Ghosts along the Texas Coast

by Docia Schultz Williams

  Pedro stepped out onto the plank floor of the bridge. He had gone only a few paces when a light appeared at the other end. The light seemed to float in midair. As Pedro continued, he kept to the opposite side of the bridge from the light, which now began to move, as if coming to meet him. While the light was still some distance away, he began to see a form taking shape behind it. The light appeared to be suspended from a frail arm held high above a body. As his eyes moved down the arm to where it joined the body, Pedro noticed a beautiful white flowing gown. But something was wrong! As his eyes searched the darkness to find the identity of the young woman who carried the light, he realized there was no head above her shoulders! The cold steel of a knife blade being driven between his shoulder blades could not have chilled him more!

  Closer and closer she came. He could see her quite plainly now. Pedro could hardly force his eyes from the void where her head should be. It just wasn’t there! Close enough now to reach out and touch her, she passed on by. Pedro’s eyes now focused on her other arm and hand, which she held at her side. She was clutching something. Only then did Pedro realize, she carried her head by its raven black hair! The very moment his eyes met the eyes of the head she carried, a fiery green glow pierced him to his very soul. Unable to move, he could only watch as the figure moved on past. The head she carried slowly turned as she moved away, keeping its hollow green eyes focused on him.

  It seemed to take an eternity before Pedro could move, and even then he dared not look back. He had reached the end of the bridge before he finally regained his senses. Standing there, he looked back across the bridge and thought, “Did I really see her, or did I just imagine the whole thing?”

  Fifty years after Pedro had told the story to his teacher, Mrs. Butler, her son, Wilbur, and his wife, Ann, accompanied by two of their children, Stacy and Beau, decided to check out the old bridge at Knox Crossing. Wilbur said they parked their station wagon near the same intersection that Pedro had described and then just sat in the darkness to see if anything might appear. Wilbur said he had grown up in that area, and over the years had visited the place without seeing anything unusual. But this particular night they were not disappointed. Just before midnight they turned off the car’s engine and lights. They quietly held a conversation when suddenly all four of them froze without warning. Butler says a light suddenly appeared in the field to the left of the road and floated above the tall weeds there for a short time. Then it began to move in the direction of the dirt road which leads to the old river bridge. Butler stated, “As it came to the road it changed course, and rather than going in the direction of the bridge as one might expect, it came directly at us, traveling at an electrifying rate of speed.”

  Wilbur said not one among the four of them had Pedro’s nerve to stay and see what mysterious forms it might hold. “We drove away like a bat out of hell with a ball of fire tied to our tail!” But unlike Pedro, the Butler family never doubted what they had seen. Four sets of eyes had seen the same mysterious “ghost light.”

  A Postscript to Wilbur’s Strange Story

  Wilbur Butler knows that he and his family saw something highly unusual that night they went ghost hunting near the old Knox Crossing Bridge. Recently, a friend of Wilbur’s, Nancy Vernon of Rockport, sent him a Xeroxed page from the late Ed Syers’ book Off the Beaten Trail, which describes an eerie ghost light more or less in the vicinity of where the Butlers had their strange sighting.

  Syers stated, “There are some valid ghost believers in the brush country below San Antonio; though over the past, they have reacted with an insensitive vigor, reaching for firearms or clubs. Take the old moss-covered bridge between Kenedy and Runge and what stalked below. Kenedy’s Beauregard Moye, who looks like a white-haired cowboy, and is, took me out.

  “Long ago, he and the other boys chased “The Thing” night after night, towards the dark timber edging Pleas Butler’s pastures (note: Pleas Butler was Wilbur’s great-uncle), trying to get between it and the river.

  “It kept changing size,” Mr. Moye reflected. “Big as a wagon in the trees, then above them, like a barrel on fire. Get close? It’d turn off like a light.

  “Otto von Schroeder, a fast dead shot (and a neighbor of the Butler family, according to Wilbur), and strong as they came, got it down once and tried to stomp it. In the confusion, he might have thrown a couple of shots, but he never could get a real grip on it.

