Spooky South

by S. E. Schlosser

  Also in the Spooky Series by S. E. Schlosser and Paul G. Hoffman:

  Spooky California

  Spooky Campfire Tales

  Spooky Canada

  Spooky Colorado

  Spooky Florida

  Spooky Georgia

  Spooky Indiana

  Spooky Maryland

  Spooky Massachusetts

  Spooky Michigan

  Spooky Montana

  Spooky New England

  Spooky New Jersey

  Spooky New York

  Spooky North Carolina

  Spooky Oregon

  Spooky Pennsylvania

  Spooky South Carolina

  Spooky Southwest

  Spooky Texas

  Spooky Virginia

  Spooky Washington

  Spooky Wisconsin

  Spooky Yellowstone

  An imprint of Rowman & Littlefield

  Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

  Copyright © 2004, 2016 by S. E. Schlosser

  Text design by Lisa Reneson

  Map by Paul G. Hoffman © Rowman & Littlefield

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available

  The Library of Congress has catalogued the previous edition as follows:

  Schlosser, S. E.

  Spooky South : tales of hauntings, strange happenings, and other local lore / retold by S. E. Schlosser ; illustrations by Paul G. Hoffman. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  ISBN 978-0-7627-3063-6

  1. Ghosts—Southern States. 2. Haunted Houses—Southern States.

  I. Title.

  BF1472.U6S33 2004

  133.1’0975-dc222004042548

  ISBN 978-1-4930-1917-5 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-4930-1918-2 (ebook)

  The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

  For my family: David, Dena, Tim, Arlene, Hannah, Emma, Nathan, Karen, Deb, Gabe, Clare, Jack, Chris, Ben, and Davey.

  For Aunt Millie, who faithfully read stories to all her nieces and nephews, and for Aunt Lynetta and Uncle John, who took us used book shopping.

  For Coley, whose favorite Spooky Story is “Chattanooga’s Ghost.”

  For all my relatives who are smart enough to live in the South: Liz, Rich, Steven, Dan, Kirsten, Anne, Nathaniel, Melinda, Elizabeth, and Hannah.

  Contents

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  PART ONE: GHOST STORIES

  1. Wait Until Emmet Comes KANAWHA COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  2. The Cut-Off RED RIVER LANDING, LOUISIANA

  3. I’m Coming Down CAMDEN, SOUTH CAROLINA

  4. The Army of the Dead CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  5. The Death Watch RALEIGH COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  6. Seeing Ghosts SEA ISLAND, GEORGIA

  7. The Headless Haunt MADISON, NORTH CAROLINA

  8. The Baseball Game BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

  9. Chattanooga’s Ghost NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  10. Hold Him, Tabb HAMPTON, VIRGINIA

  11. Steal Away Home BERLIN, MARYLAND

  12. The Waves Call GREENVILLE, MISSISSIPPI

  13. Blackbeard’s Ghost OCRACOKE INLET, NORTH CAROLINA

  14. The Log Cabin MONTGOMERY COUNTY, ARKANSAS

  15. The Woman in Black SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

  16. The Handshake GOLDSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA

  17. I Know Moonrise BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA

  18. Fiddler’s Dram DUKEDOM, TENNESSEE

  19. The Dead Chief HIAWASSEE, GEORGIA

  PART TWO: THE POWERS OF DARKNESS

  20. The Wampus Cat KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  21. The Man in Gold GUILFORD COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA

  22. Goggle-Eyed Jim THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP, VIRGINIA

  23. The Witch Woman and the Spinning Wheel NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  24. Jack-o’-Lantern WHEELER NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE, ALABAMA

  25. Plat-Eye HARRISON COUNTY, MISSISSIPPI

  26. Roses SAINT AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA

  27. The Witch Bridle ALBRIGHT, WEST VIRGINIA

  28. Tailypo MONTGOMERY COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  29. The Devil’s Mansion NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  30. Chicky-licky-chow-chow-chow MARYVILLE, TENNESSEE

  31. The Lady RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  32. The Red Rag Under the Churn THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS, KENTUCKY

  33. Wiley and the Hairy Man TOMBIGBEE REGION, ALABAMA

  34. Spanish Moss THE FLORIDA COAST, FLORIDA

  35. West Hell JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA

  36. The Bell Witch ADAMS, TENNESSEE

  37. Rupp BIG STONE GAP, VIRGINIA

  38. The Floating Coffin SUMMERSVILLE, WEST VIRGINIA

  RESOURCES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Introduction

  The beach sand gleamed irresistibly in the late winter sun, and I was quick to slide off my shoes and push my toes into the chilly, glittering granules. Bliss.

  The day was warm; the breeze slight; and the beach empty of visitors. I joyfully locked my winter jacket in the car and started up the sandy path, my precious DSLR [digital single lens reflex camera] clutched in my hands. My feet worked harder than usual in the shifting sand, but I didn’t care. This was sheer heaven after the bleak snow and ice of the North.

  My mission that day was simple: photograph a picturesque abandoned lighthouse and then head over for a tour of a nearby haunted plantation. Lighthouses are a hobby of mine. Whenever a spooky research trip brings me in the vicinity of a lighthouse, I inevitably find myself aimed in its direction.

