McDow Hole – Anatomy Of A Texas Ghost Story

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Spooky Texas legend of the McDow Hole, where ghost sightings of pioneer woman Jenny Papworth and her baby have long been reported. Historian Bob Hopkins brings us the definitive study of this and other hauntings.

I first heard the legendary tale of the Ghost of the McDow Hole in the fifteenth year of my youth. It was near Halloween in October 1975 when a friend related the tale of the ghost that haunts a creek bed in rural Erath County and naturally I believed every word of it in the twilight of an evening spent with friends telling ghost stories. I would again hear the tale over the years while living in North Central Texas. It wasn’t until my chance encounter of meeting an author of the legend in 2002 that my curiosity began to peak and like any good investigator I felt it my duty to dig deeper into the hundred year old tale of pioneer folklore to see how much of the story was true and how much was fabricated. I would discover many similarities in fact and fiction that I believed would leave any reader with the same curiosity that I felt as it related to the described events which make up the unique and unsettling story of a supposed lonely spirit that has made it her business to scare grown men half to death and continue to search for justice in a land haunted with violent but actual events.

In the early 1850’s a company of Texas militia were trailing a band of raiding Comanche near a creek bed in an area that would later become part of Erath County. The riders saw a column of black smoke within a half mile of their location. Quick to investigate they arrived to find a small wood and sod cabin in flames. Nearby was the body of a young woman, a young man and a boy. All three had been killed and scalped. The body of an infant was found not far away. The unit, of which, a young Wesley Hickey was a member, buried the four tortured bodies near a live spring that fed into the nearby creek and marked the graves with large non-inscribed stones. The pioneer family was unknown and records of the event were not kept but were passed down to Hickey’s family members. Ironically, fifty or so years later, Wesley Hickey’s son, Joe Hickey, would purchase the very site in 1909, regardless of his father’s warnings to stay far away from the spot known as the McDow Hole.

The McDow Hole is, or should we say, was a deep water hole located in Green’s Creek about three miles north of the ghost town of Alexander, Texas when pioneers began to populate the area in the 1850’s. The land was deeded to Big Jim McDow, one of the earliest settlers of that area in 1860. In those days water sources were crucial to pioneer families. The water hole was a spring fed portion of Green’s Creek that had a natural bedrock bottom which kept the water from drying up during long dry spells. Since the hole of water was located on land owned by McDow, it quickly gained the name of McDow Hole and was an important source of water for people and livestock for many years. Over the course of several years the McDow became a hot spot of activity and many unfortunate deaths.

Haunted McDow Hole, Greens Creek, Erath County Texas

McDow Hole as seen today, Erath County, Texas. Photo by Bob Hopkins.

In 1909, a young Joe Hickey lost his wife to sickness. Joe and his two children, Euna, age eight, and Author, age six, where so overcome with grief and loneliness that they left their lonely place south of Stephenville and purchased a 104 acre farm about a mile south along Green’s Creek from Ruby Long in Dublin Texas. Their new farm was just up the hill from the McDow Hole which had already gained notoriety as a place of sadness and horror and well reputed by local pioneers to be haunted.

When Joe Hickey purchased the farm there were two houses already there, each about one hundred yards from the creek. Joe and his children moved into the larger home as the other was occupied by tenant farmers, Norton and Pearl Sewell, who were busy with the cotton harvest. One of the homes had belonged to Bill Keith, a pioneer who moved into the area about the same time as the McDow’s. Keith left the home and moved away after coming face to face with the ghost that haunted the watering hole.

By 1920 the remains of the home belonging to the family slain by Indians was partly still visible and now part of the Hickey’s cow pen, with a long rock walled shed, which stood where the first house had been built back in the 1850’s. The rock base of a door step, flush with the ground was in the cow pen gateway as a reminder that others had come before them. Upon moving into the house Joe was asked by the Sewell’s if he was aware that the place was haunted. Joe told them he’d heard the rumors but didn’t put much stock into such notions. Joe asked them if they’d seen the ghost as Norton laughed and said they’d not seen it but knew of several reputable people who had as far back as the 1870’s.

Pearl told them the ghost is a woman who appears or disappears at will down at the deep part of the creek. Sometimes she walks on top of the water crying for her baby. Joe didn’t know what to think. He had a cousin who claimed he’d seen the ghost a few years back walking on the water and wouldn’t go near the creek again.

In September 1911, Joe married a girl named Bessie and life was again worth living. In 1916, Bessie gave birth to their second daughter Dieletta who would recount her childhood memories of growing up on Green’s Creek and the family’s encounters with the legendary ghost of the McDow Hole. In 1996, at the age of 80, she published a book about her wonderful memories entitled” Hickey Pioneers”. The book is not a ghost story, rather a family biography but several descriptive chapters of the family’s experiences with the ghost of the McDow Hole lend more credible evidence that something from beyond the veil may have been haunting the land that her family loved and the hollow of Green’s Creek.

One afternoon in 1921 when Dieletta was very young her mother was sitting on the front porch. She saw a woman coming down the road approaching their home. She called to Dieletta’s older sister, Jewel, to drag another chair out to the porch – company was coming. By the time Jewel and Dieletta got the chair out on the porch no one was there. Her mother looked up the road in wonder and said she’d seen a woman coming down the road toward the house. When she reached the yard gate, she disappeared. She thought at first that it was their neighbor, Myrtle Jordan coming to visit. She was graceful and slender wearing a long skirt.

Her mother was obviously left confounded as to how anyone could just vanish in front of her eyes. The event left the entire family in an uneasy and anxious state but the strange event would only be the first of several encounters of the ghost for the Hickeys. Dieletta recalled that her father, Joe Hickey, came from the barn a few moments later and sat down in the chair Jewel had fetched. He asked his wife if she believed it to really be a disembodied spirit of which she replied with a rapid, “No.”

She said, “The Scriptures teach that the soul goes back to the Lord, and the body returns to dust. Why would the spirit of any departed person want to traipse around here? Does she come into being only for our benefit, wishing us to see her? Would she be out there, aimlessly walking about, even if we were not here?”

Joe said, “That is the reason she is a mystery. We don’t know what she is, where she came from, or where she goes. I do believe that she wants to be seen. I haven’t mentioned it, because I feared that it might bother you, but I saw the ghost one day. Everyone else calls her a ghost so I might as well too. One day when I was plowing in the big bottom, a woman came walking along the fence, going toward the creek. I was riding on the cultivator. When I got up close, she disappeared, just as if someone had extinguished a flame. I have only seen her that one time.”

“You are right,” said her mother. “Whatever it is, the thing is harmless. She does want to be seen, however, I believe. The Brakeman on the Stephenville/Alexander train told me that she will appear in front of the train, on the railroad track, up so close that he can’t help but hit where she was standing. He cannot stop in time. Then when he gets the trained stopped, to go back and see if he hit someone, there is nothing there. I think that she enjoys playing pranks on people. That happened where the tracks go near the creek about half a mile away. Let her have her fun. I stay too busy for games, with all the work we have to do.”

The strange and perplexing incidents continued to take place on the Hickey farm. One day Dieletta and her older sister Jewel went to the spring near the creek for some cold drinking water. Some distance behind her sister, on the way back, Dieletta was carrying two small pails of water. Suddenly Jewel dropped both buckets of water from her hands. She began to run, looking down, and behind at her feet occasionally as she ran in a panic while screaming all the way to the house.

As Dieletta rushed to the house Jewel was crying uncontrollably as her mother cradled her in an attempt to calm her. Jewel explained between sobs that a dog was chasing her. Dieletta explained that she was right behind her and didn’t see a dog. Jewel said that she didn’t see it either, but could clearly hear it. She said it was growling and snapping at her legs. She could hear it snarl and gnash its teeth together. It was panting, loudly, like it had been running. She kept walking faster and it kept striking its teeth together, right at her heels. She dropped the water pails and ran.

The dog sounds, Dieletta reported, were never heard by any of their family after that day. But the haunting of the water hole and strange events on the farm continued. So why would a family stay on a place that was haunted? Dieletta may give that answer in describing her mother.

She said her mother, Bessie, was not easily excited. She always took everything at its face value. If a thing happened it happened. Working constantly, she cooked, cleaned, cared for her family and did outside work on the farm, as well. She also spent much of her time helping others. She was friendly, but reserved and dignified. One time, Dieletta asked her mother why she wouldn’t mention seeing the ghost to friends and neighbors.

Her mother said, “There are some things better left untold. People only believe that which can be explained. I can’t explain something that I can’t touch or show, like a woman who disappears. If I told that I saw a ghost, someone would invariably say there is no such thing as a ghost. That would be the same as telling me that I lied. You know that I do not speak falsehoods. They would either think that I made it up or imagined it. The good Lord knows I never sat there and imagined a thing that fanciful, when there are so many real things to occupy my mind, like cooking, getting the dishes washed, the butter churned, the coffee ground, and a dozen other chores finished in time to get some sleep before time to get up and do it all over the next day.”

Many folks came to the creek for various reasons. They came to hunt, to fish, to picnic, and others came to listen for the ghost, many in fact. One afternoon about 1922, a buggy carrying two strange men pulled up and stopped in front of the Hickey home. The two men got out and introduced themselves to her father Joe, who’d met them at the front door. They asked permission to camp on the creek because they wanted to do some fishing near the old McDow Hole. Joe told them about a good campsite. They said they hoped to catch some fish to cook for supper. Making their stop brief, they were soon on their way down to the creek.

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McDow Hole, Erath County, Texas

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McDow Hole, Erath County, Texas 32.094937, -98.243523 Story: McDow Hole - Anatomy Of A Texas Ghost StorySpooky Texas legend of the McDow Hole, where ghost sightings of pioneer woman Jenny Papworth and her baby have long been reported.

The following morning, Dieletta and Jewel went down to the creek for fresh water when they noticed that the men had set up camp near the path that led to the spring. Their horse was tied to a tree. The men had not built a fire, although there were some sticks of wood piled near a clearing not far from the buggy. After the girls filled their water pails they returned to the house. They told their father that they had happened upon the camp and there was no evidence that the men had spent the night there. Joe immediately went to check it out for himself and water the horse. The girls tagged right behind him.

