The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXVIII

PART XXXVIII

Alpha & Omega: The End has Come

ALPHA

Let me tell you a story, a true story. It is one of adventure and discovery, of mystery and doubt. At some moments it can be quite inspiring, and at others truly horrific. The unknown, the undead, the real and the supernatural all combine forces to create an unforgettable tale. A tale that began with a farmer and his land.

In the late 18th century, just after the conclusion of the Revolutionary War, a man and his wife move north from their small home in Boston to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (what is now the State of Maine). Their family name is Cox. In search for land, the couple approaches the local magistrate of the town of Minot to help them. His name is Christopher Young. He informs the Cox’s of a new spot of land that has just come under his jurisdiction and offers to sell it. He even proposes to restore the old dirt road that cuts through the land. Although they are surprised at Young’s willingness to sell his land so quickly, the Cox’s make no effort to address the matter but instead are quick to secure the deal. Young had but one demand, that the new road be named after him. The Cox family happily agreed. And so it was that Young’s Corner Road was founded, a spot of truly peaceful land, and where the Cox family made their new home and started their family.

Their first born son, Joseph, arrived just after the beginning of the 19th century. The farm continued to prosper, harvesting hay and dairy from cattle, meat from pigs and utilizing the might of the many horses in the area to help plow the land. In 1820, the State of Massachusetts strikes a deal with Congress and agrees to transform its Commonwealth into a free state. Now a state, the former Commonwealth is given a proper name, Maine. By this time, the Young’s Corner farm is one the best producers in the county. In 1826, Joseph Cox, now owner of the family farm, has his first son. He names him Christopher, in memory of the magistrate who sold his father the land.

The farm continues in its success. It is so successful in fact, that a bidding war broke out between the towns of Minot, where the farm was located, and Auburn, an up and coming mill town. With the completion of a new dam and several textile mills, Auburn was now in a position to purchase the land so it could come under its own jurisdiction. Minot, unable to compete with the growing textile mills, made a deal with Auburn’s town council to sell the spot. Auburn accepted, and in 1842 the town boarder was extended to include the Cox Family Farm on Young’s Corner Rd. The family was surrounded by success. Everything seemed so peaceful, so tranquil. But slowly and with gaining intensity, politics began to flair and war loomed on the horizon.

While the rest of the civilized world had abolished the practice of slavery, young America was still too stubborn to do so. But animosity sparked between the states and soon the nation was divided, North from South. On April 12, 1861 the Confederate Army attacked Union Soldiers at Charleston, South Carolina and began the destructive conflict known as the Civil War. News of the event was widespread and it eventually came to Auburn and to Young’s Corner.

BETA

By this time, Christopher Cox had taken over operations at the Cox Family Farm. In the years preceding the war, he had become quite taken by one of the farm’s laborers. She was a descendant of the Pejepseot Indian tribe that once occupied the land of Auburn. While her native name has been lost, her Christian name has survived. She was Libby, and just before the outbreak of war, she became Christopher’s wife. But with the call for volunteers to serve in the Union Army, the newlywed’s were soon separated. Christopher, at age 35, joined up with the 9th Maine Infantry on September 22nd, 1861. And so, waving goodbye to his wife, he felt the first truly heartbreaking moment of his life. For, Libby was already five months pregnant.

Christopher served his country well. For almost a year, he fought bravely and managed to survive unscathed. However, on July 18th, 1863, he was badly injured at the battle of Fort Wagner, South Carolina. Medical records indicate that Christopher shouldn’t have survived. But he did. He fought for another year, only to be injured again on June 26th, 1864 at Petersburg, Virginia. The bullet wound was deep, but within a week, Christopher was back on the front. It was a sensation. In a war in which disease killed more soldiers than bullets, and only a few were able to survive more than a year, Christopher was an amazing exception. The Union saw fit to muster him out because of his heroics. On August 27th, 1864, Christopher left the front and started his journey back to Maine and Young’s Corner.

It must have been a journey fraught with great anticipation; he was going home to see his child for the first time. He carried with him a letter from his wife that he received when on the front. It said their child was born on February 16, 1862 at the family farm. It was a boy and his name was Christopher Jr., after his father. He was a beautiful boy and loved to splash his mother when they went to the lake during the summers. But the home that Christopher Sr. returned to was not a happy one. For despite his heroic effort in the war, he was not rewarded with a family. He had come home to a dead son.

Christopher Jr. had died on February 18th, 1864, just two days after his 2nd birthday and only five months before his father returned home. It was the second heartbreak for the Cox family. His wife, Libby, was overrun with emotion upon seeing her husband again. She needed him to help bring the farm back to order but more importantly, she needed him for consolation and comfort. Disaster had finally struck the Cox family. Ever since their arrival in Maine, the family seemed destined for greatness. The land, incredibly fertile and productive, was practically given to them. A local herd of horses emerged from the woods and served to help till the land. The Cox’s didn’t have to pay a penny. The farm became a lucrative business. The luck continued for Christopher Sr., who miraculously survived two trips to the infirmary in one of bloodiest wars of American history. Every time he returned to the front he couldn’t help but think that he was blessed. The fortune of the Cox family seemed limitless. But all fortunes come to end. They always come to an end.

