A creek in the woods, wandering lost,
ripples beneath the low hanging moss
and carries falling leaves for a ride,
they swirl in the eddies and raft on the tides
and rush to and fro to the swampy lows,
then slow, to unfold in a pool of shadow.

And only be chance do the leaves arrive
at the hidden pond where Joeabb resides.

Here, the sunlight is filtered by shade
of trees in the water. Their trunks colonnade
at the edge of the pond like sentries at guard;
banishing all who would venture this far
to spy on creatures asleep on the logs,
that swim in the cattails or slog thru the bog
or perhaps the reclusive Joeabb the Frog,
the once famous tenor, ghost of the fog.

Leagues to the south, as the blackbirds fly,
at a green lily pond in times gone by,
a young Joeabb, just tadpole to frog,
soon discovered his gift from the fog;
a beautiful voice, hauntingly tender
with range and power – basso to tenor.
Those who heard him were staggered with awe
and news spread quickly of Joeabb the Frog.

Come evening, the pond was symphony hall,
crickets would fiddle, hoot owls would call,
heron and egrets swooshed in the shallows
and frogs by the scores puffed their bellows.
Birds of all feathers flocked the trees,
lightning bugs lighted the mist magically,
a lodge of beavers thumped hollow logs
but all would go still, for Joeabb the Frog.

It seems he would sing to the night, unaware
that a throng of listeners had gathered there
and often his eyes would drift to his maid,
a spotted she-frog, he called Lilyjade;
crooning sweet tones for her alone
as if his songs were a lover’s poem.
And after the throng of the gathered had gone,
they’d snuggle together to wish on the dawn.

Joeabb rejected the trappings of fame;
refused the gifts, ignored the acclaim.
Offers of travel and sing on the lake,
though tempting, he thought, tempted the fates.
Until he was nudged by his own Lilyjade;
with a goodbye kiss, he was whisked away
and night after night he sang for her sake,
while millions listened around the great lake.

The fog rolled in, his tenor voice soared
and those so impressed by this frog troubadour
thundered a cheer that rippled the lake
at the end of the concerts of Joeabb the Great.
Each morn, he vow to the great beyond
that soon he’d return to the green lily pond
where surely his mate ponders the dawn
and lingers with fading stars to wish on.

At the final performance, a fierce wind blew
and everyone, looking for cover, withdrew.
Joeabb impulsively headed for home
and wrestled the gales of the night alone.
He arrived along with the calm of day
and met by the creatures who weathered the fray,
he saw his pond completely transformed
and heard cruel stories wrought by the storm.

Heads bowed when he called Lilyjade,
for she was swept by the hurricane’s rage.
Joeabb searched thru the woods for leagues
and refused to accept what the others believed.
He swam the swamps and the waterways,
journeyed farther and wider each day,
and after months of the same, on and on,
he never returned to the green lily pond.

Some say he’s lost, others he died;
fell in a cavern, buried alive.
Some say he found a moonbeam of blue
and climbed to the sky for a better view.
But in truth he repaired to this swampy glade,
so cloistered by backwater bramble and shade
and began a song so incredibly strong
that time itself refused to move on.

When the mist comes from the trees beyond
he croons to a moon and a love that is gone
and endeavors to conjure his Lilyjade
from the ghostly haze that glides the glade;
certain that when his voice becomes pure,
she’ll respond from beyond the misty moor.
But the fog only drifts thru his sad serenade,
years into decades and age upon age.

Now, a thousand years have gone by;
his voice so pure, just a note makes you cry.
And so, the angels who bring forth the dawn
were moved to tears by his woeful song.
With a touch they placed this hidden pond
between the here and the great beyond
and nestled the souls of two little frogs
who live forever in love in the fog.

On warm summer evenings while lying your bed
or rocking the porch with stars overhead,
you may hear a voice so incredibly pure
you’ll clutch at your heart in rapture, assured,
if you close your eyes and breathe the night air
you’ll drift with the mist that lifts you to where
a blithe little spirit sings in the fog
and you’ll hum along with Joeabb the Frog.

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Written by Wendy Webb

Shhh…do you hear that? The sound of footsteps. Not human footsteps, but something that only walks at night, and visits you in places where you ought not to be – like graveyards. You can hear them sometimes snuffling when you get too close to the graves of their loved ones, or whining. You especially don’t want to stay when you hear the growling. And if they decide to let you see them, you never want to look into their glowing red eyes. ‘Cause that’s when they get you – the dogs. Graveyard dogs.

