a ghostly ox cart that roams country roads in the dead of night, its wooden wheels creaking with a rhythmic traca, taca, tarata. No oxen pull it, no driver guides it, and no hooves pound the ground. Instead, it carries a faded casket holding a condemned soul, a punishment for greed and theft centuries ago.
The story traces back to the early 1700s, when San José was a fledgling village in a rugged wilderness. Residents sought to build a church, the heart of any community at the time, and turned to the wooded hills of Cuesta de Moras – now the site of the National Museum – for timber. They felled trees during the waning moon to avoid sap flow, leaving the logs overnight.
A man from nearby Escazú, known for his laziness and dishonesty, saw his chance. He stole the wood under cover of darkness and used it to construct a house, a stable, a mill, a bench, and a new ox cart. But the theft did not go unnoticed. San José’s patron saint, St. Joseph – a former carpenter with divine oversight – intervened. The thief fell ill, died, and faced eternal judgment: to wander forever in his stolen cart, now self-propelled and silent except for its eerie rumble.
A man from nearby Escazú, known for his laziness and dishonesty, saw his chance. He stole the wood under cover of darkness and used it to construct a house, a stable, a mill, a bench, and a new ox cart. But the theft did not go unnoticed. San José’s patron saint, St. Joseph – a former carpenter with divine oversight – intervened. The thief fell ill, died, and faced eternal judgment: to wander forever in his stolen cart, now self-propelled and silent except for its eerie rumble.
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