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Ghostly Tales of St. Augustine

A Halloween Special 2007
By Patrick M. Hughes

Cast: Two males, Two Females (one male actor will be Piano Player/guitar and MC; one actress must be a singer) As it stands the play is a bit too long, but each Director can choose among the monologues.

Contents
ACT 1
Song 1: Good is Evil (female 1 sings all songs) Prologue Male 1 is Franklin Waldo Smith who built Vila Zorayda and Casa Monica but envied Flaglers success. He will be the MC that introduces all the ghosts. Song 2: A Dangerous Game Miguelito (male 2) and Alonza (female 1) White Hair and a Beard(female 2) Dr. Frederick Weedon Song 3: The Castle on the Cloud Born out of Wedlock (female 2) Judge Stickney (male 1) Dr. Allan Ballard at the Lighthouse (male 2) The Trolley at the Lighthouse (female 1) The Apopinax Tree (male 2) Song 4: The Hearse

Intermission
Song 5: To Keep My Love Alive Athalia Ponsell Lindsey: Bloody Machete on Marine Street (female 2) Strange Little Demons (male 1) Song 6: The Curse

Spencers (female 1) The Red Blouse (female 2) (Should be another song here) Kixies Mens Store (male 1) The Widow at Casablanca (female 1) Maggie Patterson and the Yellow Rose Song 7: Tail of the Oyster Epilogue Song 8: A Ghostly Party Song (This is an adaptation of The Teddy Bears Picnic written by Patrick Hughes) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ACT 1 Introductory music on a guitar or piano is played by male 1 who accompanies all songs.
Female 1 comes on stage.

Suggested Song 1 sung by Female 1: Good is Evil

Ghost Male 1: Tis the night of Halloween, when ghosts Of the dead mingle with the living who for Centuries past have gathered round nightly fires That mirrored the power of sunlight as the Darkness of winter encroached to hear Wondrous tales of fearsome events, And dress in costumes fair, wearing masks To drive demons and ill fortune away Ghost Female 1: Welcome all! Join this lively clan of Saint Augustines ghosts come out from hiding in Nooks and crannies, towers and spires each Halloween, but beware, there are all manner

Of spirits: ghosts, fairies, demons, dreaded Creatures of the dark, spirits of the underworld, Poor souls long dead, here to roam about in our Midst hoping to restore the broken harmony in Earthly lives, beg for supernatural explanation Of inexplicable events, seek redemption for Injustice done a friend or admired acquaintance Ghost male 1: So here we are! All Hail You Ghosts of St. Augustine Chorus of full cast: All Hail Ghosts of Saint Augustine All Hail the human world this night

Female 1 goes offstage Franklin Waldo Smith (male 1) as if peering out a window:
There he is! Henry Flagler the ghostly voyeur, peeping into every corner, overseeing the nightly frolics of our town,(hee hee hee) listening in on secret conversations, enjoying the funny side of being dead! See how he struts about at the front entrance to the Ponce de Leon Hotel, or Flagler College as it is now called. All we hear about is the Flagler Era! Flaglers Architecture! Who ever heard of me, Franklin Waldo Smith! Yet it was I who introduced poured concrete to America. It was I who built the magnificent Villa Zorayda in 1886 well before I took Flagler and his crazy Ida Alice to my rooftop where he dreamed up his idea of an American Riviera. Oh yes, and I was so scared of ghosts in those days that I built every window in my Villa a different size and shape, so they couldnt get in at night! And here I am, a ghost myself, forced to sit here all night so those spooks cant get me, doomed to peering out the windows of Villa Zorayda at ghosts strutting about King Street, and listening to tales of strange hauntings about St. Augustine! (Miguelito comes on stage) They ah, here comes two of them from ancient times!

Miguelito: Male 2 and Alonza Female 1 Senhores e Senhoras,

The soldiers called me Miguelito as we Crossed the Atlantic, for I am four feet tall, Starved thin, worked to the bone by my wife, The ships cook, Aldonza, a six-foot walloper With a skirt large enough to be a ships mainsail. (Aldonza appears on stage, feeling her muscles eyeing Miguelito while intending to punch him in the arm) Forced to marry by indebted parents, I did her Bidding, as she bellowed out commands With humiliating remarks that humored all Throughout the voyage to La Florda. (Aldonza runs toward him) Aldonza: (Female 1) Get over here you useless scallywag. Clean up this slop. (Aldonza turns her back to audience head down as if not there) Miguelito: When we faced starvation for want of crops, Aldonza sent me out to forage in the forest For blueberries, cherries, palmetto berries, Plums, acorns, hickory nuts, onions, food That might head off a mutinous rebellion In the compound. Bimimi, a female Timucua Warrior even taller than Aldonza captured This wretched nobody, and dragged me Through the forest to dump my skinny self At the feet of Chief Saturiba who ordered I Be barbecued, a sacrifice to the gods of war! Male, female warriors, and Shamans, men Dressed in female skirts of Spanish moss Pilled log upon log, which they burned to A fiery glow before my eyes, but I was spared A roasting for Saturiba acquiesced to Biminis Wish that I become her household slave, and