Joseph Blakely had been scared by that story all his life, and wondered if it had, in fact, come from Widow Morris. He never forgot it, or her. She lived way on the top of a hill in an old house. Some said it was a haunted house. But as Joseph Blakely grew from a boy into a man of 14, he figured no self-respecting ghost would spend ten seconds in a house with that woman. It didn’t matter if it was a mean ghost, or a vindictive one – Widow Morris was meaner. It didn’t even matter if the ghost made an awful noise by moving furniture in the middle of the night – the widow was louder, stronger, and she rarely slept.

But as bad tempered as she was, she couldn’t compare to her live-in companion, the old goat. For that’s what he was – an old goat. He went by the name of Emerson. They were the kind ones who called him that. Others used names that Joseph Blakely couldn’t repeat, even though the seat of his britches carried many mendings, thanks to Emerson’s difficult disposition.

You see, Joseph Blakely had made it his life’s work to bother the widow and her old goat. He couldn’t explain why he had to do it, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself. So whenever an idea popped into his head, he acted on it.

Like the time he smelled the blackberry pie and followed his nose to the windowsill, figuring if the widow had no intentions of sharing that pie, why, she wouldn’t have put it there in the first place. He had barely stuck his finger through the warm crust when Emerson appeared, beard twitching and yellow teeth bared. And then came the widow with a broom she used to swat Joseph all the way back to town.

And he’d never forget the time he dashed up the steps in the dark of night to throw a rock through the widow’s window. But since he forgot the incantation for protection, it was no wonder he didn’t get her goat – but rather, her goat got him. Until her broom sent him running for cover behind a stand of old oaks.

And maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but with red eyes as big as those of an owl, the widow stared into the night and spoke words that still send a shiver down his spine:

“I’ll get you for this, Joseph Blakely. You know I will.”

And still the bothering kept coming, with plans for even more. But as plans have a way of doing, they went astray two months later, when word came that the widow and the old goat had passed away. So Joseph decided he would just have to see her grave for himself. Only then could he let the plans in his mind rest.

One very dark night, he set out for the graveyard. He paid little mind to the idea of Graveyard Dogs, since it was a story that scared little boys – not a man of 14 like himself. But to be on the safe side, he had practiced the incantation all day. Nothing could get him now.

With lit torch, he peered from one grave to another until he found the one of the widow. Next to her was a stone that said simply: “Emerson.”

“Well I’ll be,” he said, “she’s even buried next to the old goat.”

Suddenly, a snuffling sound came out from behind the headstone. Was that a Graveyard Dog? So following the incantation, he whirled once and whispered, “Be gone.” Then came the whine. “Be gone,” he said, whirling a second time.

And then he heard the growl.

Don’t look into the eyes, because that’s when they get you! So Joseph Blakely did what any young man with a lick of sense would do. He dropped his lit torch and ran screaming from the graveyard.

A hand reached out to pick up the torch. And the voice that made the snuffling and the whine let loose with a girlish giggle. For Widow Morris knew that, one day, she would get Joseph Blakely just as she promised. And just as she planned from the day when she, in fact, first told the story.

“That growl was perfect, Emerson,” she said. “Emerson?”

But the old goat was gone. It seemed he had done what any goat with a lick of sense would do when something was strange, and hightailed it out of the graveyard.

It was then she heard a different kind of growl. And when the Graveyard Dog chose to let her see it, she made the mistake of looking into its glowing red eyes.

In every story, there’s a grain of truth – and the opportunity for a lick of sense. So no matter what you hear in a graveyard on a very dark night…

…Watch out for those eyes.

- THE END -

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Written by Veroncia Byrd

Nellie-Belle and Jean LaRue were sisters. Besides being sisters, they were the best of friends. Now each girl had other friends, but they enjoyed each other’s company more than anyone else.

One of their favorite things to do during the hot South Georgia summer months, was to go swimming down at the old swimming hole and pick scuppernongs along the way. For those of you who weren’t fortunate enough to grow up ’round here, scuppernongs are large yellowish-green seeded grapes that grow down here in the South.

Well, it happened on one of those hot, and humid days that the girls could not cool off for anything. They tried going down to the well and splashing their faces with cool water, eating little chips of ice, and they even tried standing in front of the small oscillating fan that their Mama kept in the living room window – but nothing worked. That was when they both decided that the only way to cool off was to go down to the swimming hole.