GAMMA

Christopher could tell that Libby was worried. When he inquired about her fears she had a grave story to tell. Her ancestors, the mighty Pejepseot tribe, once owned all this land. Within the many fields surrounding the Northern Woods were their mighty horses, galloping wherever they pleased. And within the woods themselves, the tribe built their homes. But with the exploration of Maine by the Europeans during the French and Indian War, much native land was colonized and seized from the local tribes. During the Revolutionary War, one such tribe was forcibly removed by a wealthy English magistrate. His name, Libby revealed, was Christopher Young. The same man the Cox family had looked to for safety and protection! They had even named their son’s after him! But now the truth could be told, and the reasons for Young’s eagerness to sell the land were clear – this land was unrightfully taken, and the Indian spirits had planned for revenge.

The death of their son was only the first of the curses. Within a year of Christopher Sr.’s return, the farm land that was once so healthy and green, began to dry and crack. The horses that had come so freely out of the woods to serve the Cox family and help till the land, disappeared. Money evaporated as the family now had to buy work animals and hire more hands to keep the remaining good land farmable. Realizing that the farm was collapsing before their eyes, Christopher and Libby sell the farm but keep ownership of the forest. They use the remainder of their fortune to build a new home down the road from Young’s Corner. The house sat upon a hill overlooking Lake Auburn, the lake little Christopher loved to play in. Construction of the house finished in 1875. It was a grand house, but despite its luxury, it did not provide the Cox family with the happiness they were looking for. Even with the birth of their new child, Abilene, in 1878, the Cox’s became ever more reclusive.

Libby knew what she had done to unleash her ancestor’s anger so greatly. Her blood was of the true and proud Pejespeot tribe, a tribe who acted as masters of a mighty heard of horses and ruled all the land that is now Auburn. That is, before the arrival of the Europeans. By the time Libby was born, that tribe and its true lands were all but gone, taken from the wealthy magistrate Christopher Young. Young must have realized his mistake. Perhaps he was even threatened by surviving members of the Pejepseot tribe to relinquish his lands. It explained why he was so eager to sell the land to the first Cox family. However, knowing her ancestry, Libby unwillingly made herself a servant of the land, working for the white man on land that once belonged to her people. She ignored her true inheritance and instead became a slave to her captors. Libby would like to think otherwise, for it was on the farm that she found her true love, Christopher Sr. But the anger of the ancestors is not so easily pacified by fanciful visions of love. She had betrayed her people. She owns a farm that enslaves the local animals and serves only to make a profit. The reasons behind the curses are just, but how far will they go?

DELTA

At the turn of the 20th century, the Cox Family Farm is under new ownership. Christopher Sr., at age 73, died in 1899 leaving Libby and their daughter Abeline, or Abby as they liked to call her, to live quietly in their house on the hill. The next year, Abby, now a grown woman, marries a wealthy man whose family had just recently immigrated to Maine from Germany. Her husband’s name, was Jonathan Kannegieser. Their family was unknown to all, and like the Cox’s, they preferred to keep to themselves. They lived in a large Victorian house on Hotel Rd., a house that now no longer exists.

As a wedding dowry, Libby offered her daughter the house on the hill so that she and her husband may have a home and so Abby can still care for her mother. Abby and Jonathan happily accepted and agreed to take care of Libby, who was coming to the last of her years. A year later, the newly weds celebrated the arrival of their first child, Michael Kannegieser. It was a sight to behold for the grandmother Libby who took great care in helping her daughter raise the boy. Peace at last was returning to her shattered heart. And in 1905, the couple gave birth to their second child, a daughter. They named her Norma. The baby served to give Abby great comfort, for not a month after her birth, Libby passed away. The grandmother died knowing her daughter would be more blessed than herself. At least, that’s what she hoped.

Norma was raised in a loving home. If such curses did exist, her mother strove to reverse them by simply being what nature required of her, a good mother. The family still had ownership of the Northern Woods and they spent much time hiking the old trails. So that the family could enjoy the woods ever more, Jonathan had three cabins built on top of the forest hill. This served as a great place of comfort for Norma who spent much time traversing the old trails and tending to the horses that had returned. She even cared for them when they were sick, using the top medicines available. This love for nature was in her blood, the blood of the Pejepseots. By 1925, her brother Michael had moved to Boston for business. Norma remained at home and to her mother’s delight, she bore an uncanny resemblance to her Native American grandmother Libby. Abby believed this was a sign of approval from her ancestors. Norma had the Pejepseot face and it caused quite a stir in one man’s heart.