Joe led the thirsty horse to water a short distance down the creek from the spring. He and the girls saw where the men had been fishing. It was evident that they had left in a hurry as two cane poles were floating in the water and near a stringer of fish. Joe noted that the fish had probably been there since the day before. He told the girls he couldn’t imagine where the two men went but it was evident that they had most likely left shortly after they had arrived the night before. The girls took the fishing poles back to the buggy. Joe took the horse to the barn and fed him some grain then turned him out in the grass lot to graze. Shortly after, the family heard a car coming from the direction of Alexander. The driver was Lois Cannon, a good neighbor whose residence was across the creek and approximately two miles beyond. The two missing fishermen were with him.

Lois was laughing when he came to the door and Joe asked the three men into the house where Bessie poured coffee for them all. Lois told Joe that the two men had deserted their camp last evening after seeing the ghost. Both men then chimed in excitedly to confirm their claim. One of them named Pete, explained that the fish had just started biting good when this woman came walking down the creek, right up on top of the water.

His friend, known as “Shorty,” confirmed Pete’s claim and said that was the last of their fishing. The two reported that they had crossed the creek and were fishing from the other side when they saw it. They said they were too terrified to come back across the creek to the horse and buggy so they took off in the other direction. Both men were covered in scratches on their arms and faces from running through briars and thick undergrowth along their exit. Their clothing was torn and spotted with blood.

The men ran through the fields and woods until they saw the lighted windows of a house which turned out to be Mr. Cannon’s. The two stayed the night at the Cannon’s until Lois could return them to the Hickey’s for their horse and buggy. Shorty asked the group, which now included the whole Hickey family, if anyone had ever seen a woman walking on top of the water, just as smoothly as if she was walking on the floor. Joe said he hadn’t but was aware of some others that had. Pete said he wouldn’t go back there at night for a million dollars. Lois headed back home and Joe fetched the men’s horse and helped them with their buggy. The Hickey family saw the incident more humorous than frightening and that was the last time anyone ever saw Pete and Shorty anywhere near the McDow.

One evening, many months later, Joe had a very strange thing happen. While going to the kitchen for a drink of water in the dark of night, he was kissed on the cheek by some uncanny creature. He found it totally unexplainable. He reached out to grasp the unseen person of whom he thought was playing some kind of joke on him, but no one was there. With kerosene lamp in hand he searched the house but found no one. Dieletta remembered her father as a person of seriousness and gravity, certainly not the kind of man who would go about telling folks of such a nonsensical experience of being kissed on the cheek by some supernatural being. Joe knew he’d felt the lips and heard the smack but other than that there was no one there. Joe and Bessie were much too busy to theorize about explanations of such phenomena as a ghost. All they knew concerning the ethereal creature was that it was something beyond the natural course of nature.

One day Joe called the family together to say, “We all know by now that there is something here beyond our understanding. Your Mother saw the woman who disappeared in front of the house. I saw the woman vanish from sight one day while I was plowing. Jewel was chased by an invisible dog, which she could hear, but not see. Shorty and Pete saw the woman walking on top of the water, as others have also seen her. What I’m trying to get at is how do you children feel about the ghost? If you are afraid, we’ll sell out and leave. You may see it yourself. Whatever the thing is, we know it will not hurt anyone. It can cause a person to hurt himself, however. The fear alone can make you feel uncomfortable or even be harmful to you. Fear can have a bad effect on a person, who gives into it.”

The girls told Joe the only thing that really frightened them was the thought of leaving Green’s Creek. They had their favorite places to swim, the place with the rock bottom.

Bessie said, “We do realize there is something here beyond the ordinary. You may never see it. I hope you won’t. However, if you should see the woman who disappears, or if you have an experience similar to that of your father’s last night, we don’t want you to be frightened out of your wits and take off running like Pete and Shorty did. We will even move away if you feel afraid of the spook, or whatever it is.”

The family voted unanimously. Green’s Creek was their home and no ghost was going to run them off. The Hickeys stayed.

In October 1933, Dieletta Hickey married Mr. C.E. Watson, the son of Mr. and Mrs. James and Louella Watson from Leon County, Texas. The newlyweds had only been married for a few days when they spent the night with her parents back on the farm. Dieletta had been asleep for a short while when she was awaken by her new husband calling her mother in the middle of the night.

In the darkness of night C.E. called out to Bess as to what she was doing primping in the dark. Bess answered from the other bedroom. The two bedrooms were side-by-side with no hall between them. Dieletta’s mother came through the door wearing a robe over her gown with a kerosene lamp in her hand. C.E. explained that he had just seen a woman standing in the moonlight, in front of the dresser, doing something to her hair and thought it was Bess. When he called her the figure disappeared. He reported that the moonlight was bright that night and it was almost as light as day in front of that window. He said the woman was facing the dresser, doing something to her hair.

Dieletta had been born in the house and lived there until she’d gotten married. The ghost, or whatever the apparition was, had never shown itself to her so she couldn’t take it seriously. Dieletta wondered why a ghost would kiss her father on the Cheek. She then decided to try to go back to sleep as her mother and C.E. continued talking.

Bess asked C.E. if he’d heard of the McDow Hole ghost. He told her yes, while he was staying with his sister and her husband, Viola and Bunt Westmoreland. He said he saw a woman who disappeared. They lived on the Maloney place, near the branch that runs into Green’s Creek. He was walking home from Alexander one evening when he got to where the road crosses the branch; he met a woman dressed in white. Even her shoes and hose were snow white. She came walking through the deep mud, in that branch, and her shoes remained as white as ever. He said he’d come face-to-face with her. She disappeared just like this woman did in front of the mirror and that’s when he took off running. He didn’t stop until he reached home and got into bed.

The next morning he told Bunt what he had seen. His brother-in-law told him not to tell Viola because she would be afraid, and would want to move. Bunt admitted that he had seen the woman before. Bunt said the woman had come up to the cow pen, several times, where he was milking. He said she would sit on a stump for a few seconds, as if she was watching him, and then disappear.

Bess reported that house where they lived is not far from the railroad tracks where the men on the train use to see the ghost. She would pop up on tracks in front of the train, they said. They would not have time to stop the train, because she would be right in front of them by the time they saw her. When that would happen, the engineer always stopped to see if he had run over anyone. There was never anyone there.

Dieletta and C.E. moved to Dublin not too long after the event and once again, the family simply tried to put the ghostly night aside and get on with life. About four years passed and C.E. had enough of farming. The age of small dry-land farms was almost a thing of the past. They were being consolidated into ranches or dairies. Single row cultivation pulled by horses or mules were being replaced by tractors. A few years back there had been no need for insecticides, but then came the boll weevil which attacked area crops and had become more destructive each year. The entire American South had become devastated by a bug. It had become necessary to poison cotton fields and C.E. decided to work for wages from then on, which gave them more time to visit Dieletta’s parents back on Green’s Creek.

While on a visit to the farm one Sunday evening in the late summer of 1937, the four adults were sitting on the front porch, talking. Dieletta and C.E.’s daughter, Patricia had gone to bed in the guest room. Dieletta’s father, Joe, was not well as his health was declining. The family had been trying to get him to go see a doctor but Joe Hickey was not the kind of man to seek medical attention. Dieletta went into the house to check on the child and returned to the porch and as she was settling into her chair, a woman came into view over the crest of the hill in front of the house. Outlined in the sky by the setting sun’s afterglow, she was stepping lightly, as if half-floating and half-walking, along the road leading to the house. Her long, full skirt stood out below her small waist as if she were wearing crinolines.

Dieletta knew that the woman she was seeing was not an earthly being, but a supernatural figure, beyond the natural or ordinary course of nature. She could now imagine how she was able to walk upon the water. She was gliding lightly over the surface of the ground as if her feet were not touching the earth. At first, she didn’t mention seeing the woman. Having heard skeptics say that if one person mentioned seeing a ghost, that others present would imagine they had seen it too.
C.E. was the first to speak up and tell the others that the ghost was approaching the house as the others quietly confirmed hoping the specter would finally come close enough to show her face. The wraithlike creature advanced slowly, walking straight toward the house. Within a few yards of the house she stopped and turned, cutting across the corner of the lawn and to the road that leads to the creek.

“I want a good luck at that woman!” said Bess as she got up and left her chair at a brisk stride. She followed the creature as C.E. got up and went with her. The apparition was walking very slowly with her back to Bess and C.E. From the porch, Joe and Dieletta watched the three of them. When they almost caught up with the mystery woman, she vanished quickly. Bess and C.E. stopped too and glanced at each other in an awestruck and frustrated manner. They disappointedly returned to the porch and sat back down.

The group sat in silent excitement and wonder pondering the ethereal event when Bess supposed that they had just experienced a sacred occasion. As the others became puzzled by her remark she explained.

“I mean no one but God can make a woman appear and disappear. That which we just witnessed is a manifestation of His power. Because He has given me the optical capacity to see something that few people are permitted to see, I can still feel the presence of the Holy Spirit. It tells me that God has sent an angel to visit us.”

“Maybe so,” said her father. “The angel of the Lord did appear to help people all through the Bible. There is no place in the scriptures where it says they will not continue to do so.”

The Hickey’s were, like most rural folks of their day, devout Christians who studied Biblical scripture thoroughly and could come to some general meaning that perhaps the ghost was actually an angel of God. Such meaning helped them cope with the mystery over the years.

That was the last time the family would see the woman on their farm but not the last time they would experience strange happenings nor understand the cruelty that evil people could hand out to folks like the Hickeys. The day after the Hickey’s ghostly event, Joe Hickey finally saw a physician who prescribed him medicine that proved useless and his condition worsened. He was hospitalized in Glen Rose for two weeks as a doctor informed him that little could be done for his ailment. Joe asked to go home and the doctor agreed. Dieletta, C.E. and their daughter Patricia stayed with Joe and Bess throughout the rest of Joe’s illness, occupying Dieletta’s old bedroom. The first night Joe returned home, the family placed him in his bed and attempted to make him as comfortable as possible. Joe rested well that first evening until the strange tapping began. The noise commenced in his bedroom wall and sounded as if someone were lightly tapping it with a hammer. The strange tapping continued intermittently throughout the night. No one in the house was able to sleep sending a haunting feeling throughout the home. Further investigation did not yield any source of the noise.

Dieletta gave him his medication so he could get some sleep. The noise faded away shortly after dawn. The knocking continued in Joe’s room, keeping him awake at night. Dieletta and C.E. moved Joe into her room and moved into his much to Joe’s disapproval as he believed they would be kept awake as well.

As the family retired for the night, C.E. and Dieletta waited for the knocking to begin at the persistent time it always had, but soon, C.E. was sound asleep. Dieletta had to get up in the middle of the night to give Joe his medication when she noticed the knocking had ceased. Morning came and still, no knocking. The strange tapping was never heard again. Joe Hickey died six weeks later on October 31, 1937. He was buried at Bowman Ridge Cemetery, just up the road from the family farm.

