The Restless Skeleton of the Borrego Badlands

Photo via gotoborregosprings.com

Whisper in my ear that there is a U.S. State Park which has long been haunted by an enormous lantern-bearing skeleton, and, naturally, all I can do in response is hop up and down like an over-caffeinated kangaroo and shriek, “Blog post, here we come!” 

Southern California’s Borrego Badlands are ideal surroundings for bizarre folklore.  It’s a 20 mile wide, 15 mile long section of the enormous Anza-Borrego Desert State Park.  Although the area was under the sea in ancient times, today it is a mass of arid, desolate arroyos reminiscent of photos of the Martian landscape.  Having visited the place myself, I can attest that it has its charm, albeit of a stark, almost eerie fashion.

Our ghostly legend began with a prospector known as “Charley Arizona.”  Some time in the 1880s, Charley was traveling from Yuma, Arizona to San Diego.  One night, he camped near the appropriately named Superstition Mountain, about four miles southeast of Borrego.  He was awakened by the sound of his burros getting very agitated about something, and he went to see what was troubling them.  Some two hundred yards away, Charley saw a light like a lantern shining through the darkness.  Surrounding that light was a huge skeleton, about eight feet tall, staggering seemingly aimlessly through the desert.  Charley could "hear his bones a-rattlin!"  A few minutes later, the creature climbed a ridge and disappeared from view.

Two years later, two other prospectors camped in the same general area.  During the night, they were alarmed to see a flickering light going by in the distance.  One of the men insisted it was a tall skeleton carrying a lantern.  A few months later, the men were in Vallecito, California, when another prospector told them of having seen “a wandering stack of bones” in the badlands, carrying a light.  Like Charley, he thought the skeleton was just wandering around pointlessly.

Once talk of this peripatetic skeleton began circulating, more sightings emerged, some of them more reliable than others.  Two men went into the badlands, determined to see the strange being for themselves.  After three nights of hunting it down, they were not disappointed.  They chased after the skeleton as it wandered in the general direction of Fish Mountain.  In his 1940 book of Southwest folklore, “Golden Mirages,” Philip A. Bailey quoted one of the men as saying, “it would gallop up a hill with remarkable energy and then stop and putter around, walking in circles as though undecided what to do.  Then it would stalk majestically down the hill and across the plain, only to end up in some canyon busily tramping around.”  One of the men shot at the strange being, which didn't seem to trouble it in the least.  The men trailed after the skeleton for some three miles before it disappeared from view.  Other visitors to the badlands reported seeing a strange moving glow in the distance, without seeing the skeleton itself.

As for the interesting question of why Borrego was home to a giant wandering skeleton, most prospectors believed it was the spirit of a man who had died searching for the elusive Phantom Mine.  (Bailey commented, “The mine is known to exist, and its exact location is common knowledge, but for some inexplicable reason no one can find it.”)  Others theorized the apparition was of one Thomas “Pegleg” Smith, discoverer of a now-lost gold mine.  A mysterious ball of light has often been seen in the vicinity of Squaw Peak, but opinions vary about whether or not it’s connected to our well-lit bones.

In any case, I now have a strong urge to pack my bags and head back to those badlands for a spot of skeleton-hunting.  Who’s with me?

The Skeleton's Revenge; Or, What Not to Do With Ancient Bones

I like a quiet life.  Therefore, if I should happen to run across a mysterious skeleton, I leave it strictly alone.  And if, for whatever reason, it should wind up in my house, I certainly don’t play silly buggers with the bones.  You avoid a lot of nasty surprises that way.  The wisdom of this course of action is illustrated in a cautionary tale that appeared in the July 1922 issue of “Occult Review.”  The author, Katherine Godefroi, heard the story directly from the doctor at the center of the incident.

Godefroi’s friend, whom she gave the pseudonym “Dr. Smith,” lived on some property adjacent to the ancient castle of Herstmonceux, in Surrey, England.  Godefroi described him as “very strong-minded, hard-headed, and extremely clever, and quite the last person in whose way one would think that anything supernatural would be likely to come.”

At the time our story opens, Smith had been married for two years.  His wife had a brother who was a medical student at St. George’s Hospital.

Like so much of the English countryside, Smith’s property boasted a number of archaeological relics.  He occasionally let parties conduct excavations on his land, and if they discovered any ancient treasures, they were allowed to keep them.  One morning, he received a letter from a London archaeological society, asking for permission for several of their members to examine a barrow which had never been opened.

The barrow was near Smith’s house, which initially made him reluctant to grant the request.  His wife was heavily pregnant with their first child, and he naturally did not want her disturbed.  In the end, however, he decided to permit the dig.  The three archaeologists arrived a week later.

At first, nothing was discovered in the barrow other than a few Roman coins.  However, on the second day, they uncovered a “most perfect specimen” of a man’s skeleton.  This fleshless body so impressed Dr. Smith that he told the men he could not resist keeping it for himself.  The visitors, naturally, agreed.  Smith set up the skeleton in his study, where it “remained a joy to his eyes for some weeks to come.”

To each his or her own, I guess.

Not long afterward, Mrs. Smith gave birth to a son.  Once she had recuperated, her brother came for a visit.  He was as delighted with the skeleton as Dr. Smith had been.  The young medical student was about to start a course of anatomy, so he asked his brother-in-law for permission to remove a little finger, for dissection purposes.  Smith agreed.