Led away, I saw myself forced to wear a skirt, Mind the babies, carry burdens, light the fires. Instead I was hobbled like a goat, tied to a stake Outside her round hut each night, and at dawn Forced to drink cups of black liquid that drove Sweat through my pores and made me puke, Until wired up with caffeine, I toiled all day, Hoeing the earth ahead of long-haired women Planting seeds with dibble sticks behind me. Other days my fate was worse, for slaving oer Hot fires drying fruits, oysters, deer, snakes, Alligators, turtles, I was targeted by nasty Girls and boys armed with sling-shots sending Pebbles whizzing about my ears or even worse! At days end I lay huddled outdoors, hungry, Stung by every imaginable bug, when one night, The most charming girl, Uleleh came to my side With oysters, delicious snails, alligator meat, Food that was later served with tender kisses Secretly repeated in the darkness of the night, The most charming girl, Uleleh came to my side With oysters, delicious snails, alligator meat, Food that was later served with tender kisses Secretly repeated in the darkness of the night, Giving me great joy despite daily degradation. One morning, the mighty Saturiba emerged From his hut, finger and toenails all sharpened Up to a knifelike point, and greeting the warriors That attended his call to war against the Spanish, He howled with rage, throwing water into the sky, As I have done with this water, so I pray that You may do with the blood of your enemies. Rattling their weapons, the warriors took off With Bimini done up in war-paint and feathers. Some nights later, Uleleh led me safely eastward

Near St. Augustine where we parted quickly, for She had to get home before dawn. I watched her Disappear among the trees, then raced to the Spanish fort to the cheers of soldiers gathered Round to hear my tale until Alonza dragged Me away by the ear, and belting me with a Pudgy fist, put me to work. Aldonza: Where have you been you dog? Thought you Could escape from me, eh. Get in there And scrub those dishes clean. (Again turns her back on audience) Miguelito: My only refuge from such distress was to hide Away in the mens outhouse toilet, only to be Discovered one day, alas, when the door was flung Open and Alonza jerked me off the toilet even as My pants fell down about my ankles. Once again The compound roared with laughter when, hobbled As I was, Alonza kicked my you know what causing Miguelito to long for Timucuan days with Ulelehs Warm embrace, but when the governor heard I spoke The Timucua tongue, I became his interpreter, free at Last from my dear, gentle Alonzas clutches. (Male 2 leaves the stage) Suggested Song 2 sung by Female 1: A Dangerous Game

Waldo Smith MC (male 1): The living must always tread

lightly on the dead, for it is possible to tramp upon their dreams forcing ghostly souls to haunt forever the house where they once experienced great joy.

White Hair and a Beard (female 2)

I was twenty-one when Auntie died, Passed away they politely said, the event Quite uneventful after a rather ordinary life Poor thing, but when my mother And I cleared up her personal effects You cant imagine what we found In Aunties house, a ouija board with triangular Planchette to point to words or letters revealing Dark secrets of the spirit world, occult books For divination, black magic things like the Weird red candle-wax skeleton with two wicks Upon its head, sitting on her dressing table, The spirit of the grave, mother explained, To be invoked when foes are near. Tis nothing less than devil worship, I declared, What could dear little Auntie have been up to? Then mother pulled out a squeaky drawer, and Raising high a photograph, cried out, Will you look at this! After all these years long dead. And there he was, a fine looking gentleman sporting Fluffy white hair and a beard. Aunties secret lover, And what an affair that was! Mother whispered. But how your father hated his sneaking in our Back door to tippytoe up the stairs! Lets Throw this photo out with all the rest, she did insist, Dumping everything in a box we left out for Garbage collectors, and then walked swiftly home. Next day, I went back to Aunties house alone To clean the wooden floor downstairs and heard Loud thumps upstairs. What on earth is that? I thought, Tis far too loud to be a squirrel, raccoon or a rat? The clunking grew louder and more insistent, So I ran home to mother who went back with me And again we heard such loud noises that she too Was petrified, and rushing home told father, who, Imperious and outraged loaded up his six gun, Not that old doors slamming shut, cold winds,

And knockings story once more, he did roar Ill surprise a thief or trickster to be sure. Though he raged and ranted searching every inch He did not find the source of all that noisy clunking. So against his wishes, mother went to a psychic lady Who upon arrival at Aunties house closed her eyes And shivering, seemed to sense the presence of some Spirits inner fear and rage that engulfed us all In a chilly breeze swirling about as the psychic Raised her arms up high to eerily intone, I see a man with white hair and a beard! You should have seen my mothers face. Oh dear God, what have I done to poor old Auntie? And in a flash I knew what that thumping meant, Aunties demanding the photo back, I declared. But the photos in the city dump! Mother avowed Lets leave this house for we can do no more. Rapidly we walked with high heels clicking Loud on the brick-stoned street when I turned Around, and announced, I forgot my broom! If I dont retrieve it, Auntie may become a wicked Vengeful witch, riding high about this ghostly town. So back we went, in fear and awe to find The house all lit up. My God, I exclaimed, What have we done? Auntie must now search This house in old Saint Augustine till that photo, All that remained of her lover is retrieved. Then shell be a ghost forever, mother replied In tone subdued as we left poor Auntie to her fate.