By all accounts, Joe Hickey was a man of good nature and reputation. He raised his children with the fear of God and a decent understanding of the Christian scriptures. He and Bess didn’t have a lot but they did have love for their children and family was the center-point of their existence on the farm. Hard work and dedication was expected of all. But even with such goodness, something wicked befell the family. A stranger determined to cause consternation and worry plagued the family for several years.

About a year after Dieletta and C.E. had married they moved to a farm that C.E. and his father had rented just west of Dublin. One afternoon Dieletta’s 13 year-old brother Nez came for a visit. He had walked four miles. Nez told them that the smoke house on the farm burned two nights prior. Dieletta was shocked knowing that her mother and father were so cognizant of fire and took every precaution around any open flames. Nez told her it was arson. He said his mother saw the man but he was wearing a mask. The man meant to do them harm. He said the man had entered the home and was seen in Joe and Bess’s room with a club in his hand. Bess woke up and reached for the gun as the intruder ran, but soon after, the smoke house was on fire.

In the fall of 1935 the arsonist struck again. This time he had burned the barn and the wagon filled with cottonseed that Joe was going to take to town to have ground for feed. The wagon wasn’t in the barn, it was well away from it but the arsonist had poured kerosene on it and set it on fire. There was nothing left standing except the house and the two long rock walls where the sheds had been.

In October, 1938, C.E. and Dieletta were living in Comanche, Texas. They had made a trip into town one evening to find her mother Bess waiting on them. A friend had brought her to Comanche from Dublin. She told them the arsonist had struck again, this time burning the house and all its contents. She and Jewel, Dieletta’s sister, and her three children had been there alone. They had barely escaped with their lives having been awakened by the sound of the roaring flames and choking black smoke in the middle of the night.

Bess sold some cattle which gave her the ability to buy some furniture and rent a small house in Dublin. No one ever knew why anyone would target the Hickeys with such cruel intentions. In late 1938, she sold the lower part of the farm to some family friends from Stephenville. Bess Hickey died on January 8, 1940. She was laid to rest in Bowman Ridge Cemetery near Joe.

In 1976, well into their fifties, Dieletta, C.E., and her brother Nez made one last visit to their old place near the McDow. There was nothing standing where the house and out-buildings once stood. Even the rock walls which once held the sheds in place where gone. The old live oaks where the house had once stood now wavered in the breeze to the lonely sound of a whip-o-will. They went to the creek in a nostalgic manner. The springs that had supplied them with years of fresh drinking water had long dried up and there was no sign that they had ever existed. The water in the creek was green with algae as it stood still and silent.

After a while they walked back up the hill to the old home place. There was a log lying on the ground where the old house had been. As it was growing dark, the three sat down on the log. C.E. sat between Dieletta and Nez as they talked of days gone by, grieved by the passing of time and change of seasons with a longing for those who had departed. Suddenly, a bright light sprang up from the ground in the place where Dieletta’s bedroom once stood, the room in which they had moved Joe into when he died. The light, about five feet high and twice as wide glowed against the black of night. Irregular tongues of radiance shot forth, illuminating the area where the house once stood. Then, it went away, like someone flipped a switch. It was gone and darkness once again filled the evening. Soon after, the three loaded up and departed the old farm for the last time, bewildered at the strange light and the perplexed memories of the ghostly woman who haunted their lives for so many years.

But the Hickey’s were only one family of literally hundreds of people who had reported the ghost of McDow’s Hole. The reported hauntings of Green’s Creek go back as far as the 1870’s.

The original story of the our ghost was first documented on paper by a local Erath County nurseryman named Joe E. Fitzgerald who was born in 1876 near the haunted hollow called McDow Hole. Mr. Fitzgerald established his business in Stephenville in 1900. He took a great interest in politics and once ran for Congress. He wrote numerous newspaper articles including the now infamous McDow Hole ghost. Joe was a great story teller and a man fond of his beloved Erath County and the colorful characters, both good and bad, that laid its foundation. In the early 20th century, he gathered and wrote of the memoirs of his experience and those of local pioneers. He passed his stories on to his daughter, Stephenville educator and author, Mary Joe Clendenin who published many tales of the ghost of Jenny Papworth, one specifically entitled,” The Ghost of the McDow Hole, based on stories told by Joe Fitzgerald”. Professor Clendenin (1924-2012) was Professor Emeritus at Lubbock Christian University.

She said, “I had always heard stories of the McDow ghost hole. Whether or not they are true is not for me to say. As kids we spent several nights, or parts of nights inviting the ghost to make an appearance. And several times we left the place in a great hurry, from our own tales and night sounds. To my father, however this ghost was very real.”

Joe Fitzgerald did believe the ghost to be true so much so that he made a public claim in an interview with Courtney Tidwell, an agent with the Soil Conservation Service based out of Amarillo in 1934. Mr. Tidwell gave the interview to the Associated Press where it was picked up by many papers during the 1930’s and 1940’s. Since then the story has been told and retold in magazines, books and newspapers all over the country. It was Joe’s youthful experiences that solidified his belief in the ghost of the McDow Hole and that belief obviously stayed with him throughout his life.

Joe Fitzgerald, by all accounts, was a reputable man by those who knew him and not known for fabricated tales. His boyhood experience with the un-natural near the McDow left him with a wonder of the origins of something that mankind has no answer for. His only outlet, like so many was to document its uncanny manifestations and speak of the haunting as much as possible with no attempt to conclude that he imagined any of it. His original tale has unfortunately been lost to time but later in life he did relate several stories in newspaper interviews. The following article was found in the Nolan County News, June 17, 1934 and documents Joe’s belief in the ghost.

The unknown author reported “This story was told several years ago by J.E. Fitzgerald, a citizen of Erath County and well-known as a nurseryman all over the south. It is one of the best ghost stories I ever heard and I believe readers will agree with me.”

Joe reported, “When I was a barefoot boy, as almost all boys were at the time, we would gather around the candle light with its shade and listen to father and mother tell about the ghost of the McDow. Some such nights the cows would come home late, and in the cow pen my mother would tell us about the ghost of McDow. We would get closer and closer together and on the way to the house, we would expect the ghost to jump out of the fence corners.

The ghost of the McDow is a true story. In the years gone by there was something supernatural about this famous hole of water. It was something that made you feel creepy. Sixty-five (circa 1870) years ago Green’s Creek was one of the prettiest streams in the world. As you approached the creek, there was oak timber and then a glade and down near the creek grew some of the most magnificent pecan trees on earth. Then you left the oaks and looked along the creek, you could see a picture that no words can describe and no painter can depict. And the McDow Hole itself, it was fed by springs and in the dense shade made the water nice and cool. I imagine the ghost, when it comes back at this time, if it does, is sorely disappointed with its old haunts, for it finds now only a muddy branch. The work of man has ruined the whole scene.

About 70 years ago a woman and baby were killed on the bank of the McDow. It was claimed that they were killed by Indians though there is nothing about it in any history and really, she was killed by a white man. Just a few years ago this white man died. On his death-bed he described the killing of the woman – in fact, he confessed to two of his attendants.”

Joe spoke to one of those attendants and he was sure the white man killed the woman instead of Indians, as accursed. According to Fitzgerald, the woman was buried on the banks of the McDow, but about 1905 her bones were moved to Alexander.

Another newspaper article ran on September 9, 1942 in the Paris News, the article was entitled “The Ghost of Erath County,” The article quotes Fitzgerald reporting, “About 60 years ago Erath County, as well as other counties, was infested with cattle thieves. At that time there was a different kind of sedative used on law-breakers to what they use now. It was called “ropium,”and when a man was lulled with ropium, he seldom woke up. One morning when the sun rose there were five limp forms dangling from a big pecan tree that grew on the bank of the McDow. And there were two other ropes dangling but without anyone on either.

Seven cattle thieves had been hanged on one pecan limb, but the weight of seven was too much and bent the limb down so one could get his feet on the ground. No use to call names, the man who got his feet on the ground cut the rope from his neck and cut his neighbor down. He said his neighbor was a fool for dying as he had a good pulse when he was cut down. The man who cut himself down went to the field where a man who afterward became prominent in politics and banking in Erath County was plowing as a boy. This gentleman told me that the man’s neck was swollen as big as his head, and our young boy lost no time getting away from him. He had seen a ghost that could walk and talk. Anyway, the man went to Oklahoma and still lives near Duncan.

And then came the real ghost, or was it several ghosts? Bill Keith, who was an old pioneer, built a small cabin on the creek to be near living water. But he did not stay long. One night he knocked on the door of a neighbor’s house nearly a mile away after seeing that ghost woman. Then he moved on to Live Oak about three miles away from the McDow. He preferred to drive his cows that distance and haul water that far to get away from the haint.

A man by the name of Hammonds moved into Keith’s cabin. In less than a week’s time he was found partly sitting up in his bed stone dead. What had killed him, the ghost? Or was it natural causes? We all thought it was the ghost and it would have been difficult indeed to make such men as H.B. Keyser and W. B. Kittrell believe it was anything else than terror that killed Hammonds.

R.T. Long was one time Sheriff in Erath County. He owned a farm near the McDow. He said he had heard and seen the thing, whatever it was. He argued for some time though that it was a panther; then he thought some kind of hog until he saw it with his own eyes while gathering his cows late one evening. He said that there was no one on earth that could describe the feeling that came over a man when he was near the McDow after sundown. You were scared whether you saw anything or not.

One day a man by the name of Deem Kalb was driving his cows to the water hole. A man by the name of Bobbitt lived on the old Long place west of Green’s Creek. Mr.Kalb heard screams in the direction of the Bobbitt home. He thought the Indians were murdering Bobbitt and all his family, but when he got to the Bobbitt home they were all safe and sound but badly scared for they had also heard the screams. No one could explain this, but Bobbitt soon moved away. When the Cotton Belt Rail Road was first built one Engineer actually quit because he thought several times he had run his train over a woman and had actually stopped the train to hunt for the supposed woman there. It was my privilege to see the ghost of the McDow or some unexplained object on two occasions. A man by the name of Miller had rented a place near the McDow. It must have been about 10 O’clock broad open daylight when we stopped at the end of the rows to let our horses rest. We looked toward the woods and saw a woman coming. Miller said, “Who on earth can that be?” No one lived that way for several miles.