That’s when their adventure began…

Nellie, who was the oldest, put on her pink swimsuit with purple polka dots, and Jean (the more practical of the two), her basic blue with red trim. The girls quietly closed the door to their bedroom, tiptoed to the kitchen, got their pails from the shelf under the sink and oh-so quietly made their way to the back door. You see, they were trying to stay as quiet as possible so as not to awaken Grandma Matilda, who had a room in the back of the house.

Just as Jean put her hand on the door knob and turned it, “Jean, Nellie — Y’all trying to sneak past me? Come here, I got something to tell you ‘fore you go.” The girls looked at each other, and with a sigh of disgust, they shuffled towards Gra’ma Matilda’s room; for they know that they were in store for the usual lecture. “Y’all stick together. Don’t wander too far off the road, you might get lost,” she’d say. Or, “Don’t let darkness catch you on that old dirt road, make sure you’re back before nightfall.” Or her all time favorite, “stay out of the Gongetcha Woods at all costs. Strange things are known to happen in those woods.”

But on this particular day, Ma’Tilda (that’s what the girls called her) seemed even more eager to give the girls their usual lecture. She sat them both down on her bed and looked them straight in the eyes and said the strangest thing, “If you hear a chain rattling on a tree nearby, be careful ’cause it might just be a plat-eye.” Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out two smelly little pieces of burlap, each tied into a tight knot. She handed each girl a bundle and told them, “Keep this with you at all times today. Make sure it’s always in your pocket, no matter what happens.”

The girls took the bags, out of respect for their grandma, gave her a kiss and bounded out of the room. But before they could clear the doorway she blurted out “……and make sure you stay out of those Gongetcha Woods! Strange things have been known to happen there.”

Once the girls were out of Ma ‘Tilda’s earshot, they laughed and giggled about the silly things their Grandma had hold them. They thought it was awful strange, her telling them to carry those smelly little bags in their pockets, and rambling on and on about chains, trees, plat-eyes (whatever they were) and the Gongetcha Woods; but they dismissed it as the babbling of a half senile old woman. They grabbed their towels, dropped the burlap bags on the table and headed for the ever beckoning coolness of the swimming hole.

As they walked along the winding dusty road toward the swimming hole, they picked scuppernongs, admired all the beautiful wildflowers, and talked about how much fun they were going to have at the church picnic on Sunday. The 20-minute walk seemed to take no time at all; and before they know it they were there….. THE SWIMMING HOLE!!!!! They dropped their towels and pails and jumped straight into the water, what they had been waiting for all day. WHEW!!! They were finally cool.

The girls splashed around and played in the water for hours. They played so much that they were exhausted. So they got out of the water, ate a few scuppernongs, talked a bit, and before they know it, they had both drifted off to sleep.

Jean was the first to awaken. Once she realized where she was, she looked around and saw the sun was setting and the warm summer day was giving way to the coolness of evening. She quickly awakened her sister, they grabbed their towels and pails and started back down the ever-darkening, winding dirt road.

They had walked about five minutes when Nellie remembered what Ma ‘Tilda had said, “Don’t let darkness catch you on that dirt road. Make sure you’re home before nightfall.” There was no way they would make it back before nightfall if they kept on the dirt road. Nellie had an idea, “Jean, let’s cut through these woods. That way we’ll be sure to get home way before dark, so we won’t have to listen to one of Ma’ Tilda’s silly old lectures.”

Like I told you, Jean was the more practical of the two, “We can’t go through those woods, we might get lost. Besides those are the Gongetcha Woods that Ma’Tilda warned us not to go into.”

“Don’t be silly,” Nellie protested. “Ma’Tilda just made that up to scare us. Ain’t no such thing as the Gongetcha Woods. Come on girl!”

Well, with nothing more than getting home before dark on their minds, they started through the woods. At first, the path through the trees was quite visible; but the deeper they got into the woods, the denser the leaves on the trees became, making it harder to see where they were going. Jean was really having second thoughts about the short cut. She wanted to turn around and go back down the dirt road. But once again, Nellie quickly convinced her little sister that through the woods was indeed the fastest way.

The girls made their way as best they could, through the barrage of tangled weeds and vines, towards what they thought was home. They were doing just fine until they heard an unusual noise coming from behind them, or was it in front of them? They really couldn’t tell. They stopped, and so did the noise. So they continued on. But there it was again. “What is that? I’ve never heard anything like that before.” Nellie whispered.