Waldo (male 1): If there was ever a story to tear at the heart in modern history it is that of Osceola. The great Seminole warrior was undefeated by United States armed forces for many years. Betrayed when he came to parley under a white flag, he was scorned again in death by Dr. Weedon, a scientist in pursuit of enlightened goals, or so he said! Dr. Frederick Weedon (male 2)

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Doctor Frederick Weedon is the name, a military surgeon Tending many a wounded soldier brave that suffered In the seven-year rebellious cat-and-mouse game, With quick skirmish and retreat to swamp and forest By that military genius, the warrior Osceola, who did Not surrender, but was deviously tricked despite his Cunning restless spirit when lured into peaceful parley Under the white flag by General Jesup, and then upon A planned signal, the noble Indian was stripped of weapons, And thrown into a cell at the Castillo de San Marco. Poor Osceola who loved his freedom in the wilds Soon succumbed to sickness and despair, while I Declared it was malaria that left him delirious, raving, Dreaming dark revenge, forever cursing the white man. So they took him to a Charleston garrison Where he wasted away, died and was dressed for buriel With leggings, moccasins, war belt, bullet pouch, Powder horn, scalping knife, and red war paint. I, however, (always a good man with the knife) made a Point of cutting off his head, and with this last indignity Delivered by a white mans hand (for scientific research Of course, no revenge intended), Osceolas handsome Skin-stretched face was well preserved in a hideous Death mask, worthy of Smithsonian display, but also Came in handy on occasion at home, for when My children did misbehave, I would mount that Devilish head on their tall bedpost, and as you May well believe they were rarely very naughty.

Song 3: The Castle on the Cloud Waldo (male 1): Heres a sad tale of a young lass that suffered at the hands of her family, as did her little boy born out of wedlock, but the tender love of ghostly mother and child assisted by a very much alive little girl triumphed in the end.

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Born Out of Wedlock (female 2)

I fell in love! Oh what bliss! At fourteen years of age but that bit of Midnight madness left me with child What! my father roared, With some mere delivery boy? Alice, you shameless hussy! My mother intoned Telling all the neighbors I had gone to visit family While housing me upstairs In the servants quarters Where those nasties took out on little me Every resentful hate-filled feeling Provoked by my fuming parents And saucy naughty siblings. I died the night my little boy was born, But not before I saw his head of black hair, Blue eyes, bunched up nose, just like my own! What joy I felt but not for long Since no one acknowledged him Keeping the poor thing in the northwest room On the second floor allowing a malicious maid to attend His needs but once a day. Oh how I fretted and fumed, A poor helpless spirit not permitted To communicate with the living, watching him Yanked about without a will of his own, Poorly cleaned and fed during two long years When he died of encephalitis, so those spiteful maids Whispered, secretly taking him away for lonely Buriel in the southeast corner of the property. The years went by and our old house in Toques Place Served many a business function Then in the 1970s two women, whose husbands, Merchant seamen all were oft abroad, decided To reside together on the ground floor With their respective children occupying rooms above And then one night the older boy Crept down the stairs to tell the mother That his little brother was crying, She, on hearing naught sent him back to bed But then her son came down again

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Begging her to go up and see for herself Which she did, and again heard naught. Later that boy went down the stairs once more To tell his Mom that he had seen A two-year-old boy standing In the hall, crying, crying, crying He will not stop, he said. The mother ran up to find the little boy gone By the time she got to the top of the stairs. But I was there, and saw my son go to the Northwest room on the second floor, Tiptoeing past a young girl who slept There with two stuffed animals by her side, And floating up to the hat closet far above the ground, My child cried softly to himself. What rage he must have felt for being neglected so, How hard it was for me, for I could not by spirit rules Cuddle or chat with my little darling boy. I reached out and borrowed the girls white dog And stripped tiger --- I felt sure she wouldnt mind --Placing them in my sons arms to see him smile, Pulling them tight to his little chest. Oh what bedlam did ensue When that girls siblings were blamed each day For taking those stuffed animals and hiding Them high in that hat closet out of reach, And then to make things worse, My boy, who had become quite mischievous with joy Would wake the little girl at night Opening and closing the squeaky cabinet doors And one day my ghostly baby boldly Scratched Hi upon her thigh When she was in the bathroom of all places, But she did not scold him! Her mother would not hear of it When told of a ghostly boy! I will not listen to such fairy tales, She declared, so the little girl made friends With my son, and told never a one About her new-found playmate

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On the second floor of the northwest room

Waldo (male 1): Watch out! Here comes old Judge Stickney who haunts Tolomato Cemetery every night hoping to catch the thieves who stole his precious gold teeth. Judge Stickney (male 2)
Carpetbagger, the natives whispered In this Confederate town when I passed Them by on route to a business meeting. The Honorable Judge B. Stickney Others hailed in the courtroom Where I wielded Republican justice When the civil war was ore. Ahh! How my golden frontal teeth Flashed in that courtroom as I Brought the gavel down, Meting out punishments harsh on the Thieves and robbers of St. Augustine! But that was then. You see me now, wandering about. Wandering about this dank Huguenot Cemetery Every night. Every night with lantern high, I search. For what? You ask. For my damned teeth! Thats what. When twenty one years dead in the grave Well meaning colleagues took my skeletal remains, Legs, buttocks, chest, and head to rest in Washington Beside an honorable and fellow Republican Judge But without those hallowed golden teeth, For they had been ripped alas from a broken jaw By two besotted louts When I was disentombed. Me? This spirited Republican? Go to Washington without those teeth? Id feel like Samson without his hair.