The woman walked across a corn patch then down into a cotton patch. Then she suddenly disappeared. But the peculiar part of it was the ground was soft and a real woman could not have walked along there without leaving tracks. Neither of us was very superstitious and had believed the McDow ghost was imagination until that day. That is something I have never been able to explain.

Mr. Miller and I decided to go to Green’s Creek fishing one night. We were having extra good luck and had fished until after mid-night. We were just talking about going when we used up the bait we had on the hooks, for we had enough big perch for two or three meals. And then something happened. The moon was almost behind the big pecan trees. All at once it seemed a big bug dropped in the water. It buzzed around a minute and then began to grow. And then a cloud began to form, something like a puff of smoke. I saw the form of a woman emerge from the smoke. Miller ran against me and I awoke to the fact that I was more than a mile from the McDow and still at a full trot. We had left our fish. Kind reader, you may say this was all imagination, I feel it was not. Some of those people who lived back then were just as devoid of fear as anyone today.

Had you ever thought it seems that in some way Erath County has possessed a jinx? There have been many peculiar happenings near Stephenville and Dublin. The murder of the woman and baby was one. Then we had the startling Snow Case and another peculiar case south of town. Even in Stephenville many years ago I heard screams and the memory will go to my grave with me. A woman and her baby was killed at the old McDow Hole, there have been several murders along Green’s Creek. At least one of them was never solved and never will be. Anyhow, I have often wished that that old pecan tree on the banks of the McDow could tell its history.”

As reported by Fitzgerald, sometime in the 1880’s, one time Erath County Sheriff, R.T. Long claimed he’d first encountered the ghost woman late one evening when he went to feed his hogs. He’d found that the hogs had gotten out of their pin and naturally ended up down at the watering hole. So, he went to fetch them. He claimed he’d never been afraid of any tales of the haunting woman and didn’t give them much respect but also didn’t see any particular need to hang around her stomping grounds any more than necessary.

It was just near sundown when he trotted off to the creek after those hogs, just when the shadows get real long. He strolled along with some hesitation as he was about a hundred yards from the creek when he saw a woman walk up from the banks into the pasture holding a baby in her arms. The woman was as visible as it had been his wife walking, she walked just as natural, he said. She had her head ducked looking at the baby. She had a shawl over her head which was also wrapped around the child. He said he stopped and watched her and spoke before she got too close because he didn’t want to frighten her. That’s when she simply disappeared into thin air. Just like that, she just faded away. He was perplexed and uneasy, rounding up the hogs with most haste while he kept a keen eye out for the wraith. But, thankfully, she didn’t return that day.

He then reported that the very next time he went toward the creek, the same thing happened again, scaring him half to death. He claimed from that day on, he just avoided going to the creek no matter the need. In the following spring, he and his wife needed some farm help and decided to hire a young man named Jake.

Long tried to tell young Jake about the ghost and advised him to avoid crossing at the McDow whenever possible, but Jake just laughed and said there was no such things as ghosts. That was before fate stepped into Jake’s young life and convinced him otherwise. According to Long, Jake was quite the lady’s man and it didn’t matter which lady. He’d gone to a dance near Dublin and was returning late. Suddenly, Long and his wife Ruth heard a horse galloping up to the house in a full run when suddenly Jake came through the door. The boy was as white as a sheet. They just helped him to bed and spoke no more about it that night.

The following morning Jake was up and all talk. He claimed that while returning home last evening he was crossing the creek at the McDow when a woman came off the opposite bank in the moonlight, just floating in mid-air and stepped upon the rear of his horse, right behind his saddle. Then she seemed to go up in the air a few feet and land again on the horse’s hips. Jake said he wasn’t scared at first, terrified was a better description. He reached for his gun and fired, but when she came again and in the same undisturbed manner, he just couldn’t stand it no more and spurred the beast to a full trot, never looking back. He never crossed Green’s Creek at the McDow after that and was a sure believer in ghosts from that day on.

It was in the year of 1902, that a young farmer by the name of Will Petty and his wife, like everyone else in the area, had to haul water from the McDow because of drought. The Petty’s would come down to the McDow with three barrels in their wagon. It would take a whole team of horses to pull the wagon out of the creek. It was late evening just before the sun went down that Will and his wife went down to get their load. Will was standing with one foot on the hub of the wheel dipping up the water while Mrs. Petty poured it into the barrel.

They’d just got the first barrel full and were starting on the second when Mrs. Petty glanced up at the bank she was facing. There she saw the woman with the baby in her arms. She just stopped and stared with a cold look as Will attempted to hand her the bucket. He then looked up to see what was causing such a horrified look on her face. That’s when he saw the thing. The ghost simply stepped off the bank into thin air slowly coming down on the water and started moving toward them. The Petty’s didn’t stay to welcome her. They never did know how they got out of there so fast but they never returned to the McDow for water.

Over the years the ghost continued to mystify the people in the area and many came to the McDow to get a glimpse. Some of the stories have been told and retold, many embellished and many faded into folklore. Mary Jo Clendenin found an old newspaper clipping from a paper dated 1920, though there was no name or heading on it she did clarify that it was in a classified ads section and read:

“A few weeks ago there appeared a letter in a paper published in Erath County, a statement that the McDow Ghost was dead. That I would never walk the earth again. False, every word of it. The man who wrote that wants me to be dead. It makes him think too much of the old days. There is also a woman in the town of Stephenville who could tell some wonderful things about me and do you know that a few years ago a man died in the county, a man who I have haunted for many years. And when he was on his death-bed, I stood over him, to remind him of the awful past.

When my husband and I built our little cabin on the banks of Green’s Creek we were very happy, but one evening when my husband was away, the Indians came and killed me. At least they were dressed like Indians but they were not. They were white men dressed up like Indians. I have haunted these men these many years. And on his death-bed the man I have mentioned told two men that I constantly appeared to him. That he knew I had come after him for the last time. One of these men still lives in Erath County, another near Paint Rock.

When the supposed Indians had murdered me they did not know what to do with my baby and cruel demons that they were, they threw it far out into the water, and its voice has cried from that dark hole all these years. Yes, I am the ghost of the McDow and there are people still living that know I am real and why I exist.”

Signed—THE GHOST

It was never known who actually wrote the statement or why. The tales of the ghost are far too many to relate in this writing. But it is apparent that the ghost was still very active within the 20th Century and opened a whole new chapter on the haunting as documented by Mary Jo Clendenin. It was her book, “The Ghost of Jenny,” which tells the story of Jenny Papworth, a pioneer woman whose husband had to leave the farm for a period of time and while he was gone Jenny and her infant child were murdered by a suspected cattle rustler. Soon after, her ghost began to reappear along the banks of the McDow as well as throughout the surrounding area. She is witnessed by various farmers, including Bill Keith and the Hickey family.

The story by Clendenin is fascinating and uses many details from her father’s accounts. It was also documented in 1971 by Jean Arden Schuetz in her book “People-Events & Erath County” and in Frontier Times Magazine in September 1971, however the names of the main characters, Charlie and Jenny Papworth, are not historically located in records of Erath County, but the Keith’s, McDow’s, and several others are. It is not known if Clendenin romanticized or embellished her father’s stories or used pseudonyms to protect the reputations of local folks who were still alive and may not have desired their names be attached to strange tales.

According to Schuetz, the Papworth’s arrived on Green’s Creek on May 15, 1860. Charlie Papworth was a nephew of Jim McDow. Charlie and Jenny Papworth, along with their infant son, Temple, purchased the land at the McDow from a squatter. Clendenin then tells the story that Jenny gave birth to a girl about four years later. Charlie Papworth’s parents both died in 1865 and willed him their belongings which were shipped to Texas but the nearest railroad was in Texarkana where Charlie would have to travel by wagon which took him several weeks. Upon his return he found that his wife Jenny and the baby had disappeared but his son was safe with the Keith family. Jenny Papworth and the baby were never seen again. His son Temple was found by the Keith’s hiding under a bed. He was never able to give an account of what happened to his mother and infant sister but did say that the man who entered the home was white and spoke English.


A man named W. P. Brownlow, though the name was suspected to be a ruse, was quick to blame the Comanche for the disappearance but no trail of Comanche could be found by a search party. Soon, a neighboring farmer told Charlie that he had seen Brownlow talking to Jenny near the creek on the evening she disappeared. Charlie began to suspect Brownlow who in fear devised a plan to paint Charlie as a horse and cattle thief and one morning, just at the break of dawn several hooded riders arrived at the Papworth place where they took Charlie, along with six other men who were rounded up near Proctor, Texas and hung them from a tree on the bank of the creek. Charlie was the last to be hung and the weight of the other men enabled him to touch the ground with his feet. His son was able to cut his father loose with a knife. Charlie recognized Brownlow and some of the other vigilantes and knew if he stayed he was going to have to kill them or they would kill him. Later that morning, Charlie walked to a neighbor’s home with a swollen neck and purchased a horse. He and his son left for the Oklahoma territory and never returned to Erath County.

Brownlow moved to Cranfill’s Gap and died in 1885. While he lay dying he reported to have been haunted by the ghost of Jenny Papworth and confessed to strangling her and the baby after she had witnessed him meeting with known cattle thieves near the McDow. He reported that he threw the bodies down a shallow seep hole near the creek and covered it with rocks and dirt so the bodies would never be found. Then he conveniently blamed the Comanche for her disappearance as to keep anyone from looking for her on the property.

The Papworth cabin set empty for a few years but Bill Keith would use it in the hot summers as a respite while his cows grazed and watered at the McDow. One August evening he and his thirteen year old son decided to stay for a few days at the cabin. The first night in the cabin both were awakened by someone touching them on their foreheads. At the same time Keith reported that there was a strange chill in the cabin and scratching sounds coming from the door. The third night in the cabin he was once again awakened by the strange scratching at the door. When he opened the door to investigate he saw Jenny Papworth standing there holding her infant daughter before disappearing. He and his son were terrified so much that they barred the door and exited the cabin through a very small rear window. As they ran from the place they heard a woman screaming. The Keith’s moved away from the area shortly thereafter. Soon others began to witness the ghost of a woman at the McDow and the haunting would last for over a century. Regardless, whether the Papworth family existed or not, one thing remains the same…someone or something haunts the McDow Hole on Green’s Creek.

Long-time Erath County resident Wes Miller of Morgan Mill reportedly swam and worked the land around the McDow Hole since 1927 according to Abilene newspaperman Brian Bethel in a 1996 article in the Abilene Reporter-News. “Often Miller’s mules would become skittish around the old watering hole as he felt a presence around him.” One time he and some young companions came to swim when a preternatural chill seemed to fill the air. He and several of his companions built a fire, but it scattered and went out as if from a great down-draft of ice-cold air.

