Every October, in the weeks just before Halloween, Grandpa Al, my father's father, would gather us around his favorite chair and recount the horrifying encounter he had years ago, on Wheeler Road, out near the county highway.
I was in elementary school, no more than a sprout, when I first heard the story. I heard it directly from Grandpa Al many times, at least once a year, until he passed in his sleep, back in 1969. That was more than 50 years ago. The words he used to tell the story changed a bit from when I was young, due to the nature of things, but as I matured, the story was shared true to the subject matter.
It's a story of love, isolation, suspicion, jealousy, madness, and murder. But most of all, it is a story of a lost and restless soul. It is a ghost story.
My Dad told the story many times. I last heard it from him in 1994, only a few months before he passed in February of '95. He did a fine job with his rendition of the tale.
Dad was a gifted talker and storyteller. Whether he was sharing a joke or an oft-repeated story like Grandpa's tale, my Pop could keep an audience completely caught up in what he was sharing. That's an undisputed fact.
But as good as Dad was at spinning Grandpa Al's story, he never quite matched the chills one felt as Gramps talked about a windy autumn night so many years ago. Of course, Grampa had the benefit of talking from first-hand experience, and stories are always a bit better when you lived them directly.
I tell the story now to my grandchildren, and do a pretty good job with it, having shared it with my children for many years, back when they were young.
It's best to hear this while sitting on the floor, with a bowl of fresh-made popcorn, and with the lights set low. But if you're in the mood for a story, and good and comfortable, I'm happy to share it with you now. It goes like this:
It all happened on a blustery autumn night in October of 1936. Grandpa Al wasn't a grandpa yet. But he was a young husband, married just a year and half before to the woman we would later call Grandma Flo, short for Florence. And Grandpa was a relatively new dad that night in 1936, his first child, my Aunt Margaret, having been born just three month before.
Grandpa worked at Hollenbeck's Feed and Supply Store in those days, doing everything from stocking merchandise, repairing farm equipment, and driving the store's truck to deliver items to local farms and businesses.
On this particular night, Grandpa was told to deliver some supplies out to Wilbur Shaw, a farmer southwest of town, out near the county line. He left the store later than he had planned and so he arrived at Wilbur's late in the afternoon.
Grandpa unloaded Wilbur's equipment and took another 30 minutes to load some worn tires that Wilbur wanted him to take back to the repair shop for patching. Dusk was settling in as Al started the drive back to Hollenbeck's shop.
Thick gray clouds filled the sky and the air was cooler at this hour than it was earlier in the day. Grandpa was thinking about how good his supper would taste that night. He noticed the wind which had been more of a pleasant autumn breeze that afternoon was stronger now and had a November sting to it.
Grandpa was driving the county highway, the most direct route back to the shop, but thought he might save time if he turned on to Wheeler Road and followed that back to town. Those dark clouds covered the sky and the wind pushed hard against the truck's side when it reached a gust.
He had been some time since Grandpa had been on Wheeler Road and he wasn't so familiar with it in the dark. He was thinking about turning back to the county highway when the truck's engine sputtered and stalled, leaving the vehicle standing silent in the road.
Grandpa pulled the flashlight from under the bench seat and stepped out to inspect the engine. He noticed a farmhouse off to his left, set back a ways from the road, with one lamp burning in the window.
He had no luck restarting the engine, partly because the batteries in the flashlight were weak and the light was insufficient to be of much help under the hood. Grandpa decided to walk to the house, where, with any luck, they might have a spare flashlight or maybe even a phone he could use to call the store.
The wind blew dust and debris from the recently harvested field across the path that led to the house. The wind and the darkness made walking difficult, and Al began to think the house was farther back from the road than he first realized.
His legs seemed to grow rubbery and sluggish, and he felt the hair on his neck stand on end. He sensed something wasn't right, that a danger was nearby. He stopped and stood staring at the house. Something wasn't right, he thought, but he could not say what exactly felt so wrong.
And that's when he noticed a light, a lantern it appeared, moving toward him from near the barn. As he studied the light, he could make out the form of a woman holding the lantern.
Grandpa walked toward the woman, waved his arm several times and called out, "Hello, hello."
The woman stopped but showed neither shock nor surprise as Grandpa stepped toward her.
"Sir, why are you out in such weather?" she said as Grandpa neared her.
He introduced himself, explained what happened to the truck, and asked if she had a telephone he could use to call Hollenbeck's store.
She said her name was Mary Wheeler and that she lived on the farm with her husband, Edward Wheeler. Her husband was finishing his daily work in the fields and would return soon. She had just completed a chore in the barn and was returning to the house, she said.
