The Chowder House

We had always heard the rumors of the ghost of an elderly woman that walks over the old tracks which run under the chowder house in Leominster. Just another one of those urban legends that no one paid any serious attention too, but always try to catch a glimpse of this word of mouth tale. Cars full of eager teenagers equipped with Ouija boards and tarot cards frequented the spot every weekend in hopes of raising this rumored spirit. Though, I had never heard of anyone having any success in bringing her out amongst the realm of the living. Simply because no one can bring her out, she appears on her own time, and this is a story about one of those times.

The summer of 1994 was uncommonly pointless and fun. I spent most of it as a passenger in my friend Miguel's powder blue Volvo. We would spend hours driving around listening to one of the two cassette tapes he had in his car. The first one being New Order's Lowlife and the second one being The Cure's Faith. Neither album being particularly uplifting we had agreed that listening to the radio would be a welcome change. So we tuned in and we were on our way.

Cruising at a leisurely pace of 40 miles an hour up route 12 we made a coffee pit stop. It was only about 9pm so we wanted to make sure we were fresh for the long night of driving and laughing that would not end until after dawn. We talked of music and movies and friends who had better things to do then just enjoy the pleasure and art of conversation. We held ourselves a little bit higher that summer, most likely because we had part-time jobs that allowed us the freedom to enjoy ourselves but still paid extremely well.

When we exited the drive through, typical New England weather commenced and a rain storm was born from a mild wind. On went the wipers and we continued our nightly drive. Miguel sped over Main St. without out any concern as it had only one other car on it that was more than two intersections away. This was not odd, small cities often time go to sleep very early leaving nocturalteens like us to dominate the road.

"Want to go to Denny's and kill a couple of hours?" Miguel suggested.

"Sure I could go for some food." I replied.

So he headed to Denny's and instead of taking a right at the lights he decided to go one street over and cut through the back of Main St. past the chowder house. The story about the old woman entered my mind for no more than a second when he took the turn. The rain was pounding on the windshield and the wipers seemed to be no help at all. The blanket of water made it impossible to get a clear view of anything in front of the car, but we both knew these streets well and felt no stress.

Just then Miguel slammed on the breaks and we screeched to a stop. My hand firmly planted on the dash I saw why he had stopped. There was a little old woman with a blue raincoat and a clear plastic bonnet. We did not speak as we watched her cross the tracks to the chowder house. We knew the story, but could this really have been a ghost? It seemed more probable that it was a just a little old lady walking home from the all night mini mart that was only a minute or two away from the street we were on.

I said, "That's crazy huh?"

Miguel replied, "I know." Just as Miguel finished speaking the old woman stopped walking. She was side facing from where we were and I gasped. "What is she doing?" I asked.

"I...um...I" Miguel seemed nervous as was I. Why would this woman stop dead in the middle of the road in a downpour? She began to turn towards us.

"Miguel, drive away!" I said in a tense whisper. "Please Miguel." He was stunned and scared and couldn't move. His hands gripping the steering wheel and his face void of all color. He was caught in true terror "Miguel drive the car!" I yelled, but still he didn't move.

He was hypnotized in fear and once she was facing us I realized what she was, or wasn't. There was no face, just darkness under that bonnet and I couldn't speak any longer as she walked towards the car. Miguel in that moment snapped out of his trance and put the car in reverse, hit the gas, looked behind him with his sheet white face as he said to me, "Is she gone? Please tell me she is gone."

I couldn't speak, we were moving, but she wasn't any further away. She was still standing there, faceless in the rain. "Miguel, go back to Fitchburg. Just get out of here, don't look at her. I kept my eyes closed afraid if I opened them she would be standing right in front of us. "Its ok, it's ok. Right? It's ok. We're good. I'm just gonna keep driving till we get to your place and I'm not going to stop ok?" Miguel said fast and riddled with anxiety.

"Fine. That's fine. You wanna stay over? Please?" I honestly begged. He agreed to stay over so he didn't have to drive back home alone and so I didn't have to be home alone. I don't know exactly when the rain had stopped or how long it was that we sat there during that experience. It felt like hours but could have been only seconds, though it was long enough to keep me and Miguel from ever driving down that street again.

The chowder house still stands and the tracks are still exposed running right through it, but I only know this because I can see it from Main Street during the day and can't help but look that way when driving by. But I never drive down it, and I never will, because the tale of the old woman who crosses the tracks to the chowder house doesn't need any other characters.