“I heard the story from my granddad,” said Miller, “Who told me about it in the 1920’s. He said, These events that happened in the 1880’s are true, both recorded in folklore and verified through people I knew that had known those directly involved. They’re a part of history.” On the subject of ghosts, he said he felt more-or-less accepted by whatever presence he felt at the McDow, although he admits he wouldn’t stay there at night.”

Many believe it a reasonable idea that something haunts the old McDow Hole on Green’s Creek in Erath County, but what about more recent accounts. Is the ghost still active? In 1998 Clendenin reported on her website “ A Word Edgewise,” that she received a call from a man in 1996 who reported that he and a lady friend decided to investigate the haunt of the ghost on a bright moon-lit night at about 1:30 in the morning. As the two arrived at the bridge near the McDow the woman was too frightened to get out of the vehicle so the man decided to walk down the creek alone to see what he could see. The woman grew braver and stepped from the vehicle as both witnessed the figure of a woman materialize from a vapor-like column. Though her facial features were not visible, there was no mistake of the woman when she showed them her baby. The terrified couple didn’t wait around to see what came next as they quickly fled the area.

In 1970, an article in the Empire-Tribune, reported about a group of girls who got a completely different scare. It was Halloween night of that year when Jo Stem and a couple of friends took their daughters with friends to the McDow for fun. The teens were transported to the hollow in the back of a pickup as they told ghost stories and retold the Papworth tale. They parked the truck and hiked into the creek bed wrapped in winter gear as it was reported to have been one of the coldest Halloween nights in many years.

As the group was walking along the banks Jo and her friend saw what appeared to be a grown man with a sheet over his body with nothing but two eye holes cut in the fabric walking eerily along a fence line not far from them. Thinking it to be her husband she was not alarmed. When the group got ready to leave they approached their truck to see the strange figure walking away from the vehicle. Once they got to the truck they found all the pillows the girls sat on in the truck bed to be cut to pieces. Later when they got home Jo found that it was not her husband dressed as the ghost. The strange person was never identified and the event was considered another hostile happening along the banks of the McDow.

An unnamed businessman in Dallas related that he had come face-to-face with the ghost of the McDow Hole in the winter of 1980 and the experience changed him forever. At the time he lived in Irving but was visiting a friend who lived in Stephenville for the weekend. On Saturday night he and his friend were accompanied by a third friend who told him that they were going to go see a ghost. He smiled and agreed as it sounded like a splendid adventure because he didn’t really expect to see a ghost but rather some kind of teenage prank that boys are known and expected to play on one another.

The three boys jumped into a beat-up 65’ Chevy pickup and travelled to the outskirts of town then onto an old dirt road that seemed to go on forever through acres of three foot tall sticks coming up out of the ground on both sides of the road. Then it was explained to him that they were sapling Pecan trees as they were on the property of Wolfe Nurseries. After a couple of miles the boys made a right turn at a huge withered Oak and drove a bit further to where the road went downhill into a grove of trees. At this point they parked the pickup on a one lane bridge that spanned a creek bed with a larger body of water just to the north of the bridge. The scene was illuminated by a full moon, a great backdrop for one of his buddies to unfold their scheme to scare him.

After a few minutes of intense anticipation, nothing happened. He asked what it was all about and his friend said they were there to see the ghost of McDow Hole. The others explained the old ghost story about the woman searching for her baby and pretty much scares the living daylight out of people. He reported that he was quite impressed with the story and told them that it sounded like a bit of folklore and the story combined with the setting was doing a good job of giving him the creeps. He did believe that legends, stories and folklore are good for a scare but real paranormal happenings were not possible.

The three boys sat in truck facing the dry creek bed for about an hour and a half discussing different aspects of the tale and the region. After a while they started getting very cold and cramped; all three being pretty tall and one a bit on the hefty side. He told the other two he was tired and ready to go. At this point he was more convinced than ever that they had brought him to the McDow as a joke but couldn’t understand why no one had surprised them yet.

It was then that one of the other boys pointed and said “Look!” He was in the driver’s seat and pointing toward the creek bed next to a dark depression. He reported that he had done some pretty hair-raising things in life; canoeing in flood-swollen rivers, rescued capsized boaters in strong currents, nearly fell to his death while rock climbing but to this very day, he had never had an adrenaline rush like the one he had at that moment. Though he had 20/20 vision and had been sitting there for a couple of hours in the moonlight where his eyes had become accustomed to the light level he still strained his eyes, trying to refocus, because his mind simply could not register what he was actually seeing which was apparently the ghost of a woman.

In describing the ghostly figure he said that she drifted in and out of focus or clarity. It seemed that she was young in appearance, wearing a long pleated skirt or dress with long sleeves. She had long, wispy hair and not really an unpleasant expression on her face, which was plain, but somewhat pretty. He explained that she had an “earthy” look. The woman appeared white and translucent, almost smoky or cloudy and then would slowly become less “see-through,” and her features would sharpen, much like bringing a camera into focus on a subject.

There was a large rock in the creek bed, a short distance from the hole, and she would be sitting on it for a short time, then completely disappear, then the next moment, she would “sharpen” and be standing a short distance away in front of the water hole. It seemed that she was looking in their direction the entire time, but he wasn’t sure if she was actually looking at them or whether she had knowledge of their presence. The boys were entirely shocked, much like a deer caught in the headlights. Over the years he has attempted to decipher the whirlwind of emotions that ran through his head in a short amount of time that night years ago. Amazement, terror, joy, remorse and anticipation as he sat there stunned for less than a minute or more.

He finally pried his eyes away from the specter and shifted his gaze a few degrees to his friend who looked at him as well. He could tell by his look of astonishment that he was having the same thoughts as they stared at each other dumbfounded. He turned to look at his other friend who had an entirely different expression – astonished, but combined with a huge grin…much like a child’s look on Christmas morning upon viewing Santa’s visit.

The boy with the smile said, “Just wait until she starts walking down the creek screaming!” in a very excited tone. The other two boys thought immediately against waiting for anything and decided to leave but it was then that the real terror set in. They had been parked with the radio on for better part of two hours; the battery barely had enough power to crank the motor. As the motor slowly churned he looked at the specter again, which had not moved or changed its demeanor. Thankfully the motor roared to life and the terror eased and the three were on their way. He took one last look as they drove away and saw her simply standing in the same place.

As the boys headed back to Stephenville they didn’t discuss it much though his heart raced with fear and anxiety the likes he’d never known. The next morning at the breakfast table his friend’s mother asked what they did the night before and they told her they had gone to McDow Hole to see the ghost. She smiled and didn’t look horribly surprised, which he found quite peculiar as she had seen it before too. He moved on in life and lost touch with his friends but has never really come to any understanding of what he saw that night in 1980 which left him in awe and wonder of things in life which forever stay a mystery. He never went back to Stephenville again.

In 1996, another young man related a similar story. He said he and a few friends were out looking for thrills on a boring Saturday night when they decided on a visit to the McDow. He said only two of the members in the car saw the woman form from a glowing mist before they sped off in a cloud from sheer terror and psychologically transformed. He said her glow didn’t seem to reflect off of any of the surroundings but the trees did block her light. As he was watching in a stupor the girl in the front seat saw the specter and began to scream once she too began to realize what she was witnessing. The driver, who did not see the figure didn’t need to be convinced as the screams of his friends was proof enough to leave. The woman passenger, like so many witnesses before her, couldn’t catch her breath momentarily and finally composed herself enough to say, “It was her! I saw her! It was her! She began to cry as fear overwhelmed her.

Since the group was only there for a few seconds only two of them saw the ghost but since the man didn’t want to be ridiculed he said nothing. However, he said that what he’d seen was vivid. He has never since nor before witnessed a ghost and never wants to again. In 2003 a young man from Dublin reported that he had been to the McDow many times as a teenager and never witnessed anything. It wasn’t until one night at the age of twenty- three that he and three others went to the McDow when they too witnessed the same ethereal figure of the woman who approached them. The man said it changed his view of spiritual matters forever and he would never go near the McDow again. The event for him was truly terrifying and any thoughts of joking about the ghost were long dismissed.

Summer days along the McDow looked like a world away one hundred years ago as farmers cultivated cotton and corn and the land was alive with wildlife and dreams of those who lived long before us. Today the area appears much different with modern homes and dairy farms and the deep waters of the creek have long filled with sediment. But as summers have turned to autumn and those faded into winters, years turned into decades and that a century past has yielded no answers for generations of long ago who shared the creek with something they could not explain.

So does the ghost of the McDow Hole still linger among the banks of Green’s Creek in Erath County? Almost 140 years have passed since the first sighting of the ghost. Most legends or stories of haunts tend to fade away after a short period of time but in the case of the McDow Hole, such isn’t the case. It has been reported that the human mind can easily misinterpret what it sees. This happens when our eyes fix on something while our mind searches memory banks to recall information of things we already know or have observed. In the fleeting seconds of observation the mind can easily discern input to identify what it is we are looking at but sometimes our eyes can register purposed information instead of factual leaving one confused or misinterpreting what he is observing or expecting to observe. And such a hypothesis may explain some ghost sightings however, with over one hundred years of people seeing virtually the same phenomena in the same place one can only believe that perhaps there really is some validity to the ghost of the McDow Hole in Erath County.

And perhaps on a cold winters night as the waxing moon lowers and the naked limbs clatter in a north wind she lingers in her world. A world far removed from those she knew and loved. As a great chasm separates us from the world of the dead we are left with only wonder of her purpose and her life perhaps as a lonely spirit chained to her own anxiety and revenge. So, she waits, for what we will never know but if you happen upon her one moonlit night be cognizant of her struggle for a time and a people that linger forever in her heart.

-THE END-


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Sources:

Watson, D. (1996), “Hickey Pioneers – A Partial History of Captain Wesley Hickey Family,” Chicago, Ill., Adams Press

Clendenin, M. (1992), “The Ghost of McDow Hole; Ghost Stories Told by Joe Fitzgerald”, New York, New York. Adams Publishing

N.A., “Men of Unquestionable Truthfulness Believe They Had Seen Something,” Nolan County News, 17 June 1934.

N.A., “The Ghost of Erath County”, Paris News, 9 September 1942

Clendenin, M.J., (1992), “The Ghost of Jenny”, Lubbock, TX; Cotton Publishing.

