Ghost of Jim Cameron – In 1977 and being a child of the Rocky Mountains, my friends and I would spend every free moment four wheeling, and exploring what was our backyard. There was no ghost town or mountain pass that we had not set foot on or in – within a 3 hour drive from our home in Denver, Colorado. We wanted to be mountain men and the girls loved it when we traveled the mountains of old. Central City an old gold mining town was only a 45 minute drive and we spent considerable time exploring the high mountains surrounding it. On one such trip just before sundown as we watched another glorious mountain sunset a man and his dog walked out of the woods. He was grizzled and gray and walked with a limp, his dog was not in much better shape than the old man. We invited him for a supper of roasted hot dogs with all the fixings and he seemed grateful for the meal as was his dog. We worried about him being so far into the remote mountains with the darkness now upon us, we fixed him and his dog a bedroll for the night. That night around the campfire watching the glowing orange and red embers float to the heavens. The old man told us a ghost tale and swore he himself had seen the ghost. We had no reason to doubt the old man as he told the tale of the ghost of Jim Cameron. The next morning after telling of the tale he vanished as if he or his dog were never there. This is how I remember it.
“Ghost Of Jim Cameron”
Jim Cameron died November 1st, 1887,
Death called that dark night at the hour of 11.
His mortal remains were buried in Masonic Cemetery,
The days became years, what came next is legendary.
Every year, on that day at the stroke of 11 she appears out of a shadow,
On the lonely hilltop north of Central City Colorado.
Dressed in an ebony felt hat and a black satin dress,
How she knew him, who she was, no one could guess.
Button up shoes drift above the mountain grass,
Floating through the aspens to Jims tombstone at last.
No footprints in the dew on the grass or the soft ground,
Nor wind in the trees or hoot of an owl, nothing, no sound.
The air became frosty and chilled in a sudden cold wave,
As the woman in black hovered above Jim’s grave.
I moved for a closer look through the still and chilled air,
Her shimmering eyes seemed to speak “How do you dare?”
Minutes turned into an hour, just at the caress of midnight,
Looking at me with melancholy eyes, she faded out of sight.
My mind was trying to make sense what I had just viewed,
Feeling sad and guilty for it was not my place to intrude.
By Kurt James
Kurt James © 2017
Kurt James novels are available on amazon and other fine bookstores
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