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Earl and his father, Robert H. Davison

Seven White Horses and Ghosts

“I was maybe six years‐old when I went hunting with Grandpa one afternoon. We had just entered a wooded
meadow that was at the entrance of the woods. The trees were tall and mostly bare and there was a crisp
frostiness to the air. We paused there for a few moments, taking it all in. I loved those woods, and I was soon

absorbed in my own world. Suddenly, Grandpa turned to me and said, “Did you see that?!” “What?” I asked. He
told me
that he had just seen seven white horses pass in front of us off to the right, and they didn’t make a sound. Though

I did not see the horses, I have no doubt that he did. He was filled with both awe and fear, and we didn’t go into
the woods that day. We headed straight home.

Another time when Uncle Bob had the dairy farm and lived in a big old frame house with a long porch, Grandpa
told me that he would never spend the night there again because the “haints” kept him up all night pacing back

and forth on the porch. Uncle Bob and Aunt Audrey did not live there for very long, I’m sad to say, because that
was my very favorite place that they lived.”

Earlene Davison Giglierano