Schuetz, J. A., (1971), “People – Events & Erath County – Papworth Haunted McDow Water Hole & Hanging Tree,” (First Revised Edition), Published by Ennis Favors.

Brian Bethel, “Legendary Ghost Still Lingers in Stephenville,” Abilene Reporter News; 1996.

Clendenin, M. (September 2000), “Old Ghosts Never Die; They’ve Been There and Done That,” (retrieved October 11, 2001; http.//our-town.com/editorials/Edge-Clendenin/edgeghost.htm.

Erin Cooper, “Murder Still Lingers,” The Empire Tribune; 28 October 1971.

Frontier Times Magazine, “Haunted Waterhole, September 1973 Issue.

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The Velvet Hat: Athens Georgia Ghost Story

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Ghost story from Athens, Georgia of a mysterious cemetery and (of course) a Georgia bulldog. Written by K.E. Schmidt.

“Why…” I groan with a futile pound on the dashboard. My fickle Honda has refused to start again, and on Halloween of all nights. It is my first year in Athens and all I’ve heard about is this awesome “Wild Rumpus” event, and I can’t even make it down town. I don’t feel like I know anyone well enough to call for a ride, and I live just decently on the outskirts to make it a nuisance to come fetch me. With a disappointed sigh, I step from the car and stare out at the misty autumn night.

Might as well take a walk. Maybe there will be some cute trick or treaters I can admire. I trudge up the walk and back into my house for a quick shoe change. A soft canine whine greets me. “Sorry, pal, not this time” I mutter as I pass UGLA, nestled in his crate. Acquired recently after the move from New Orleans, I’d named my bulldog with the convergence of old and new towns in mind. He’s a good dog, but tonight I opt to avoid the chance he might try to break away and chase after a princess-clad toddler. I head out to ramble and my thoughts do the same. I feel a twinge of detachment as I compare the atmosphere of Athens with the rich culture and folklore of Louisiana. I miss the odd stories, voodoo rumors, and mysterious sightings. All this college town has is a “haunted” sorority, and even that is said to bring marital fortune. Some story.

Suddenly, I see an impossible figure: UGLA. How could the dog have managed to get out of the house, or even out of his crate? And where is he going? I look ahead to his large shadow and catch an eerie gleam of his eyes through the darkness. I take off after the dog, who ignores my shouts and trots ahead. I break into a jog as I approach the woods behind our neighborhood, and the bulldog glances back with an uncharacteristic howl as he bounds into the trees. I can’t help but think, as I trudge over the uneven dirt, how very much like a graveyard this back lot seems. But I focus on UGLA.

Aerial view, Athens, Georgia at night (8342840567)

The trees rustle to my left and I veer swiftly, shocked when I see not the dog but a man, ornately dressed in antebellum garb, his head topped with a velvet hat trimmed smartly in scarlet. I marvel at the detail of his costume as I gaze back at the African-American gentleman, wondering if he is fresh from a party or maybe a product of my imagination.

“Best be careful in these parts, unless you aim to help the cause,” drawls the man. Something seems strange. The hairs at the back of my scalp begin to prickle. I manage to stutter, “the….cause?” It seems the man hardly blinks as he answers: “Those that lie here struggle to properly rest. Ain’t no coincidence all them raised dirt patches. Full of souls forgotten, deprived of respectable burial. Too long they’ve been silent.” He almost chuckles with a wry grin. “Someone’s gotta speak up. Spread the word out there. Get some right titles here. Otherwise, well…anything might happen.” My mouth has suddenly turned to cotton, but I nod as agreeably as possible, hoping I can convince the stranger that I will heed his warning. I glance at the ground, half-expecting a skeletal hand to emerge. What should I say now? Could it truly be an old forgotten burial site in need of discovery? Is this guy crazy? I force my head back up to ask more.

He is gone. I take several steps in each direction, straining my eyes for a glimpse of the red hat. Not a sign. With a dismaying shudder I realize that I have also lost track of UGLA. I know that I will only get disoriented if I attempt to traipse deeper into the trees. Biting back tears, I head back toward the dimly glowing street lights, trying to console myself with hope of a morning search or some neighborhood posters.

It hasn’t been my ideal Halloween, and it’s with a heavy heart that I creak open the door and shuffle through my kitchen, prepared to face the empty crate. But the crate isn’t empty. There, snoozing as pleasantly as you please, is my dog. And perched above is a scarlet-trimmed, debonair velvet hat.

-THE END-


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Abel’s Light: Alabama Ghost Story

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Ghost story of an Alabama “hollar” haunted by a farmer ghost searching for his missing son. Written by Irran Butler.

From the Author: Here’s a short story I like. I live on Lookout Mountain, about a mile from Daisy Gap here in Etowah County, Alabama and Owl’s Hollow is just the other side of the ridge of the mountain. This story has been passed around in my family ever since I can remember. Hope you enjoy it.

Owl’s Hollow is a sparsely populated and peaceful location nestled at the foot of Lookout Mountain, in North Alabama. Running for about twenty miles along the southeastern edge of the mountain, the hollow rests between Lookout Mountain and Shinbone Ridge. It’s width spans the better part of a mile and in my opinion is large for a “hollar” as I have always known a hollar. It is officially known as Owl’s Valley and appears as such on most maps. Few people outside the local area have any knowledge of the hollow and even fewer know of “Abel’s Light”.

Since I was a young man I have heard the story of Abel’s Light and have ventured many times to witness this tiny yellow spectral light among the trees in the area of the old Abel farm near Turkeytown. The farmhouse and barn existed throughout my childhood but finally succumbed to the relentless advance of the years and disappeared into the earth from which it sprang so many years ago.

The light can be viewed from the road that stretches the length of the hollow in only one place. It can be seen only in the coldest of months when the leaves have fallen and it disappears gradually as the trees put on new leaves in the spring. The area has overgrown with so many trees and undergrowth that, even as many times as I have been there, I have trouble locating the only vantage point from which the light can be seen. It has been several years since I last saw the light and I wonder if it endures without being witnessed.

The story behind the light goes like this:

In the early part of the 1900s, Owl’s Hollow was, of course, even more sparsely populated than it is today. Large tracts of pastureland and hardwood forest covered the floor of the hollow, accommodating only a few homesteads connected by narrow rutted roads. One family living here was the Abel family. Mr. and Mrs. Abel had three children, the youngest of which was a son named Henry. Henry was four years old when, one bitter-cold December evening, he disappeared. The weather was so cold that the urgency of finding the lad was of immediate and overriding concern for every family member. A frantic search in the area near their home by the family failed to turn up little Henry. Word went out to the neighbors for miles around and they eagerly joined the search for young Henry. All through that first night, searchers came and went from the Abel house. Having a cup of hot coffee and warming by the fire recharged the searchers. They doggedly returned to the task at hand in the bitter cold darkness. The search continued the next day, but there was no sign of the young lad; no tracks, no scent trail for the hounds; no nothing.

News from the birds (1898) (14750556715)

Three days after Henry disappeared the general consensus among the searchers was that he was likely dead of exposure and might never be found. Henry’s father could not accept this as the fate of his son and never stopped searching. He would leave home in the mornings and come in only when he was so hungry and exhausted he couldn’t continue. Grief stricken to the very brink of madness, Henry’s father lived a tortured existence and the entire family felt his suffering. The work around the farm was beginning to pile up in his absence as he searched on. Even though the other family members were doing double duty to maintain a normal existence, the work still piled up. On occasion a neighbor would come by and help Mr. Abel with his endless search or with the farm work. Henry’s father searched even at night carrying a kerosene lantern as he rode on horseback over the same roads he had covered a hundred times before. A thousand times, he called Henry’s name as he rode. This went on for months to no good conclusion.

Finally Henry’s father did not return from his search one night in mid-March. His horse came home and was discovered the next morning in the hallway of the barn. Henry’s older brother began a search for his father and within an hour located his body hanging by his neck from a forked limb in a blackjack oak just off one of the roads that he had searched so many times. He had apparently accidentally hanged himself in the dark when he rode the horse under the limb. His still-burning lantern was in his hand and his eyes were wide open. One would think his search was finally ended, with this horrible event.

That was a long time ago and since that time there have been many sightings of a dim yellow light amongst the trees during the coldest months of winter. Two explanations offered by locals are said to explain this tiny spectral light that is viewed from the road on higher ground. One part puts forth that the light is Henry’s father riding his ghostly mount carrying the lantern as he slowly moves through the woods. The hoof beats of the horse can be heard on especially quiet nights, punctuated by a man’s voice calling the name “Henry”. This chilling display is visible from mid-December until the middle of the month of March when Mr. Abel was overtaken by his most unusual death. The second part of the story is that the lantern can be seen, but not moving. This part asserts that the light is Henry’s dad holding on to the lantern as he hangs in the blackjack oak. As the trees begin to put on their leaves this light becomes harder to see with each passing day and finally disappears completely under the new canopy of green leaves, until the next December. Both parts are equally chilling and which part one observes depends on the month in which the observation occurs.

I have witnessed this ghostly light on a number of occasions; I have heard the hoof beats; I have heard a distant, desperate voice calling Henry’s name. It’s real… and it’s there to see in the cold winter months. I can’t help but wonder about what I’ve seen…and I have questions.

If Henry’s father’s spirit lingers in an unfulfilled and seemingly endless quest; Can little Henry’s spirit linger somewhere out there in the cold, inescapable clutches of a dark winter night? Is it possible that they will ever find each other? Why do I feel both saddened and exhilarated by my sighting of Mr. Abel’s light? … How would you feel?

-THE END-

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The Tortured Souls of St. Albans Sanatorium

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Creepy story of the abandoned St. Albans Sanatorium in Redford, Virginia. Written by Allison Dienstman of Colonial Ghosts.

Places where torment took place on a regular basis become hotbeds for paranormal activity, and Virginia’s St. Albans Sanatorium proves no exception. From electroshock therapy to lobotomies, the treatment for the mentally ill at St. Albans caused tremendous suffering for its patients. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that St. Albans ranks as one of the 25 most haunted places in Virginia.

Located in Radford, a small town in western Virginia, the sanatorium dates back to 1892 when it first functioned as a Lutheran school for boys. Later, in 1916 it became a hospital for the mentally insane. While the owner of the new psychiatric center had high hopes for the institution, it ended up functioning as a torture chamber more than a hospital.

St. Albans Sanatorium, Redford, Virginia

Photo by Rick Stillings, public domain.