And as if to answer her question, a large black cat jumped out right in front of them. This put both of their minds at ease, for there was nothing at all scary about a cat. Nellie and Jean walked up to the cat to pet him when they let out a loud scream. For you see, the closer they got to the cat they saw that it had two front legs, but it had four back legs and his eyes glowed in the dark. What in the world?!

There was that strange sound again. What was that, and where is it coming from? The girls gave each other that look, and there was no need for words. They both knew that they needed to go back to the dirt road and take the long way home.

They turned around and tried to figure out which way was out. Everything looked the same, they weren’t sure which way they had come from. Jean grabbed her sister’s hand and darted as fast as they could to what they thought was the way out of the woods. The occasional eerie beams of what was now moonlight streaming through the leaves of the trees, confused the girls even more. They were moving as fast as they could when they heard the sound again. “What’s that?” Nellie said. “Let’s get outta here!”

They had only taken a few steps, when they saw a large shadowy figure in front of them. They turned on their heels and started away from this ominous thing, but there seemed to be shadowy things everywhere they looked. As if out of nowhere, a large dog with wiry hair and big bloodshot eyes walked directly in front of them. He had a hole in his side exposing all of his innards, which dragged along the ground as he walked. The girls let out a bloodcurdling scream. The dog screamed back, mimicking their voices! The girls were completely beside themselves with fear by this point. They knew if they could make it back to the dirt road, they could at least see where they were going.

They were blindly running in who knows what direction, when that odd sound seemed to be coming from everywhere. “It sounds like, like a chain or something. Like a chain… rattlin’… against… a… TREE!!” At that moment they remembered what Ma’Tilda had told them before they left: “If you hear a chain rattlin’ on a tree nearby, be careful ’cause it just may be a plat-eye.” They didn’t know what a plat-eye was, and after seeing that dog and cat, they weren’t sticking around to find out.

They ran blindly in one direction and then another, the sound growing louder and louder with every step. It seemed to be all round them.

They thought they were almost out of the woods, when there was an awful stench that permeated the entire area. And floating down through the trees was what appeared to be a large hunch back hog, both eyeballs hanging from their sockets, dripping blood on the girls, and making the most horrifying noise. Nellie and Jean screamed as loud as they could and instinctively ran in the same direction.

They ran as fast as they could until they made it back to the dirt road. Once on the road, they could see exactly where they were going; but this was no reason for them to slow down. Nellie and Jean ran all the way home as fast as they could. They didn’t stop until they collapsed, exhausted on their front porch.

When they caught their breath, they looked up, and standing in front of them with arms folded was — Ma’Tilda. Best they could, they tried to tell her about all the spooky things they had seen while they were in the woods. Ma’Tilda let the girls finish telling of their adventure. Then she calmly pulled out the small burlap bags from her pocket and told them how they could have avoided seeing all of this if they had obeyed her and carried those bags with them. For you see, the bags contained sulfur and gunpowder, a surefire way to ward off plat-eyes.

Ma’Tilda has long gone on to meet her maker. But from that day ’til this, my sister and I make sure that we always carry a small burlap bag filled with sulfur and gunpowder in our pocketbooks just in case there are any plat-eyes hiding out in these modern day woods.

Oh, I forgot to tell you — my name is Nellie-Belle. It was my sister Jean and I that learned this lesson first hand. And oh what a lesson it was. So next time you dismiss those things your elders tell you as just mumblings of “silly old folks,” you’d better think again. Sometimes old folks know what they’re talking about. And don’t forget — stay outta those Gongetcha Woods at night. Strange things have been known to happen there.

- THE END -

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Adapted by Janice Butt and Craig Dominey

Barbara Ann had grown up in the East Tennessee mountains, and she knew everything she needed to do to take care of herself and any family she might have. Tommy Joe had grown up there, too, so it was no surprise when the two of them decided to get married. According to mountain tradition, the whole community came together and helped them build their new house deep in the dark woods. It was just a two room cabin for now, but they planned on adding to it later.

On the day of the wedding, everybody from the community came to see them say their vows. Barbara Ann brought a loaf of bread as a symbol of the fact that she knew exactly what she needed to do to take care of her family. Tommy Joe brought a side of venison that he had killed and dressed himself to show that he would always be a strong provider for her. After the ceremony, they moved into their cabin to start the perfect life for themselves in the mountains.