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Theres no way this spirit can join those bones Till I bring the temple down on two drunken thieves That I will find some night in this here sacred ground And recover the yellow frontals That adorned every smile or grim command Of this honorable Yankee judge. Waldo: St. Augustine Lighthouse has seen many a death on the property throughout the centuries since the Spanish built the first watchtower in 1673, and their ghosts appear often, even to tourists! Dr. Allan Ballard at the Lighthouse (female 2) We came to St. Augustine from Georgia My wife, two children and myself And were waiting one night for a tour guide As we stood in front of the Lighthouse But when the hour grew late And the moon began its nightly Path across the skies, darkness slowly Fell upon the trees about, We saw a little man with face Ever such an angry white Dressed in tie and suit, wearing a black bowler hat Shaking his head while intent upon reading a book Despite the sunless murky twilight Hour as he approached us Trecking through the tenebrous shadowy Dusky wood making the two children So fidgety they grabbed their fathers Hands to stand one on either side. And when the man in black arrived At the top of the hill, I asked him ever so politely Are you our guide sir? There was no response, though The guide seemed to stumble, Hobbling past us, and at that very Moment we all saw a vacant furious look

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In those two unforgettable cavernous Eyes before the little man bowed His shaking head again to read Well-thumbed pages as he shuffled Out of sight through the shadowy thickets. Later we heard that a Doctor Alan Ballard Had a house and office near the spot where the Current Lighthouse stands, and while he had Signed a contract to sell the property to the State for a reasonable price before the civil war The States new administration in 1872 took His land by eminent domain paying a fraction Of the agreed price, so the indignant Doctor daily Hung about while they constructed the new Lighthouse, complaining till the day he died That he had been robbed, and even now Continues his bellyaching walk Suggested Song 4 by Female 1: Bewitched, Bewildered and Bedeviled MC: Many an evening at dusk, a little girl is seen looking out a window on the second floor of the light-keepers house. Many a tragedy has been associated with the Lighthouse property, but none so terrible as that of three children, a harrowing tale that might explain the vigil of this lonely girl The Trolley at the Lighthouse (female 1) The following night I was at the Lighthouse Again hoping to see the angry Doctor Ballard Only to be disappointed, and walking away, I noticed a tearful young girl staring out A window in the house near the tower, As if she hoped to see someone dear, And when she disappeared as suddenly As she had appeared, I returned to our Bed and Breakfast where I was told a Woeful tale of three girls who died a Tragic death during the construction of the

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Current tower supervised by Hezekiah Pittee, Father to three girls and two boys, who set up A railcar that ran from the construction site To the ocean where cargo could be off-loaded From the boats, and then pulled up to the tower. Pittees three girls and two black girls often rode The railcar downhill on rickety tracks. Oh what fun that must have been! But on July 10, 1873, as the five children hopped On board, laughing, screaming in happy play on Their way to the sea, the hoist coupler burst, The cable jerked loose flicking backwards Sending the heavy trolley-bucket rolling faster, Faster down the hill to crash into the water Throwing the five playmates overboard with Such force that two of Pittees daughters plus A little black girl drowned, while workers, Thank god succeeded in saving the other two. Though no one can say for sure, I often ask if it Was not Pittees third daughter I had seen Gazing sorrowfully out the window hoping To see her friends come up the hill to play? Waldo: This tale of extraordinary funereal events and an Apopinax tree took place before I died, but I often hear Colonel Smith repeat the story when under the influence at a ghostly party. The Apopinax Tree (male 2) Colonel Joseph Smith here to speak of a lady fair, Dressed in elegant regalia for a ball where we met, Danced and chatted, leaving me dazed by her great charm. But she fell ill that very night, dying shortly thereafter, And as if predetermined by fate or influence occult, Her husband asked me to join him at her funeral procession Where she was hoisted high upon a customary sedan chair Carried through the streets to our splendid Cathedral. I could not take my eyes from the gorgeous face Raven hair, thin dark eyebrows, jet-black eyes

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Set in ebony white skin, lips round and sensuous, But horror of all horrors, her enchanting, captivating head, Lolled about, to and fro, from side to side, In step with pallbearers of different strides Till we arrived at the dark and eerie cemetery, Where we passed beneath an Apopinax tree Its dangling branches crammed with long sharp thorns. As luck would have it, one pierced her snow-white temple, And she began to bleed and bleed and red blood, It did flow down those lily-white cheeks. Sure as hell I saw her blink! Yes! Blink! Shes alive! I did declare. Distraught, I pleaded with the husband, Sir, I said, Many a corpse Ive seen, And believe you me, the dead dont bleed. Finally he succumbed to my entreaties, ordering his wife Taken home where it soon became apparent that she was alive! But vile whisperings followed her every step, For in those days they knew naught of comas, Believing someone who appeared so dead Must have been bewitched! The poor husband grew more and more Estranged from his lovely wife before she died again, poor thing, And was paraded about town on that sedan chair once more. Upon arrival at the cemetery gates, the husband Cried out loud for all to hear, This time, dont take her near that damned Apopinax tree!

