by BobA. Troutt
When Autumn Falls
Duck, Duck, Goose
Flatt Creek fed off the Mississippi Gulf which ran inward north into the delta where it branched off into many directions. It had rained hard and heavy all day around Snug Harbor, Mississippi in Hampton County. Driving rain had pushed hard against the ground. It washed out gullies and created small streams and ditches. As thunder hung low over the delta, lightning tore through the night skies; it screamed out as a child who had lost its mother. Later in the evening, after the rains started to taper off, a heavy fog pressed its way inward. Heavy fog made visibility almost impossible. But if you listened closely in the quietness of the fog you could hear the click, click, click from the heels of a pair of boots dangling in the air. A stir of the wind slightly moved the body back and forth as it hung suspended from a limb. The weight of the body on the limb caused it to squeak and give. Rain that had fallen dripped from the dead body, steadily running off and falling to the ground below.
It all started about two years ago in the summer of 1922. I was sheriff at the time when a young drifter by the name of Gordon Hardgrove came to town. Everyone called him Gordie. He was a little slow, retarded some would say. Gordie was big for his age; and a few of the children loved to make fun of him.
Word had it that he was from across the marsh near Hunter’s Point, Louisiana, but no one knew for sure. Gordie had lived here for about a year, but he stayed to himself. Most of the children liked him, while others were afraid of him. He loved to play the game Duck, Duck, Goose. It was his favorite and the children that liked him loved to play it with him.
Everything had gone well until the first murder. One of the children, Randy, had been missing for a day. A search party was formed to locate the missing boy. Finally after several hours the search party found the body, with the help of the dogs, in the tall grass of the marsh. The killer knew he would not be found unless you walked out into the marsh.
This put the town in an uproar. Who could have done such a horrible thing was the question on the mind of the townspeople. This caused the town to become paralyzed and paranoid with fear. The more we, the sheriff’s departmet, searched for the truth the more confused we became. The panicked townspeople quickly began to point fingers at others. Everyone was on edge and losing control.
Jerrell Edgin, Homer Hardiman and Norman Russell were the three main leaders of the uprising. They were the town troublemakers and immediately pointed their fingers at Gordie, all because he was a little different and a drifter. The three men had it in for him. They picked on him and made sport of him.
“What do we know about Gordie,” asked Jerrell, “nothing, not one thing? Who can say he’s not the killer?
Norman stated, “Nothing like this has ever happened here until Gordie came along.”
Homer spoke up, “He makes friends with the children playing that stupid game and once he wins their confidence he kills them.”
Jerrell and Norman nodded their heads in agreement.
The town fell fast in fear and was led by their blindness. Gordie was already tried and convicted by the hands of a mob. As the weeks passed, things began to die down. That was until they found another body. It was Jerrell Edgin’s niece, Kaye. She was found by some fishermen who were fishing along the creek not far from Hunter’s Point. Her body was found in the weeds face down. She was supposed to spend the night at a friend’s house but never showed up. Her friend thought she had decided not to come and forgot to call and let her know.
Neither of the victims had been molested or abused. The common factor in the two deaths was it appeared the children had gone to sleep and never woke up.
Jerrell was sure Gordie had something to do with it. Nothing like this had happened until he showed up. Snug Harbor was a quiet town, always had been. Jerrell swore on his niece’s grave that he’d find the one guilty of her murder and take care of it himself. He had already made up his mind. Gordie was the one he was after.
Not long afterward a traveling preacher set up a tent revival on the outskirts of town. Jerrell, Homer, and Norman decided to attend for all the wrong reasons, to see who was there and hopefully pick up some girls afterwards. The preacher started the revival with some old hymns, Amazing Grace and The Old Rugged Cross. Next, he prayed and brought the message. As he opened his Bible to read, the preacher jumped about two feet in the air and shouted, “Glory be, praise the Lord Jesus!”
The congregation replied, “Amen.”
Do I hear an Amen?”
“Amen, brother!”
The tent overflowed that night and was standing room only.
“If the Lord should give me a thought of the message tonight it would be, the light at the end of the tunnel.”
John 3:16-17: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.
“Jesus is the light of the world, our only hope, our escape from eternal death to eternal light. Jesus said……”
Luke 11:34: The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness.
