The story by HM was told to her through a horse camp at White Pines Ranch, located in rural Illinois, and every year would be a campfire classic. HM recently remembered this story after not hearing it for years, but still thinks it’s one of her favorite stories to tell. The following excerpt is transcribed and paraphrased for clarity, while trying to maintain HM’s intent and phrasing throughout.

There is a graveyard at White Pines Ranch, and specifically a gravestone of a woman there who’s first name is Mary. The counselors there would always take the kids to see the graves, as the gravesite is a historically important site. Later at night the counselors would tell stories around the fire to all the kids, one being about Mary. They tell the story of how she was home alone as her husband was away for several months, maybe fighting in a war or something (kinda irrelevant what he was doing, not at home). He was away, she was alone in her home in rural Illinois, taking care of the baby all alone. One dark and stormy night, it was pouring rain but her baby had a horrible fever, and she was worried about him, so she decided to take the baby to the doctor. It was pouring and impossible to see but she took a carriage (I think?) that she is riding, but she is struggling to steer while holding the baby and it being impossible to see in the middle of the night. Suddenly as she continues on she comes across train tracks but she doesn’t notice as she’s racing to try and save her baby. As the crosses the tracks she tries to beat the train across the tracks but then the train hits the carriage and causes a nasty crash, wood flying everywhere, really terrible crash. She wakes up in the morning and she’s at the doctors. The doctor says “you’re so lucky to be alive, your horse was injured, your carriage was destroyed.” Mary asks “where’s my baby?” but the doctor responds “what baby? There was no baby.” The woman explains that she was racing to the doctor’s to save her sick baby but the doctor maintains that they found absolutely no sign of any baby by the crash, not even a cradle. Mary is distraught. The husband gets word of the crash and comes back, but he also has no recollection of ever having a baby. After that Mary goes completely crazy and eventually dies, to be buried at the rural gravesite. Now, on dark and stormy nights like that one, when trains pass by in the night, people say you can still hear a woman screaming in the middle of the night, “WHERE’S MY BABY????” [yelled towards nearest unsuspecting camper by anyone who had heard the story before].

The story above was a ghost story that would be told every year, highlighting a strong tradition that was honored over time. HM mentioned that she didn’t fully remember how the story was told, but a story of this length that had been enjoyed by so many people would have been subjected to the law of self-correction every time it was told over the campfire with so many returning campers and counselors. This would keep the story consistent and effective to allow all of the returning people to be in on the scare factor at the end. The “where’s my baby?” as the last line of the story was done every single year, with someone who had already heard the story turning to a new face, grabbing them and wailing the line in unison with everyone else. This story serves as an initiation into the White Pines Ranch culture, much like in other pieces of workplace folklore. The consistency of the tradition allows everyone who was a part of the ranch to have a piece of shared culture they could take home, marking them as true members of White Pines Ranch. The ranch is steeped in history, with the historic gravesite, and the history of the gravesite is maintained by the legends told of those laid to rest there, as the graves are now too old for descendants to remember them anymore. The utmost respect to the gravesite and its inhabitants is given by allowing it to live on in the memories and traditions of the ranch built right next to it, keeping Mary’s tragic story alive for generations to come.