Suggested Song 5 by Female 1: The Hearse

Intermission

ACT 2

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Suggested Song 6 by Female 1: To Keep My Love Alive

(The musical director should introduce more songs into the second act)

Waldo: Bloody murder in St. Augustine? Yes, but none so sensational as that of Athalia Ponsell Lindsley on Marine Street, 1974 that resulted in the trial of a male neighbor with whom she had many a row. He was acquitted despite evidence presented by 90 witnesses, leaving the dreadful death of this beautiful former showgirl and model a mystery, unsolved to this day. Worse still no one dreamed the killer was a WOMAN. Yes, but Athalias ghost does not reveal the butchers name.
Athalia Ponsell Lindsley: A Bloody Machete on Marine Street (female 2) Controversial, disagreeable woman, more Hated than loved in life, admired by few, An ardent protagonist in public debate I had enemies the day my bloody death Divided the 14,000 residents in St. Augustine, such that some said I got What I deserved when as Trinity bells Told six oclock, January 23, 1974 I climbed the steps to my lovely porch And looking back to see Clementine, A poor crippled bluejay hopping about I raised my eyes and saw a wondrous Orange sunset when my assailant came From behind to deliver a mighty blow With razor-edged machete blade! Oh, What pain I felt that instant when all But decapitated, the four main arteries To my brain severed, my body falling Headlong down the steps to the ground Below, where my ghostly self with eyes Wide open in a deadly stare saw HER, Yes HER, come down with bloody blade,

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Watched HER there at the bottom step When with fiery blows she struck again, Again, again, whacking a sculptured skull, Almost amputating forearm and wrist, Cutting up my raggedy corpse, leaving A blood red blue dress, up and around My slim waist, so that later a circus of Gossipy ghoulish onlookers could see That as they had always suspected I never Did wear lingerie, for as a showgirl, and Gorgeous model, unseemly lines should not Be seen beneath elegant designer garments When parading down a New York dais. Oh yes, I recognized her, though disguised Like an actor with wig displaying grayish Hair attached to a slightly balding head, like My neighbor and wearing a white male shirt, Dark pants with burgundy stripe, also like my Neighbor, evidence that later befuddled all Investigators, and the jury, which heard From ninety witnesses at a trial in which That same neighbor with whom I had many A skirmish was acquitted, even as that vile Killer--- whose animosity remained hidden During the many years I unleashed my critical tongue And even after I had been buried--- ten months Later, she struck once more, this time it was my Dear friend, Mrs. Bemis, an amateur Colombo, Or so they called her in jest, who on the very day She intimated to friends sipping a pre-noon cocktail That she had a new witness to crack the case, Was bludgeoned, gouged, left dead as long Repressed raging anger was unleashed again On the same Marine Street where I too had been Felled like a forest tree by a maniacal lumberjack. Such was the end for me, a headstrong, opinionated Yet compassionate female, spread out like a crimson Bloodied doll, one red shoe on, the other off, My splendid peals no longer round my neck, And only one missing witness, darling Clementine,

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Whose feathers were strewn near the bloody scene. To this day no one has been convicted, Nor have other suspects been investigated. Case closed, so the Sheriff said!

Waldo: Traders often buy sacred ancestral artifacts used in African traditional rituals, which are then sold to tourists and collectors in the first world where buyers have no idea of their mysterious character. Here is a story of how ancestral tribal spirits came to life after an owner of such artifacts rented his apartment to a brother and sister. Strange Little Demons (male 2)
Mere artifacts, you might say Collected on an African tour For Floridas gift shops, Antique stores, silent speechless stuff To please a passing eye, Bought by me to decorate My apartment between Charlotte And St. Georges Street They graced the shelves, Desktops, windowsills and walls Xhosa knobkibierrie sticks, Zulu spears, shields of warrior men Chokwe thrones for chiefs Royal wives with ebony combs A big oval face upon the wall With tongue hanging out Eyes wide open in receipt Of holy revelation Chokwe thinker hunkered down With palms cupped about his ears A thumb piano player on his stool Ovimbundo wooden masks with resin cloth Initiating youthful generations Bantu power figures endowed

