Coffin Hollow and Other Ghost Tales (9 page)

A few months later the girl discovered that she was carrying the soldier's child. Her mother soon knew it too and was enraged. She condemned her daughter for the very things she had failed to warn her against.

The widow, terrified that someone might hear about the girl, locked her daughter in a room in the attic and posted a sign on the door of the house warning that her daughter was sick with smallpox. But somehow everyone heard the news anyway, and the tale spread, as rumors do.

After the baby was born, the widow took it into another room of the attic and asphyxiated it by turning on a small gas stove near where the baby was lying. That night she carried its body to the edge of a field nearby and buried it under a fence post.

The following evening two women were walking along the road near the widow's house. As they neared the field where the baby was buried, a huge ball of fire rolled down the hillside, crossed the road and field, and stopped below the fence post. The women, startled by such a strange thing but curious too, went over to the fence where the ball of fire had stopped. By the time they reached the post, the ball of fire had disappeared, but they noticed the loose dirt at the base of the fence. One of the women dug into the soil with her hands. They found the baby's body and ran to get their husbands. When they returned with the men, the body was no longer there.

Since they had heard the rumors about the young girl, they decided to go to the house and question her. They knocked on the door, but no one answered. All the blinds were drawn and the house was locked up tight. No one ever returned to the house, but a tiny new grave was found in a church graveyard nearby.

Many children who have played near the old deserted house have said they could hear a baby crying from within, but no one ever entered.

34: Jones's Hollow

There is a small settlement near Belington called Union. It is situated on top of a hill that towers over the Tygart Valley River. There are valleys and hollows between the many hills of the region, and each hollow has its own name.

Jones's Hollow has not only a name but also a legend.

Almost seventy-five years ago, a very rough man named Abraham Jones bought some land in this area. He drank heavily and gambled with some of the lowest class of people at that time.

There was another family in the community named Johnson. Hubert Johnson was almost as vile a man as Jones. He had a daughter named Rachel. One evening during a poker game, Johnson ran out of money and, having nothing else to bet, put up his daughter as stakes. Jones won his wife Rachel on Saturday night, and they were married on Sunday.

Abraham and Rachel had three children — a girl and two boys. Each day Abraham became more harsh. He soon grew to hate his children. He hated them so much that he wanted to kill them.

One day when he was drunk, he took the three children to a cave, chained them to a wall, and left them there to die.

People believed that if a woman who was barren would hear the cries of the children, find the cave where they were chained, and free them, she would be able to have three children of her own.

More than half a century later, Russell and Laura Coolridge moved into a cottage in Jones's Hollow. They were a happy couple except for the fact that Laura was unable to have children.

People often said that on windy nights they could still hear the cries of the forsaken Jones children, but nobody was able to find the cave.

One evening as a storm approached, Laura could hear what sounded like the cries of children. Anxious for their safety, she searched the woods surrounding the cottage. Quite by accident she came upon the cave and, by entering, freed the spirits of the children.

A year later, Laura had her first child.

35: Who Was Guilty?

Children in the nineteenth century were more often seen than heard. After a hard day's work in the cornfield under the hot summer sun, they were usually ready to retire as soon as the evening meal was over. Millard, my great-grandfather, was no exception.

Early one spring evening, as the yellow moon crept over the mountain tops, he was awakened by the rumbling of a horse-drawn wagon as it thumped over the dirt road in front of his house. He peered out the window and was astonished to see a Negro man being dragged behind an old cart. Inquisitiveness filled every fiber of his body until he could stand it no longer. He pulled on some clothes and rushed out the back door. As he tagged behind the men, he was able to pick up pieces of their conversation.

Jock, the Negro man, had been accused of raping and mutilating the body of a young white girl — a neighboring farmer's daughter. The farmer had found him standing over the body, his hands dripping with blood. Jock swore that he was innocent, but since he had worked but a short time as a hired hand, no one believed his story. He stated that he had found the girl lying between the house and the barn. Thinking that she needed help, he had stopped to give his assistance, and as he bent over the body, her father came out of the house and assumed the worst. Tempers flared, and before Jock knew what was happening, the local farmers had him convicted and on the way to the apple orchard to be hanged. No one heard his explanations as he begged for his life. The wagon was placed beneath the largest tree and a rope was knotted about his neck. As the horse pulled the wagon from beneath him, his last words rang loud and clear — “I am innocent.”

Later the same spring, all but one tree in the apple orchard withered and died. Now it stands alone bearing fruit that is envied by every farmer for miles around. If one visits the orchard on the anniversary of the hanging, he can hear the faint voice of Jock calling, “I am innocent.”

36: The Cooke Family

Paul and Bill Harris were riding home from church in their buggy [surrey?] and began talking of the legend of the Cooke family.

The Cookes had been pioneers and the entire family had been massacred on top of Cherry Hill on their way home from prayer meeting in 1865. It was said that the Cookes had tried again and again to reach their home over Cherry Hill.

