By Ambrose Bierce
If you had seen little Jo standing at the street corner in therain， you would hardly have admired him. It was apparently anordinary autumn rainstorm， but the water which fell upon Jo（who was hardly old enough to be either just or unjust， and soperhaps did not come under the law of impartial distribution）appeared to have some property peculiar to itself： one wouldhave said it was dark and adhesive—sticky. But that couldhardly be so， even in Blackburg， where things certainly didoccur that were a good deal out of the common.
For example， ten or twelve years before， a shower of smallfrogs had fallen， as is credibly attested by a contemporaneouschronicle， the record concluding with a somewhat obscurestatement to the effect that the chronicler considered it goodgrowing-weather for Frenchmen.
Some years later Blackburg had a fall of crimson snow；it is cold in Blackburg when winter is on， and the snows arefrequent and deep. There can be no doubt of it—the snow inthis instance was of the colour of blood and melted into water ofthe same hue， if water it was， not blood. The phenomenon hadattracted wide attention， and science had as many explanationsas there were scientists who knew nothing about it. But the menof Blackburg—men who for many years had lived right therewhere the red snow fell， and might be supposed to know a gooddeal about the matter—shook their heads and said somethingwould come of it.
And something did， for the next summer was madememorable by the prevalence of a mysterious disease—epidemic， endemic， or the Lord knows what， though thephysicians didn’t—which carried away a full half of thepopulation. Most of the other half carried themselves awayand were slow to return， but finally came back， and were nowincreasing and multiplying as before， but Blackburg had notsince been altogether the same.
Of quite another kind， though equally “out of the common，”
was the incident of Hetty Parlow’s ghost. Hetty Parlow’smaiden name had been Brownon， and in Blackburg that meantmore than one would think.
The Brownons had from time immemorial—from the veryearliest of the old colonial days—been the leading family ofthe town. It was the richest and it was the best， and Blackburgwould have shed the last drop of its plebeian blood in defenceof the Brownon fair fame. As few of the family’s members hadever been known to live permanently away from Blackburg，although most of them were educated elsewhere and nearlyall had travelled， there was quite a number of them. The menheld most of the public offices， and the women were foremostin all good works. Of these latter， Hetty was most beloved byreason of the sweetness of her disposition， the purity of hercharacter and her singular personal beauty. She married inBoston a young scapegrace named Parlow， and like a goodBrownon brought him to Blackburg forthwith and made a manand a town councillor of him. They had a child which theynamed Joseph and dearly loved， as was then the fashion amongparents in all that region. Then they died of the mysteriousdisorder already mentioned， and at the age of one whole yearJoseph set up as an orphan.
Unfortunately for Joseph the disease which had cut off hisparents did not stop at that； it went on and extirpated nearlythe whole Brownon contingent and its allies by marriage；and those who fled did not return. The tradition was broken，the Brownon estates passed into alien hands， and the onlyBrownons remaining in that place were underground in OakHill Cemetery， where， indeed， was a colony of them powerfulenough to resist the encroachment of surrounding tribes andhold the best part of the grounds. But about the ghost.
One night， about three years after the death of Hetty Parlow，a number of the young people of Blackburg were passingOak Hill Cemetery in a wagon—if you have been there youwill remember that the road to Greenton runs alongside iton the south. They had been attending a May Day festival atGreenton； and that serves to fix the date. Altogether there mayhave been a dozen， and a jolly party they were， considering thelegacy of gloom left by the town’s recent sombre experiences.
As they passed the cemetery， the man driving suddenly reinedin his team with an exclamation of surprise. It was sufficientlysurprising， no doubt， for just ahead， and almost at the roadside，though inside the cemetery， stood the ghost of Hetty Parlow.
