Ah Rene! This story, in my humble opinion, is absolutely divine. Don't ask me why, it just appeals to me much more than any other ghost story I've heard. Yes, I agree with the aforementioned suggestion that it's seemingly easy to believe. One thinks of the Deep South and thoughts of swamp creatures, Confederate ghosts, and Voodoo come to mind. Old plantations still bear their frightening scars, and the city’s ancient buildings practically ooze out orbs. Georgia is, in my mind, synonymous with haunted.
I don’t feel that’s fair, though. Now, I personally live in the oldest town in Central Oregon, and at the present my husband and I are looking at buying a house built in the year 1898. Sometimes you’ll walk by a house as old as this and simply looking at it gives you chills. Our town has a wonderful history, a lot of dark history, and even today there are old, clandestine societies still thriving. That being said, where once did I mention it being haunted? Our town in spooky, it has plenty of that creepy, haunted town feeling, but it really isn’t. There are some stories about haunted houses here and there (there’s a story currently blooming about a haunted whore house. I just think our little Podunk town likes to think that prostitution here is still flourishing) but it truly doesn’t seep with the paranormal. No, my humble town isn’t as old as Savannah, and no, it isn’t nearly as large either. Compare our quaint population of 9,999 (yes, that is the tally it reads when one enters the city boarders) with that of Savannah, and there aren’t nearly as many opportunities for a haunting.
It’s so easy, though, to think of our town having infinite scenarios in where a haunting took place. But upon more thorough investigation, it’s clear that here everything is he-said she-said, just plain rumors; the only reason why some of our stories are so easy to believe is because the story itself is so old. I truly, truly believe it’s the same way with Savannah. Here’s a summary of Rene’s wonderful story: A man, standing at a staggering 7’5”, is born matted in burly, animal like hair, and is banished to live in seclusion, either in the confines of his esteemed parent’s property or, the creepier of the two stories, the city’s own burial grounds and catacombs. He tortures our pets --- our lovable, precious cats and man’s own best friend --- and commences monstrosities so heinous that the men and women, naturally filled with Southern hospitality, banish him and fill his deformed ears with the sounds of their shrieks and gasps of horror.
Rene, undoubtedly overflowing with his natural depression and angst takes out his rage on the most innocent and pure of victims: little girls. What type of demon would possess the ability to slaughter an innocent child; let alone a pair or petite, blue-eyed, curly-haired girls? So the girls’ distraught parents, in addition to the enraged towns’ people, go into the catacombs. They follow Rene, deeper and deeper, encircled with the cool dampness of the mass underground tomb. Finally, after finding Rene and his covert collection of bones and rotting flesh, they capture him. Rene presumes to flail his abnormally immense body, desperate for freedom, as all the towns’ people drag him out into the city square and presume to kill him through the ancient practice of lynching. There ends the story of public enemy Rene Ash Randolier; a fitting end to such a tyrant.
Now, boys and girls, what is the moral of our story? Well, there are a few points to follow. Think of the one of the very first sentences Kevin illustrates: Black slaves in particular held him in great awe or apprehension. Listen closely and you can clearly follow the representation. He’s different, only the outcasts were fit to love him, normal society rejects that which is not familiar or safe. To quote the Wiggles, “One of these shapes is not like the other, one of these shapes just doesn’t belong.” To prove this point, here’s another excerpt from Kevin’s depiction of Rene: he took up residence in a part of town which was the haunt of prostitutes, sailors, and the poverty-stricken. Clearly, this was not an area suitable for the well-to-do or the town’s populace of wealth. So what do we do to the unfamiliar? How do we treat others who may be a bit strange? Well, we chase them away, we find every way to confine them (ex: 1. The people of Savannah feared him so much, that his parents were ordered to do something with him. What they did was imprison their only son to the confines of their property. A 7 to 8 foot brick fence was built to keep Rene within the boundaries of the property, and the city folk even went as far as to mortar in inverted broken bottles along the top, to make sure that Rene couldn't scale the walls. 2. He was generally avoided or even shunned, for his appearance was not exactly human. 3. Of course, there’s that wonderful little episode of slavery our country appealed to) and punish them for being born in some way different. Our story shows us that those who are different are dangerous, inhumane, lecherous, and borderline cannibalistic. To associate with them is surely to associate with the Devil himself.
