Coffin Hollow and Other Ghost Tales (6 page)

The next morning the “revenooers” found their fellow worker lying unconscious outside the shed, which was empty. Immediately they started to comb the nearby woods for their prisoner. About noon one of them gave a signal shot, and they all gathered quickly. Down in a pitlike hollow, hanging from a moss-covered grapevine, was the man for whom they were searching. Evidently he had tripped and fallen into the ravine, where a vine had encircled his neck and broken it. Thus ended the life of a murderer.

After this, the local residents stated that each time they passed that hollow they could hear a moaning noise. They said it was the voice of the moonshiner crying in pain.

17: The Haunted Field

My grandfather tells a strange story about a piece of land he had received from his father and later had given in turn to my uncle. One day grandfather and I were crossing Uncle Roy's meadow, which had been grown up in weeds for as long as I could remember. As I walked through the tall grass, I stumbled on a rock; I examined it more closely and saw it was a rough, handmade tomb-stone.

“Yes,” grandfather answered my questioning look, “this meadow's full of them; that's why we don't plow it, although one person — my father — tried.”

I wanted to know more, so we sat on a fence half the afternoon while grandfather told me about the haunted field.

Long ago a slave trader had made his home on this property. He was a cruel man, and his neighbors gave him a wide berth. He had built a rough sort of barracks against the hillside where the slaves were kept chained to the walls, and in the field below he buried the bodies of those who tried to escape, or were disobedient, as a warning to the others. This man enjoyed torturing his victims before killing them, however, and when it got so bad that the good people of Green Valley drove him out, no one would buy his land because of the evil name attached to it.

After several years, my great-grandfather bought it, against the advice of his neighbors, and tried to remove all the taint from it. He burned the decaying slavehouse and after about thirty years of living on the property, decided to use the meadow where the slaves had been buried.

Grandfather was a little boy then, but he could remember his father saying that he had had a strange sense of foreboding all during the plowing and that the horses had shied and given him a great deal of trouble all afternoon.

The family all went to bed with the sun that night, because there was so much to do the next morning. Grandfather was awakened by his father's terrified screams. His father had seen something — or maybe dreamed it, but it was real to him. He had heard chains clanking, moans and screams of tortured slaves, and had heard their quiet cries of despair. “Let us have peace, at least in our graves,” they begged, crawling on their knees, their chains clanking.

Grandfather stopped there and lit his pipe, but after a time he went on.

“Well, my pa heard that carrying on for about a week; then he decided he didn't really need that field. He let it grow back up, and he didn't hear any more strange noises. I left that meadow alone too, and so did your Uncle Roy.”

“The screams and chain-clanking,” I said, “all this was just your father's conscience bothering him in the form of a dream.”

Grandfather took another puff; then he said quietly, “But all us kids, we heard it too!”

18: The Misty Ghost

Many years ago, a young woman from Rowlesburg was working in the city of Pittsburgh as a domestic. While there, she happened to meet a young man from Manheim, a small community across the river from Rowlesburg.

They both were lonely, and before long they became good friends. They spent many a long evening talking of their families and their mutual friends. This relationship blossomed into love — at least on the girl's part. But in spite of his avowed sentiments the young man refused to marry her. All too soon she lost her position, and there was nothing left for her but to return home.

As she rode back on the train, all she could think of was the disgrace she would bring to her family. She was not even sure that they would let her in.

Each mile bringing her closer home seemed to make her burn deeper and deeper with shame, and with the excuse that she needed air, she went out to the platform between the cars.

The night was beautiful, with a full moon, and she noticed that the train was now on a high winding trail, following Cheat River. Just as the train passed over the caverns, she jumped.

The young man, hearing of her death, hurried home. Filled with shame and remorse, he went to the caves on the anniversary of her death. He never came back. Two days later, he was found on the bottom of the river, directly opposite the place where she had jumped.

The old-timers say that on the night of the full moon, her spirit rises above the place where she jumped — and hovers, waiting. Another white mist rises from the river and comes to meet it. They merge, then drift upward and fade away.

19: The Murdered Girl

Many years ago a wealthy Connecticut man had a brother who lived on Point Mountain in Webster County, West Virginia. The wealthy man's daughter was stricken by that dreaded disease called consumption, and he wrote his brother asking if she could come to the West Virginia farm to spend a month or two, for the doctor had said that a change of climate might cure her.

The brother agreed to take her, and preparations for the visit were made. When the girl arrived, she paid $1,500 in advance for her board, room, and expenses. Later her father sent her $2,000 more, which she gave to her uncle to keep for her. He decided to kill her and leave with her money. After the murder, he buried her under the hearthstone of the fireplace. He then took her money and went West.

The house was haunted after this happened, and the door wouldn't stay shut. Occupants even tried bolting it, but to no avail. No one would live there any length of time. Two old Christian ladies who lived nearby told the man who owned the house that if he would put a bed in the room where the ghost was and get wood enough to burn all night, they would come and sleep in the bed, and when the ghost appeared, they would ask it what it wanted.

The owner prepared the room as they suggested. That night they were lying there talking when the door opened and a young girl walked in! She put her hands behind her back and turned around, facing the old women. They raised up on their elbows and asked her what she wanted.

She said, “I was a rich man's daughter. My uncle killed me for my money and buried me under this hearthstone. If you'll look, you'll find me.”

The next morning they told a neighbor, who lifted the hearthstone and found her body. They called the authorities, who got out a warrant for the uncle's arrest, brought him back from the West, and hanged him on a tree near where he had killed the girl.