  My quarry became visible as I topped a small sand dune; its red and white stripes angled in a continuous spiral down its length. To add more pathos to the heart-catching scene, a pair of bottlenose dolphins played in the surf before it. To my left, driftwood trees formed natural sculptures in the sand. To my right, a stone seawall thrust itself out into the waves. I raised my camera, not sure what to photograph first among so many wonders.

  Many pictures later, I sat down on the seawall to breathe in the crisp, salty air and think about my journey so far through the spooky South with its many ghosts—quite a number of which were associated with the sea. In Ocracoke Inlet, North Carolina, the pirate Edward Teach roams the beach looking for his lost head (Blackbeard’s Ghost). Farther south, the Sea Islanders of Georgia still use an old spell to help them get in contact with the spirits (Seeing Ghosts). And down in Brunswick, Georgia, a lonely ghost tries to lure family members into the waters of the inlet to join her in death (I Know Moonrise).

  The sea was not the only body of water to produce ghosts. The swamplands and rivers of the South have their fair share of haunts as well. Down in New Orleans, an old roustabout refuses to go to heaven until he’s smoked every last one of his expensive cigars (Chattanooga’s Ghost). In Greenville, Mississippi, a drowning victim haunts an old drunk until he promises to lay off the booze (The Waves Call). Over in the Great Dismal Swamp of Virginia, Goggle-Eyed Jim keeps stealing horses long after he’s dead. And in Hiawassee, Geor
gia, the phantom of a native warrior drives a grave robber into a flooded river at the height of a storm (The Dead Chief).

  On land, spirits haunt mountain and valley, and all the places in between. In Charleston, South Carolina, the Army of the Dead nightly roams the streets, on their way to reinforce General Lee’s troops in Virginia. Over in Berlin, Maryland, a ghost hides a runaway slave who gets into trouble on his way to catch Harriet Tubman’s Glory Train (Steal Away Home). And in Birmingham, Alabama, a sports-obsessed man gets into trouble with a ghost one night after staying out late to watch his home team defeat their rivals (The Baseball Game).

  I glanced at my watch and reluctantly realized that it was time to head back to the car. “I wonder what ghosts might be lurking unnoticed on my plantation tour this afternoon,” I said to a greedy seagull trolling for leftovers. “If any of them come scratch-scratch-scratching on the door like Tailypo, I’m out of here!” The seagull fluffed its feathers in sympathy, as if it understood my every word. With a sigh of regret, I slid off the seawall and headed toward the car.

  At the top of the dune, I looked back toward the lighthouse and saw a glint at the top. My pulse quickened. Was that a glowing figure looking down at me from behind the glass? Or was it just a chance ray of sun? I blinked and the glint was gone. What had I just seen? I shivered in the warm sun, my arms all-over goose bumps. It was probably just a trick of the light. Or maybe not . . .

  “This is the spooky South,” I reminded myself as I sped hastily toward the parking lot. “Anything can happen here!”

  Happy Hauntings.

  —Sandy Schlosser

  Part One

  Ghost Stories

  1

  Wait Until Emmet Comes

  Kanawha County, West Virginia

  A preacher was riding to one of the churches on his circuit when darkness fell. It was about to storm and the only shelter around was an old, abandoned mansion, reputed to be haunted. The preacher clutched his Bible and said, “The Lord will take care o’ me.”

  The preacher arrived at the mansion just as the storm broke. He put his horse in the barn and made his way to the house. The front door was unlocked. He entered a gloomy old hallway and looked into the first room on his left. It was a large room, with a huge fireplace that filled one entire wall. Coal for a fire had been laid in the fireplace, and several comfortable chairs were grouped invitingly around the hearth. Surprised to find such a pleasant room in an abandoned house, the preacher went in and set a match to light the fire, then he settled down in one of the comfortable chairs and began to read his Bible.

  The fire smoldered in a heap of glowing coals as the storm howled around the mansion and shook the windows. Roused from his reading by a noise, the preacher looked up from his Bible. A very large black cat was stretching itself in the doorway. It walked to the fire and sat down among the red-hot coals. The preacher swallowed nervously as the cat picked up a coal in its paw and licked it. Then the cat got up, shook itself, and walked to the foot of the preacher’s chair. It fixed its blazing yellow eyes on the preacher, black tail lashing, and said quietly, “Wait until Emmet comes.”

  Wait Until Emmet Comes

  The preacher jumped from Genesis to Matthew in shock. He had never heard of a talking cat before. The cat sat down in front of the preacher and watched him without blinking. The preacher turned back to his Bible, nervously muttering to himself, “The Lord will take care o’ me.”

  Two minutes later, another cat came into the room. It was black as midnight and as large as the biggest dog you’ve ever seen. It laid down among the red-hot coals, lazily batting them with its enormous paws. Then it walked over to the first cat and said, “What shall we do with him?”

  The cat replied, “We should not do anything until Emmet comes.”

  The two cats sat facing the chair, watching as the preacher read through the Gospels at top speed. Their blazing yellow eyes seemed never to blink.

