding what was going on I decided to call home and ask my wife Jean to pick me up. I walked to a pay phone and put in several coins.

A strange voice answered my home phone. I asked to speak to Jean.

The female voice responded. “I’m sorry she isn’t home. Her husband died in a horrible car crash two days ago. She is at his funeral.”

Campfire Story: Creak

This is a good one to tell to children--it is simple but it elicits quite a response.

Creak, what was that? It is a faint sound, in the distance-- but I hear it.

Crack, was that something snapping? Or is someone trampling about?

I am in my room reading. It is quiet where I sit except for the fire burning.

I hear a creak--it is just the old house settling? I am letting my imagination get the best of me.

I hear another Crack-- perhaps it is just a small animal outside my window.

Whoosh… was that the wind?

I stand up and peer out my bedroom window. It is a clear night with a full moon. Laughing at my nervousness I return to my book.

Creak, I bravely chuckle at the sound.

Crack, how could these simple sounds have made me so nervous?

Whoosh, it must be really breezy tonight.

Thump, did I hear that in the house?

As I stare into the fire my nerves are rattled. I need to regain my composure.

Creak…

Crack…

Whoosh, will these sounds never cease?

Thump, thump, thump…

Closer, it must be getting closer. I put down my book and close my eyes. I desperately try to think of something else.

Creak…

Thump…

Crack…

Thump…

Whoosh…

Thump, thump, thump… then there is a pause.

I move quietly toward the door. Another thump, I step back, yes, it is getting closer. Thump, I stare at the door trying to see through it.

Thump, I reach for the doorknob, my hand is shaking. I no longer can wait.

Creak, a loose floorboard stepped on near the door-- on the other side.

Thump, I slowly open the door…

A Scream

…Then silence…

Campfire Story: The Wrong Choice

This ghost story is always presented as a” first person” account. It holds the reader in suspense and has a scary surprise ending.

24 years have past but what happened to me when I was 6 years old still haunts me. My parents where killed in a car accident when I was two and I was given into the custody of my strict maternal grandmother.

She lived in an old farmhouse in the middle of a neglected field. The house from the outside looked as if it were abandoned.

It was the summer that I turned six years old when I first decided to defy my grandmother’s wishes. For sometime I had been curious about the old attic that lay directly above my bedroom.

For a reason not revealed to me my grandmother had sternly warned me that I was never to go into the attic. Unfortunately, this warning only piqued my interest.

One late Tuesday evening I made up my mind. My grandmother had retired for the night so I headed toward the attic. My heart beat faster as I walked up the old squeaky attic stairs.

Later I knew that my decision to explore the attic was the worst possible choice that I could have made.

I don’t know what I expected to find but the room was darker and colder than the rest of the house. I reached around the door to turn on the light switch only to discover it didn’t work.

I stepped further into the room shining a flashlight around. At that age I hoped to find a toy or even better yet, a ball.

I found neither but as I reached the other side of the room I stopped abruptly at the sight that lay before me. Horrified, I realized that I was looking down at the cold still form of my grandmother’s corpse.

My grandmother had been dead for some time. It was her ghost that had been looking after me in recent months.

Campfire Story: Vinder Viper

Is it a snake?

I don’t think so…

Years ago a man inherited a house from his uncle when he died.

He packed up and moved to the large home that sat on a hill outside the town where he was raised.

He settled in and set out to meet his new neighbors. Everyone he met looked concerned when he mentioned he lived in the mansion on the hill. Curious, he finally asked one woman, “Why are you surprised I live in my Uncle’s home?”

She shook her head and told him, “That place is haunted, everyone knows that.”

The man was a worrier and over the next few days what the woman had told him nagged at him. He imagined all kinds of terrible things.

One evening as he got ready for bed his phone rang.

He answered it and heard, “I am the Vinder Viper. I will be there in one week.” Then the line went dead.

Thinking it must be a wrong number the man forgot about it.

Three days later his phone rang again just as he went to bed.

“I am the Vinder Viper. I will be there in 4 days.”

The man now became nervous. While in town the next day he asked if anyone knew a Vinder Viper. No one knew what he was talking about.

The man now was nervous and concerned.

Three days later his phone rang again late at night.

“I am the Vinder Viper. I will be there tomorrow.”

The man could no longer hold back---he was frightened.

He waited all the next day but nothing happened. He was relieved as he prepared to go to bed that evening.

Then the phone rang.

“I am the Vinder Viper. I will be there in 1 hour.”

In a panic the man made sure all the doors and windows were locked then he called the police.

57 minutes later his phone rang and rang. The man took comfort in the fact the police were on their way. He answered the phone.

“ I am the Vinder Viper. I will be there in 1 minute.”

His doorbell rang. He ran down the stairs to answer it thinking it must be the police. He opened the door just a crack and asked, “Is that the police?”

He opened the door a little further. 

A small man holding a bucket and rags announced,” No, I am the Vinder Viper. I come every month to vash and vipe the vindows.”

As the man went back upstairs he could not believe how silly he had acted.

He opened the door to his bedroom and there in the middle of the floor stood the ghost of his UNCLE.

He fainted dead away.

Click to enlarge

In Alvin Schwartz’s book, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark he shares another version of this classic scary children’s story. Click graphic to enlarge to read his version.





An audio version is below.