While shopping one day in Auburn’s town center, a man dressed in full military regalia approached Norma to give her a flower. His name was Lucas Jameson and it was love at first sight. Lucas was a soldier in the Corps of Engineers and had served his country in WWI. Born and raised in Maine, he had been an engineering enthusiast since he was very young, always carrying around the latest ‘Popular Mechanic’ magazine in his pocket. But there was another childhood fascination of Lucas, a much stronger one. His affinity for Native Americans. It seemed it was a family trait. Lucas’ great-grandfather left his home in England and came to America during the French and Indian War. He too was fascinated by the Indians and desired to study them. While traveling in Maine he came upon a tribe in 1761 - The Pejepseot Tribe. His curiosity soon turned to love, and the old man was accepted into the tribe to live with them. To the locals, he was known as the Old Hermit, always wandering in the fields amongst the herds of horses. Dressing in long blue robes and along with his long white beard, he could have been mistaken for a wizard.

EPSILON

Lucas inherited this natural affinity with Indians and so was drawn to Norma. By 1926, they were married and lived in Norma’s home on the hill and took care of her mother Abby. They even had a dog, a golden retriever. Once again, the descendants of the Cox family were surrounded with success. With most of their fortune in stocks, the roaring 20’s provided a safe and secure bank account. But on October 24th, 1929, otherwise know as “Black Thursday,” the stock market crashed and signaled the beginning of the end for America’s wealth. The Jameson’s got as much of their fortune out as they could, including the deed for the Northern Woods which was now kept safe in a security deposit box in Auburn’s town bank.

The Great Depression was difficult for everyone. By 1932, Abby had passed away at age 54. Norma and Lucas struggled to keep their house on the hill, but with arrival of FDR in the White House, matters were soon set straight. However, by that time yet another war loomed on the horizon. The Nazi’s were spreading their empire across Europe at an alarming rate. The United States refused to take action until that infamous day, December 7th, 1941 when the empire of Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. Lucas should have been preparing for war, he should have been filled with patriotism and eager to return to the front, he should been all these things, but he wasn’t. He was dead.

No one knows how it happened, but at age 41, Lucas Jameson passed away at his home in Auburn, Maine. He was a prominent member of the community, and the people were suspicious. How could a man die at such a young age? A police investigation was begun but no answers could be found. Some started to suspect the wife, Norma. With her husband gone she could no longer support herself in such a large house. And with her name in the presses, the attention was too great to remain on the hill. She decided to move to a place where she always felt comfortable, a place of her childhood – the Northern Woods.

She wanted to hide and she had to move fast. She went to the Auburn bank to retrieve the deed for the woods. With her she brought a small leather bound book with a hundred pages. Her husband, a genealogy enthusiast, had printed this book which contained a history of the Jameson family stretching back all the way to the 17th century. Written on the only two pages with text was the number of the security deposit box: 50-51. With her key in hand, Norma opened the box and took the deed.

Within a week she had gathered all her family’s heirlooms: clothes, her husband’s ‘Popular Mechanics’ collection, books, and the original Cox family farming equipment they obtained when the farm was sold. And in 1945, Norma, with her dog and all her possessions packed away in large wooden chests, brought her life into the woods. This land was where the Pejepseot’s lived and where the wild horses roamed. But the horses had now gone, and the tribe has long disappeared. Norma was the last of her kind and she could feel the spirits rejoice at her arrival. The Pejepseot descendant had returned and the land once again belonged to the tribe.

OMEGA

As for the house on the hill, it passed to Norma’s brother, Michael. He never lived there. Instead, after moving back to Maine from Boston with his wife Suzanne, he built a home in downtown Auburn. In 1955, they had a son, Tom Kannegeiser. The house on the hill fell into a state of despair and slowly became overgrown with vines. The Cox family farm was now divided into 4 plots, and each soon had a home built upon them. The largest plot contained their barnhouse. It is where my cousins now live. Another house was built in a long ranch style and lay across from the Cox Family graveyard. It is the house that I was raised in. Michael Kannegeiser never spoke to his sister now living in the woods, in fact, he never even knew she was there. Over the years he used the cabins as a storage dump for his and his wife’s old keepsakes. Their wedding outfits, unused clothes, toys and drawings from their kids, old furniture, etc. And in all that time, amazingly, he never saw his sister. The Old Woman lived so simply that she left no traces of her existence amongst the cabins. Michael nor anyone else would be able to tell if someone lived there. The cabins, like the house on the hill, continued to fall apart.

But that changed in 1965 when a new family arrived in Auburn. They, a family of 7, had moved from Boston and were in need of a large house. They found the house on the hill and it suited them perfectly. With some remodeling, it soon looked just like new. The area of Young’s Corner was entering a new age. But one can never truly escape the past. The owners of the house on the hill had heard stories from the neighbors, stories of a suspicious death, and of the disappearance of the previous owner decades before. The husband was a military man they were told, and his great-grandfather used to roam these lands with the local Indian tribe dressed in a blue robe. The wife, they said, enjoyed the outdoors, far too much for the neighbor’s liking. But no one thought they were truly gone. Sometimes one could hear the marching of soldiers boots coming from within the house. Other times, one could see a dim blue light moving from room to room, limping as if it was tired and old.

