Haunt of William P. Robertson--Master of the Macabre & Gothic Horror: Readings
The Spirit of Catherine Pt. 2
Having no brothers or sisters to accompany me, I had hiked alone in the woods since I was twelve. Yet, even I couldn't help but shrink from the vile sea of muck and stagnant water that stretched before me in the twilight. Great bleached tree trunks reached finger-like from the fringes of this mire, while ghostly beaver huts glowed in the mist now forming over the deeper pools. The distant chant of the whippoorwill made my face grow cold beneath my beard. If only I had asked a friend to come along. If only I had a friend to ask!
So this is where Catherine perished. No wonder the old Swedes wouldn't venture out here at night. According to legend, the girl had wandered off to pick Christmas ground pine and got caught in a driving blizzard. It wasn't until the following spring that her corpse was discovered by trappers near this very spot. Neighboring farmers swear that her cries for help can be heard echoing from these dark swamps even today. My grandmother said she was a winsome lass, wild as a colt and always out walking alone.