After two or three days of working on the finger, the brother-in-law noticed something odd.  His own little finger became increasingly painful.  It then gradually shrunk to the point where it was so withered, the digit had to be amputated.

Some months later, a friend of Dr. Smith, who was also a physician, came to call.  He, too, was dazzled by the ancient skeleton.  He was so enthralled, he begged to be allowed to take the skull home so he could examine it in detail.  Smith agreed, and the skull was given pride of place in the friend’s baggage.

Several days after acquiring the skull, Smith’s doctor friend was walking down a street when he tripped on a curb and landed with such force that he broke his jaw.  His face was so damaged that he had to keep his jaw in splints for over a month.  Before leaving the hospital, he ran into Smith’s brother-in-law, where he heard the sad tale of losing his finger after removing the corresponding bit of bone from the skeleton.

Smith’s friend was quite capable of putting two and two together.  He immediately returned the skull to Smith, thanking him for the loan, but suggesting that he now felt it was perhaps wisest to keep the skeleton together.  After hearing his friend’s story, Smith resolved not to make any more presents of the bones.  Smith had a small cupboard where he kept poisons used in medical prescriptions.  The cupboard was always locked, and the key was kept attached to his watch-chain.  He put the skull and finger bone in this cupboard until he could have them reattached to their rightful owner.

Several weeks later, a man came down from London to do this task.  When Smith unlocked the cupboard, he was deeply unnerved to see that the skull and finger were gone.  He was so rattled, he immediately telephoned the vicar.  It was clearly time to bring a little divine assistance into the situation.

Smith told the vicar everything that had happened.  After a brief discussion, they agreed that the wisest thing would be to rebury the skeleton.  The following day, the bones were reverently interred in the local churchyard, with the vicar saying a few prayers for the dead.

Godefroi added, “Since then nothing unusual has happened to Dr. Smith or to any of his friends.”

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

via Newspapers.com

The dead can get so damned touchy about what you do with their remains. This charming little cautionary tale was related by one S.G. Hobson, in what appears to have been a syndicated column. This particular reprint comes from the "Pittsburgh Post-Gazette" for July 12, 1908.

Medical students are notoriously irreverent; serious views come to them later on in life. And they are apt to take a material view of the sanctities of the human body. But even their materialism sometimes gets a jolt.

This eerie story was told to me by a doctor in the west of Ireland one evening as we were discussing supernatural things. He was a King's man and therefore held a London degree. In his student days he used to foregather with a number of his college chums in a house in Bloomsbury where lodged a student, to whom money was not of much object.

By some subterranean means these young sparks had got hold of a corpse to dissect. It was the body of a distinguished-looking man, well nourished, and having every indication of cleanly habits during life. The corpse was regarded as a great find, and for several nights careful scientific dissection went on. After all dissecting possibilities had been exhausted the owner proceeded to retain the skeleton and took the necessary means to have the bones cleansed.

About a month later half a dozen of the fellows met for a jollification and I fear that what with whisky and soda, rum punch and other deleterious and distinctly unmedical lotions, the wee small hours found them in a rollicking mood, if not in an intoxicated condition. Practical jokes followed fast and furious upon each other, and finally irreverent hands were laid upon the new bleached skeleton. Nothing would satisfy one youngster but to detach the skull and place it in the bed of the student lodger. This led to other pranks on the unfortunate skeleton, and before long arms and legs were distributed in various parts of the room. Another hour's jollification witnessed the exhaustion of the party. Arm chairs were requisitioned for sleep, and there was a brisk fight for possession of the sofa. Soon silence came upon them. The room was dark enough for it reeked with tobacco smoke. Sleep came to tired eyes and one or two hoggishly snored.

Suddenly a startled voice rang out: "Hie. you chaps, look." All were immediately on the alert, and surely never did a more blood-curdling picture present itself, for the bones of that skeleton by some unseen agency one by one were coming together again. Not a man dared move. These brave youths, who had not scrupled to play silly jokes with a skeleton which six weeks before was clothed in the majesty of manhood, now sat in a horrid fright, eyes starting from their sockets. A nightmare was child's play to this. Soon the whole skeleton had been integrated save for the head. Then there was a pause. But in the silence each man instinctively knew that something even yet more uncanny was about to happen. After a lapse of about 30 seconds the door opened, and on a level with the handle the skull was seen to advance slowly to the corner of the room where stood the rest of the skeleton. The skull rose to the level of the neck and was placed in position by the same unseen agency that had brought together the other part.

Nothing more had happened, and it was half-an-hour before the first student dared utter a word. Then all rushed for hats and coats.

"My God, you fellows! Are you going to leave me here alone with that?" exclaimed the medical lodger, pointing dramatically to the skeleton.

This is how my informant finished the story: "Not one of us was disposed to stay there, but I said to him in a whisper, 'Come and spend the night with me, old man.'"

"And so we left the room where the ghost of the departed grandee had set up his own skeleton. Gad, my son! 'Twas an experience you would not go hunting for. Billy Stephens, who lodged there and owned the skeleton, got such a sickener that he gave up medicine and took to the church."

I always try to warn people that skeletons rarely have a sense of humor.