And so we come to our time. The inhabitants of the house on the hill, my family, have experienced the Legend of Young’s Corner. In 1972, my mother was visited by the blue Old Man, now known to be Jameson’s Great-Grandfather. He used to be a caretaker for these lands and was joyful to see the house, the place of his descendant’s death, once again in use and cared for. That same year, my Aunt visited the Northern Woods when she was very young. There she encountered Norma, the Old Woman, and her dog too. 20 years pass and my Aunt, with her husband, make the old Cox family farm on Young’s Corner Road their new home. It is here that Little Christopher makes his first appearance. He approached my Uncle and asks him which way to the lake, the lake he remembers playing in with his mother. Christopher Jr., who had never known his father, was eager to fill the void. But the dead cannot live with the living and he disappeared. 2 years pass and my mother, father, brother and I move into the ranch house across the street from the barn. The two siblings that experienced visions of Young’s Corner’s lost history, my mother and my Aunt, have now been drawn to live here. As a child I watch the Old Woman walk through our field with her dog, who must have been in its early fifties. I attempt to contact her with my friends in 2001, but we find no Old Woman in the cabins. Instead we find all her heirlooms, her memories of a distant past. A list of names of those she knew, but who she has outlived. Like her brother Michael, we assumed she was dead and thought the place to be abandoned. But we were wrong, for Bobby saw her on Hotel Rd. soon after. Perhaps she truly does disappear when you approach the cabins, or perhaps we were just lucky. And finally, in 2004 Little Christopher appeared again, to my cousin Sarah. Was he trying to scare her? I don’t like to think so. He was looking for a friend, a friend he never had because he died so young.

I’d like to think that the curses were over, that peace was finally restored to the forest and that the land that was taken by Christopher Young was returned to the Pejepseot tribe. Norma gave back to the land its true blood. And the ghosts were never there to hurt us, but to thank us. Always creating a sense of calm in their presence, and always appearing with that smile on their faces. But last year the land of the Northern Woods was relinquished by the Kannegeiser’s, a family with a strange and old history, and given to the Tardiff’s. No one felt right about this, this was a disturbance. Our suspicions were proved correct when they begun building a house, inside the forest. The cabins of Norma were demolished, pushed aside in disregard for history and respect. In their place is now the Tardiff’s gargantuan, arrogant home, deep within the woods.

And what of Norma, the Old Woman? She must be 100 years old by now. How she could have lived in those cabins for over fifty years, I do not know. When I saw them, I knew they were in no shape to be considered inhabitable. But with them gone, there is no place for the Old Woman to stay. Some like to think she has finally passed on. As for me, I know she’s still out there. How do I know? Well that, my friends, is another story…

THE END

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXVII

PART XXXVII
The Little Boy

2004 - May

A couple years had past and many things had changed. By this time, the deed for the field and woods had been passed from the Kannegieser’s to another, yet equally wealthy family, the Tardiff’s. The selling of the land sure did raise a lot of eyebrows. No one knew why it happened. At least not yet.

But something else transpired that summer. Something that you might say provided answers to this story. As for me, it made the matter of solving this mystery that much more complicated. Which in turn, made my resolve that much more powerful.

Across the street from my house is the red barn and the house attached to it, my cousin’s house, the house of my Aunt who first saw the cabins. Ever since that day, over 30 years ago, she has become ever more conscious of a living spirituality, an agnostic belief that there is a bond between us all on some higher level and that spirits, both good and bad, are continually trying to aid us, for our benefit or for theirs. Perhaps it was the close encounter with death and the Old Woman that caused it. Perhaps not.

When I returned home from my third year at school, my mother had this story to tell me.

One hot summer evening, just a few days ago, the youngest of my Aunt’s daughters, Sarah, awoke in the middle of the night. Her room was too humid to rest, so she walked downstairs to the living room where it was cool and fell asleep on one of the couches. No more than a few hours past when she awoke again. The room was still dark for the sun had not yet risen. But Sarah could see just fine. She could see the little boy standing at the edge of the couch, dressed in tired and tattered denim overalls. He held a faint smile on his face and a sense of calm enveloped Sarah. My cousin rose to meet him, but he dashed off into the kitchen. Sarah gave chase but when she reached the kitchen she found the boy had gone. He had vanished. In an instant, the calm evaporated and her screaming began. The ghost of a little boy had been seen in the house. The strange thing is, this wasn’t the first time.

“What do you mean, Mom?” I asked. “This has happened before?”
“Once I tell you, you’ll know why this has your Aunt so upset.”

1992 - May

A flashback to the past. My Uncle pays a visit to the barn, alone. He and his wife, my Aunt, are at the time looking to buy a new home and they both decide upon the house on Youngs Corner. But my Uncle wants one more look, just to see for himself if it’s right for his family.

After walking the perimeter of the house, my Uncle approached the barn. He opens the giant doors and walks in. Satisfied with his visit, he exits the barn and proceeds to close the doors. That’s when he hears it. A voice coming from behind.

“Hello, sir,” the voice says.
My Uncle turns around. To his surprise, he sees in the middle of the driveway a young boy wearing nothing but tattered denim overalls. He stands with his arms crossed behind him.
“Hello,” my Uncle responds.
“Which way to the lake?” the boy asks.
“You mean Auburn Lake?” my Uncle says with hesitation. “It’s just over there.”
My Uncle makes a move away from the doors. He wanted to point to the lake that rested behind the barn, but the boy started to run, around the barn. My Uncle gave chase around the corner only to find the boy gone. He had vanished. The ghost of the Little Boy had made his first visit.

