April Slaughter (13 page)

“Sometimes when I’ve been inside Barracks #5, I have heard what sounds like heavy footsteps hitting the wooden porch,” he said. “If you are familiar with large, heavy leather boots with those thick soles, you know that they have a very distinct sound when someone takes a step in them. This wasn’t at all like the shuffling sound of a visitor’s tennis shoes. I have heard the sound of those footsteps on more than one occasion.”

“Is there any specific time you experience the sound of these footsteps?” I asked him.

“It only seems to happen when stormy weather is moving
in. Beyond that, no—there is nothing else I can think of that ties the incidents together.”

As Fort Concho prepared for a Christmas program one year, Cory stayed the night in OQ1. He knew about the building’s reputation, but didn’t think much about it.

“The day of the program, I got up and got into the shower,” Cory said. “While I was in the bathroom, someone or something slammed the door shut. It wasn’t hard enough to shake anything, but forceful enough to make me hear it over the water running.”

Cory never discovered an explanation.

I have not yet had the opportunity to introduce myself to Edith or to any of the other spirits that may be roaming the grounds of Fort Concho, but I do know that I will be back to try. They might be the souls of those once dedicated to the service of their country, their family members, or simply those passing through. In any case, the ghosts of Fort Concho’s past seem very much a part of its present, and quite possibly its future.

IF YOU TAKE THREE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS—cemeteries, ghost stories, and thunderstorms—and roll them all together into one experience, you’d have my definition of a perfect day. You already know by now that wandering around cemeteries is a favorite pastime of mine, and that ghost stories are a huge part of my everyday life, but did you also know that I would take a stormy day over a sunny one anytime of the year? It’s easy to enjoy a sunny and warm afternoon; they are uneventful and calm. It is the chaos of a storm that attracts me. I revel in the constant push and pull of the environment and its unpredictability. I am the person out in the wind recording the crazy conditions on camera, rather than taking the safe route and waiting it out indoors.

Most people hide themselves away from the rain, lightning, and thunder. I want to wander around and read headstones as a
storm rolls on above me, and the Oakwood Cemetery in Waco provided me with the perfect opportunity to do so. The day I made my first visit, I had not planned it to coincide with a thunderstorm, but it pleased me a great deal that it happened to work out that way.

Allen and I arrived mid-morning on a stormy spring day. The softened, rain-soaked earth gave a little every time we took a step. The air was warm and thick with humidity that stuck to our skin like sweat after a hard run. I wasn’t going to complain. I had heard many a ghost story about this place, and I was hoping I would be able to add my own to the mix.

Land that was once used as a race track and fairgrounds became the Oakwood Cemetery in 1898. Individuals originally interred in other cemeteries in Waco were relocated to Oakwood that year, as the grounds were far better maintained and provided a more pleasant setting for their final resting places. The burial grounds stretch 157 acres, and by April 1969 there were nearly nineteen thousand graves. Today, almost thirty-five thousand souls are buried within the Oakwood Cemetery.

As Allen and I wandered aimlessly through the scattered headstones, two in particular caught my attention. Atop large stone pillars stood the carved figures of two men, each facing one another. I wanted to photograph them, as I had never seen anything like that before. As I approached the markers, the rain suddenly began to pour down. As stubborn as I am, I decided it was worth the risk of getting muddy to get a picture.

Allen had turned on one of our digital recorders, despite the sound of thunder and rain. After taking a few photographs, I looked at my shoes to find that they were indeed covered in mud and grass.

“I think I had better find a mud puddle to wash off my shoes,” I said, not realizing that I had made the wrong reference.

Immediately following my statement on the recorder, a male voice corrects me.

“With water!” he said.

At the time of the recording, I was standing between the statues of the two men, whom I would later find out were not only Texas historical figures, but best friends who wanted to be just as close in death as they were in life—Richard Coke, a former governor who died in 1897, and Dr. David Wallace, a psychiatric pioneer who died in 1911.