Luke 11:10: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
“The book of John tells us……”
John 15:10: If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in his love.
“Amen, brother, preach it,” responded the crowd with enthusiasm as the preacher jumped from one side of the floor to the other slapping his knee.
“Praise the Lord,” the preacher said as he continued.
I John 4:18-21: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. We love him, because he first loved us. If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.
I John 1:5-7: This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.
Things got quiet after that. You could probably hear a pin drop in the grass. The Amens got weak and the preacher’s eyes scanned the crowd. Jerrell, Homer and Norman slipped out the back of the tent while the song sung Victory in Jesus.
As they drove down the road they noticed someone walking. As they got closer they realized it was Gordie. They immediately pulled over off the road into a wooded area, jumped out and grabbed him. Before Gordie knew what was happening, they placed a grass sack over his head. They beat him and drug him back to the truck. They tied a rope to one of the tree and stood Gordie up in the back of the truck. They tied his hands behind his back, placed the other end of the rope around his neck, and pulled the truck out from under him.
“That’s for my niece,” boasted Jerrell.
Norman said, “Jerrell, Homer let’s get out of here! The revival will be letting out in a few minutes.”
Quickly the threesome took off, leaving Gordie dangling from a limb not far from the road. That night it began to rain and the storm drove the lightning into the darkness bringing forth streaks of light.
After that night, the killings stopped for about six months. Jerrell and the others thought they had solved the problem until the killings started again. Two more children were found in shallow graves in a wooded area near town. We didn’t know if the children were killed before the killings st
opped or if they were fresh graves? They were found by some coon hunters running their dogs. The dogs had lost the scent of the coon but had picked up the scent of the dead bodies. It was determined they had been killed about four days apart but buried close together. They were exactly like the other victims. None of them had been abused or molested. It was indeed a baffling case. We had come to the conclusion that we had a serial killer on our hands. We nicknamed the killer the undertaker. The victims were so well preserved they were ready for burial. We didn’t know if it was an insane funeral director or a madman undertaker. It could have even been a crazy gravedigger or a copycat murderer?
Jerrell was sure they had killed the right man. But, he failed to see the light at the end of the tunnel because he was in so much darkness. The price of an innocent man’s life would be a burden he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
It wasn’t long until a man traveling down the road where the tent revival had been held had a flat tire. While he was changing his tire, he kept hearing a click, click, click coming from the woods near the road. After following the sound into the woods, he saw Gordie’s body hanging from a tree. He ran back to his car, finished changing his tire and went straight to the sheriff’s department. Within minutes, the little gulf town was filled with sirens as we rushed to the scene. Immediately, we started combing the area and released the hounds trying to pick up a scent. The body was removed and taken to the morgue for an autopsy. I was in charge of the investigation. This murder was different than the children. It was plain that Gordie had been hung. I had my suspicions of who did it, but no solid proof. I went out to his next of kin, James L. Creekmore, Gordie’s uncle by marriage.
“I have my suspicions Sherriff Brown,” James said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Now James don’t take matters into your own hands. I’m the Sheriff, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll bring the killer or killers in.”
“Well, you do what you have to do and I’ll do what I have to do,” he said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I replied. “Be careful and watch your back.”
He took it hard; eventually it sent him to the asylum.
The lab work we sent off on the children’s bodies turned up nothing conclusive. The apparent causes of death were from natural causes. But it was impossible for that many children in the town to die of natural causes. However, there were small traces of arsenic found in the bodies but not enough to be fatal. The pigment of the victim’s skin had turned a bluish color. Their nails were grayish and their tear ducts shed drops of blood. It was like they had gone to sleep.
From 1922 to 1925 there were several more murders, five now besides the two earlier ones. Just like before, the killings stopped again. But in 1932, nearly ten years later, they started again.
The first thing we thought was a copycat murderer. By now Jerrell, Homer, and Norman still lived with the fact they had hung an innocent man. Even after all this time we never could get enough evidence against them. Everything we had on them was circumstantial, no witnesses, no nothing, only a gut feeling. We had an unsolved mystery. The string of murders had us baffled. It still appeared the children had all died of natural causes. It was like they went to sleep and didn’t wake up. It was the strangest case we had ever investigated. We brought in a toxicologist to help with the clueless case.