I was shocked.
“How come you never told me this story?” I asked my Mother.
“I never knew about it,” she told me. “No one did. This is first time your Uncle has ever mentioned it.”
“He never told my Aunt?”
“Absolutely not,” my Mom said. “Can you imagine if he did? She would have refused to move here.”
“But she knows the story now, right?” I asked.
“Yes, and believe me, she isn’t very happy with her husband. This whole event, with your cousin and now this story, it just adds to her infatuation with the spirit world. And I have to say, I’ve been feeling strange in this house as well. Like there’s someone watching me too.”

I couldn’t believe it. A real ghost story! A Little Boy, dressed as a farmer. Little Christopher! It must be. I knew it to be true, it had to be real. All I needed for proof was to look at my young cousin. She was a tough teenager, with a solid attitude. But even she was terrified. She slept at our house. She refused to go back to hers…for an entire week.

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXVI

PART XXXVI
A Story Forgotten, A Name Revealed

We left City Hall and returned to our homes. It was an important discovery. An amazing one at that. This Old Woman, Norma, was the registered owner of the land, which meant the government knew about her. Did she actually pay taxes? Not since 1972 it seems.

Wait! 1972? That was the same year my Aunt first saw the cabins. The year she met the Old Woman, who happened to greet her with a shotgun. So why did records cease? Did she leave the cabins knowing she had been discovered? That’s not possible. The city knew she was there. Perhaps she saw my Aunt as a threat. Perhaps she thought more pesky children would come to spy on her.

Just like we had done. Just like I had done.

More questions surrounded me. The military connections were adding up; a civil war graveyard, the medals of service in the cabins. And then it occurred to me. A memory of distant past arose so suddenly I was almost taken aback from it. It was a story about my grandparent’s house, about the people who lived there before. My mother said that as a child, she remembered her mother talking about things she heard, always on the staircases. The sound of boots, walking behind her. My grandmother could only describe it as the sound of “a soldier’s boots.” There was a story about the previous owners of the house, a man and his wife. It was reported that the man, a high ranking military officer, died a mysterious death. As for the wife, the legend doesn’t tell us her fate.

The woman’s fate…

2002 – May


My first year of college was over and I was back at home for summer vacation. I was sitting in the living room one day when I noticed a large tractor in the field, clearing everything in its path. My family did not own the entire field in our backyard. Whoever was cutting must have been the true owner.

“There he is again,” my Step-Father said. “Mr. Big Shot, thinks he owns everything.”
“He’s just like his father,” said my mother. “Just as arrogant. That’s who gave him all that land.”
“Who is that?” I asked. “Does he own that land?”
“Yeah, he owns all of it, including the woods,” said my Step-Father.
“Well, what’s his name?” I asked.
“Kannegieser," my Mother said. "Tom Kannegieser.”

Kannegieser. The name tag. The military ID. The owner.

But he would not own it for much longer.

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXV

PART XXXV
City Hall Questions

2002 – March

Spring Break had arrived, and as usual, everyone went home. Before making the short trip to Auburn, Nathan and I had contacted each other as promised. We made arrangements to meet up at Auburn’s City Hall in a few days in order to finally put an end to all this. An end.

After spending a few days with the family, Nathan and I met one Friday afternoon in front of City Hall. It was a large building, with several police cruisers parked out front as always. Standing in front of the building, high up on a stone pedestal, was a statue of a Union Soldier. It was a Civil War memorial. How appropriate, I thought.

We entered the front doors. The building was almost empty. Nathan and I followed signs to the tax offices. We wanted to check the city’s property maps. We wanted to find a name. The Old Woman.

“Over there,” Nathan said. “Look.”
He pointed at the end of a long hallway. There, at the far end, was a large table with two huge rectangular shaped books sprawled on top. As we walked towards it, passing taxing offices to our left and right, I could feel the adrenaline rush in my veins. This was it. This was the answer we were looking for.

We reached the table. The book covers read ‘Auburn Property Lines and Tax Registry.’ Nathan opened one of them. He scrolled through the index.
“I found it,” he said. “Youngs Corner Rd., page 57.”
“We’re almost there.”
“You do it. It’s always been your journey. You turn the page,” Nathan offered.

I stepped up and flipped the massive pages to the one labeled 57. I saw my road, my house, the barn across the street, and the woods. I could see the border of Taylor Pond on the opposite side of the woods. The cabins were somewhere in between. And suddenly, just like that night of the first journey, there they were, out of no where. The cabins. I found them.

“What’s it say?” Nathan asked, with a certain intensity.
“Last Records: 1972.” I whispered.
“So who are they from? Who owns the land? Who owns the cabins?”
I looked down at the grid.
“…Norma.”

Norma. It was a name. An old name. For an Old Woman.

