Once Upon an Eclipse

 

We four, Maggie, Andrea, Theresa, and I, arrived at the Jackson County Indiana Fairgrounds at about 1PM on April 8, 2024, in plenty of time to get settled before the moon began its eclipse of the sun.  

The day was perfect for viewing, very few clouds in the sky and the temperature was about 68 degrees Fahrenheit.  We found a good spot and sat in the grass looking up through proper viewing glasses.

The fairground unfolds off IN250, just southeast of Brownstown Indiana, about an hour and fifteen minutes south of Indianapolis.  The place is a sprawling complex complete with a dirt track speedway for auto racing.  There are numerous buildings and shelters, plus a series of paved lanes that provide access to booths during events, the major one being the county fair.  

We opted to park along one of these lanes just off of, and parallel to, the highway.  There were scant few others who had the same idea.  Perhaps four other vehicles all parked apart from each other with a lot of space in between.  We were in the sunshine, the others picked shady spots in groves of trees.

Along with we few spectators were a couple of tractors mowing the grass of the fairground’s areas adjacent to us, but further off the highway.  The drone of these tractors was an undercurrent of noise on an otherwise very quiet afternoon.  Interestingly, they only shut off for a few minutes at totality.  The traffic on the highway was minimal, almost non-existent.  It was as if we were alone.

At a little before 2PM the moon began crossing between us and the sun. The change in light was hardly noticeable.  Then, over the next hour or so, it was as if an entire day was passing, as we were nearing totality.

It was about 2:30 when the first of us, Andrea, noticed the change.  She saw it and without saying anything out loud, made sure we all looked to see it.  

Down in a grove of trees, in which no cars were parked, a fog had begun swirling.  Not tightly gathered like a tornado, more like a lazy fog rolling in from the ocean in San Francisco, and as the daylight dimmed in the eclipse, the area enclosed by fog grew and the fog became denser, until at 3PM, precisely the time of totality, it parted.  

The sun disappeared, seemingly suddenly, and it grew dark, as dark as a late evening sky.  Around the horizon for 360 degrees, it was lighted, as if it was dawn.

The fog didn’t disappear but opened to reveal a group of picnickers seated on blankets on the ground, enjoying each other’s company.  There were horse-drawn wagons standing nearby, the horses still hitched in harness to the wagons, were just standing there, patiently, or stretching their necks down to nibble the grass.

There were, maybe, twelve or so individuals plus a few excited kids who were running around chasing each other.  The adults were casually seated or standing, holding plates of food or containers of drinks.  They were in the middle of a picnic to celebrate the day.  Their actions were animated, they seemed to be enjoying the event. 

Without warning, two of the male picnickers faced off aggressively.  They were obviously confronting each other, and their agitation was growing.  One pulled a pistol out of his pocket and shot the other at point blank range!  

The victim was thrown backwards by the impact of the bullet and lay motionless on the ground.  The others ran to him to attend to him, but it was made obvious by their reactions that the bullet had inflicted a mortal wound.  As they knelt by the victim, or stood in silent sadness, the fog re-enveloped the group, and hid them from view.

It was Theresa's first instinct to run over there and try to help but as she stirred to get up, Maggie gave her a disapproving look that stopped her.  I think Maggie understood that it was shades we were seeing, not real people.

As the moon passed the sun and the day became brighter, the fog slowly dissipated and was gone, along with the picnickers, the victim, and the shooter.  There was no trace of them.  We went over and looked.  Not a napkin, chicken bone, crust of bread, nothing remained.  The grass, however, was matted as if a blanket had been on it.

All the way home we tried to talk about what we saw but none of it made any sense.  We were mostly quiet in the car, each dealing with the apparition as best they could.  The odd thing was it stifled our conversation about the eclipse as well.   In fact, we never really discussed and admitted to each other what we'd seen.  What we think we saw was more profound than the eclipse itself.   

When we got back to Louisville, I researched the news from the date of the last eclipse to occur in that area.  It was in 1900, there was nothing in the Louisville paper about it.  My curiosity, however, was piqued.  A few days later I went to the Indiana State Capital archives in Indianapolis and did some more research.

There was an article in the now defunct Jackson County Dispatch, just a small piece, reporting a killing at a picnic at the Jackson County Fairgrounds during the eclipse of 1900.  The shooting took place, and the victim identified as John Brown of Brownstown, (no relation.) Interestingly, none of the witnesses would identify the shooter.  That was the only reference. 

An old man, who had noticed my rummaging of old news articles, was looking over my shoulder.  Although he was not trying to be impolite, I cleared my throat and stirred impatiently.

He said, “I’m sorry, but I see you're interested in John Brown’s shooting.  I was nowhere near it, never knew the man, nor any of the others at the picnic.  No one was charged with it.  One man went about town, pestering a lot of others with what he said was his side of the story.  He never really confessed but everyone who was at that picnic knew what happened. They say that John Brown’s body may be moldering in the grave, but he brings them all back to the fairgrounds from time to time, to remind them of what happened.  He does it when there’s an unusual event going on, like an eclipse.  And anyone who sees the picnic just may see it again.” I hope not.

 And now, as I think about the old man at the archive, and his strong denial of any involvement, I can’t help but wonder if he was involved in some way.  He certainly wanted to tell me that he had nothing to do with it.  Maybe that was he.