A few days later, Tommy Joe decided it was time to go hunting again. So he got some of his fellas together, and they agreed to meet at his house the next morning. For some reason, the fellas didn’t show up, but Tommy Joe decided to go on his own. Barbara Ann tried her best to keep him from going. She pleaded and begged, saying, “Tommy Joe, you know that ol’ creature will get ya’. That Ewah will make you crazy if you’re caught out there by yourself.” But she couldn’t do anything to stop him. Everybody knew since the time they were little not to mess with that Ewah in the woods. But Tommy Joe was going out there anyway. It was a good chance for him to show off his hunting skills for his new bride.

That whole day while Tommy Joe was gone, Barbara Ann worked around the house like she always did. But she couldn’t help but worry about her husband out there all alone in those dark woods. She tried to wash a load of clothes, but the smell of Tommy Joe on those clothes kept her from doing a very good job. She tried to bake some bread, but for some reason, it never would rise.

Suddenly, Barbara Ann heard a blood-curdling wail from deep in the forest. She paced from the kitchen to the porch and back again, about every five minutes, wringing her hands, terrified about her husband’s fate. The sun was starting to sink below the rocky cliffs, and darkness was consuming the land. Where could he be?

Hours later, Tommy Joe finally came stumbling out of the woods. Barbara Ann came rushing out of the cabin, then froze in her tracks. She took one look at him and knew immediately that her worst fears had been realized – Tommy Joe had seen the Ewah. Tommy Joe’s eyes were wild, and they flitted from one side to the other, back and forth. His hair stood on end in all directions, his clothes were torn and ragged, and there were cuts and scrapes all over his body.

It took her a long time to get him into the cabin and settle him down enough to lie quietly in his bed. By that time, all the folks around had heard about Tommy Joe and had raced up to the house with food and offers to help, like they always did. Mountain folk would always come to help their neighbors when there was a death or tragedy of some kind. And this was a death if there ever was one because, from that day forward, the Tommy Joe they knew would never be the same. The Ewah had frightened him to the point of near madness, and he would never again be the strong hunter that promised to take care of Barbara Ann forever.

Barbara Ann wept for days, and somewhere in the middle of all that grieving, she figured out that somebody had to stop that Ewah before he did this to anybody else. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out who else could possibly do it but her. She had nothing left to live for, other than to seek vengeance on this creature that had taken her husband away from her.

In fact, she was so caught up in her anger that she found herself walking down the road toward town before she even knew what she was doing. She was on her way to see the Old Woman who lived in the crumbing old house down by the river. Everybody in town said that the Old Woman was mad. She had what they called “the sight,” and nobody, including Barbara Ann, wanted to have anything to do with her. But Barbara Ann marched on, her anger pushing her forward.

Before she knew it, Barbara Ann found herself on the rickety old porch of the Old Woman’s home. The door creaked open before she could knock, and the Old Woman peered out from the darkness of her home, dressed head to toe in a tattered black dress. She was as ugly and scary as the townspeople had said, with scaly skin, long and stringy white hair, and dark, menacing eyes.

“Come in, young one,” the Old Woman cryptically whispered to Barbara Ann. “I’ve been waiting on you.”

Barbara Ann walked timidly into the house. She could see nothing in the musty darkness except a fire roaring in a massive stone fireplace. The Old Woman offered her a seat by the fire and listened to Barbara Ann nervously tell the story of the Ewah and her young husband. When Barbara Ann was finished, the Old Woman nodded and said, “Yes, yes – I think I can help you.”

The Old Woman left the room for a moment, then came back with what looked like a mask and gave it to Barbara Ann. As Barbara Ann held it up in the firelight, she shuddered – it was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. It looked like a big, furry, demonic cat, with enormous eyes that would pierce a person’s soul.”

“This mask has special powers,” the Old Woman said. “The Indians used to call it the ‘Wampas Mask.’ In order for you to get rid of the Ewah, you must scare him first before he can get a good look at you. If he sees you first, his look will drive you stone cold crazy. His greatest weapon is surprise. But if you sneak up on him and scare him first with this mask, he’ll never come back.”

The Old Woman suddenly grabbed Barbara Ann’s hand and said, “I must warn you, however, that if you put this mask on, you may wish you hadn’t.”

Barbara Ann barely heard this last part, for she was about ready to get out of that creepy house. She took the mask, tersely thanked the old woman, and walked quickly out the front door. When she got outside, she thought to herself, “Well, what else am I going to do but try it?” She put the mask on, and to her surprise, it fit real snug and nice on her face. Then she began to stumble toward the deep woods.