After questioning several people, I was able to place Jerrell, Homer, and Norman at the revival that night. Several people saw them leave together, but I had no hard evidence to tie them to Gordie’s murder. I had interrogated them separately several times, but all of them said they went up to Stringers Point and fished all night after they left the revival. They backed up each other’s alibi. I knew they were lying, but I didn’t have the proof I needed to arrest them. No one in town would speak against them because they were too afraid.
The investigation went on for weeks, driving me in circles. But the alibi of the three men made it almost impossible to solve the case. The killing of the children had finally stopped once again and this time it never started back. The killer had either moved on or changed his prey.
Meanwhile the toxicologists were still doing their investigation. The sheriff’s department worked closely with them sharing their evidence and information of the investigation. They hoped it would only take two to three weeks to come up with something but it took longer.
I worked hard trying to crack the boy’s alibis. A few days later, I answered a call to a farmhouse on Long Road. It was Jerrell Edgin’s house. Apparently there had been an accident. Jerrell was working on his tractor when the tractor rolled over and crushed him to death. His son, who was playing outside, stated he heard his dad ask who was there, and that’s when the tractor fell. But the little boy saw no one; it was ruled an accident.
A few weeks later the toxicologists came up with some information. Their tests showed conclusively that the children had been injected with an old voodoo serum. The poison was referred to as the sleeping beauty potion. The victims appeared to be dead, but weren’t. The children had been buried alive, which caused suffocation. Suffocation was ruled as the cause of the deaths. The potion was made from the virgin pollen of the fox glove flower, secretion from the gallbladder of the swamp pike, boiled nectar of the black swamp mushroom, and saliva of the southern tree toad. The drug put the children into a deep coma creating the appearance they died from natural causes. I wrecked my brain trying to make sense of it all. But my mind was totally blank.
But who did it was the million dollar question. The town was left to speculate on what had happened. Snug Harbor, Mississippi still lives with the mystery. The best answer so far was that a drifter had passed through and moved on.
As I continued going over my notes from the investigation, I received an urgent phone call. Another body had been found lying on the side of Brinkley Branch Road. Arriving on the scene, I discovered it was Homer Hardiman. It appeared to be a hit and run. It had been foggy earlier that morning as Homer rode his horse along the side of the road. Apparently, an oncoming car failed to see him. He was left dead and the horse was barely alive. I pulled my gun out of my holster and aimed at the injured horse. I fired one shot and put the horse out of its misery. I cleared the scene and went back to my office. I notified the next of kin and filed my report.
The day before, we had received a tip about a stolen car from the nearby county. The car was last seen driving recklessly on Brinkley Branch Road, where they had found Homer. But by the time the deputy got there the car had been set on fire and there was nothing left but charred metal.
Two of the boys, Jerrell and Homer, were now dead. Norman was my only living suspect. It was about time for me to visit Norman. While on my way to see him my thoughts ran wild. I was hoping the deaths of Jerrell and Homer would bring Norman to his knees with the truth. When I arrived at Norman’s house, he was already outside.
“What brings you out here, sheriff?” he asked.
“I thought you might know who ran down Homer,” I replied.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “How would I know?”
“Well you, Homer, and Jerrell were so close and hung around together. I thought you might know some of his enemies.”
“No, I can’t say I do,” he said.
I could tell he was lying.
“You better watch your back Norman,” I warned. “There were three, you, Jerrell, and Homer. You are the only one left. Are you the killer?”
Norman dropped his head, “Could be, you’ll never know. Is that all, sheriff?”
“Yes, that’s all for now,” I replied as I got into my car and headed back to town. I couldn’t help but notice how uneasy and afraid Norman was.
A couple of weeks later after I visited with Norman, I was dispatched to Norman Russell’s place. When I arrived at the crime scene, I saw Norman lying on the ground. It appeared he had fallen from the barn loft.
A neighbor passing by saw Norman lying on the ground and stopped. He found Norman was still alive, but barely, and ran into Norman’s house and called 911. As I approached him, I could tell Norman was still alive. I knelt down to talk with him. I knew it was a matter of minutes before time ran out.
“Norman, what happened that night with Gordie?” I asked.
