Talking about falling into danger, or not...I live a pretty
ho-hum life. I get up early, write for a bit (or that's the
theory), head into the my job at the newspaper where I busy myself for the next
eight or so hours, then head home to have dinner with hubby, after which I collapse
into a coma-like state on the couch until he rouses me to go to bed. The next
day I get up and do it all over again.
That's the reality. (Zzzzzzzzzz.)
In my head, however, danger is rarely too far from my side.
I have a worst-case-scenario mind, meaning that I'm liable to conjure up
trouble even when none exists. Add to that my extreme gullibility, and I'm a
walking/talking mass of susceptibility to anything spooky.
This isn't new. I've been like this my whole life. During a
hiking outing as a young Girl Scout, I refused to cross a log
"bridge" over a stream because I'd pictured myself falling in, swept
away by whitewater, eaten by ... whatever creatures lurked in the rivers of
Central New Jersey. (I shudder still!)
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| Little Falls, New Jersey--not at all close to the camp where I was. |
In reality, the "river" was probably little more
than a creek, the "whitewater" a trickle. When I think of that poor
leader who had to sit with me while the rest of the troop went off
adventuring...I want to duck into bed and pull the covers over my head with
embarrassment. (If by any chance you're reading this....I'm sorry!)
 |
| Yes, I refused to walk the ten feet or so across the log. (Hangs head in remembered shame.) |
So when it came to overnight camp-outs, "nervous"
hardly described my state of mind. Even safely ensconced in the tent (burrowed
so far down into my sleeping back I was probably at risk of suffocation), I
imagined insects hovering inches over my head waiting to feast on me. (In fairness, they probably were. We were
camping in the woods, after all.)
And then the stories would start. First, the legend of Mr. Nomoco, a tall,
skinny man who at one time owned the property. His ghost roamed the site of the
campgrounds, waiting for young girls to brave the night to trudge through the
mists to the latrines while bats sang overhead. (In reality, there was no Mr.
Nomoco, alive or ghostly. Nomoco was an abbreviation for the Girl Scout campground
-- NOrthern MOnmouth COunty.)
The spookiest, though, was the legend of the Jersey Devil, a
hoofed, leather-winged creature that patrolled the woods of the southern Jersey Pine Barrens
for its supper. (Human, of course.)
The legend has numerous variations, but most tell of Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Leeds who lived in what is now Atlantic County in
the mid-1700s. Upon the birth of their 13th child, Mother Leeds shouted,
"He'll be the devil," or words to that effect, at which point the
newborn turned into the creature and would forever haunt the woods in the area.
It was cruel and heartless...and relentless. (Think of the velociraptor chasing
the kids in the lab in Jurassic Park.)
And it has scared the you-know-what out of hapless scouts
and campers for more than a hundred years.
 |
| This is kind of what the Jersey Devil looks like..I've never actually seen him myself. | |
I wish I'd known then what I know now: That according to Brian Regal, professor of
the history of science at New Jersey's Kean University, the "Jersey
Devil" was born of a running fight between the Leeds family who published
a political, anti-Quaker almanac called by some as heretical, and rival
Benjamin Franklin.
In the November/December 2013 issue of Skeptical
Inquirer, Regal writes that Titan Leeds (who took over as publisher from
his father, founder Daniel Leeds) "...redesigned the masthead to include
the Leeds family crest, which contained three figures on a shield. Dragon-like
with a fearsome face, clawed feet, and bat-like wings, the figures, known as
Wyverns, are suspiciously reminiscent of the later descriptions of the Jersey
Devil."
In 1732, Franklin launched his Poor Richard's Almanac,
and in an attempt to boost sales in 1733 ran an item that predicted a date that
his "devilish" rival would die. After that, Franklin referred to
Titan Leeds as a ghost. (Apparently it was meant in fun. Imagine what would
happen today! Talk about political mud-slinging!)
It wasn't until the early 20th century that the now-familiar
story of the winged creature started making its rounds of campfire circles. And from there the legend took root and
thrives to this day.
I wish I had more time. I'd tell you the one about the young
lovers whose car breaks down on a lonely stretch of road deep in the woods of
the New Jersey Pine Barrens.... :-)
To read more about the legend, go
here:
To read more about Regal's so-called truth :-):
go
here.
Leah writes of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the
redeeming power of love, including her own story about things that go bump in
the night--
Adrienne's Ghost.
FBI agent
Jackson Yates had never believed in
ghosts...until now. Available in eBook, print and audiobook.