  “It retaliated angrily, soon after, by drifting right through three-strand wire, burning too bright to look at, and chasing Miss Sallie Ricks’ buggy into a ditch. Miss Sallie wasn’t hurt, but she was considerably put upon; and Mrs. Moye has kept an eye on that bridge for her ever since. But he still doesn’t understand.” Wilbur says after reading this account in the Syer’s book, maybe what he always thought was Pedro’s headless woman’s lantern might just be “the Thing” that Mr. Moye just didn’t understand. We don’t either. Do you?

  Reeves Thicket’s Ranch House and the Interesting Tales it Could Tell

  Between Victoria and Goliad, off Highway 59, there’s a small community called Reeves Thicket. It used to be one huge ranch, but over the years the land has been subdivided and sold off in large lots where over 300 families reside today. The original ranch belonged to one man, John Reeves, Sr., who came here from Pikes County, Georgia, in the early 1840s. It is believed his wife probably died in childbirth, because Reeves came to Texas alone, leaving his father and oldest son, John Jr., behind for a time. Finally, after he acquired considerable land holdings and established a law practice, he sent for young John and his father to join him. John Jr., brought his wife, Cady, and their nine children with him. Later, another child, their tenth, William Worth, was born after they had settled into their new Texas home.

  After a few years, John Jr. and his family moved to the banks of Coleto Creek, in the area now known as Reeves Thicket. John Sr. was pretty old by then (he was born in 1779) and needed looking after, so John and Cady cared for him until he passed away in 1863. His grave is one of those in the rather sizeable Reeves family cemetery that sits on what is known as Reeves Hill today.

  John Reeves, Jr., died in 1868, and at that time, one of his sons, Jonathan, whom they called Tobe, moved the family home from the banks of the Coleto Creek to its present location. It was a big house and had to be moved uphill about half a mile. Evidently it was slowly (how else?) moved uphill by being placed on huge logs, which were rolled along by teams of sturdy mules. The place that we visited recently is smaller than its original size. According to the present owner, it suffered considerable storm damage a number of years ago.

  Today’s owner of the Reeves ranch house, the old cemetery, and quite a few acres of the original holdings, is a direct descendant of the founding Reeves family, and he is “obsessed,” as he puts it, with taking care of, and preserving, the old family homestead. A young man in his mid-30s, Charlie Faupel is a storehouse of knowledge of regional history, both factual and legendary. During a recent visit to the ranch, he was kind enough to tell us a lot of interesting things about the house and the land surrounding it, and about the spirits he feels still guard the place. According to Charlie, Tobe was probably the most colorful of the Reeves family members. He took over the ranch shortly after the Civil War ended, endured drought, hard times, outlaws, and a yellow fever epidemic. Tobe was called the “law west of the Coleto” and he was said to have administered justice in his own way. For instance, one hot summer day in the 1870s he’d been out with his men rounding up some cattle. When they got home, they found someone had stolen some of their horses. Along with some of his ranch hands, Tobe rode out to catch the culprit. They crossed over Reeves Creek and rode over to Fleming Prairie, where they found the horse thief. A shootout was the result. Tobe remained on his horse; the thief took cover and managed to shoot Tobe’s left ear off. This really made Tobe angry, according to Charlie (well, who wouldn’t be mad about losing an ear?). Now, Tobe had planned to be “fair” with the culprit and give him a hearing before
hanging him, but he was so enraged that he just up and shot him right there and buried him somewhere out there on the land. Charlie says there’s some evidence of that gravesite today, and there are probably numerous other graves scattered over the vast estate.

  There was quite a big outlaw gang around in the 1860s and ’70s known as the “Brookins gang.” They lived on the Coleto and made raids on ranches in the area, but it is said they gave Tobe Reeves’ place a wide berth!

