Spooky South

by S. E. Schlosser

  At once, Moses felt the spell lift from his mind. He was horrified at how close he’d come to going to hell with that witch woman. Moses ran and ran all the way into town and roused the preacher out of his bed. Once the preacher heard his story, he told Moses what a narrow escape he had had, and they prayed that the good Lord would forgive Moses and not send him to hell.

  Moses went back to living at the smithy, where he had slept in the loft until his marriage. He didn’t ever look at a woman again, even though he had to eat his own bad cooking the rest of his days.

  The Witch Woman and the Spinning Wheel

  24

  Jack-o’-Lantern

  Wheeler National Wildlife Refuge, Alabama

  When I was just a young boy living down in Alabama with my grandpappy, he told me about the googly-eyed jack-o’-lantern that bounds across the swamps. Folks walking in the dark swamp at night had best be careful or the jack-o’-lantern will lure them with his light. Folks say that once you’ve seen the jack-o’-lantern, you get this irresistible impulse to follow him wherever he goes. You follow the light until you fall into bogs or pools of water and drown.

  “Tommy,” my grandpappy used to say, “the only way to resist the jack-o’-lantern when you see him is to turn your coat and your pockets inside out. That will confuse him and he’ll leave you alone. If you’re not wearing a coat, then you should carry a new knife that’s never cut wood. Like many evil creatures, the jack-o’-lantern doesn’t like newly forged steel, and he’ll keep away.”

  “Grandpappy, where’d the jack-o’-lantern come from?” I asked him once.

  “Well, now,” said my grandpappy, “I hear tell that Jack was once a man who wanted power and riches. One night he went to the crossroads at midnight, and he made a deal with the devil. If the devil made him rich and famous, then in seven years Jack would give the devil his soul.

  “The devil was mighty pleased with this agreement. He gave Jack just what he wanted. Jack grew rich and famous, and he married a beautiful girl and was as happy as could be for seven years.

  “Then one night the devil came to claim Jack’s soul. Now Jack had had seven years to figure out how to weasel out of his bargain with the devil, and he was prepared. He had tacked the sole of an old shoe over his front door.

  “On the night the devil showed up, Jack acted as if he was all set to keep his part of the bargain, that is, to turn over his soul and accompany the devil to hell. But suddenly Jack smacked his forehead with his hand and said, ‘Wait! I thought if I hid my soul you wouldn’t be able to find me. But now that you have, I might as well bring it along.’

  “The devil was annoyed with Jack for hiding his soul. ‘Where is it?’ he asked, not realizing this was a trick.

  “ ‘Over the door,’ said Jack, pointing up at the sole of the old shoe.

  “When the devil stood up on a chair and reached for the sole, Jack jumped up quick with a hammer and some nails and nailed the devil’s hand to the doorpost.

  “ ‘Aiiii!’ yelled the devil as Jack slipped the chair out from under his feet. ‘Get me down from here!’

  “ ‘Sorry, Devil, but you’re stuck up there,’ said Jack.

  “ ‘What do you want from me?’ asked the devil.

  “ ‘I want my freedom.’

  “ ‘We made a bargain,’ the devil said, swinging to and fro from his stuck hand.

  “ ‘And I nailed you to my doorpost. So what will it be?’ asked Jack.

  “ ‘All right then,’ said the devil. ‘You’ve got your freedom.’

  “My, but the devil was grumpy at having been tricked by Jack. Jack got the devil down from the doorpost, and the devil stomped away. And Jack lived to a ripe old age with his beautiful wife and his fine sons and his nice house.

  “But when Jack died and went up to heaven, those angels in charge of them pearly gates said, ‘You can’t come in here, Jack. You struck a bargain with the devil. You’d best be getting on to hell.’

  “No matter how Jack argued with the angels, they wouldn’t let him into heaven. So finally Jack went down to hell to see the devil. Jack was mighty scared to visit hell, seeing as he tricked the devil so bad during his lifetime.