"Wheeler, you said?" asked Grandpa. "The same Wheelers the road is named after? I didn't know any Wheelers lived out here any longer."
Mary ignored his words, but calmly said, "We do not have a telephone here, sir, but my parents reside a short distance from here. My father could help you, I am sure," she offered. "Their home is no more than two miles further down the road. I can walk with you."
Grandpa saw the woman was young, probably in her early 20s, and pretty. She held a shaw that was wrapped over her shoulders and her head. It was entirely inadequate for the temperature that night, Grandpa thought to himself. Grandpa suggested they wait until Mary's husband returned from the fields so as not to alarm him with her absence.
She said Mr. Wheeler might be some time longer and insisted they should leave right away, before it became too late or in case the weather worsened.
Grandpa reasoned she was right, but he was feeling the wind's chill and hoped to go into the house for at least a few minutes to warm before walking with Mrs. Wheeler to her parents' home.
He agreed to walk with her, but suggested it would be best to at least leave a note inside the house, notifying her husband where she could be found.
A note wouldn't be necessary, she said, because she frequently visited her parents.
Grandpa insisted they leave note, arguing he would not want his wife to go to the neighbor's house for a short visit without so much as a note about where she was off to.
Mary Wheeler hesitated, but agreed to leave the note. Turning toward the house, she urged Grandpa to hurry.
Once inside the house, Grandpa noticed it was only a little warmer inside than out. Mrs. Wheeler set her lantern upon a small wood table in the kitchen. He noticed there was little in the way of furniture in the small house, and few items on the kitchen counter, not even a pot that might contain the Wheeler's dinner.
Mary took some paper from a drawer, picked up a pencil and quickly scribbled some words on it, and then turned to Grandpa and said they must leave the house now.
As she scribbled the note to her husband, Grandpa observed in the light of the lantern how frail Mary looked, how her hair lay flat against her head, as though it had not been washed in several days. He saw she was thin, her face pale. Her dress was threadbare, the fabric too light for the weather, and her shoes, such as they were, worn and frayed.
"Mrs. Wheeler, you can't wear only a shaw in this weather. Please find something more substantial," Grandpa said.
She said there wasn't time for that. They must leave immediately.
Grandpa spied a blanket on a nearby chair. He picked up the blanket and pleaded with Mary to wrap herself in the blanket for the walk.
Mary hesitated, but could see Grandpa would not relent. She stepped over to the chair to accept the blanket from him.
The door burst open and hit the wall with a crash. Grandpa first thought a wind gust had blown the door open, but just then a man, tall and muscular, stepped through the door.
He looked about the room. His eyes wide with obvious anger, Grandpa thought. The man didn't seem to notice Grandpa, but instead glared at Mary Wheeler. This must be Edward Wheeler, the woman's husband, Grandpa reasoned.
"There you are, you lazy woman. I see you haven't prepared my dinner. What have you been doing this day? Shall I guess? I suspect you will claim you are ill, too sick to lift a finger about here," he raged.
Grandpa was stunned by the intensity of the man's anger. He noticed Mary was cowering against the wall, trembling like a dog that was being scolded by an angry master. She clung to the blanket, and kept her eyes on the floor, seemingly afraid to make eye contact with the man.
"What's wrong? Are you heartbroken for that farm hand I chased out of here? Are you missing his attention? Upset you can no longer carry on with him?" he shouted.
"I did no such thing," Mary said meekly. "How could you say something so horrible to your wife?"
Grandpa managed to regain his sense. He stepped toward the man, positioning himself nearly between Mary and the man.
"Mr. Wheeler, please allow me to introduce myself and tell you why I am here," Grandpa said. "My truck stalled on the road there, and your wife kindly offered to help me."
But Mr. Wheeler paid no attention to Grandpa. Wheeler didn't even look at him, and gave no indication that he heard any of grandpa's words.
"Don't you talk back to me, woman," Wheeler yelled. "I know full well you were carrying on with that hand. I could see it, and you'd still be carrying on with him, if I hadn't chased him off."
Grandpa tried to speak, but the man crossed the room as swiftly as a mountain lion, Grandpa thought, and struck Mary with the back of hand, knocking her back against the wall.
"You made me do that, and I will do it again if provoked," Wheeler snarled.
Grandpa was stunned by the violence he just witnessed. He could not find words to speak. Wheeler turned his back to Mary, and she then moved as swiftly as he had a moment earlier. She grabbed the metal poker from near the fireplace and swung it toward her husband. The poker landed hard against the side of Wheeler's massive head, knocking him to his knees.
Grandpa leaped forward to push Wheeler to the floor, but the big man fell forward, striking the floor with his head. It all happened in a matter of seconds, and Grandpa said later it seemed to take a full minute for his mind to register what he had just witnessed.
