Three and One are One

Our next story takes us to America. More specifically, we’ll travel to a small town in Tennessee called Carthage. This town, like many towns in border states, had its inhabitants torn by their allegiances, for our story takes place during the American Civil War. It follows a young man of twenty-two named Barr Lassiter.

Barr Lassiter lived at home with his parents and his elder sister and aided in the day to day affairs. His father was a strong handed man, though deep down he had a core that loved his family. When word of the war spreading through the nation came to the Lassiter homestead a line was drawn. Barr chose to support the Union. The rest of the family was steadfast supporters of the Confederacy.

Time passed and lines were drawn. The domestic tension built between son and father until Barr couldn’t stand it any longer. He left his home without a kind word or even a goodbye said to any member of his family. He was quickly carried to Nashville where he immediately enlisted with a Federal cavalry unit from Kentucky. Time passed quickly and Barr passed from raw green recruit to experienced trooper. His comrades eagerly would pass stories of his bravery and his good soldiering along. Barr was a humble man, not prone to enhancing his own glory.

Two years passed, an eternity for a young soldier away from home, and Barr found his regiment close to home. Barr immediately requested a leave of absence to go and visit his family. You see, war can age a man considerably fast, and the younger a soldier typically the faster he ages. Barr felt himself an old and ancient man by that time. He had left the animosities that had driven him from home along the roadside during his campaigning. He could only hope that his family had done likewise.

He left that summer afternoon and walked all evening. He came upon his homestead. It stood as though nothing had changed in the two years he had been gone, basking in the light of a full moon. Barr felt overjoyed at the sight, and quickened his walk without even realizing it. He was just so happy to see his home in one piece. He moved up the steps to the porch and open door.

At just that moment his father came out and stared up into the sky, right past Barr as though he were not even there.

“Father!” Barr cried out.

The elder Lassiter didn’t even respond. He let out a huff and turned to return inside without so much as a word to his son.

Barr spun on the spot and collapsed onto a chair on the porch. He felt even more rejected than when he had left. On top of that he also felt humiliated and disappointed as well as both physically and emotionally exhausted. After minutes had passed the soldier part of Barr took over. He was not going to be repulsed so easily.

His father might treat him so harshly, but there was still his mother and his elder sister. Barr rose and entered the “sitting-room” where he found his mother. She sat slowly rocking in a chair. He spoke with the tender, loving words of a son returning home from a long trip, but she ignored him. She gave him neither glance, nor a nod of acknowledgement. He was about to reach out and touch her arm when his sister came sweeping through the room.

His sister, likewise, cast not a solitary glance his way, instead continuing her path through the door. Barr was overcome. His family still held to their animosity to him. He left by the same door he had come in and wandered slowly away and back to camp. The following day he resolved to return to his home, this time by the light of day, and get answers. On the way he met with a childhood friend, Bushrod Albro.

“I’m going home to visit with the folks,” Barr said.

Albro looked taken aback by the statement, shook his head. “Go if you must. I will accompany you. There is much I need to tell you while we walk.”

But the walk continued in silence. In time they reached a bombed crater that sat where Barr’s home once was. He let out a soft cry.

“I’m sorry, Barr. Your family is gone, all to heaven. A Union shell exploded here.”

While this is then end of Barr’s ghost story, I have my own experience at the ruins of the Lassiter homestead to add.

My previous experiences at the temple in Japan and at Smithills Hall had certainly shaken my previous skepticism in the existence of ghosts. However, the lack of evidence from other ghost story sites I visited after Japan and Smithills Hall had certainly helped to strengthen my resolve that these were nothing but stories. I wasn't ready to put an end to my search, so I spoke with the locals around Carthage to find just where the old Lassiter home once stood.

They pointed me down an old gravel path and to the foundation of a home the would be small by our standards today. I returned to town and awaited the full moon before returning. The night of the full moon came, so I drove to where the gravel path and the dirt road meet. I parked my car and walked slowly down the path, fully expecting to find nothing more than the foundation.

To my surprise, and full two-story building stood there. I slowly climbed the stairs and pushed open the door. Within I found a woman sitting in a rocking chair and staring blankly at the empty fireplace. I felt my breath catch in my throat. I was reliving the same experience as Barr Lassiter so many years ago.

I moved slowly around the room and took one glance at the woman. She had a face quite familiar to me. My deceased wife sat in the rocking chair. I fled the ghostly building, telling the locals of my experience before recording it here.

On to 'Blood Mary'
Back to the Cover Page

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Author's Note: I chose this story because I liked it. No other reason. It brings our storyteller back home to America and lets him visit a rather well known portion of American History with a story that is likely not well known.

The changes I made primarily to this story involved shortening it (the original was nearly 1,150 words long). I cut out a large portion of detail about Barr Lassiter’s father in the beginning. I also simplified his meeting with the ghosts, changing some of the action there. In the original his meeting with Bushrod Albro was longer as well. I cut the original story down to 744 words which gave me (just barely) enough room to add my own twist to the story that would link it to my other stories.

Nathan’s experience is a work from my own imagination. I took the basis of the story that Barr experienced and twisted it slightly. The site of the Lassiter home became, in my mind, a place people could visit their lost loved ones on the full moon. By doing this, and allowing Nathan to visit ever so briefly with his dead wife, it foreshadows something I intend to do in Bloody Mary. Just what that is I’ll have to leave to you to figure out, or return and read to find out for sure.

Bibliographical Information: "Three and One are One" by Ambrose Bierce, from Present At A Hanging And Other Ghost Stories (early 1900's). Web Source: Three and One are One

Image Information:
Photograph of a Civil War Union Sergeant, by J.J. Corven (?), 1864. Web Source: Civil War Soldier's Picture Card
Garibaldi Homestead, by Meucci, 1884. Web Source: Exhibition of Telephone Discovery