As she stumbled further and further into the woods, she could barely see in the darkness. So she hunkered down behind a bush, because she knew that if the Ewah was around, he surely could hear her.

After a while, the bright moon came out from behind the tall trees, casting eerie shadows all around her. Before long, the moonlight revealed a path cutting though the woods where she wouldn’t make so much noise. So she began to quietly slip through the woods, soft step by soft step, making as little noise as possible, although her heart was beating so hard that she was sure the Ewah could hear it.

After a few more steps, she heard a strange sound. It sounded like a baby crying. Why would there be a baby out in these woods at night? Then it dawned on her – that was no baby, that was the Ewah! That ol’ Ewah is a clever fella, she thought – he was making up the sound to get her to come to him. She knew what he was doing.

Barbara Ann thought that the sound was coming from over near the pond. So she slowly moved in that direction, her hands clammy and cold, her ears filled with the sound of her own heart beat, and her hair standing up on the back of her neck. She was so frightened that she could barely make her feet move, one in front of the other.

Then she saw the Ewah. He was stooping over the water with his back toward her, unaware of her presence. Barbara Ann could see that he was huge and fearsome creature. He was over twelve feet tall, and hairy from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. His hands were more like claws, stretched out with nails that were long and curved. Saliva dripped from his pointed, razor-sharp teeth. His neck was wide, and his shoulders were as big as a board. It was all Barbara Ann could do to stay steady on her feet.

The Ewah began to slowly turn his head. Any minute now, he was going to see Barbara Ann. What was she going to do? She was so frightened she couldn’t move. As his fiery red eyes turned in her direction, Barbara Ann suddenly let out a ear-piercing scream from the very depth of her soul…

“Ahhhhhhh!”

When Barbara Ann looked into the Ewah’s hideous face, she saw fear. His eyes had closed, and he was backing away. “Ahhhhhhh!” she screamed again. That was enough – the Ewah fell to the ground and rolled over and over again in agony, as far away as he could get. Then he jumped up and ran off into the woods, crashing through the trees and underbrush, his screams tailing off into the darkness.

She stood quietly for a moment and listened, but could hear nothing. He was gone – she had really scared away the Ewah! Now no one would have to fear him again! She walked back toward her house with steps that were so happy that they barely touched the ground. And when she reached the edge of the woods, the entire community was waiting for her, because they’d heard the screams coming from the forest.

Barbara Ann suddenly froze in her tracks. What was wrong with everyone? The smiles had suddenly dropped from her neighbors’ faces. They began to back away from Barbara Ann, their eyes looking puzzled and afraid. Didn’t they recognize her?

Then she remembered that the ugly Wampas Mask was still on her face. She reached up to grab a hold of that mask to take it off so they would know who she was. But it wouldn’t come off – it was stuck. And then she looked down at her hands – to her horror, she saw that weren’t hands anymore, but were furry paws, like a cat’s paws. Her feet had changed into furry cat’s paws as well. She knew at that moment that this was what the Old Woman had meant when she said that she’d regret wearing that Wampas Mask. She would forever be a cat.

To this day, they say that if you go into those wooded mountains up around East Tennessee, you may find a cabin with a crazy old man inside, pacing back and forth, still terrified of those deep, dark woods around his home. And you might also spot a wildcat that walks on its hind legs and spends most of its nights wandering in those woods, making sure no harm comes to the mountain people.

And that’s the story of the Wampas Mask.

- THE END -

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Written by Thomas Fuller

It was in March of 1867, after the Civil War was truly lost, that Dr. Rembrandt Cavanagh arrived in Charleston. He was what folks used to call a “carpetbagger” – a Yankee who came down South after the War looking for easy pickin’s. Folks remembered him as a slim, elegant man, with one blue eye and one green, and the sharpest, whitest teeth anyone ever saw.

Now Dr. Cavanagh was an apothecary, a provider of prescriptions, potions, and pills. He set up operations down near the docks, figurin’ to provide services to the sailors off the Union warships that still filled the harbor as well as selling overpriced drugs to the townspeople of what was left of Charleston. But his plan didn’t work. The sailors and soldiers had their own apothecaries, and most of the townsfolk were flat broke.