Grandpa kneeled next to Wheeler and could hear him breathing. He was about to shake Wheeler to see if he was OK, when the man let out a low groan and moved his legs.
"Please, let us leave here now, before he gets back to his feet," Mary Wheeler said. "My parents are down the road. You can take me there."
Grandpa led her out of the house and down the road. The wind was blowing stronger now, and it felt much colder. Grandpa had lost track of time, and could not remember how long he had been in the house.
When they reached the truck, Mary urged Grandpa to try to start it. "It is no good," he responded. "I told you it stalled and stopped running right where it stands."
Mary persisted in urging Grandpa to try the truck again. They needed to reach her parents as quickly as possible, she said.
Grandpa climbed into the truck and pressed the starter button. The engine sputtered and coughed to life. Grandpa was dismayed by the good fortune, but quickly responded. He jumped down from the truck's cab, ran to the vehicle's passenger side and helped Mary into the cab. He then ran back to the driver's side, climbed in and put the truck in gear.
The truck lurched forward, but the engine died.
"Oh, please make it start. We can't let him catch us here," Mary said.
Grandpa tried the engine again. It caught, and they started rolling along the road. Grandpa breathed heavily, but was relieved to put some distance between them and the Wheeler farm.
He could hear Mary whispering prayers of thanks and looked in her direction. She was wrapped deep inside the blanket, staring out the window. Grandpa tried to reassure her that all would be fine, and they would be at her parents home soon.
Grandpa always said he drove as fast as he dared in the darkness, the headlight barely showing the road ahead, with dust and fallen tree tranches being blown by the gusting wind.
The truck trundled down the road and seemed to take forever to reach their destination, Grandpa recalled thinking. Mary told him it was no more than two miles down the road, but she must have been wrong, he thought. Certainly they had traveled more than two miles. Suddenly he remembered how Mary's farm house seemed to move further back from the road when he was walking toward it. Might the same thing be happening now with her parent's house. Was such a thing even possible?
"There it is!" shouted Mary, as she sat upright and braced both hands against the dashboard. "That's my parents' farm."
Grandpa braked and then cut the wheel, narrowly completing a sharp turn on to the drive leading to the farm house. Mary leaped from the cab the moment Grandpa parked the truck in front of the house.
The front door opened and an older man stepped out. His clothes were in good condition, Grandpa saw, but seemed dated and out of fashion. Money was tight for many families, Grandpa reminded himself, and many had to make what they had last years longer than they wished.
Mary threw herself at her father, crying as the old man embraced. He eyed Grandpa with suspicion as he passed his daughter off to an old woman who now stood in the front door, Mary's mother, Grandpa concluded.
Grandpa took a few minutes to explain to Mary's father what had happened earlier in the evening. The old man thanked Grandpa, said this sort of trouble had happened before, and that he would look after Mary now.
Grandpa returned to his truck and started the drive back to the store. Once on the road, Grandpa glanced in the rearview mirror and thought he saw the outline of a man far behind the truck, but moving toward the home of Mary's parents. The man looked to be carrying something, but Grandpa could not make it out in the darkness. It was probably Ed Wheeler, Grandpa thought, but he could not worry with that. He wanted to get back to Hollenbeck's.
He drove the truck to the store, walked home and enjoyed his dinner, as he explained to Grandma what had occured. He had a fitful night of sleep, though and rose early for work.
"It was the strangest thing I've ever seen, and I never want to see anything like that again," Grandpa said as he concluded telling the story of his encounter with the Wheelers to Mr. Hollenbeck and Earl Thompson, a friend of the Hollenbecks and frequent visitor to the store.
Hollenbeck and Thompson looked at each other a long time after Grandpa finished his tale, but they said nothing.
"Well, what is it? Do you doubt what I have said?" Grandpa asked nervously. Another long silence followed and then Hollenbeck spoke.
"We believe you, Al. I certainly do. I have heard this story before," Hollenbeck said, in a casual sort of way.
"I believe you, too," Thompson said, nodding his head. "And I have heard this story many times before, too."
Grandpa looked at the two old men in disbelief and with growing frustration, thinking the pair was making fun of him.
"You sound like fools," Grandpa shouted, forgetting for a moment he was speaking to his boss. "I mean, uh, I mean how could you have heard the story before? It happened to me only last evening, and I have shared it with only my wife."
Old Hollenbeck calmed Grandpa down and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Settle down, and hear me out," Hollebeck said. "What you think happened might not really be so."
Hollenbeck lit his pipe and began a story that took nearly an hour to share.
