By Thomas D’Agostino

Scituate, Rhode Island is full of legends and haunts that rival any other town in the Ocean State. This strange tale has been handed down for generations and has not lost any impact in its telling. The story concerns a man named Charles Mattison, who in his later life, guarded the tomb of the woman he was to marry.

The couple’s nuptials were sadly broken when she suddenly took sick and died. Her body was placed in a tomb off Central Pike wearing the dress and ring that was to be her wedding clothes and band. Although deeply saddened by his loss, the young man soon fell in love with another local and wanted to propose to her, but could not afford another ring. In an act of desperation, Mattison decided to remove the ring from his first marital prospect. He stole away one dark night to his former lover’s tomb, pried open the door and attempted to reclaim the band.

Unfortunately, the finger was so swollen, he could not remove it. Determined in his endeavor, he cut off his sweetheart’s finger. Fresh blood began to flow and the girl sat up with a stunned look on her face. She had not actually died but lay in a coma until Charles woke her up by lopping off her finger. Mattison was so frightened and astonished by what he saw, he ran from the scene and vanished without a trace. No one knew what became of him thereafter. The girl lived another several years and when she officially passed, she was placed in the same tomb.

The story was told and retold by older generations who would dare disbelievers to visit the tomb and see for themselves the hand with the missing finger. The tomb had fallen in from the top by a bull that wandered onto its roof, causing it to collapse. Over time, the woman’s body was exposed and decaying, yet they could still see the legendary hand. As further proof, they were then taken to an old lady’s home and shown the preserved digit in a bottle of alcohol.

The tomb sat in disrepair until a now older Charles Mattison returned and vowed to repair and guard her tomb from further desecration. Living in a small shack nearby, Mattison, unkempt and unloved, brought flowers to the grave daily and in the winter, cleaned the snow that blew through the many holes and crevices of the crumbling mausoleum. That was not enough though, for he took it upon himself to scare away any intruders who dared to attempt entry into his beloved’s final resting place. 

He spent most of his time hiding in a clump of bushes repelling all who sought to see the grave’s occupant. The timid and superstitious wasted no time in fleeing the scene upon hearing the ominous warning emanating from out of thin air. For the more hearty thrill seekers, he rigged a cord that ran from the back of the tomb through a small hole in the wall. The other end was attached to some bones and timbers. A small tug on the rope would send the clanking collection to life and never failed to present a scream and hasty retreat by the intruders.

Mattison remained in his makeshift dwelling, watching over his former love’s tomb in repentance for his deed many years before. Even after his death, he was said to still watch over the decaying structure that holds the remains of the girl. If you should be rambling along the Central Pike in Scituate and happen upon a relic of a tomb, be cautious for the ghost of Charles Mattison may still be lurking about watching and waiting.