The Ghost of J.J. James

The care with which the robes were hung on the mannequin in the museum display area was more than most would have expected. The caretaker of the robes moved slowly, yet a mysterious tear appeared on the bottom edge of the judges black linen robes, the edges apparently drenched in blood, a blood that would not stain, nor be removed from the fabric of the robe. The small tear in the fabric was easily enough mended, though.

It was not a big tear, and the museum curator, not having a lot of time to spend on the task, decided after carefully wiping and scrubbing the material of the judge's robe a few times, to place the robe into the display case as is. Nobody could see that part of the cloth anyhow, as the cloth could easily be folded and draped to hide that portion of the cloth. There was a lot of other work for the museum attendant to do other than just that one case, which still needed to have the gavel placed carefully in the display, as well as an antique copy of the Bible. After this was done, it was time to lock up the glass case, and move on to the next, despite the fact that the caretaker wanted to peer a bit more at the robes and study the fabric. There was no more time to quibble over a judge's robe, the museum's opening would be in a few short days, and there were events prior to this that were very important to the continued funding of the museum.

The Kearney Historical Museum's grand opening would be on October 30th, which many considered to be more than a bit late in the season, however, the museum's largest benefactor, M.K. James, insisted on this date, which he said was a very important date in his family's history, and had, in fact, donated the judge's robes, which had belonged to his great-grandfather, J.J. James. This little bit of information made for a bit of a squall in the caretaker's mind, as he resisted the impulse to open his mouth and inquire as to exactly who this J.J. James was. However, the question still hung heavily in this museum hand's mind.

The worker, a methodical and careful human being, opted not to say anything on the spur of the moment, and deliberated, much like a judge would, about what to ask, while placing a pony express worker's saddle and work bag, plus a few pieces of mail into the next display case. Oddly enough, one of the letters, addressed to a Judge Justice James, had a bullet hole through it. The letter itself had been from the office of Esquire Bromley in Denver, Colorado. That letter went to the bottom of the stack, as it might distract museum-goers.

Still, he, being human, could not resist the temptation to pose a question to the robes themselves.

"Just exactly who were you, J.J. James?", the caretaker asked in the direction of the display case where the judges robes were resting.

Being that there was no reply, the curator went back to work. A large crow flew into the front door of the museum, which created a loud "whack" noise, as well as a chorus of caws and shrieks of pain that sounded almost human. That wasn't much of an answer, however, it helped convince the caretaker that there was indeed the strong possibility that there was a spirit about, which would be demanding hospitality, at the very least. This museum hand, no fool, knew to stay out of the way of a spirit looking to serve justice from beyond the grave, and would only be an affable host to the ghostly owner of the judge's robes. Pulling out a pocket flask, a shot glass was poured, then placed on a table for no reason at all.

Moving down the corridor, the caretaker quickly finished up a display dedicated to the telegraph, as the sun set.