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By priests applying Bristling nails, blades Mirror shards and seed packets To heal and cure or ward off negative forces. Fetishes, talismans, amulets all Imbued with natures power Juju charged with the spirit of divinities Transcending space and time Undetectable, unseeable, untouchable Except through carved images Used in centuries of ancestral reincarnation But in my hands mere things To be bought or sold, to decorate Stripped of history, meaning and community. No wonder they rebelled At this secular debasement. Leaving these collectibles intact I rented the apartment to a bother And sister who came home one evening, Went to bed but were disturbed By sounds of bare feet on wooden floors The sister heard them And turning on the light Nothing could be seen They went back to bed, tried to sleep But the brother was aroused again And turned on the light as the sister Came dashing in they saw the floor Crowded with tiny figures Like little trolls or gnomes Running here and there Energized by uncontrollable rage A whole parallel world of beings Long worshiped and adored Stripped of their tribal dignity Diminished in stature. Recognizing well this sacrilege The sister made little paper crosses Taping one to each artifact And they left in haste

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Returning the next day to see Those crosses burnt to a cinder. Sacred stuff should not Be used for secular purposes She said, and when they told me What had happened I too came To see that spirits such as these Can never be at peace Till once again they mingle Amongst their blessed ancestry Where living traditions flourish

Suggested Song 7: The Curse

Waldo: Strange neighbors indeed! Two sisters their brother, but who were the Spencers? Where did they come from? Where did they go? They seemed so respectable, yet they held late night parties! Then one by one they disappeared, yet the party noises continued The Spencers (female 1)
In the 1930s Timothy Spencer and two spinster Sisters, Suzan and Sara, Yankees to be sure bought A big house at Porpoise Point, Vilano where they Were known to hold many a party with unknown Guests that we the neighbors neither knew Nor saw, but arrived and departed without Our knowledge for there were no cars, No carriages, no taxis to be seen on the street Despite hearing classical music played upon Piano and violin with such unearthly grace That I must admit was so enjoyable, I often Stood out front in the darkness of night With starry skies above to listen while Peering through the lace curtains to see Who was playing, and who might be in the

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Front room, but strange to tell, saw no one there. Tis true, I often observed brother Timothy dressed In formal attire with bowler hat, black suit and tie Walk off without a word in the early morning, And I would see sister Sara peeping out from Behind the lace curtain as if making sure Timothy Was gone, and often chatted with Sara when Tending assiduously to her garden, a wild patch Left by the previous owners I despised so much. Then my friends, one morning the pompous Timothy Did not parade his grand self before us, and later That day I was bold enough to ask Sara as to the Health and whereabouts of brother Timothy, Oh! He has gone up north on business, she said with such A casual smile that disarmed me completely and gave Not another thought to that man, but one day I noticed that sister Sara was not at her observatory Behind the lace curtain, though I paid little attention To her absence since many an evening fair, The party music, the clinking of champagne glasses, The dainty laughter of ladies being seduced was heard, While raucous males continued their bawdy chat As before, but on meeting Sara in her garden I inquired about Sister Susan, only to be told that all Was in order for that young lady had also gone north To meet a suitor, and still the partying went on at night, The street empty of cars, the lights on, no one to be Seen through the windows, and I was indeed perplexed And even more so when the garden was left unattended Despite Sister Saras dedication that had transformed This wild chaotic patch so abhorred by the neighbors Which was once again left desolate for all to see. Would an avid gardener allow such a jungle the freedom To defy all order, a neighbor asked, No, I replied, Worried sick, but was reassured when noisy parties Continued, till the festive sounds suddenly ceased And I called a neighbor, who called the police Who at first ignored our fears but when told That there was a woman living alone In that big house, and thinking that anything

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Might have happened to her, they felt obliged to take A look. All was silent at the big house when they Approached to peep through the windows, then boldly Walk in to see glasses on the table as if a party Had taken place quite recently, but on going upstairs, They found Timothy laid out in silk pajamas, dead Upon his bed and then Suzan likewise decomposed In her room, while Sara who had died more recently Was in another bed. Murdered, we all assumed, Until the coroner declared they had died of natural Causes, but I tell you now the truth, strange to say No personal information of any kind could be found In the Spencers house, so that who they were remains A mystery to this day, though sometimes, when strolling On the beach, even after the house was taken down By hurricane Sara in the sixties, the sounds of partying Still emanate from the property at Porpoise Point, Leaving us all to ask, what on earth was it all about? Waldo:

Heres a tale of a nuns gift of a romantic red blouse that resurrected a playful sailor, indeed a salty sexy spirit that scared and then delighted some residents on Aviles Street!
The Red Blouse (Female 2) Oh, Thank you, Sister Anastasia, I said When our friend the nun handed me what she called Her little gift wrapped so tidily in green paper Tied with yellow string which I opened that night That night when I laid it on my bed, untied the string, Carefully undid the wrapping to reveal a red blouse So beautiful, I cried out, Charlie, come see what Sister Anastasia gave your wife. My husband Set aside his cooking in the kitchen and seeing The blouse, picked it up and spread it out across My breast, Very sexy for a nun, he said, Kissing me ever so softly in the ear. Oh Charlie, tis a pity I cant wear red,

