In honor of Halloween, I have an unusual sort of ghost story to share. Appropriately enough, it deals with costumes –- the theatrical costumes of John Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Abraham Lincoln.

Booth was one of the leading actors of his day, particularly renowned for his performances of Shakespeare. Even for an actor, he was inordinately vain. He expected that murdering President Lincoln would make him a national hero, instead of one of the most execrated men in American history. So, with posterity in mind, he secretly shipped all his stage belongings to Canada before committing his infamous deed.

Booth’s trunk was rediscovered in 1873, and returned to his older brother, Edwin. Edwin Booth was also an actor. Indeed, John and Edwin were the sons of the great English-born actor Junius Brutus Booth, and the three had appeared on stage together. Unlike John, however, Edwin had been a loyal Union supporter during the Civil War, and was horrified when his brother turned assassin. Public outrage against the whole Booth family forced Edwin to retire temporarily from the stage. Edwin’s father had been destroyed by alcoholism and insanity and, for a time, the family feared that Edwin would suffer the same fate. But he emerged in 1866 to become the “Prince of Players” –- America’s leading actor and the era’s most renowned interpreter of Hamlet.

Imagine Edwin’s feelings in 1873, on receiving the trunk containing his brother’s costumes!

Actually, we don’t have to imagine. A call boy at Booth’s theatre named Garrie Davidson witnessed what happened to the trunk and its contents, and later told the story to the actor Otis Skinner, the father of actress and author Cornelia Otis Skinner.

Garrie said that one night, after a performance, Edwin Booth told him that he needed a few hours’ sleep, but asked the boy to wake him at three o’clock in the morning. On being roused at that hour, Edwin got up and had Garrie follow him to the basement of the theatre. There, he ordered Garrie to stoke the fire in the furnace and to break open an old trunk lying in the corner. Inside, dusty and reeking of camphor, were John Wilkes Booth’s costumes, wigs and swords from all his great classical and romantic roles. Edwin took them out one by one, regarded each item tenderly, and then resolutely passed them to the boy, who consigned them to the flames.

“It was awful,” Davidson told Skinner, “to watch him sit there without a word, inspecting each article, touching it as if it were his own flesh and blood …”

Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, Edwin unearthed a long purple tunic and fur-trimmed cloak. The discovery nearly undid him. He sat down on the lid of the empty trunk and said in a choked voice, “My father’s! Garrie, this was Junius Brutus Booth’s costume for Richard III. He wore it in Boston on the first night I went on the stage as Tressell.”

Garrie wanted to spare this particular relic, but Edwin said, “No, put it with the others.” As Garrie stuffed the costume into the furnace, Edwin broke down and sobbed like a child.

The funeral pyre burned for several hours. At last, the costumes were reduced to ashes and even the swords had melted. Edwin turned to Garrie and said, “That’s all; we’ll go now.”