Were either of these two men the one I heard correcting me when I played back the recording? I can’t be sure, but I wouldn’t be the first to experience something unexplained in that very spot between these two elaborate headstones. Several locals reported to me that they often spent time here and had also recorded a disembodied voice speaking to them. The voice often pokes fun and, at times, can even be heard laughing. Whoever he is, he seems pleased with his surroundings and enjoys it when those of us still living pass by for a visit.

Being able to see the likeness of a person, or an actual photograph incorporated into their memorials makes a cemetery experience more human to me. I feel as though it puts me in touch with who the person was when they were alive, and knowing even just a small part of their story establishes a sort of connection, however slight and fleeting it may be.

When it is my time to go, I do not want to be forgotten amidst a collection of stones. Would someone want to know who I was, or what impact I made on the world? Whoever is given the responsibility of laying me to rest when my time comes, I can only hope they will see it fitting to remember me with a unique stone or carving. If not, chances are I won’t stay quiet about it for long!

Oakwood Cemetery is filled with all kinds of different headstones and markers. As we walked through just a few of the
acres that sprawled out in front of us, Allen and I saw and photographed some of the most beautiful statues I had ever seen in a graveyard. Life-sized angels were scattered all around, each with their own individual style of grace and beauty.

“Hey, look at this headstone, April,” said Allen. “It looks like it’s been shot at.”

“What? Why would anyone shoot at a headstone?” I asked, puzzled.

“I’m guessing, and I could be completely wrong here, that someone had it in for this guy,” he said.

The headstone he was referring to belonged to a man named William Cowper Brann, a Waco journalist who, at the time of his death in 1898, owned and edited the
Iconoclast
newspaper—a controversial publication in which he fervently attacked groups such as African-Americans, Baptists, Episcopalians, and the British. He often wrote about his distaste for Baylor University, which he claimed was involved in importing children from South America to place in the administration’s homes as servants. He was also very outspoken about Baylor being corrupted by sexual misconduct, and warned that any parents who enrolled their daughters there were taking the risk that they would be raped.

Brann’s statements had upset many people in the community, and would ultimately lead to his demise. Tom Davis, a local man whose daughter attended Baylor, was highly insulted by Brann’s attacks on the university and took it upon himself to shoot him. The bullet entered Brann’s left lung and exited through his chest, but he was able to turn and shoot Davis several times, leaving him to die in the doorway of a local cigar shop. Brann lived until the next morning before dying in his home.

Below the word “TRUTH” spelled out on the headstone is a profile view of Brann’s face, with a bullet hole in the temple. Locals say this bullet hole turned up on the stone only after
Brann had been buried in Oakwood Cemetery. Apparently, some Waco residents were still adamantly opposed to Brann and his writings even though he was already dead.

Individuals I spoke to after visiting the cemetery believe an apparition that appears near Brann’s grave may indeed be him, but also say that his appearances are erratic and do not last for more than a few seconds. Those who have seen his picture say the apparition bears a striking resemblance to the man, and wonder if this once-impassioned writer is haunting Oakwood Cemetery to make sure he and his ideas are never forgotten. Perhaps he is restless because the living are still taking their “shots” at him and his infamous newspaper.

Oakwood Cemetery has become a favorite of ghosthunters over the years due to its reputation for providing incredible EVP evidence and the occasional sighting of ghostly specters. It is a landscape of eclectic style and beauty, and a testament to the human desire to honor those who have been laid to rest.

I’ve been through my share of cemeteries, but this one impressed upon me a great sense of peace. I walked, read names and dates, and took dozens of pictures. I ended up a soaking wet mess from the rain as a result, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. I could have spent all day wandering about, and probably will on the next chance I have to make the trip back out to Waco. Hopefully, another storm will blow in and make it an equally perfect day.

I’ll always wonder who it was that reminded me that water would be a better solution for me to clean my shoes with than mud, and if they’re always so willing to be heard. Should you ever have the chance to visit Oakwood Cemetery, remember—tread lightly as you walk through, for you just never know who might be walking right alongside you.