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It does not suit my hair. So I folded up the blouse and placed it Carefully to the rear of the big old closet In our bedroom, and thought of it no more Till I arrived home the following night To find the blouse laid out upon the bed! Oh Charlie, is this a gentle hint! I smiled, But of course he denied all guilt and even helped Fold it up again, returning the blouse to the closet. Are you sure you didnt put it on the bed in jest? I asked, still doubting his innocence, for if he didnt, Who did? But Charlie made a joke of this strange affair, I should have thought of that myself, he quipped. But it was not I! Turning on his heel he went Back to the stove where he cooked my dinner With such jokes and laughter that I forgot The uneasy queasiness I had felt creeping up My spine, and I was happy to have a few normal Days before the next startling event when I went To my bedroom to find a wild romantic novel On my pillow! Once again poor bewildered Charlie Was without explanation, and could only shake His head, which left us both perplexed as apparently Was our tiny dachshund, which began to sniff At the walls day and night growling at some Presence there she could not see, and then one Evening we found her in the backyard as if Expelled, I know I left her in the apartment When we went out, Charlie said in dread. How could she jump from the second floor, Added I, climbing up the stairs to our apartment To find things moved about like the rocking chair That Charlie used to watch television which now Faced the window looking out upon Aviles Street, Oh Charlie, I whispered, This is all too strange! A psychic came at our request and as she climbed The stairs, the little dog at her heels, we all could feel A strange coldness that seemed to come down upon Our heads like a force trying to keep us out. Her territory invaded, our dog barked and growled,

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The psychic kept on going and upon entering Our living room, declared, Its a man! Believe it or not, I nearly wet myself with fright Knowing now that it was not the nun who placed The sexy blouse and romantic novel upon our bed Nor was it my playful befuddled Charlie! The psychic returned to the living room And sitting down, a palm upon her forehead Whispered angrily, His name is Henry, he will Not leave the premises upon my command. The poor lady was all out of breath, and we had To help her as she left our house, leaving sexy Henry untamed, and though all was quiet That night, I barely slept through Charlies snores. The following day we told the whole story to our Neighbor, who laughed and laughed at our fearful Response to these inexplicable events for she Had a story of her own to tell, Oh she declared, This spirit is indeed a lusty lad, for one evening As I washed the dishes, I felt this saucy slap Upon my rear, and though I searched and searched No one could be found, and now I know that it Had to be none other than your cheeky Henry! To expel the bold Henry a priest came with bell, Book and candle to sprinkle holy water in every room And for sure it worked, for we heard no more From our fresh ghost, and later Charlie discovered That a seafaring man named Henry Barnes Had once lived in our apartment, but what had He to do with the red blouse or Sister Anastasia? Many a time I teased my Charlie asking him If it had been he who pinched my rear when Cooking in the kitchen, or whether it might not Be our salty romantic Henry back once more! Suggested Song 8 by Female 1: The Tail of the Oyster

Waldo:

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A former Mayor of St. Augustine owned a mens store on St. George Street. One night he found himself enveloped in a sweet cloying odor of what must have been a ghost heralding an imminent death in our town.
Kixies Mens Store (male 2) Later in life I was St. Augustines mayor, but let me Tell you of the mysterious events I witnessed In my mens store at 138 St. George Street When one wintry evening, as I tailored at my Bench, I noticed doorknobs turning by themselves, A table lamp moving about, and stranger still was The strong sweet clinging, cloying odor, the one You associate with a funeral all around me which Disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. It was even more upsetting when I got a whiff Of the same odor in the street, a smell No one but myself experienced, till one evening, A friend came to chat while I cut cloth and was Sowing a pants when the stockroom door opened Of itself to release that unmistakable smell! I looked at my visitor to see if he had noticed Are you wearing very strong cologne tonight? He asked showing he had taken heed of the odor, And jumping up we went to look in the stockroom. There was no one there, nothing out of the ordinary! Returning to our chairs, I saw the knob on the bathroom Door turn once, turn twice, and then the door swung Open so violently my guest insisted we depart Immediately and ran to the front door while I Went to start up a tape-recorder hoping to Catch the voice of any intruders when no one Was in the shop, and turning around to leave, I saw my friend with his back to me Standing in the front doorway, shifting weight From leg to leg, and I know you wont believe it, But I clearly saw a face on imprinted on his back Though just for a minute before it faded away,

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And shaken to the core I did not tell my friend. Eager to play back the recorder, I returned Next day to hear sounds of intruders on the tape: Soldiers marching down St. Georges street? Something? People? Animals rummaging around? A ships bell? How strange, I thought, noticing That every so often these sounds were punctuated By a squeaking squealing sound, maybe a rat And bereft of explanation I played the tape For others who were equally perplexed and then My friend who experienced the sweet odor that night Thinking it was a strong cologue, unexpectedly Died, a heart attack it was said. But when lowered Into his grave, I smelled that sickly odor again, And was shocked to see a man, the deceaseds brother No less, across from me on the other side of the grave. Why, he looks exactly like the face I saw That dreadful evening on my friends back As he stood in the doorway, and soon, just as I expected, the brother also passed away. The mysterious events continued in the shop, So I installed an alarm system, but strange to say It soon ceased to work, and I discovered That a wire had been cut in the crawl space Above the ceiling. Enough already! I said Marching down to the Monsignor in our Cathedral, who on hearing my story Declared that nothing short of an exorcism Would put an end to such dreadful happenings, And so it did, though every now and then I have to admit to close friends that when I Experience the odor foul, I know Cathedral Bells will toll their funeral chime once more. Waldo: St. Augustine could boast of heroes and saints, but bootleggers also graced our shores at the site where the Casablanca Inn stands today. The Widow at Casablanca Inn I (female 1)

