In the small town in northern Midwest where I grew up, one of the rites of passage was to go on a ghost hunt for Blood’s Point. There’s a cemetery honestly called Blood’s Point, which is about as creepy a name for a cemetery as you can imagine. The vandalism there is astonishing. As soon as the first of your friends got his or her driver’s license, as many of you as possible would pile into your friend’s Lincoln Towncar or whatever obnoxiously large car any of you drove (I had a station wagon—rock on). You would try to follow the sketchy directions you’d heard from a friend of a friend of a friend who had been to Blood’s Point. This is an area where it’s not uncommon for Highway 51 to intersect with old Highway 51 and you’re inherently supposed to know which is the new and which is the old. Cornfields stretch on and once you get lost, even after a while, your cell phone signal becomes intermittent until you have no navigational direction at all. It wasn’t a safe trip, for many reasons. It had to be done at dark, reaching Blood Point’s close to midnight, and any number of things could happen to a car full of teenagers at the witching hour.
The danger was the allure.
So was the fear.
Whether we believed in the legends surrounding Blood’s Point, we wanted to be scared. We anticipated the screams, and that anticipation led to lots of shrieks that devolved into giggles of relief as we realized, “Oh, yes, we survived. This time.”
So what was the legend of Blood’s Point?
For as long as I can recall, Blood’s Point has two legends surrounding it. The first was the tale of a witch named Beulah or Beaula, depending on your source. Beulah seems more plausible, so that’s what I’ll go with for the sake of the Scream Queens. There was a bridge above the train tracks near an old cemetery and long ago, Beulah hung her children and then herself on the bridge. Legend has it if you drive onto the bridge, your car will stall and a rotting ghost of Beulah will appear. If you are lucky, you will be saved by the hands of her ghost children pushing your car across the bridge. The other variation is if you put your car into neutral, the car will be safely carried to the other side of the bridge by the ghost children. This particular urban legend appears in a variety of forms across the United States, but there are many people who have been to Blood’s Point and claim the occurrence is very real.
The second part of the Blood’s Point haunting is that a vehicle, some say a ghostly big rig while others claim it’s a school bus, will appear and chase your car down the country road. In both cases, the original vehicle drove too fast over the bridge and plummeted off the side to the train tracks below, killing all the occupants inside. Now the tormented spirits seek to do the same to whoever is foolish enough to dare cross the same bridge at night.
The Blood’s Point legend evolved over the years to include stopping for gas at the lone fuel station along the way and if the woman working the register happened to have dark hair and even darker circles around her eyes, you were in for a very frightening night, so terrifying you might want to turn around go back the way you came—if you could find you way back home.
I did go on the Blood’s Point drive with a car full of my teenage friends. I won’t tell you what you I saw. I will tell you there was a great deal of screaming and yells of, “Oh, my God!” and “Hurry up! Drive faster!” Time has marched on as it does. The drive to Blood’s Point isn’t nearly as isolated as it was nearly twenty years ago, but I do look back on that night with a devilish grin.
We wanted to be scared that night, and we were. There was fear electrifying our blood. No matter how hokey and implausible the legends sounded, we dared to believe, to get caught up in the moment, to let our skepticism fall away and just let ourselves be terrified. And isn’t that what we do when you watch a horror movie or read a horror book? Cast all reason aside and, at least for a little while, let your fears take charge.
Categories: Local Horror