20: The Hitchhiking Ghost of Buttermilk Hill

In the early 1900s an old-time peddler traveled from Fairmont to Fairview, with his heavy pack of goods on his back. Everyone liked him and seemed happy to have him come — not only to display his wares but also to report any news.

The peddler was such a good, kind, and interesting man that people missed him when he stopped coming. It seemed as if he had disappeared. No one had heard or seen anything of him until finally his body was found stuck in a barrel which had been rolled into the valley below Buttermilk Hill.

On dark, dreary nights, people would stay away from this hill. They tried to pass over it before dark, because it was said that when one came to the top of the hill, the peddler's ghost would ride with him in his buck-board wagon or buggy, or behind him on his horse, until he arrived at the first house at the foot of the hill.

Jack Toothman, who worked in the mines at Grant Town, always rode a brown mare between the mines and his house at Monumental. He usually tried to cross the hill before dark, but one night he stopped at a bar in Grant Town. There he started drinking and talking with some of his friends, and before he knew it, darkness had appeared. That night Jack met the ghost of Buttermilk Hill.

Sometime later, neighbors were awakened by a pounding at their door. When the husband opened the door, he saw Jack standing on the porch. He was as white as a sheet and shaking all over, so frightened he could hardly talk. He swore that the ghost had jumped on his horse behind him, wrapped its cold arms around his waist, and ridden with him until he got to the bottom of the hill. He said he had fought with it all the way down the hill, but could not get it off until he reached the bottom. From that time on he always made sure to get past the hill before dark.

21: Midnight Whippoorwill

During Prohibition many stills and moonshiners were to be found in West Virginia. One particular still was located in Smith Hollow. The owner was Charley Smut, a very eccentric man. Charley was a bachelor and had only one good friend — Jim Hayward. The two lived together in an old weather-beaten shack at the head of Smith Hollow.

Jim was the only person who knew about Charley's still. Charley would only go to the still at midnight, while Jim stood watch. They had an understanding that if Jim saw someone coming, he would whistle like a whippoor-will. On several occasions they used this signal.

Every night after Charley had finished working with the still, he and Jim would sit down by the oak tree where Jim had stood watch and drink their daily portion of moonshine from tin cups that were camouflaged and hidden each night in a big hole in the oak tree. Jim thought that Charley always got the biggest portion and was bitter about this, but he never said anything because he thought Charley wouldn't let him have any more liquor.

Jim was becoming very old and feeble. On a snowy and windy Friday night he died. Now Charley was all alone, but he never failed to make his midnight excursions to the still. One week after Jim had died, something very unusual happened during Charley's trip. He heard a familiar sound — the whippoorwill. Immediately, he blew out the light in the lantern and hid. After a few minutes, he called, “Jim > Jim! Is that you, Jim?”

In return, Charley heard the sound of the whippoorwill and the clatter of tin cups. Then all was silent. Every Friday night the same thing occurred.

On the first anniversary of Jim's death, Charley made his usual trip to the still, but this time something else happened. After hearing the usual clatter of tin cups and the whippoorwill, Charley glanced over to the oak tree. To his amazement, there stood Jim with a tin cup in his hand.

“I finally got my share of moonshine!” Jim said, and then he disappeared with the tin cup in his hand.

Charley was terrified and ran to his cabin. But after that time, he never again heard the whippoorwill or the clatter of tin cups, and he never again saw Jim.

22: Galloping Horses

During the Civil War, when West Virginia was often overrun by both Confederate and Union troops, a father and his two sons went off to fight in the army, leaving the wife and daughter at home alone. Before leaving, the three men took all of the money and buried it, never telling the rest of the family where, for fear the women might be forced by enemy soldiers to surrender it. The men, of course, believed that at least one of them would get back alive.

It so happened that all three men died in the war and none were left to return home. The two lonely women continued to live in their remote country home. Every night they would hear horses galloping around and around the house, but when they looked outside, nothing could be seen. Finally, the mother could stand it no longer, so she and the daughter would walk to a nearby farmhouse to sleep each night, returning early in the morning to tend the farm. No matter how hard they tried, things seemed to go from bad to worse, and the two women were having a very difficult time making ends meet.

One evening when the two women were preparing to leave for the night, a peddler arrived and asked for a night's lodging. The women explained that they did not stay in the house at night because of strange noises, but he was welcome to sleep there if he wished. The peddler was quite tired and accepted their offer, telling them he had no fears.

As soon as the women were gone, the peddler prepared himself for the night. He covered the fire in the fireplace, took off his boots, and lay down on a cot near the fire. Soon he was fast asleep.

About midnight he was awakened by the sound of horses galloping down the road. He thought this unusual in such a remote area and at such a late hour, but he was even more surprised when they galloped up to the house and around it. He quickly went to the window, drew aside the curtain, and looked out into a clear moonlit night. He saw no sign of horses. He lay down again and soon dozed off, only to be awakened by the same sound, louder and closer than before.

The peddler now began to be frightened, so he latched the door tightly and pushed heavy bureaus and other furniture against it. Again he lay down, feeling more secure.

Suddenly the galloping stopped and the door opened as easily as if it had not been barred. An old man with a long beard entered the room and sat near the fire, looking into the coals. The peddler noticed that the old man's throat was cut from ear to ear. He could not keep from asking, “Old man, do you know your throat is cut?”

The old man answered without looking up, “Yes, I know my throat is cut.” And then he continued to look into the fire.