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A widow I was in those days of prohibition, Balderdash I called this law government Sought to impose, but it gave me an opportunity To make a fortune for there was no shortage Of thirsty folks in St. Augustine. I made a deal with rumrunners from the Caribbean Who cruised the shores of Florida In search of honest merchants like myself Who willingly obliged to offer a safe haven For their cargo at my bay-front boarding house From whence I wholesaled to other merchants Who were game like me to serve many a feisty drinker, And as luck would have it, friendly Federal Agents Often stayed at my boarding house Warning me of the revenuers arrival in the town, So that when the moon made its appearance Oer the Bridge of Lions, and our wondrous bay, I would climb to the widows walk upon my roof To swing a lantern back and forth, signaling Bootleggers to cruise on by, and to this day, Boatmen passing though the Inlet often see my warning Light bobbying to and fro during the graveyard shift. Waldo: Patterson house across the street from Trinity Church is surely haunted but the ghosts are friendly for they bring yellow roses to St. Augustine Maggie Patterson and the Yellow Rose (F2) My name is Maggie Patterson of Patterson House Across the street from Trinity Church, a writer By profession, while Pat, my husband was a Portrait painter. Some time before Christmas When preparing the usual cards I saw the first Governor of Florida dressed in colonial attire Standing right in front of me as he bowed Taking off a three-cornered hat, a cocked Hat as they used to call it, he placed A yellow rose on the table before he left.

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I had felt no fear in the presence of my Gentleman caller but Pat, poor fellow thought I had a lover for oft a yellow rose was there On my doorstep in the courtyard for all to see, And though the Governor himself did not return His story was not over, for you see I loved cats, But Pat was allergic to them and said: You may have all the cats you wish but they Must remain out back in the summer-kitchen. I agreed knowing this would leave the cats Far away from his studio on the left side of The second floor with a staircase nearby that Led up to an empty storage room above. One day, Pat discovered our little calico-white, Black and gold spotted kitten on his desk! Of course he thought that I had been careless Enough to let this darned animal into the house And chasing it out the door the frisky thing Vanished in front of his eyes as it ran up the Stairs toward the empty room leaving poor Pat shaking his head in wonder at what had Taken place, and strange to say he liked This particular kitten, for it didnt eat much, Didnt have fleas and didnt make him sneeze. Just then he heard something move about upstairs, A scraping sound it was, as if something Were sliding across the floor. Raccoons To be sure he thought, and went up to block The hole only to find a coffin, And skidmarks all about the floor. As time went by he often went up to see the casket In a different position each time, and the story Did not end there, for upon restoring the Living room we discovered a three-foot deep Crawl-space between the ceiling and the bedroom Floor above, and going upstairs we pushed the bed Aside to see an ornate treasure chest In that same crawl-space, there, we believed Since Spanish times, and it must be belived That the appearance of the Governor with a

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Yellow rose, the cats disappearance, the Sliding casket, and the treasure chest beneath The bed were connected, and to prove my point, Tis only in that courtyard that one can find Yellow roses in St. Augustine

Epilogue
Waldo: So ends this nightly phantasmagoria Of wondrous ghosts in St. Augustine. Chorus (Whole Cast): We who have shared our stories Invite all to take pride in this land Of eternal youth, raise up the Living torch of St. Augustine And take us forward in peace

Song 8: Ghostly Party Song is sung by all actors on stage. This is The Teddy Bears Picnic with ghosts instead of Teddy Bears. Halloween Ghostly Party Song (written by Patrick Hughes)
If you go down dark streets tonight, Youre sure of a big surprise If you go down dark streets tonight, Youd better go in disguise For evry ghost that ever there was, Will gather there for certain, because Tonights the night the ghosts will have their party. Every ghost whos been good, Is sure of a treat tonight

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There's lots of marvellous tricks to play, And wonderful ways to scare Beneath the trees where nobody sees, They'll hide and seek as long as they please 'Cause that's the way the ghosts will have their party If you go down to murky streets tonight, You'd better not go alone It's lovely down dark alleyways tonight, But safer to stay at home. It may be nice in the lanes tonight, But safer to stay at home For evry ghost that ever there was, Will gather there for certain, because Tonights the night the spooks will have their party. Party time for Hal-ween Ghosts, The ghostly lads and lass are having a lovely time tonight Watch them, catch them unawares, And see them party on their holiday See them merrly gad about, They love to scare and shout; Despite their many a care At six a.m. the chief will crack the whip, taking them off the streets Because their tired little scary ghosts. Party time for Halween Ghosts, The ghostly lads and lass are having a lovely time tonight Watch them, catch them unawares, And see them party on their holiday. See them gaily gad about, They love to scare and shout; They dont seem to have a care. At six a.m. their master cracks the whip, taking them off the streets Because their tired little scary ghosts