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXIV

PART XXXIV
Civil War Answers

2002

I went back to school and started my research. Upon reaching Ancestry.com I quickly realized it was a subscription service. However, there were still some services offered that were free, and I took as much advantage from them as I could.

I started by doing a simple search for ‘Christopher F. Cox.’ Not much came up, as I expected. But there were other problems. Not only were there many Christopher’s by the same name, but if I wanted to receive more information on those that looked promising, I had to pay for it. Despite the website’s comprehensive database of America’s past, I knew that any future searches would be fruitless. But there was one glimmer of hope. Ancestry.com claims to gather most of their information from the thousands of city halls across the country. So that’s where I went. To the website that is.

Auburn City Hall. The website was mostly concerned with tourism and industry. In the history section there was a little information including a link to our county’s historical society. This looked the most promising. It brought me to Androscoggin County’s website. I eventually found a search engine for family histories. This had to be it, this was the answer. I typed ‘Christopher F. Cox’ and pressed enter.

A few weeks later, I got this response:

‘This is taken from Civil War Genealogy Data System:
Christopher F Cox, Auburn, ME. Private, 35 years old. Enlisted 9/22/61 9th. Maine Infantry. Wounded 7/18/1863 Fort Wagner SC, wounded 6/26/1864 Peterburg, Va. Survived war. Mustered out 9/27/1864. Hope this helps. The Archives in Augusta, ME. may have a description of him on an index card.’

The Civil War. My suspicions were proved correct. I always believed Little Christopher was connected to the war, now I had my proof. It turns out that his father, a man of the same name, volunteered for the 9th Maine Infantry when it was organized in Augusta, Maine’s capital, on September 22, 1861. Records also give the name of his wife, Libby H. This is a perfect match with the gravestone. Libby would have been 3 months pregnant by the time Christopher Sr. enlisted. Christopher Jr. was born on February 16, 1862 while his father was still at war. According to records, Christopher Sr. returned home after being wounded for the second time on September 7, 1864. Little Christopher died just a few months before, on February 18, 1864. His father came home to a dead son, a son he most likely never met.

I called Auburn City Hall for vital records for Christopher Sr. but they did not start recording such records until the 1890's. All they could tell me was that the graveyard at my house was, “unregistered.”

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXIII

PART XXXIII
A New Dawn

When I stepped out of the cabin and the full force of the cold Maine winter air hit me, I knew. I knew I would never be coming back here again.

We trekked back through the woods and found our way to the field. Gaeten was right, the horizon held a dim shade of amber; the sun was on its way. It was almost too symbolic; the dawn of a new era. My friends and I had now seen the cabins in their entirety. Sure, there were many mysteries not yet resolved, and most likely many more that we would never even realize existed, but the cabins themselves were no longer hidden in a foggy mist of the imagination. They were real and we had seen them. We had broken our way in and it had become legend. The story was everywhere and people wanted to experience it. Our little game of exploration had turned into an event for the ages, one we would never forget.

Nick was happy. He had finally been on the adventure. The same was for Nathan, who was anxious to unravel the secrets, more so than anyone else. In fact, it was he who suggested I take advantage of Ancestry.com in order to shed some light on Christopher Cox, the little boy buried behind my house. It was he who also suggested a visit to City Hall could offer some clues as to who owns the land the cabins rest on. Someone’s gotta be paying taxes on it, right?

Winter vacation would be over in few days. Nathan and I decided to pay a visit to City Hall during Spring Break. Until then, I was going to search the internet and hopefully pull a little boy out from the shadows of the past.

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXII

PART XXXII
Farmers

I no longer felt comfortable in this place. For a second, the journey seemed to have regained its excitement, the thrill of adventure. But too many questions now came to pass, too many horrible realities were revealed. What were children doing here? Who would put them here? I stood in front of the table, silent. Nothing was simple anymore.

“Yo, check this out,” Nathan called me over. “I think I found your cousins old furniture.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nathan was standing in front of the large crate filled with clothes, or so I thought. From the looks of it, it appeared that the pile of clothes was contained in one large crate, but there were actually two crates and some of the clothes had spilled over into the other, covering the contents. Nathan removed these garments to reveal this hidden treasure.

“Don’t your cousins live in that house with the big red barn?” Nathan asked.
I moved closer to the crate to discover a trove of farming tools. Chains and wood brought together to create rakes, pitchforks, and cradle scythes. There was even a large plow connected by straps of leather to a brace apparatus that would have gone around the neck of a horse. This was an authentic collection from an age that did not know paved roads, or even electricity. When these tools were last used, Youngs Corner Rd. was probably no more than a beaten dirt path, if it existed at all.

“You think all this belonged to your cousins, I mean, the people who first built the farm?” asked Nico.
“Probably. This equipment is old,” I said. “But what is it doing here? Did this Old Woman once live in that barn? Did her family work there? That must have been over a hundred years ago. It hasn’t been an active farmland at least since then.”
“But it must have been from that farm,” Nick spoke up. “I mean, just look around, there’s no other farm or anything resembling one anywhere near here. It probably even belonged to the Cox family, you know, the boy's grave next to your house. It can’t be coincidence that all this stuff is what, half a mile away from your cousins? And look, horse plows. That must be where that obsession comes from. Whoever owns this cabin must have lived on that farm.”
“So the question is, why’d they leave?” I asked.