Now an ordinary man would have cut his losses and headed out West. But Dr. Cavanagh wasn’t an ordinary man. He had a mind as bright and fractured as the gears of a nickel-plated watch. He set all those gears and wheels turning and they ticked and ticked and ticked until finally his blue eye flashed and his green eye flashed and his white teeth shone like a shark’s. To sell things he had to give people a good reason to come into his shop.

He needed a gimmick.

So the next day, Dr. Cavanagh rowed out into the harbor and went from boat to boat, talking to the captains and leaving his business card. Then he went back into the city and placed the biggest sheet glass order anyone could remember. After that he hired some men to move his apothecary from the ground floor of his building up to the second floor. Folks thought he’d clearly lost his mind.

They didn’t know how right they were.

Soon as the apothecary was moved, the glass workers went in, and there was all sorts of banging and knocking about. And while that was going on, sailors started sneaking into Dr. Cavanaugh’s place, loaded with all sorts of little jars and boxes stuffed under their coats.

Well, all this got the townspeople’s curiosity up. Folks who wouldn’t normally go down to the docks found all kinds of excuses to wander by that apothecary. But they found the windows covered up with black curtains, and all anyone could see were the sailors and glass workers going in and out.

And Dr. Cavanagh stood there grinning, with his blue eye flashing and his green eye flashing, his teeth white and sharp.

Then the sign appeared.

It was right there in the big front window, smack in the middle of a brass easel. “Ten Days to the Hall of Wonders!” The next day it said “Nine Days to the Hall of Wonders.” Then “Eight Days to the Hall of Wonders.” Well, you get the idea.

Finally it was opening day, and most of Charleston was crowded into narrow King Street in front of Dr. Cavanaugh’s shop. It was late June and the heat was so fierce you could almost taste it. The door finally opened and Dr. Cavanagh himself came out and told folks they were gonna see something they’d never seen before, or ever would again, and all it was gonna cost them was a single copper penny. Well, he could have told them it was one thin dime or one Yankee dollar or even a gold double eagle and they would have forked it over. Every one of them lined up, dug out their pennies, and marched right into Dr. Cavanaugh’s Hall of Wonders.

Now every room in that ground floor had been ripped out, and there was some kind of magic lantern thing up on the ceiling that made it look like it was underwater. Slowly the walls began to glow and folks gasped and looked and gasped some more.

What they saw were fish. Hundreds of fish in hundreds of colors, swimming around in little glass tanks that covered the Halls. Now folks had seen fish before on a plate or on the end of a hook, but not swimming around freely inside a room. All those glass tanks were marked with the names of the fish and where they came from. And the only sound was the water splashing back and forth, as if the audience was swimming in the middle of the ocean.

Dr. Cavanagh suddenly appeared, and without saying a word he pointed to the back of the Hall of Wonders. Slowly, heavy velvet drapes pulled back and it was gasping time again. They saw one great sheet of glass that must have cost more than the rest of the tanks combined. Behind it was nothing but murky emerald water. Dr. Cavanagh then pointed to a sign on a brass easel. There was just one word there:

“Mermaid.”

Folks crowded forward and stared into the murky depths for what seemed like hours. And just when everyone was nearly cross-eyed, it seemed like something flickered in all that opaque green, a flash of silver like a salmon’s tail, a gleam of yellow like golden hair, a hint of a body as pale and perfect as ivory. Then it was gone and Isaac Sims, Dr. Cavanaugh’s assistant, suddenly ushered the people out so the next group of folks could come in. And of course, Dr. Cavanagh had them ushered through the upstairs apothecary, just in case anyone needed to buy some overpriced medicines on the way out.

For the next two weeks, the Hall of Wonders was all anyone in Charleston could talk about. Folks went back again and again, two, three, four times. And the pennies filled the bucket that Isaac Sims passed around. And as Dr. Cavanaugh raised the ticket prices, those pennies turned into nickels, dimes and dollars. But each time, before anyone could get a good look at the supposed “mermaid,” Isaac Sims would hustle everyone out again.

And Dr. Cavanagh would just stand there with his green eye flashing and his blue eye flashing, his teeth white and sharp. It could have gone on forever if it hadn’t been for the rain.

It started at precisely half past ten on the 3rd of July 1867. A heavy black squall rolled in from the sea, followed by a drenching shower. The rain pounded and roared as if the very deeps had been lifted up and dropped on Charleston. And it stayed that way, never ceasing or abating, for well nigh a month.