  A third black cat, big as a tiger, entered the room. It went to the fireplace full of red-hot coals and rolled among them, chewing some and spitting them out. Then it ambled over to the other two cats that were facing the preacher in his chair.

  “What shall we do with him?” it growled to the others.

  “We should not do anything until Emmet comes,” the cats replied together.

  The preacher flipped to Revelation, looking fearfully around the room. Then he snapped shut his Bible and stood up.

  “Goodnight cats,” he said politely. “I’m glad of your company, but when Emmet comes, you done tell him I’ve been here . . . and gone!”

  2

  The Cut-Off

  Red River Landing, Louisiana

  The Mississippi River was an unsettled and uneasy place to be that night. You could feel the tension rising every time the water swirled and slapped against the side of the boat or the warning bell jangled. The light of the lantern barely penetrated the enveloping fog, and the engine chugged and strained. It was a bad night to be out in a paddleboat. But the pilot had sworn when he set out that nothing would make him turn back.

  No other pilot dared to brave the Mississippi that night. They were all huddled in the tavern, gossiping and telling tales. After an evening spent listening to empty boasts, the pilot had made one himself. He said he knew the Mississippi River so well that he could guide his paddleboat through the thickness of the night fog. The other pilots laughed and told him he would be back before midnight. He had grown angry at their jeers and had sworn to them he would not turn back for any reason, should the devil bar the way!

  The pilot jerked the wheel, anger filling him again at the memory of their laughter. The paddleboat shuddered. He pulled himself together and straightened the boat. It was difficult enough piloting in the dense fog without adding carelessness to the mix of dangers.

  The Cut-Off

  The paddleboat was rocking oddly under the strange eddies of the river, but the pilot knew every turn and guided the paddleboat along despite the fog. Occasionally, he could make out the dark shape of an island or a flicker of light from the shore, encouraging him onward.

  He turned down a familiar bend and was nearly through the channel when he saw shore where no shore had ever been before. He slowed the paddleboat, turning it this way and that. It could not be! The river ran straight through this branch. He had guided his paddleboat through this place a hundred times.

  But the Mississippi had shifted. Unbeknownst to the pilot, a new cut-off had been made just below Red River Landing. Already the old channel into which he had piloted his paddleboat was beginning to fill with reefs and debris.

  The pilot swore every curse he knew and kept searching for a way through. Surely there was still an opening somewhere. He had vowed to complete his run without turning back, and he was determined to fulfill his promise. He would never go back. Never! He would stay there until daybreak, and beyond if need be.

  Edging the boat forward through the fog, the pilot thought he could see a gleam of water ahead. It looked like an opening. He sped up, intent on breaking out of the now useless channel. Suddenly, the paddleboat gave a massive jerk and the engine stalled. He had hit something! The pilot started the engine and tried to back up. The engine wailed as he pulled away from the submerged obstacle. The paddleboat shuddered and started to list as water burst through the hull. Then it overturned, trapping the pilot underneath. He struggled to find a way out, but he could see nothing in the darkness. The boat sank rapidly beneath the water, taking the pilot with it.

  When the fog lifted the next day, several of the boatmen, concerned by the pilot’s continued absence, went in search of their friend. They found his paddleboat sunk to the bottom with a gaping hole in its side and the pilot drowned.

  A month later, a riverboat captain was trying to beat the fog into Red River Landing when he heard the ring of a
bell and the sound of a paddleboat engine coming from the old channel. Curious, he stilled his engine to listen. In the eerie silence that followed, he distinctly heard a voice cursing loudly over the chugging of a paddleboat engine. Was that a ghostly apparition of the pilot trying to force his way through the blocked channel?! Frightened, the captain hurried into Red River Landing and went to the local tavern to drink away his scare. The bartender laughed at his tale of the phantom paddleboat and sent him home to sleep it off. But it was not long after this that other pilots began hearing the phantom paddleboat on foggy nights, as its ghostly pilot tried again and again to complete his run. The river near the old channel was avoided thereafter.

  They say if you stand near the old channel on foggy nights, you can still hear the ring of the bell, the sound of the engine, and the curses of the ghost pilot trying to complete his run.

  3

  I’m Coming Down

  Camden, South Carolina

  Well, you’ve never heard a scary ghost story till you’ve heard my ghost story, no sir! I tell you, I’ve seen the creepiest ghost that ever walked this earth, or my name’s not Big Jo Jo Boll Weevil Jim.

  A few years back I spent a couple of weeks down in Charleston visiting my old mother. When I left Charleston I had a pocket full of money, but by the time I reached Camden, I found myself out of money and without a ride. I was still quite a piece from home, and I knew that I was going to have to walk the rest of the way. This was ’round about the fall of the year, and it was starting to get cold. As I hurried down the road, I wondered if I should try to locate my wife’s second cousin Lulu, who lived near Camden. But I decided against it. First because I didn’t know exactly where Lulu lived, and second because Lulu and I don’t get along. I figured I could camp out that night and maybe catch me a fish or two to keep the hunger pangs away till I reached home. But then it started to rain, and I decided I needed to find a place to stay for the night.