Those in the cabin stood there for a moment. There was a history here, a family’s history, all contained in this one room. The other two cabins didn’t offer this trove of information; this cabin had personality. We could hear it speaking to us; we could feel its desire to have its story told.

“Yo, guys,” Gaeten came in, “it’s almost dawn.”
“I think we’ve seen everything,” Amanda said. “And I’m freezing.”
“Alright,” I said.
I think it was the sense of discovery that prevented me from noticing the dropping temperatures. But once the cabin’s trance was broken, the cold came in. I wanted to stay, and I bet some others did as well. But the cabin was telling us, it was time to go.

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXXI

PART XXXI
The Children’s Return

I reached for Amanda’s hand and took what she was holding. It was a small notepad. Tattered and ripped, it was green in color with a metal coil at the top holding the pad together.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.
“Open it,” she said.
I did, and to my horror, I saw a familiar sight…a child’s handwriting.
“What is it?” Nick asked from over my shoulder.
“Drawings. Kid’s drawings.”
As I flipped through the notepad, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the watercolor mural we found on the first journey. Here again were images of people, rainbows, horses, all drawn with a child’s hand. Some pages even had math equations as if the child used it for their homework. Questions soared in my head. Whose notepad was this? Why the math problems, did the child do assignments in these cabins? Why was it here, in the middle of the woods? Did a child live here, in these horrible conditions?

“Where did you find it?” Nick asked.
“In this crate,” Amanda said. “It’s full of clothes.”
Indeed there was a large crate, sitting next to the table. The clothes were like the notepad: old, tattered and faded. They were very dated, just like those we had found in the big cabin. But something was different about this collection.
“They’re all dresses,” Amanda said, as if reading my mind. “They look like…wedding dresses.”
“The forgotten wedding,” said Nathan.
“Right,” I uttered. I searched the outline of the crate with my flashlight. And when the light glanced the wall, I saw them. The smiles.
“You see them too, don’t you?” Nico said, standing behind me.
There they were, drawn with colored chalk, all up and down the wall. Small smiley faces, yellow and round. Rainbows accompanied them to create a strangely serene feeling. By this time I had finally finished flipping though the notepad and came to the last page. I looked down to find a scribbled line, in a child’s writing.

“Beware of the one’s who smile too much, you’ll always know they’re up to no good.”

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXX

PART XXX
The Military Connection

Amanda was standing by the small table we had passed on our way to the ladder. It was set against the wall and although it sat beneath a window, there was no moonlight that night, and the contents were hidden in darkness. That is, until Amanda shined her flashlight on it and revealed the treasure trove of medals.

All of us gathered around, staring at this amazing discovery. Just like the tools in the first cabin, these metals were very carefully organized and laid into rows, purposefully. Some one had done this. They weren’t dumped on this table and forgotten, they were toyed over and arranged to be in this precise formation. There was some importance to these medals and we were about to find out what.

“Looks pretty random,” Gaeten said. “A bunch of junk.”
“It sure seems that way,” said Nico, who started to examine some of the bits.
Most were very miscellaneous; a button here, a paperclip there. Pieces of tools, drill bits, tacks; items that one wouldn’t normally think should be out in the open all organized for display. However, some were more intriguing.

“Look at this,” I said as I picked up one of items. “A ring.”
“Any names on it?” Nico asked.
“No.”
“But this has,” said Nick.
I turned to look at him and saw that he was holding a small, rectangular shaped metal piece. His flashlight gave a bright reflection from the item.
“It’s a name tag. It says, ‘Lieutenant Kannegieser.’”
“I know that name,” I whispered.
“From where?” Nick asked.
“The name tag that we found in the big cabin. It read ‘Suzanne Kannegieser.’ It was dated 1969. But this metal looks much older than that. Do you think they were married?”
“Well no doubt they were related somehow,” said Gaeten, who now examined the nametag. “Maybe that was their wedding ring you found. Either way, I always told you that Kannegieser would be the name to remember, it has to be a key.”
“Well if you do want to know how old it is, I can tell you,” Nick said.
“What? How?” asked Nico.
“This.”

Nick held up yet another metal piece. This one was round, very thin and very small. About the size of a quarter in fact. He handed it to me. I lowered my flashlight onto the medallion to see its markings. On one side it read, ‘Given to him who has served his country with honor.’ This was followed by a series of 5 numbers. Around the boarder of the medallion ran the title ‘The United States of America.’ There was even an eagle at the center, with 5 stars above its head. On its reverse side was held the inscription ‘If found, please return to City Hall and to the Mayor.’ And beneath it, the date 1923.
“Wow that’s old. And it’s military,” I said. “Or something very close to it.”
“Yep, and it sat just above where the Lieutenant’s nametag was,” Nick told us. “It’s his.”
“I wonder what he did to earn it?” asked Gaeten. “And now that we found it, do we have to turn it in?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. I held the medallion for a while. It was a connection to a younger age, and age that seemed full of innocence, when one could visit their city’s mayor as if he was a regular friend. ‘Return to City Hall.’ It just seemed so carefree. It carried with it an assumption that the community was made up of good deeds, and everyone looked after their neighbors. It was an era that seemed to exist only in storybooks.

