posted on Feb, 25 2007 @ 02:33 AM
I'm sure you've all heard the story of Resurrection Mary or any of a hundred variations based upon that story, but I'll give a quick
refresher, so we're all up to speed:
Guy picks up a girl at a dance, dances with her all night, notices that she is kind of distant and cold to the touch. She asks for a
ride home, gives specific directions, but as they pass the Resurrection Cemetery (an actual cemetery in Chicago, btw), she starts freaking out,
jumps out of the car and runs toward the cemetery gates — and, of course, she disappears right before this poor schmuck's eyes. He
continues to the destination she described, knocks on the door, and a woman there explains that it was her daughter who died years ago, and
she's still trying to get home.
Now, in the original version of this story (from the late 1930s), there is very specific information, such as the guy's name (Jerry Palus), the name
and address of the dancehall, the street-by-street directions the girl gave to this guy, the Resurrection Cemetery, the girl's name (Mary
Bregovy), et cetera. These details make the story even creepier, because these were all real people and locations.
Since the 1930s, there have been many subsequent sightings of Resurrection Mary in Chicago, from all sorts of reputable witnesses.
Stranger yet, this story has popped up again and again, with all sorts of variations, all across the country — again, from some very
reputable witnesses (including local police and state troopers). The very existence of this widespread story is a phenomenon.
Now here's my variation — or, rather, my brother's account.
My younger brother was not and is not given to inventing stories — he is very much like my father, who was a burly, no-nonsense steelworker
on the east side of Houston, TX. Like my dad, my brother is just a hard-working, meat & potatoes redneck American male who doesn't scare easily and
is more likely to break your jaw if you tried to scare him.
So, one night back in 1989, I believe, my brother showed up at my house after midnight, pale and excited and wanting to tell somebody
about what just happened to him. Seems he had been on a date (with his future wife), and he had left her at her house around 11:00 pm before starting
the 20 mile drive home. As he was traveling along this dark stretch of road that parallels Interstate 10, he could see brakelights up ahead on the
Greens Bayou Bridge — an old truss style bridge left over from the 1950s, probably.
Hitting his high-beams, he could see that it was a large-body sedan stopped halfway across the bridge, and there was an odd-looking girl standing
outside the car, next to the passenger side, shaking her fists at whoever was in there. When my brother was practically on top of this scene, the big
sedan squalled its tires and roared off into the night, leaving the girl alone on Greens Bayou Bridge. Which is not a place you want to be abandoned
late at night, I can tell you.
My brother, who fears nothing and is always ready to assist a damsel in distress, eased his Toyota pickup to a stop and reached to roll down his
passenger window. It was then that he saw just how odd this girl really was. She was about 5 feet tall, very pale complexion, eyes red
and swollen as if she was crying, eye makeup running down her cheeks, wearing a long white prom dress, and absolutely soaked head to
toe. Her long hair was plastered to her head, and every inch of her was dripping wet. He said he could hear her sobbing as the window
He gallantly called out, "Can I help you, ma'am?" Whereupon, she suddenly rushed his truck, jabbed her head through the window, wild
eyes bulging, and shrieked a long, piercing, bloodcurdling, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
Well... This scared the fecal matter right out of my brother, and he burned rubber getting off of Greens Bayou Bridge, just like the
sedan had done a few moments earlier. About a half-mile down the road from the bridge, he whipped his truck into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot,
where there were two Harris County sheriff's patrol cars, with the cops inside drinking coffee.
As he told them what he'd just seen, the cops were looking him over for signs of intoxication, then one of them sort of reluctantly agreed to go take
a look, with my brother riding in the back seat of the patrol car — I suppose that they were prepared to take him downtown if his story was
anything less than accurate. You don't interrupt a Harris County cop at a donut shop without serious repercussions.
A minute or so later, the sheriff's deputy pulled up on the bridge and stopped where my brother instructed, and the officer got out with his big
MagLite, leaving my brother in the car. The girl was nowhere to be seen. A few seconds later, the cop ducked back into the car and hit the radio,
saying that there was evidence that somebody soaking wet had been pacing next to the railing on the Greens Bayou Bridge — no
girl to be found, but there was a big puddle of water and footsteps.
Creepiest thing was, the wet footsteps didn't go anywhere else, they were isolated next to the railing where the girl had been standing. No
footsteps leading away in either direction. Meaning that the only place she could have gone was over the rail. At that point, halfway
across the Greens Bayou Bridge, it's a 40 foot drop into the black water.
My brother was hurriedly chauffeured back to his truck, where he gave a full statement to the police, and then they sent him on his way — but,
before he left, he heard the cops calling for paramedics, city police, and water rescue. My brother then drove the two miles to my house, to
tell his story and calm down.
Because my brother's story was utterly convincing, the next morning I called one of my buddies at the Houston Police Department and asked him to
check on the outcome of this fearful tale. A little while later the call came back that an on-site investigation was indeed performed that
night at the Greens Bayou Bridge, but that no trace of a body was ever found. It was a total mystery.
To me, it sounded like a particularly frightening version of the Resurrection Mary phenomenon. But why do these apparitions occur?
— Doc Velocity