As the Harrises were driving along, the boys noticed a man, a woman, and some children walking along the road in front of the buggy. Overtaking the family, Paul offered them a ride. The tall gentleman thanked them, and the happy group got in.

The father spoke normally of the crops, weather, and the general conditions. When they reached the top of the hill, the mother suggested that they walk from there, and, one after another, they climbed out, thanking the brothers for the ride.

As the brothers started to leave, Bill suddenly remembered that they had not asked the family's name, and he called to the little boy who was lagging behind. As he followed his family over the hill, the child replied cheerfully that his name was Jonathan Cooke.

37: The Ghosts of the Mine Horses

In the coal mines of fifty or sixty years ago, horses did much of the hauling that is now done by machinery. Each morning many horses were taken down the slope entrance into the mine, there to stand and wait until the men filled some cars with coal in the rooms. The horses would then pull the cars out of the rooms and on to the main heading. At quitting time the horses would be unharnessed and taken back out the slope and from there to the big barn that the coal company maintained. Often they would just be let loose there in the mine, and away they would go, up the slope, along the path, across the bridge, and on to the barn, unaccompanied.

When the big explosion of 1907 occurred in Old Number Six and Number Eight mines in Monongah, a great many faithful horses, as well as hundreds of brave men, perished instantly. There were eight sections in Old Number Six, and each section was approximately a mile square. In just one crosscut, in one section halfway up in Third Right of Old Number Six, at least twelve horses perished — and some said many more. These horses had been put in the crosscut to wait until the loaders filled some cars for them to pull. When the explosion came, the pressure from both ends of the crosscut pressed and squeezed the horses into one solid mass of flesh and bone.

When rescue workers could enter the mine, naturally their first concern was to locate and remove the remains of human victims and make identification checks. This was such a tremendous and sorrowful task that at the time not too much thought was given to the bodies of the beasts of burden. When the rescue and cleanup crews came upon the big mass of twelve horses, it was decided that the best and quickest disposal that could be made was to “gob” their remains into an old working area and seal it off.

A few years after the explosion, several other men and I were working in this part of the mine where the horses had perished. Having half an hour off for lunch, we would find a place along the rib and sit on a pile of slack while we were eating. This would take about fifteen minutes; then we would have fifteen minutes to nap or, usually, just rest, before resuming work. There would then be almost complete quiet in the mine, and we would distinctly hear the galloping sound of hoofbeats. Gradually, the sounds would become louder as they approached nearer and nearer to where we were. The sounds came galloping down the heading in Third North, hoofs cracking hard on the pavement or floor of the mine, loping right upon us. We would shrink back as far as we could against the rib as the flying hoofs loped on by, the sounds finally fading in the distance.

All of us in that section heard these horses, not just once but many, many times — maybe once a week, maybe twice or three times a week, over a long period of time. None of us ever doubted that they were actual horses that galloped by, even though they were not visible to the mortal eye. We were awake and sober when we heard the sounds increasing and receding, and we knew instinctively that the clatter was made by the horses that had perished in the explosion. No man who heard the sounds could be convinced, then or now, that such things were impossible. Does one doubt the existence of the wind — be it in the form of a gentle breeze or a tornado — just because it cannot be seen by human eye?

38: The Ghost of Old Ben

Years ago seven brothers moved to Grant Town to live and earn money in the coal mines. The oldest brother was called Ben.

Ben and his brothers were very healthy, strong, and happy. They usually sat around the house after they finished working — where they ate, drank, and talked of the old country.

Ben, being the oldest, more or less took care of the younger ones. These brothers were very close to each other. They even worked in the same section together — Section Eight Main. As time passed, most of them married and had children, but they were still very close and all lived in Grant Town.

During this time, one had to be extra careful in the mines, since there were many accidents and deaths. The men had to carry lamps instead of having lights on their caps as they do today.

One day upon entering the section, Ben tripped over an old log and was killed instantly. The others felt some-what lost without their oldest brother, but they had to go on living and taking care of their families.

One year after Ben's death, the brothers were working near Section Eight Main. Suddenly a big gust of wind came and blew out their lamps. There they stood in complete darkness, not knowing what had happened. At that moment the youngest one heard something and told the others to listen carefully. When they heard the noise — a big rumble from above — they all hit the ground and covered their heads with their arms. Then suddenly there was a cave-in.

A few seconds later they stood up and tried to feel their way around, but they could find no exit. They were sealed in to spend the last moments of their lives. All at once one of them saw a light on his left which seemed to be off in the far distance, and he pointed it out to the others. Soon the light took the form of their oldest brother, Ben, and they heard a weird voice calling, “Follow me, brothers, follow me.”

The six brothers followed Old Ben until they came to another section, where men were gathered in astonishment. These men said that it was impossible for anyone to have escaped from the section where the brothers had been working.