“I’m not going to take it,” I said as I put it back on the table. “Something tells me that it should stay here.”
Gaeten followed my lead and put down the nametag.

"Well it's definitely military," Nick said. "I just found this laying on the ground. A ration book."

He handed it to me. I open it and sure enough, there were ration cards inside.

"Can you believe it?" said Nick, smiling. "They must be from WWI!"

"This just doesn't feel right," I said silently.

“I’ll tell you something that also doesn’t feel right,” Amanda said. We turned to see her. She was kneeling in front of the wall. She was holding something.
“What?” I asked.
She stretched forth her hand, “This…”

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXIX

PART XXIX
Horses and Medals

Nick was the first to enter. I followed behind him. The cabin was very narrow and probably couldn’t fit more than 4 people wide. And with all the debris scattered around, it was tough for just one person to get around.

“Look,” Nick said as he pointed his flashlight to the wall. “The horses.”
Indeed, there they were. Bobby had spotted the horse posters during the first journey. He was the tallest and so the only one who could peak through the windows. This was the first time anyone had seen them upclose. There were several posters and even some paintings of horses, galloping through fields and mountain streams. What were they doing here in a rotten cabin set amongst the thick forest?

Nick and I searched the cabin with our flashlights, this way and that. Open crates were shoved against the walls with what appeared to be random debris erupting from their tops. A table sat to the left, below a window. Nick and I approached the back of the cabin and saw a ladder.

“So,” Nico had joined us. “Who’s going up?”
We all let out a small chuckle, the mists of breath dissolving soon after.
“I’m going, of course,” Nick said. And up he went.

It was a short climb, perhaps 7 or 8 feet. We actually could see the top, but it didn’t reassure us. A long cloth, stretching from both walls, hung from the ceiling and rested on a raised platform. The ladder was laid against this platform, but the cloth kept hidden what the platform contained. Nick was journeying into the unknown.

“Don’t worry guys,” a voice came from behind the cloth. “It’s just clothes,” Nick said as he descended from the ladder.
“Check that out,” said Joe as he pointed his flashlight past the ladder and to the back wall. A great shinning light reflected back to us. There, nailed to the wall, were five rows of mostly Maine license plates. Five across and five deep. However, none of us recognized these plates, and for good reason. There were all dated to before our time.

“1921,” Nick said. “That’s the most recent one I can see.”
They were simple plates, various colored backgrounds with a line around the borders. The color of the line varied from plate to plate. They contained no more than 5 numbers.
“This place truly is a mystery,” I said. “Some things are so old, like these plates, the Popular Mechanics magazines, the horse medicine. And yet, the newspapers date to 1997, there are posters here, and even a child’s crayons and toys, all modern. How can a place seem to exist in so many time periods? Who could live here in such strange conditions?”

And like always, it was about to get even more bizarre.

“Hey guys, I’ve found something,” said Amanda.
“What?” Nick asked.
“Metals, everywhere."

The Legend of Youngs Corner XXVIII

PART XXVIII
Unlocking the Locked Door

The second cabin, the one that rested on the ledge of a hill, the only one we never entered.

There was a thick wooden door, probably oak. At eye level hung a metal insignia with the vague shape of an S. From afar it looked like a mass entanglement of curving lines but up close the letter’s form could seen. I still did not know what the letter stood for.

“So how do we do this?” Nick asked.
“Not sure,” I said.
My eyes gazed at the door knob. Above it was a latchet and an old rusted masterlock hanging from it keeping the door shut.
“We’ve already tried brute force,” I told him. “No one can push that door down.”
“I have an idea,” said Joe. “Give me the hammer.”

I gave it to him.
“We need to pull the lock away from the door.” Joe explained. “Someone can wedge the screwdriver between the latchet and the door and push the latchet and the lock away. Then I’ll hammer it off.”
It sounded good enough. So Nick positioned the screwdriver and Joe started to hammer. And after about 5 minutes with limited success, and lots of noise, I spoke up.
“This is taking too long. Get the screwdriver out of there and just hammer as hard as you can on the lock. Its rusted, it’ll give way,” I said with a cold breath.
“Anybody want to take over?” Joe asked.
“Hand it over,” Nathan stepped up and took the hammer. And after 4 or 5 strikes against the lock with all his force, the locked cracked and fell to the ground with a thud.

A loud creak emanated from the wooden door, almost as if it hadn’t been open in years. But how’s that possible? The Old Woman was just here four months ago. And if she didn’t go inside the cabin then what on earth was doing here? And why was she taking her dog for a walk at midnight?!

“Hey man,” Nick tapped me on the shoulder. “You ready?”
“It’s the last cabin, my friend,” I said to him. I took a step forward, listening to the soft crunch of snow beneath my feet. “I’m glad you’re here at the journey’s end.”

But the journey wasn’t over…