  “Well, Jack knocked on the other gates—the bad ones—and the devil looked out at him.

  “ ‘Who’s there?’ asked the devil, even though the devil sure enough knew it was Jack.

  “ ‘It’s your old friend Jack,’ said Jack.

  “ ‘I don’t have a friend Jack,’ said the devil. ‘My friend Jack tricked me and we’re not friends anymore.’

  “ ‘Come on, Devil, let me in,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve got no place else to go. They won’t let me into heaven.’

  “ ‘You don’t belong in heaven,’ said the devil. ‘And you don’t belong here either.’

  “ ‘Go away and don’t come back here,’ said the devil. ‘You’re too smart for hell.’

  “ ‘Where will I go? And how will I see in the darkness?’ Jack asked desperately.

  “The devil threw a chunk of brimstone at Jack. ‘Use this to see. I don’t care where you go, as long as it isn’t here.’

  “Well now, Jack didn’t have any place else to go. He wasn’t allowed in heaven and he wasn’t welcome in hell. He bitterly regretted the trick he had played on the devil, but it was too late. So Jack picked up the chunk of brimstone and came back to earth.

  “He put the brimstone into an old lantern he found to keep it from blowing out in the wind and used it to light his way through the dark marshes and swamps where he preferred to walk. From that day to this, a bitter and angry jack-o’-lantern wanders the earth, luring people into the swamps and mud holes. Jack’s taking out his vengeance on us poor sinners because no one will let him into heaven or hell.”

  My grandpappy and I sat in silence for a moment after he finished the story. Then my grandpappy looked at me and said, “And that, Johnny, is why you should always carry a new knife when you’re walking through the swamp. The jack-o’-lantern doesn’t like newly forged steel, so he stays away.”

  And that’s why I always do.

  Jack-o’-Lantern

  25

  Plat-Eye

  Harrison County, Mississippi

  Now don’t you be scoffing at the plat-eye. I’m telling you that plat-eyes are no laughing matter. They’re evil spirits that haunt the woods and swamps of Mississippi. They can take the form of any animal, and they attack people walking alone in solitary places. If you meet a creature that has fiery eyes, you’d better run the other way, because it’s not an animal, it’s a plat-eye.

  How do I come to know about plat-eyes, you ask? Well, child, I met one once when I was still young and pretty, that’s how. Oh, so now you want to hear the story, do you? Well, grab a stool and try some of these molasses cookies I made for you, and I’ll tell you about it.

  I was sweethearting with your grandpa back then. He lived close to the shore in those days, and that evening I just so happened to pass his house on my way to gather clams at low tide. Well, he abandoned his chores when he saw me go by. That foolish boy just haunted my steps, hampering me at every turn and whispering sweet things in my ear.

  It was getting dark, and your great-grandpa saw your grandpa walking me home and yelled for him to come back and help with the cows. Your grandpa was reluctant to leave me, but I told him that I’d been walking down the lane all my life so he didn’t need to play muscleman for me. He was a bit huffed by my attitude, and he didn’t try to kiss me goodnight before he went down to the barn to help his pa. I didn’t mind. Your grandpa was pretty cocky in those days, and I tried to keep him on his toes. I didn’t want him to be too sure of me just yet.

  I kept walking home alone. It was a right pretty night and I was enjoying the walk, not scared or anything. After all, it was true what I told your grandpa. I’d walked down the lane
my whole life and nothing had ever happened to me.

  In those days, the road home led through a thick wood, and there was a footbridge—just an old log, really—across the stream toward the center of the trees. I looked up as I approached it, and there was a black cat, its eyes like blazing fire and all its hair standing up on its back. It was arched up like it was spitting-mad, and its tail was a-switching and a-twitching. That cat moved right in front of me, standing in the center of the cypress log. As soon as I saw its blazing eyes, I knew that the cat was what my granny called a “plat-eye”: an evil spirit that haunted the Mississippi woods. It was just as big as a baby ox, and I was feeling mighty nervous looking at him. But I said aloud, “I’m not afraid of anything, no sir. Not any ghost. Not any plat-eye. Nothing!”