With a staff to patient ratio of 48 to 6,509, the patients certainly did not receive proper attention for their ailments. Not to mention, psychiatric medicine at that time resembled torture more than treatment. Doctors would cut open patients’ skulls and shock them into a stupor with electroshock therapy. Insulin-induced comas and lobotomies left patients brain dead… or in some cases, actually dead.

One particular room had an especially high concentration of suffering. Here, patients would receive hydrotherapy treatment that, according to today’s standards, would have had the place shut down. Some doctors would wrap patients in freezing cold towels while others would strap people down in steaming water vats, where they remained confined for days. They would also blast patients with fire hoses. No wonder this room became known as the Suicide Bathroom. Apparently, at least four people killed themselves in this room.

The building shut down in 2003 before one of its former patients purchased the property. Today, the current owner runs haunted attractions within the former sanatorium including an annual Halloween haunted house. However, not all of the ghost sightings in this building result from the staged haunted attractions.

It seems the unfortunate souls who received brutal mistreatment here in life remain trapped in the building in death. Most visitors immediately experience the feeling of depression and unease when inside the building. Others report seeing the spirit of two young females roaming the basement.

Paranormal investigators often come to St. Albans including from TV shows like SyFy’s Haunted Collector, The RIP Files, and Travel Channel’s The Dead Files. During an investigation, a woman felt the icy grip of a ghost’s hand in the Suicide Bathroom. Another team caught the video of a shadow moving down a staircase.

Do the tortured spirits continue to haunt the hallways of St. Albans Sanatorium? Those who dare can visit the former insane asylum and find out for themselves.

Learn More: http://www.onlyinyourstate.com/virginia/st-albans-sanatorium-va/

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St. Albans Sanitorium, Radford, VA

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St. Albans Sanitorium, Radford, VA 37.139172, -80.580138 Story: The Tortured Souls of St. Albans SanatoriumPlaces where torment took place on a regular basis become hotbeds for paranormal activity, and Virginia’s St. Albans Sanatorium proves no exception.

-THE END-

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The Grey House: Georgia Haunted House Story

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Young boys make the mistake of chasing an errant football into he depths of a Georgia haunted house. Written by Kenneth Gary.

PRELUDE

“I know that the old woman in that huge, crumbling, grey house is hiding a secret, a dead body, something. I just know it!”
– words of an anonymous woman in the neighborhood.

One cannot, with the unburdened mind of youth, gaze upon stars, or the imaginative clouds of the sky, without being set upon by waves of wonder…
– sentiments of an anonymous child, same neighborhood.

Once upon a time…

When I was a young boy we played any number of sports and games outside in all areas of our Georgia neighborhood. The entire area was our domain: With one unacknowledged exception.

It was not something that we talked about openly, unless it was Halloween, but, there was one very large, decayed, grey house at the end of our ‘territory’ that, collectively, we instinctively avoided.

We had in the past, experienced the terror of attempting to retrieve an errant baseball from the front yard. There was no particular event associated with this perception: just a feeling. This alone was enough to make us realize that the air within that yard was forbidding. In fact, there are a number of prize balls of all sorts in that yard that were simply never recovered. It could even be the ninth inning, sun setting, mothers calling; but whenever the ball fell into that yard, it was the unspoken termination of whatever series was underway. Silently, no boasting, no arguments; the game just dissolved.

It was the kind of house that you just did not turn and walk away from; you tended to look over your shoulder for an extended portion of your departure. There was a subterranean concern with having ‘disturbed’ whatever lay within…there was a ‘please do not follow me home’ thought in the mind of anyone who in any way encroached.

That year, the hometown team made it to the Super Bowl. In those days, we were so adept at sneaking into any stadium that our only concern was getting enough cash for hot dogs and pop. This we accomplished also. With the game being local, we basically had fortune not merely smile upon us but bursting with a cornucopia of joy.

When our team won, underneath the bleachers, and everywhere else, people celebrated without restraint. One particularly exuberant (drunk) man pulled me aside and pushed a real NFL labeled football into my stomach, just like a hand off. “Here’s a souvenir, kid” he mumbled.

Well, to me at that age, I thought it was the game ball!. I ran before he could change his clouded mind. Showing my friends, they immediately wanted to go out to our street, and play a game with this wonderful ball that found its way into our lives.

With the seemingly limitless energy of youth, when legs just wanted to run of their own accord, we played and played up and down the avenue that night. The ball seemed to bring some magic to the game because there were more extraordinary plays performed than ever before. Finally, there was one long sideline pass that ended up too close to the fence, and even though I tipped it with my left hand, it did not bounce into receiving range, and it went over (it was ‘sucked’ over) the fence.

It went over the fence into the yard of the big grey house.

Typically, we would all simply subdue our impulses and quietly go home for the evening. But this was a special ball; and the Super Bowl had filled us with emotions that made us feel it was the game of our lives. This ball had to be retrieved.

I immediately drafted Bruce and Ronnie as my co-agents in what I had already determined to be a rescue mission. We lost a lot of balls before; we are not losing this one. Neither of them objected, as they were both intoxicated by the day, the Super Bowl and the ball: we approached the fence to figure a plan of retrieval. Behind us, out of view, everyone else slowly backed up, with that same mesmerized expression, and finally simply turned away and went home.

What came to mind with the force of thunder was the recollection that only two people had ever entered this yard before. One, a high school football star, who instantly broke his leg after climbing the fence, his arm upon breaking his fall. The other incident involved a very popular boy who must have incurred an even more horrific fate as no one would even tell us what had taken place. We were ‘too young’. All we could gather was that the grief-stricken, morose expressions on the faces of his friends that day, spelled certain doom. We never saw him again.

No matter. The ball is outside in the yard. It cannot have gone too close to the house. Besides conquering the prodigious undergrowth, what really, in this world of sunshine and blue sky, could stop us?

We were terrified.

RustyFence amk

The fence was chest high, for all three of us. But the vines and bushes that were never cut, caused one to forcibly dig through them in order to get a clear view of the yard even on top of the old wooden fence. And these vines and other undergrowth were tenacious; at points it seemed they grew straight through uncracked areas in the wood itself.

Assessing the landscape we decided to try to first make visual contact with the ball. Then we could decide a plan of action that would most likely secure our lives in this mission and return us safely to this side of the fence. We could not see the ball. However, we remained undaunted.

Unnoticed, we transformed into a band of predators that surveyed the African Savannah. With unspoken stealth, we found an area that permitted the easiest access thru the brush , vines, and over the fence.

There was a movement in one of the upstairs windows…not now; did it notice me? don’t look! Let us just get the ball; that’s all. In that strange way that people will expect that if they do not look directly at the car as they cross in front of, it will, by some unwritten law, not hit them. Just don’t look!

We had no real idea how large this cul-de-sac property really was. The house, easily observed from a distance down the street, was in reality thirty yards from the fence, and much taller, wider and far more decrepit than anyone ever suspected. And the grey color was not so much a color as it was the complete absence of any color at all. It was the color left when absolutely all other color is washed away. And it was unsettling. The house just looked dead.

Ronnie had received several cuts in the effort. One, on the back of his right hand, which probably deserved some attention, but before we knew it Ronnie licked it several times, applying saliva and clearing the blood. He looked up at us and whispered “ It’s okay”.

Crouching to a height just above the never tended sea of weeds covering the yard; we spread out to better locate our target in minimum time. We were far enough apart to expand the swath of the search, and close enough to not leave unexplored areas in between us.

Spread out, as we were, me in the middle, Bruce on my far left and Ronnie on my far right, we hesitantly began to search through, what seemed to be all the wheat in Kansas, for the ball.

Unbelievably, I heard Ronnie talking. The plan was to be utterly quiet once inside, which we now were, in order to not attract attention. Besides, who could he be talking too??!!

I stood up straight to see what could be going on over there just in time to see Ronnie running towards the house, halfway there he began to wave a greeting as though he saw someone he knew in the house. When he bounded upon the porch, clearly with glee, the front door opened allowing entrance. Without pause, Ronnie ran right into the house and the door closed sounding the finality of a prison gate: a life lost. The house had swallowed him.

I looked to the left, and Bruce too had observed this astounding behavior, and was clearly as astonished as I was. What could possibly possess someone, knowing what we all know about this place, to behave in this manner?

My bones told me there was no chance of going into that house. I looked at Bruce, blankly; implying that the decision was his and all the while hoping that he too would decline to follow Ronnie.

His bones told him the opposite. We could not leave without Ronnie.

Damn!

Reluctantly, we approached each other at full height; the secret shroud of our arrival had evaporated. We were already announced, by Ronnie’s unbelievable behavior. It never occurred to us that we were in fact being invited in: that is why the mesmerizing effect that had sent everyone else home, did not impact us. Without speaking, we agreed to rescue our friend. Shoulder to shoulder, we turned to look at the Grey House where we would face whatever fate awaits.

But wait! Not the front door. Let’s take a walk around the house, there is probably some broken screen door to the kitchen, or rotted out gateway to the basement, or something. Here is where our skills at sneaking into all those football stadiums and carnivals would come in handy; we will find a way in; but it will be our way in: not the front door.

The very back of the house did have what used to be a screen-enclosed porch off the kitchen. Carefully, cause we could ill afford to have ourselves injured by rotten porch timber, we approached the kitchen door. The screen on the door had completely rotted away also. All I had to do was push my hand through the remaining screen, which instantly turned to dust, and unhook the simple lock.

We were in the kitchen.

To our utter amazement, the kitchen had towering cabinets scaling two of the walls. There was a table in the middle that was tall enough for us to walk under without bending our heads at all.

On the table there were apples the size of basketballs. Closer inspection, however, revealed that they were actually grapes. It finally dawned on us that whoever inhabited this place had to in fact be of monstrous proportions. With considerable effort, we returned our attention to the urgent task of finding Ronnie and getting out.

Since he came in the front door, let’s start there.

Silently, we found our way towards the front of the house. We passed what appeared to be a reading room, equipped just like the kitchen, with a table taller than us, and bookcases populated with strangely labeled, old, hard covered texts, that would have been too large for us to even retrieve from the shelves. We continued towards what had to be the front of the house where Ronnie, stupid Ronnie, just had to come inside!

Impossibly, the inside of this ‘house’ was of colossal proportions totally belied by the outward appearance.

The inside was just like the outside; never attended to. We were able to see Ronnie’s footprints as they came in the front door in the thick dust that covered the floor. They went to the (his) left upon entering, the opposite direction from which we had just come.