  When the Reeves family first settled the area, they decided to call their ranch Reeves Thicket because of the thick brush that dots the countryside. It was in an area once crossed by the Old Spanish Trail, and signs of the trail are evident even today. There was also an old wagon road that followed Coleto Creek. Charlie Faupel said his great-great-grandfather Tobe was a “really, truly” cattle baron of his time, and he showed us the old live oak hanging tree that was used to put more than one desperado out of business. It has a huge limb that sort of stands out, and this was probably the hanging limb. Charlie says it’s hard to get a horse to ride by the tree. In fact, he says, there are lots of places on the ranch that just naturally spook a horse, sensitive as those creatures are to otherworldly beings!

  Charlie loves to talk about his rambling old wooden ranchhouse and the surrounding land, which he inherited and in which he takes great pride. He says it is strange, but his feeling for the old house is like the house owns him, and he is sort of possessed by it and the ties it has with his ancestors. Well, it is very old. And very charming. And not many people can boast of living in a house that so many generations of their family have lived in, and died in, as well. Charlie said if his old bed could talk, it could tell lots of stories, as it came by wagon over 135 years ago from Georgia, and was where the colorful Tobe died of pneumonia in 1890, and where his grandmother, Isabel, was born in 1901. There are pictures and mementos everywhere depicting important events in the Reeves’ family history: old photographs, portraits, and memorabilia of all kinds.

  The house wasn’t always a homestead, however. Charlie says for a time it was sort of abandoned and used to store feed and hay. Six generations just sort of wore it out, but Charlie, of the seventh generation, is doing all he can to keep up the place. That’s why the spirits which Charlie thinks are peaceful and just kind and gentle presences are there, because they are happy he is looking after the place. He also revealed that the house was placed atop the hill overlooking the creek where once the family slaves had been buried in unmarked graves. He thinks his office and bedroom are probably located right over the old slave cemetery!

  Reeves Thicket “hanging tree”

  Charlie told me that Union soldiers once rode right through the house on their horses, and once the roof caught fire during an Indian attack. There’s still a lead bullet embedded in the front porch banister, and there are also three bullet holes in the dining room wall. A large section of the house was destroyed by a storm in 1942.

  Today, Charlie believes that UFOs make regular visits to Reeves Thicket. His cousin Susan Purcell, with whom I later spoke, believes this as well. Not in the realm of ghosts, but very fascinating nonetheless, Charlie says the big attraction at the ranch, besides his pet llamas, is frequent sightings of what must be described as unidentified flying objects. The bachelor owner of Reeves Thicket Ranch and his frequent visitors enjoy sitting on the long front porch of the ranchhouse to watch the hovering lighted objects. They will hover for quite a long time, sometimes, and then dart off with great speed, into space. Various law enforcement agencies have been told of the sightings, and they are interested, but what could they do, other than show interest? It would be difficult indeed to arrest anything that elusive or that fast moving, and what would the charges be, anyhow, other than “trespassing on Reeves Thicket Outer Space?”

  Yes, Reeves Thicket is a very fascinating place. The old ranch house is interesting, and the owner, Charlie Faupel, is a unique and interesting young man. So why wouldn’t any watchful spirits out there be pretty fascinating, too?

  A Strange Visitor to Reeves Thicket

  Over at Reeves Thicket, Charlie Faupel’s cousin Susan Purcell and her husband, Kim, have reported some might strange things, too. The thickly wooded ranch land holds many mysteries. The thicket used to be the hangout of a lot of unsavory characters, including Sam Bass and his band of outlaws. When somebody got crossways with Bass or one of his gang, that somebody usually got shot! Susan says she’s sure that there are lots of unmarked graves scattered all over the place, and that is one reason why the horses so often get spooked when they are out riding over the place.

  The Purcells, like cousin Charlie, often have seen what they refer to as UFOs flying over their property, often hovering for some time over a certain spot. And then, there’s the strange little “man-creature” wearing a heavy long brown coat! When Susan’s son was just a toddler, she used to take him for walks in his stroller. One time the infant gurgled and smiled and put his little arms out in front of him as if he was amused or delighted at something he saw. A look in the direction in which the baby was looking revealed a glimpse of a “small creature, about four feet tall, wearing a very long brown cloak, which appeared to be quite heavy.” “It,” whatever it was, was about sixty feet away from Susan and she didn’t get a good look. Just one glimpse, then it was gone. A couple of weeks later she saw the same figure again.