As he struggled to hold on, he confessed that he, Jerrell and Homer were having fun with Gordie, when things turned bad.
“Jerrell got out of control. He hated Gordie. He was looking for an excuse to kill him and he found it when his niece was killed. Homer and I tried to stop him. But he was like a madman. He wouldn’t listen to either of us.”
“So what you’re saying, Norman,” I replied, “is ya’ll killed an innocent man.”
“Yes, and I haven’t had any peace since.”
Tears beaded up in the corner of his eyes. He coughed and gasped for breath as blood ran from his mouth. He looked at me with a blank stare.
“I can still hear the click, click, click sound of Gordie’s boots. It has haunted me ever since that night,” he cried. “God forgive me,” he managed to say as he took a couple of short breaths and died.
A deputy came out of the barn and called my name, “Sheriff Brown, I think you may want to see this.”
I turned toward the barn. Entering the barn, I made my way over to the deputy. He showed me what he had found. It was a box of odds and ends and a book of voodoo magic. I opened the book and thumbed through the pages. I ran across the sleeping beauty potion recipe. Either Norman was the killer or he was being set up.
“It’s too easy,” I said. “Keep looking and see what else can be found.”
Hours later the search finally came to an end. Carefully, Norman’s body was removed and we wrapped up the investigation and headed back to town. The sleeping potion murders remain a mystery in Hampton County still to this day. Things finally quieted down in Snug Harbor after the death of Norman. Norman being the killer was still speculation.
As time passed, the town changed and so did its people. I retired from the department and do a lot more fishing now. But, I still think back on cases through the years, especially the duck, duck, goose murders. It always seemed like I overlooked some things that could have cracked the case. One day out of the blue word came that James L. Creekmore was dying. He asked for me to come and see him. I hadn’t seen or even thought of James in ain’t no telling how long. The last I heard of him he was in and institution for the insane. Not a minute to spare, I rushed over to see him. But by the time I arrived James had already died. I asked if I could go in for a minute to see him. His nurse told me it would be fine. But when I viewed the body I knew a mistake had been made. The body was not that of James Creekmore.
The nurse asked with doubt in her voice, “This man is not James Creekmore?”
“No, it’s not,” I responded. I don’t know this man, but I do know it’s not James. It’s been years since I have seen him, but this is not him.”
“Maybe he has changed through the years and you are mistaken,” she said. “Who is he then?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but it’s not James. I’ll have his prints checked,” I told her, “and we can know for sure. I’ll call it in to the sheriff’s department.”
The prints of the deceased man were taken. A week later the prints came back. It wasn’t James Creekmore.
The hospital started checking their records. After several hours, they found out they did have a James Creekmore in 1924. He had stayed at the hospital for one year. He wasn’t under house arrest, he was free to come and go as he pleased. Evidently, he walked out and never came back. The dead man was identified as Marshall Kennedy. The nurse had found a letter in his belongings addressed to Sheriff Brown. She handed it to me. I opened it and began to read but the letter made no sense.
Before I finished reading, the nurse interrupted, “According to his records, Mr. Creekmore was a very intelligent man with a very high IQ. He was on the borderline edge of being a genius or an idiot.”
The hospital investigated, results proved that the dead man was a hospital error. James’ identification was found in Mr. Kennedy’s pocket, and it was assumed he was James Creekmore. Apparently, James Creekmore had been back at the hospital and tried to fake his death.
After I left the hospital, I began to search around Snug Harbor for James, but I didn’t have much luck. A couple of hours later it dawned on me where I might find him. I left to check it out. When I arrived, the tall sagebrush waved back and forth in the wind. The sagebrush brushed against the soles of Creekmore’s feet. The click, click, clicking sound slowly faded away as the darkness of night fell. Standing on a block of wood and with a quick kick of his feet, his body dangled in the still night air. Maybe now James had found peace and I could be free of the ghosts that haunted me. The question still remains if James was the undertaker murderer and why he did it. I guess we’ll never know.
“Finally, case closed,” I sighed with relief.
*****
Beyond the Truth
A Cry in the Wind
Thistles and Thorns
Dead Limbs and Leaves
Troubled Waters
To read other works by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbysbooks.8m.com