As we proceeded in this direction, to the right was a lofty, curved staircase, with enormity more than human, that went up to a second floor which surrounded the entire house it seemed with a walkway with many doors and several halls that wound off into utter and hollow darkness. Cautiously, we followed the footprints; thankful they did not lead upstairs. We need to find him fast before fear overtakes us and changes our minds completely.

Very faintly, I could hear a strangely familiar muffled sound coming from the direction we were going. We moved over to the wall, so that we could inch our way forward and defeat the chances of being discovered by…anything that may be in this place.

Fortunately, very shortly the familiar sounds were recognized as those made by a considerably large number of people dining together.

We squeezed ourselves along the wall until we came upon a large room before us, where, there was in fact a large table with what appeared to be about 20 people sitting around it eating.

Crouching behind a small table that was holding a dim lamp, we could make out the entire group across the hallway without being noticed. It took a few moments, but; I did recognize Billy Mitchell sitting at the table.

Billy was a classmate of mine, two years earlier. More than a classmate, we were actually quite good friends. Billy and his family had moved to Detroit; yet, those were his parents on either side of him, eating in relative silence.

There was also Trudy Jones. I would never forget her because, even though she was several years older, I had a boyhood crush on her for as long as I could remember. But, she was no longer older than me. In fact, she was exactly the same age as the last summer before her, and her slow running brother, were at the time that they left this town.

There were several other people recognizable at the table. But in every case, it was someone, or some family, who had ‘moved away’, or otherwise relocated, to some other distant place. But they were in fact all right here! They had not gone anywhere! And they looked exactly as they had when they ‘left’. Trudy was no longer older than me. Not this Trudy.

Then we saw Billy’s dog Apache. The dog had died a year before Billy and his family moved to Detroit. It was sitting by Billy’s leg at the table. A position I clearly recall that his parents would not allow at dinner time because I often visited them in those days.

We made no noise at all. Suddenly, as if by clairvoyance; the dog immediately swung his head around to look directly at us; he looked as though my very recognition of him had made a suspicious sound that he could hear. His ears twitched, and he instantly sprang to his feet, and began to snarl like Cerberus, guarding the gates of Hades. This was effectively an alarm to everyone at the table who also immediately ceased all activity and, without searching, turned their laser like attention upon us.

I could feel the heat from their glare; eyes rimmed with deep bloody red. Inhuman forked tongues darted out of several mouths in serpent like fashion. They rose from the table in unison; never taking their eyes off us…

Without a word, we turned and ran. We ran back across the large foyer that comprised the entryway. Looking over my shoulder to see the ‘missing people’ storming out of the dining room after us, only, they were running on all fours; backs arching like true quadrupeds in pursuit. Now their tongues wagged out of their open mouths like wolves. And they howled like a pack of wild animals.

Their form of locomotion, along with the changes in their bodies, made it clear they were soon going to overtake us. In utter desperation we decided to run, jump, up the staircase; because we all know, canines are not so graceful on stairs as they are on open ground.

To our surprise, they did not even pursue us up the stairs. They came to a screeching halt, some tumbling in the dust under their own momentum. Reverting to human, upright posture, they walked back and forth at the bottom of the stairs staring with those empty red rimmed eyes, long tongues rolling out of their mouths like a dog on a hot day. Some of them had long snake-like tails trailing behind them.

We stumbled up the stairs backwards. Looking at them, in case they changed their minds…

We reached the second story of the house. From here, looking upwards, the very top of the building hosted a huge glass dome. Through it I could see the most magnificent display of brilliant stars against a palpably thick, blue-black sky. I knew I was somehow closer to the entire universe than I had ever been before: This was not a scene one could commonly see from the surface of the earth. Besides, it was full daylight still when we entered the house.

I looked back down the stairs and they were all gone: Nowhere to be seen. Since Ronnie was not among them, we decided to see if he was upstairs also. Maybe he was fortunate enough to have escaped them in the same way we just did. Either way, without discussion: getting out of here is already far more important than finding Ronnie (stupid Ronnie).

With all the noise echoing throughout the mansion from the chase just escaped, there is no need to try to be quiet. Anything that can hear already knows we are here by now.

There was a huge, ominous door at the end of the hallway before us.

When the door opened, the wind of death floated out onto the balcony. Standing in the doorway was a very tall (far more than human height), large, muscular figure, of a man. He did not move, but his very presence exuded sheer gravity. This was an entity that encompassed more than mortals have ever witnessed before.

It was as if some two-story tall, granite statue in the main lobby of a bustling New York skyscraper had awakened: infuriated by the way that mankind had exploited his true immortal grandeur to adorn their meager buildings. This was the infernal rage before us now.

With the sound of thunder, heard on the inside; in the space of an instant, eons were revealed to us, as if flying through the galaxy. His intent was not instruction, or sharing; we could see these phenomena simply as a by-product of having been brought into his mind. His intent was examination of us.

One could feel that what he was doing with the missing people was consuming their future, extracting all the promise from their lives; their hopes and dreams; this is what he lived on. Simple manipulation, crushing several dreams, diminishing just a little celestial light, is how he victimized them: exactly as a spiders poison incapacitates the victim. It was a combination of this and the wind from his home world blowing in this place that transformed them into the creatures they were becoming; Man is never far from Monster – human aspiration is a feeble barrier.

I grabbed Bruce’s arm, to set him into motion as I turned to flee. The grab meant I was not going to wait – better come now! With my acceleration being so desperate, the ancient carpet beneath my feet rolled, fighting my intention to escape and catapulting my mind into complete terror. But I kept running. Bruce was energized into action by my grasp of his arm, and he too managed to turn and flee.

The creature in the doorway, actually filling the huge doorway, did not bother to pursue us. Pursuit never entered his vast mind. You do not chase mosquitoes; you kill them when they light on your arm again.

We ran back past the stairs. Looking down, those people were once again, all gathered around the bottom of the staircase. That path was blocked. We kept running until we came upon a very narrow stairway at the opposite side of the second level. At a glance, the stairs were more normal size, and this stairway did not even open up on the level where the ‘people’ were because we did not see it when we were downstairs. It actually was a servants egress. Apparently for human sized servants.

The stairway was interminably long as it had no exit on the first floor but continued uninterrupted into the cellar. This did not feel good at all. With what we have seen already, is not the cellar in this place bound to be far worse?

No stopping now. At this point we have to concentrate on saving ourselves.

Upon arriving at the bottom, one entire wall, of what appeared to be a recently excavated basement; the length of a football field was lined with embedded cages lit with mildly different colored lights from the top of each cell. Some were filled with a writhing mist that did not escape what appeared to be a set of horizontal and vertical bars encasing each cage. This was a menagerie that provided the many beasts within, a recreation of the environment from whatever world he was taken from.

Just then, a beast resembling a huge grizzly bear covered with alligator skin crashed into the bars of his cage with such ferocity that it physically shook many of the adjacent cages and elicited a huge cacophony of growls and shrieks from the nearby inhabitants.

My extreme terror was revealed with an audible shriek of my own.

Then, I felt myself gripped from behind on the shoulder. My entire life dissolved inside me as I turned around to find that it was Ronnie, standing behind us.

Ronnie was trying to explain to us what had occurred. He spoke slowly, actually he mumbled. I could see his cheek quickly jutting out, as though his tongue were poking it. It fell upon me in a flash; Ronnie too has the serpent tongue, and he was trying to hide it from us!

Just like the dog before him, ‘Ronnie’ knew instantly he had been discovered. He pounced upon me, with more power than he had ever possessed, forcing me backwards against one of the cages of the enclosed beasts. Behind me I could actually feel the delight (the hunger) of the creature within as it began to slither towards the bars of the cage and receive this human offering which was myself.

In spite of our history of my superior athletic prowess, I could not even begin to contest Ronnie’s strength at this point. Bruce too, attempted in vain to force Ronnie to relinquish his grasp upon me. With utter ease, he ignored Bruce, and he pinned me against the bars as the creature within increased his speedy approach, beckoning my certain doom.

It is said that man’s extremity is Gods opportunity. There was certainly only one single moment left for me; and looking deep within Ronnie’s eyes I was surprised to see recognition. In that instant, our entire shared childhood passed between us, both good and bad, and with the same complete power that he had pinned me against the bars, he now jerked me away. Behind me, I could hear the creature within crashing, disappointed, against the cage: Furious at the lost opportunity.

Speechless; and with an inhuman, mechanical like precision, Ronnie pointed towards a sizable nook within the cavernous walls of this dungeon. As we peered within the nook, we could see a stairway with light squeezing through the edges at the top. We turned to thank him only to see him turn and run with supernatural speed down the length of the walkway between the cages, uttering guttural, primordial grunts along the way, until something from within one of the cages reached out and pulled him in. His sounds ended abruptly, signaling certain extermination.

We chose to ascend the stairs.

There was the outside, old fashion cellar door at the top, which was not even locked. We opened it with ease to emerge into the same un-kept yard we had just left. As we shut the cellar doors we could still hear the cries from the unholy collection of wildlife below. The only difference being that it had to be about midnight judging from the position of the moon, the darkness, and the quiet that seemed to surround the neighborhood as far as we could tell.

Why did Ronnie not secure my death? Perhaps he was in the initial stages of being ‘absorbed’ by this place. More likely, the colossal creature within – who clearly spanned eons and galaxies – perhaps he had no concept of simple human friendship: A situation he had not incurred as yet. For whatever reason, at whatever stage of being ‘taken over’ he was at, the ‘Ronnie’ on the inside was being made from the Ronnie we knew. I do not think the being upstairs could just invent heroism, or even recognize it. Even if he could, he would not employ it to act for our sake. No, this incubus, this voodoo doll that was to become Ronnie, somehow was being made from the real thing – our friend.

Amazingly, when we finally got back outside, there was Ronnie, excited, asking us why we just suddenly ran into the house – for no reason! This inquiry was so honestly set forth as to disarm us of any anger or other misgivings at all. This was our Ronnie. I could see the tinge of guilt in his eye for not coming after us – he had no hint that we had encountered ‘him’ on the inside of this place. I could also appreciate his dilemma; and at least he did not leave the yard. He was just unable to get into the house. He did not realize that the ‘Ronnie’ that was on the inside, was a part of him, and this meant too that a part of him was a true hero, in a way that this, our Ronnie, would perhaps never know.

And, it was the right decision in the end…the creature within had easily fooled us all.

And there was no old woman at all, contrary to a popular rumor.

And, most importantly, Ronnie had recovered the ball.

-THE END-

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