  That plat-eye didn’t say a word to me; it just moved forward, its tail lashing back and forth. I gripped the short-handled clam rake in my hand and started singing a hymn: “God will take care of me, Walking through many dangers.”

  Well, I seemed to hear a voice in my head reminding me that the Lord takes care of those who help themselves. So I raised the rake and brought it crashing down on the head of that cat. If it had been a real cat, I would have pinned it to that log. But it was a plat-eye, no mistake, and it didn’t even feel the blow. I was young then, remember, and my pa had taught me how to hit out at dangerous critters. But that plat-eye was just as frisky after I hit it as before.

  I was cussing at it, and hitting it with the rake, and saying, “You devil! Clear my path!” But the cursed thing just pawed the air and tried to jump on me. I ducked and it hit a vine next to me. And in my mind I heard another voice saying: “Child of God, travel the wood path!” That seemed like good advice, so I turned back and made haste back up the lane.

  Just when I was thanking God for getting me clear of that plat-eye, there it was again. Now it was big as a middle-size ox, and its eyes were blazing bright enough to light up the woods on either side of the path. I smashed at it with my rake, dumped my bucket of clams over its head, and took off running as quick as I could. I looked behind me once to see if it was still coming, and I saw that the plat-eye was now as big as my cousin Andrew’s full-grown ox, and its eyes were bright as the noonday sun. So I ran as fast as I could, praying to the good Lord to spare me. As I broke out of the deep wood, that plat-eye veered off the lane and vanished up into the old box pine at the edge of the forest.

  I kept running till I couldn’t run anymore, and then I walked along toward your grandpa’s house just gasping and crying. I met him halfway there. He was coming after me to make sure I had gotten home safe. I just fell into his arms and cried.

  After hearing my story, your grandpa took me back to his farm and got us some gunpowder and sulfur. The plat-eyes can’t stand the smells of gunpowder and sulfur when they’re mixed. At least, that’s what Uncle Murphy—the witch doctor in those parts—had told your grandpa. Then your grandpa got a big stick and prayed to the good Lord to protect us, and he walked me home down the lane.

  When we got under the old box pine, he mixed up the gunpowder and sulfur so it stank up the air, and he waved his big stick and threatened to beat the plat-eye to death if it ever came near his girl again. But the plat-eye didn’t appear. We found my empty bucket and the clam rake right near the footbridge, and we walked safe and sound right up to my door. And before we said goodnight, your grandpa made me promise never to walk alone in the woods without taking some gunpowder and sulfur along and carrying a big stick.

  And I never did.

  Plat-Eye

  26

  Roses

  Saint Augustine, Florida

  In the end, what enraged him more than the love affair itself was the way they assumed he had the intelligence of a wooden post. Did they think he wouldn’t notice the way his wife lit up whenever his first officer entered the room or the way the first officer followed her with his eyes? Obviously they thought he was too stupid to realize how they both just happened to disappear at the same time and that when they reappeared, she was glowing and his uniform smelled of rose perfume. It was infuriating!

  His father had warned him against taking such a flirtatious, pretty woman to wife. She would stray, he had said, and, devil curse him, his father had been right. And his men were laughing at him behind his back. They knew what was going on. Oh, yes they did. He was a laughingstock because of his wife and his first officer, and it was going to stop tonight. He would make sure of it.

  When his wife swept into his commandant’s quarters in the Castillo, he was seated at his desk, apparently absorbed in paperwork. She had been pouting for days, ever since he’d sent his first officer south to the Caribbean with an important commission that would keep him away from the Castillo for more than two years. She flounced into a chair and glared at him in petty anger.

  “Well?” she said peevishly when he refused to look up. He glanced at the door and nodded to the night guard who stood there. The man tactfully withdrew from the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

  He leaned back in his chair, his nostrils twitching as the cloying scent of her rose perfume filled the room. “Well, my dear. It seems we are at an impasse,” he said. “I am happy working in this New World, but you are not happy living here. Or should I say you are not happy living here with me?”