Well, let me get off of my little spiel on the being different. Let’s go to moral number two. Stay away from taboo places! For surely, you’ll wind up dead. Let’s take one familiar excerpt from the article: 1) He took up residence in a part of town which was the haunt of prostitutes, sailors, and the poverty-stricken. I know we’ve touched on this one before, but think about it. Little Red Riding Hood: “Don’t stray off of the beaten path to Grandmother’s house!” When she disobeyed her clearly dictated orders, she was eaten by the Big, Bad Wolf. Now Hansel and Gretel: Don’t run away from home or the evil Witch will eat you alive! Now the story of Rene: “Don’t step too far away from home! In the shadow, surely a monster awaits to slaughter you!” I honestly have no idea why these stories appeal so much to children, especially in today’s society, but it seems to get the job done. This story surely states that if one is to trespass in an area clearly forsaken --- in this case, the deep, dark cemetery inhabited by the monster Rene --- then one may face the direst of all consequences, death. This is just a beautiful scare tactic as old as time, but also the most effective lesson known to man.
Let me tell you a quick story. When I was only about sixteen or seventeen, a boy, about my age, named Brendan Hart, died because he was driving while intoxicated. He hit a telephone pole going, if memory serves, about 90 MPH. After the school found out about the accident, everyone was devastated. Nearly half of the enrolled students went to his funeral, and nearly all of them brought a friend to pay their respects to Brendan. The whole student body was streaked with tears and for friends and family, life would never be the same.
The very next day, right after his funeral, Brendan’s father opted to have a tow truck tow Brendan’s beautiful ’68 Camaro, now completely totaled, in front of the school for a bit of show and tell. Now, if that’s not enough, during one of my best friend’s classes they showed a video of the effects of drinking and driving. There were testimonies from victims, scientific facts on the effects, and photos shown of the damage drinking and driving truly does. One of these pictures showed Brendan, his jaw twisted and distorted, crushed against his car’s interior with his best friend’s arms laced around him in an attempt to protect him. His best friend ended up making out of the accident alive, but that single depiction on Brendan, gnarled and contorted, scarred more than just one memory.
I personally find this to be cruel. I find it tasteless, without class, and completely brutal that one a week after finding out one of their closest friends had died, these pupils were seated down to look at pictures of that boy in that state. This being said, how many of those students do you think will ever drink and drive who attended that class now? Or even from that school in general? Sometimes death is more than just a scare tactic for young minds; sometimes showing that death can be a consequence sure as hell sends the message home. By telling and retelling a story filled with horror and carnage, ones mind is so filled with the fright and sheer disgust that the thought of trespassing on set rules is abandoned.
We can clearly pick this chapter from the story of Rene. There he is, horrible and deformed, human but just barely. One almost feels sorry for the poor man; you can practically hear him quoting The Elephant Man by screaming at the people “I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!” Yet there they all are, casting stones, shrieking in horror, warning their children against the Beast of Colonial Park Cemetery. It’s almost as though they poor salt in poor Rene’s wounds by depicting his spirit, trapped forever in the deep, dark catacombs, never to see light, always to be shunned.
Well now I see I’ve written a novel! LOL. To those of you who have read the entirety of my essay, I hope I managed to delight that portion of your mind that seeks to be thrilled, entertained, or delighted. Perhaps I stirred some thoughts on the psychological part of a spooky tale, or maybe I helped break the ice on a subject otherwise untouched. In the meantime: Sleep tight, rest well in your dark, cozy rooms. Know that stories like these are one in a million. Find faith in the stories you choose to believe in, but in the meantime, learn to depict the difference between a story that’s well told and a story that rings true.
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