  Then, a few days later, Kim Purcell was out working on the place on his tractor. About noon one day he saw the same “little person” peeping around from behind a tree. A small figure, clad in the same clothing Susan had described, has also been seen around the banks of a pond on the property which is called Shell and Trigger Lake. Although there were stories around for a while that an old hermit was living around there, the Purcells don’t think this person, or “thing” they have seen, quite fits that description. They wonder. Is he a midget, and if so where would he have come from and where does he live? Or is he a ghost? Or is he a creature from another planet, in view of there being so many sightings of UFOs in the vicinity?

  Susan has seen the strange figure three times in all, while her husband has seen him twice. The second time Kim saw him was early one morning, about 2 a.m., as he prepared to depart on his morning paper route. He says he saw something and believed it was the same small figure that he had seen before. It was running away from Kim’s parked pickup truck.

  The Spirits at Sutton’s Mott

  What? A “mott?” When I first heard of Sutton’s Mott, I must confess I wondered, what in the world is a mott? The word just wasn’t in my vocabulary! It didn’t appear in either my Webster’s Collegiate or New World dictionaries. I finally found the word “mott” in my new Reader’s Digest Illustrated Encyclopedic Dictionary. A “mott” is a Western U.S. term referring to a “small stand of shrubs or trees on a prairie.” It apparently comes from the Mexican-Spanish word, “mote,” meaning “shrub.” So much for clarification!

  Susan Purcell, about whom I wrote in the previous story, who lives over at Reeves Thicket near Victoria, told me for years people living in those parts have considered the thick stand of oak trees off Highway 77 that they call Sutton’s Mott to be a “very haunted place.”

  Susan told me that lots of people have said hunting dogs, who usually love to get out in the open country and range around, won’t go near the place to retrieve a dove or flush a quail. They’ll just back off and whine and whimper, and the hair stands up on the backs of their necks when they get close to the place. And horses become terribly agitated, spooked, whenever they are anywhere near the grove. In fact, many cowboys who live in the area are not ashamed to admit they’ll ride for miles out of their way rather than pass by the grove they call Sutton’s Mott.

  It seems a long time ago, sometime around 1850, there was a goat herder named William Sutton (they called him Old Bill) who lived up there where the thick stand of trees grew on an otherwise pretty barren area. He wasn’t a particularly pleasant character to start with, and goat herds were
not considered socially acceptable in a country where cattle ranching reigned supreme.

  Apparently Sutton lived alone. Although he made a pretty good living off his goats, he also had a sideline source of income which netted him considerable cash. He loaned money to ranchers and then demanded a quick payback with a high rate of interest. It seems he got into a lot of arguments over his business terms when he went to collect some of his debts. One time, when tempers flared really high, old Bill Sutton shot a local rancher. When the son of the shooting victim learned what had happened to his father, he swore revenge on Sutton. The next Sunday, when Sutton attended Mass, as was his custom, over at the chapel at the Presidio of La Bahia near Goliad, the young man was waiting for him. When Sutton exited the chapel, the old goat herder was shot down right in the doorway. The young man had his revenge, and no one was particularly sorry to learn of Sutton’s death.

  Since the goat herder left no apparent heirs, there was no one who knew where Sutton might have sequestered his rumored wealth. Most people were pretty sure he had buried it within the thick grove of oak trees that they called the “mott.”

  Over the years, many people have come to try their luck at digging up treasure. All of them have left in a hurry! It is said that after they calmed down and quit babbling, many people have reported seeing terrible, frightful sights . . . headless forms hanging from the trees, suspended from great chains. All sorts of weird noises have been reported, too, until finally very few people will venture close to the thick grove of trees.