  His wife looked up sharply, going a little pale at the tone of his voice. She searched his eyes, trying to see what, if anything, he knew about her and her lover.

  “What nonsense have you got in your head?” she asked, trying to sound playful—and failing. “I am perfectly happy here with you!”

  “You have not seemed so these last few months,” said the commandant. He rose from his seat and beckoned to his wife. “However, perhaps the surprise I have for you will mend matters. Come, walk with me.”

  “A surprise for me?” asked his wife, half delighted and half suspicious.

  She rose with a dubious smile on her red lips, and he bowed her through the door into the outer chamber, where the night guard stood to attention.

  As the commandant took his wife’s arm, he said loudly, “There is a ship in the harbor that leaves for Spain at first light, my dear. I am sure the captain would be happy to oblige us when we explain the situation to him.”

  His wife gave him a puzzled glance at this sudden change of topic, but it was not for her benefit that he broached it. He saw the guard start a little and then school his face to impassivity as they swept out into the courtyard, arm in arm. The commandant smiled grimly. The night guard would certainly pass along what he’d heard to the other men, fueling the speculation about the commandant and his unfaithful wife.

  “What was all that about a ship?” his wife demanded petulantly as they crossed the courtyard.

  “It’s all part of the surprise,” he told her soothingly as he led her to an unused storeroom and escorted her inside.

  “Why are we here?” his wife demanded sharply, staring at the broken pieces of furniture and dusty wooden crates that filled the room. “This is no place to hide a gift.”

  “On the contrary, my dear,” said the commandant happily. “It is the perfect place to hide something.”

  So saying, he led her to a concealed opening in the wall. His wife stared at it. “What is that?” she asked suspiciously. “Why have I never seen it before?”

  “It is a hidden room I discovered some time ago,” said the commandant. “It is a place to store secret things.”

  He lifted the torch from its socket beside the storeroom door and went to the dark opening. With a smile, he gestured for his wife to precede him into the secret room. The scent of her rose perfume filled the air as she stepped inside to see her surprise.

  At dawn the next morning, the commandant stood on the pier, waving good-bye to the ship bound for Spain. When the ship disappeared over the horizon, he strolled thoughtfully back to the Castil
lo and explained to his men that his wife had left for Spain to tend her ailing father. The soldiers exchanged looks, but none of them said anything in front of him. However, he knew that among themselves they would spread a different tale—one that claimed the commandant had discovered his wife’s affair with the first officer and had separated the lovers, sending the officer to the Caribbean and banishing her to Spain for her infidelity. The commandant didn’t care what the gossips said. What mattered was that his unfaithful wife and her lover were gone, and he was a free man.

  Roses

  A few months later, the commandant resigned his position and left the Castillo for good. He left behind only vague rumors about his wife’s scandalous love affair that had gone awry.

  Fifty years swiftly passed away, and the story of the commandant’s unfaithful wife had faded from the memory of the townspeople. Florida was now part of the United States, and the Castillo had become Fort Marion. New faces and new concerns filled the stone rooms and towers, and one of those faces belonged to Sergeant Tuttle. On this particular day, his main concern was moving some old cannons around the upper gun deck, not an easy task at the best of times.

  “Heave,” he told his men.

  “Heave!” they answered, doing so.

  CRASH went the cannon, right through the floor.

  “Holy Moses!” shouted Tuttle, staring down into the huge hole that had opened in the floor of the gun deck. He could barely make out the cannon at the bottom amidst the dust, debris, and filtered sunlight. “What a god-awful mess! You men, get down there right now!” he added, pointing to the two men closest to the stairs.

  The men hurried down the stairs and into the room below the gun deck, only to find it devoid of debris. There was no mess, no cannon, no dust. Nothing was amiss.

  The men stared wide-eyed at each other and then checked the adjoining rooms. Still nothing. Where was the dang-blasted cannon?