Many men out driving on Wheeler Road at this time of year had experienced similar encounters over the years. All shared a story of meeting Mary Wheeler, witnessing the confrontation between her and husband Edward, and helping the troubled young wife reach her parents' home, either by truck or car, Hollenbeck explained.
"I first heard the story 10 years ago, maybe 15 years ago," Hollenbeck said, looking at Thompson for confirmation, or at least agreement.
"Yup, 10 years easy," Thompson added.
Hollenbeck continued his story. Edward Wheeler grew up an only child, a cousin to the Wheeler family for whom the road was named. That branch of the Wheelers first started farming in Coles County in the 1870s. When the township surveyor was mapping the area more than a generation ago, he established Wheeler Road. The Wheelers sold that place, but purchased nearly 500 acres of good farm land at the north end of the county, where some of them still farm.
According to Hollenbeck, Ed Wheeler was a nice enough young man, and a good farmer, a hard worker, even though he never finished high school and never had much in the way of money. Wheeler wasn't a lazy man, or troublemaker, Thompson added.
But Wheeler had a dark side, as many men do. He was sensitive to criticism and had no patience for the friendly joshing that men do with each other, Hollenbeck said.
"And he was always suspicious of everyone, even women," Thompson offered. "He always thought people were talking behind his back, plotting to take what was his."
When Ed Wheeler started seeing Mary Teller, most folks couldn't understand her attraction to him, but thought she might be good for him. She was the only child of John and Carolyn Teller, good people, with a good little farm.
Before long, the two married and everything seemed to be well for them. Farming is a tough life, you have good years and bad years, and it's never easy on any marriage, Hollenbeck explained, but it was much tougher for the Wheelers, tougher than anyone realized.
Wheeler did well enough that he could pay a hired man for a week or two of work in the planting season and again at harvest time. Lots of farmers in the area do the same thing. But Ed never really liked having an extra hand around. He'd complain to others about having to feed the worker, and was always saying he thought the worker was slow and of little value.
Ed fired a few of the workers, but most stayed on until the seeding was completed or the harvest done. But none ever worked for Wheeler again, most refused to even speak to Ed or about him.
Ed hired a young man to help with a harvest in 1924. He was from over in Pine Ridge and was considered a nice guy. That young fellow worked for Ed for a week or so before Ed fired him.
"We learned all of this after what happened that night at the Teller place," Hollenbeck said.
"But what exactly happened that night," Grandpa asked. "I don't understand."
Murder occurred that night, Hollenbeck said. From what the sheriff was able to reconstruct, Ed Wheeler followed his wife to her parents' farm. He carried an axe and a knife with an 8-inch blade.
Mr. Teller met Wheeler at the door, and Ed hit Teller with the axe, first in the head and then in the chest.
"Nearly split the old man in two, with the first strike, according to the sheriff," Hollenbeck said. "Killed old Teller straight away."
Ed Wheeler then charged into the house and used the axe to kill Mrs. Teller, who was standing between Ed and Mary Wheeler.
Ed then turned his rage against Mary, stabbing her so many times the sheriff lost count of the entry points made by Ed's knife.
"Ed must have regained some of his senses," Hollebeck said. "He understood it would be the death penalty for him once he was convicted. He took Teller's shotgun down from above the fireplace and blew his own head off with it."
Thompson spoke up: "Ed did a good job of killing himself, from what I was told."
Everyone sat silent in the room for a few minutes, and then Grandpa spoke.
"Are you saying nothing I saw really happened?" he asked. "That I did not see Mary Wheeler or speak with her?"
What Grandpa saw was real, in a sense, Hollenbeck answered. He really did see what Mary Wheeler wanted him to see - the events that led up to Ed Wheeler's rampage. That is why Ed Wheeler could not see or hear Grandpa when he was inside Wheeler house. Mary wanted Grandpa, and the others who have seen her, to know why she was killed.
"I think Mary is a restless spirit, and she wants us to know that she wanted to make her marriage work, that she wanted to be a good wife. She endured all that anyone could be expected to endure, and then she decided she had to act," Hollenbeck said.
"But her actions led to her parents death. Ed Wheeler murdered the three of them, but I think Mary's spirit feels guilty for what happened. She thinks that had she endured another beating her parents would not have paid with their lives.
"I think it's that guilt that keeps Mary's ghost trapped in that farmhouse on Wheeler Road," Hollenbeck said.
Grandpa always told us that Mr. Hollenbeck's explanation made as much sense as any explanation he heard about his encounter with Mary Wheeler.
Grandpa also said he frequently traveled Wheeler Road during the autumn months for several years but never again encountered Mary Wheeler.
-- Thank you for reading. I know this entry was longer than most I post, but I hope you liked. Your comments and questions are always welcome.