It rained until all the roofs leaked, all the floors oozed, and every street and alley and lane was a fast-moving stream. All the city’s cockroaches, flooded from their holes under the low-slung houses, swarmed into the streets by the thousands and drowned. Along with all the rats trying to escape from the waterlogged ships, and all the cats trying to catch the drowning rats.

As the drenching rains continued, the townspeople started to get a little strange. No one, not even the oldest elder, could remember a storm like this. And when folks get real miserable, they start looking for someone to blame. Something had to have set off all this watery punishment. Couldn’t be the town folks, for no town with as many churches as Charleston had could sin that much. Something must be causing it, something that had happened lately.

Then Miss Araminta Tucker started to have her visions.

Now, Miz Araminta was a local conjure woman who had had visions all her life. She’d always be seen wandering the streets, chattering away to listeners only she could see. She was a constant source of amusement for the locals – but this time, folks were listening to her.

“Don’t ya idjets know nothin’? It’s that mermaid that’s causin’ all the rain! Don’t ya know what a mermaid is?”

The townspeople just stood there and shook their heads.

“A mermaid’s a person who’s been washed out to sea. If they don’t drown, they git turned into a mermaid by other mermaids. But once someone’s a mermaid, they cain’t go back to the human world. They gotta stay in the ocean like other fish. An’ that’s what that mermaid’s tryin’ to do. She’s callin’ on the water to wash her back to sea!”

Now the rumors and the whispers really got started up in Charleston. Suddenly every tavern and saloon had it’s own expert on mermaids and the powers they had over water. Summon it right out of the air, they could. Make it rain forever if they had a mind. Well, if whatever was in that big glass tank wanted out, then out it was gonna come.

There was no signal, no plan of action or call to arms. Folks just started pouring out into the rain and heading towards the apothecary. Out of Blackbird Alley they came, out of Philadelphia Street and Bottle Alley and Danger Court. All of them heading for King Street and the apothecary.

They were about a thousand strong when they reached the Hall of Wonders. At the doorway stood Dr. Cavanagh, with his green eye flashing and his blue eye flashing, his teeth sharp and white.

It’s just a trick, he cried, holding his hands up. Just wire and wax and pigs bladders full of air in a tank full of green dye! There’s no such thing as mermaids, you fools!

But the fools were having none of it. Even Isaac Sims, Dr. Cavanaugh’s trusted assistant, turned against him. They stormed into the Hall of Wonders and smashed open all the fish tanks. And Isaac Sims strode up to that gleaming glass mermaid tank with a sledgehammer, reared back, and smashed it right in the center.

Now when folks talk about split seconds, they mean the littlest amount of time possible. But a lot can happen in a split second and a lot did. Some folks swear that right before Isaac Sims’ hammer shattered all that glass down into shards, something swam up from the murk. And if it really was wire and wax and pigs bladders, it was an amazing piece of work.

It balanced on a sleek tail as silver as a hoarded treasure, its body was pale and perfect as ivory, and blonde hair as brilliant as spun gold glittered around its head.

Then the hammer hit the glass and it exploded in a solid wall of water, more water than could ever have been behind it. And folks swore that whatever was in that tank flowed right into Dr. Cavanaugh’s arms. And the waters gushed and roared and swept through the Hall of Wonders and up the chimneys out the windows and doors, driving folks before it like pieces of driftwood.

When the water finally stopped, folks picked themselves up from off the waterlogged street and stared at the soggy ruin that had been the Hall of Wonders. It sagged and gaped like it was made of wet pasteboard, and there was no sign of the apothecary or the mysterious exhibit. But the rain had stopped and the sun was out, and that was good enough for most folks.

Then the townspeople looked around for Dr. Cavanaugh. They had every intention of locking him up in the deepest, darkest jail cell in Charleston. But he was nowhere to be found. Through all the streets and back alleys they searched, but there was no sign of him. Finally, the townspeople figured he must have been swept out to sea with the fish. And that was good enough for them.

Dr. Cavanaugh was never seen again, but his “Hall of Wonders” never really went away. In later years, other people built similar places in other cities, though they called them something different: “aquariums.” And people still lined up and paid top dollar to watch hundreds of fish in hundreds of colors swimming around in glass tanks.

But should you ever go there, look closely behind the biggest tank in the place. If you see a strange looking fish with one blue eye and one green, and sharp white teeth, watch out. For you may have found Dr. Rembrandt Cavanaugh.

And what’s worse, he may have found you.

- THE END -

Story Credits | Story Background

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