While
surfing the Internet, I noted that someone had already placed online the
old ghost story about St. Patrick's rectory in Washington, D.C. However,
there are many other such tales. I want to chronicle the peculiar happenings
in two parishes both bearing the name, St. Mary's. The exact location of
the first I will not specify any further than to note that both churches
are in the Archdiocese of Washington, D.C. The second is located in Upper
Marlboro, Maryland.
This is a photo of St. Mary's rectory in Upper Marlboro, MD. Why are the attic windows painted over?
The initial story, if I recall correctly, was relayed to me by the late Bishop Lyons. The record goes something like this. The two priests had just finished dinner when they entered the living room to watch television. However, they never turned on the set. Toward the middle of the room a bright blue pillar of light was suspended in the air. One of the priests dared to touch it and retrieved his fingers frozen cold at the tips. Curious. Both reasonable men, not liable to panic, they sat down and watched the thing. Did it rotate? Move? It was hard to tell.
Upstairs they could hear the music of a piano playing. But, there was no piano upstairs. The mystery deepened. What was going on here? Eventually the light disappeared. However, from time to time they could still hear the piano music coming from an unused room upstairs. Attempts to record the sounds and to photograph the image were made, but the results have never been made known.
The news spread throughout the parish about the strange phenomenon. An elderly black woman related to the priests that the rectory was once a house for a well-to-do family. As a young girl she assisted with the housekeeping chores. The family had one daughter who tragically died very young. Hours on end she would practice the piano in the very room from which they heard the music. Suspecting that her ghost was restless, Mass was said and prayers were offered for her release from purgatory.
Turning to the second story, it all happened about three years ago, probably in 1995. I had been fighting a terrible cold and was having difficulty sleeping. (Usually I slumber like the dead!) I tossed-and-turned but had finally gotten the pillow just right. Then I clearly heard the downstairs doorbell ringing. Great! Now what? And it was 3:00 in the morning! But maybe it was an emergency, I would have to go down. I threw on some clothes and headed for the stairs.
As I started my descent I could hear the voices of a couple of men talking to each other. Ah, the pastor had gotten downstairs first, "What's up guys?" I asked.
Silence.
That was strange. I looked between the rails of the stairs and could make out two elderly men standing in front of the radiator and lamp. One looked a little bit like the pastor, but something was wrong. I straightened up and went down a few more steps. They were gone. Oh boy, maybe I had interrupted burglars?
"I know you're here!" I cried, "Come on out!" I fought the impulse to run. There was no escaping my responsibility to the parish. I kept calling out and stretching slowly around doors, turning on lights. Soon the whole house was lit and I was still alone.
I had seen them plain as day. The one I had at first thought was the pastor looked somehow older. He wore a tan shirt. Neither figure was dressed in priestly garb. They both wore brown pants. They were audibly talking although I had failed to make it out. Where were they? The doors and all the windows were locked.
Photographs I would later see identified one of the figures as possibly a former pastor. Nothing could be discovered about the identity of the other. It should be noted that there is a plaque in the church on the same property with the rectory. It reads, "Beneath this church rests all that is mortal of Daniel Carroll Digges." He died in 1860 and when they built the new church about a hundred years ago they could not find his body for re-internment. Thus, they left the sign to his resting place. Somewhere, in the dirt basement of the church, or under the rectory is his grave. May he rest in peace. The only certainty about the figures was that they were spirits. I have since prayed for them, especially since the house has exhibited other peculiarities. Sometimes there have been audible footsteps when no one else was in the house, sounds of water flowing, and one night I even discerned a visible mist struggling to take shape near the door to the dining room. I have even witnessed doors slamming by their own volition. When the pastor went on a vacation to see a priest friend, I was again awakened at about the same time of night by the doorbell. Refusing to budge from bed, the night would be filled with the sounds of slamming doors, footsteps, and just a general ruckus. The morning found the rectory cat at the top step peering timidly through the stairwell rails toward the radiator where I had first seen the ghosts. I still catch her from time to time staring in that direction. Does she see something the rest of us do not?
Plans are in the works to have the old rectory torn down and a new one built in the near future.
After his resurrection, the Lord tries to stem the fear of his apostles by asserting that they might touch him and that a ghost does not have flesh and blood as he does. May all our beloved dead be judged mercifully and restored body and soul. Dead does not mean gone forever.