Kentucky Hauntings

Homespun Ghost Stories and Unexplained History

R
OBERTA
S
IMPSON
B
ROWN AND
L
ONNIE
E. B
ROWN

Copyright © 2013 by The University Press of Kentucky

Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth,
serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre
College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University,
The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College,
Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University,
Morehead State University, Murray State University,
Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University,
University of Kentucky, University of Louisville,
and Western Kentucky University.
All rights reserved.

Editorial and Sales Offices:
The University Press of Kentucky
663 South Limestone Street, Lexington, Kentucky 40508-4008
www.kentuckypress.com

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brown, Roberta Simpson, 1939–

Kentucky hauntings : homespun ghost stories and unexplained history / Roberta Simpson Brown and Lonnie E. Brown.

    pages           cm

ISBN 978-0-8131-4320-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)—

ISBN 978-0-8131-4382-8 (epub) — ISBN 978-0-8131-4383-5 (pdf)

1. Haunted places—Kentucky. 2. Ghosts—Kentucky. I. Brown, Lonnie E. II. Title.

BF1472.U6B7756 2013

133.109769—dc23

2013018934

This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.

Manufactured in the United States of America.

 

Member of the Association of American University Presses

 

 

To our families and friends, here and on the other side, who gave us a love of stories
.

And to the late John C. Ferguson, a great friend, storyteller, and writer. We thank his wonderful family for sharing him with us
.

Introduction

Stories from History

Stories from Headlines

Stories from Homefolks

Conclusion

Places to Visit

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

A
re you ready for some smiles and shivers? The stories in this book will bring you both. In the tradition of Kentucky storytelling, we have included stories that are fun for all ages. We are fortunate to have grown up in a culture that still has storytellers who know the importance of passing stories from one generation to the next. Read these stories, but take them from the page to your imagination. Put them into your own words, and pass them on. In this way you can help these stories from history, headlines, and homefolks live forever.

We are often asked why we enjoy ghost stories and paranormal stories so much. Our answer is simply that they are exciting and fun! The love we had for them as children has carried over into our adult lives.

But scary stories serve more serious purposes than simply being entertaining. They can help us deal with fear. Fear is a universal feeling. Even though we don't all share the same fears, we do share the feeling. Scary stories help us identify our fears and confront them. Only when we do this are we able to control whatever is frightening us. Sharing stories helps us explore ways to deal with our fears. Learning how someone else handles fear can give us insight on how to explore our options and deal with the scary things in our lives. It is also comforting to know that others experience unexplained things as we do, and that helps us affirm our sanity.

We are amazed at the number of people, young and old, who tell us that they have experienced some paranormal experience. Some are confused and do not know what to do. They are afraid to tell anyone else because they are afraid that they will be subjected to ridicule. When they hear or read about an experience similar to their own, they are more inclined to open up and tell about their own experiences. Sometimes, individuals approach us and say that they have a story they want us to use in a book, but more often they just want to relate whatever has been bothering them that they can't explain. They aren't interested in being published. They are only looking for answers.

Storytelling brings us together as a culture. We are close to our families and our neighbors when we sit together, tell stories, and then discuss our feelings about them. Kentucky history is rich in stories passed down from generation to generation. Our heritage lives on through these tales. Our particular area passed on ghost tales. We passed on scary tales because that is what we heard.

People enjoy a good scare, but they don't like the bad kind. A bad scare is, for example, hearing someone breaking into your house or finding yourself in danger, but helpless. A scary story allows you to experience the thrill of being scared while being able to do something about it. You can always stop reading and take a break from the story, or you can cover your ears and avoid listening. In other words, you can take a “fear break” and gather your courage if our stories are too scary.

The stories we tell in these pages were told to us orally, but some accounts have been published in newspapers or posted on the Internet. Although we include notes with each story on any additional sources we used, we have not copied these sources. Rather, we have simply read all we could find about the tales we share here to confirm and provide supporting details for the stories here. We want you, our readers, to feel what the characters feel in the story. Our goal is not only to present facts, but also to write a book you will enjoy reading. So start reading the stories, and bring on the smiles and the shivers.

I
n our first years of school, we thought history was boring. The teachers we had made us memorize dates and events, but we were not told much about the real people from the past and what they did. Then, when we were in high school, we had a teacher named Mr. Tarter who told us stories that made history come alive. He was able to pull us into those stories and make us feel we were there in a time gone by. It was fascinating to study history from then on.

Another remarkable teacher named Leland Voils, in health class, also told stories, and he made health issues throughout history come alive too. He spoke of characters and events with such vivid detail that we were transported to whatever time period we were studying and we felt what those people must have felt. He was one of the best storytellers we ever met.

Stories give us glimpses into history that we could never see in timelines and strictly factual accounts. Stories paint a mental picture of daily happenings and introduce us to characters that become real in our hearts and minds.

Roberta's grandmother, Lou Ann Simpson, told about many customs that we did not read about in history books. This is one of her stories
.

The chivaree was an odd, but popular, social custom that thrived in Appalachia until the end of World II. It took place in the early evening after a wedding. It was meant originally to scare off evil spirits and to provide an occasion to have some fun with the newlyweds—a kind of old-time version of the modern wedding reception
.

In those days, the bride and groom usually had a home of their own to go to after the wedding. Often relatives of the couple helped build the house on land provided by the parents. Money was scarce, so there were practically no honeymoon trips. After the wedding ceremony at the church, the newly married couple would usually stay for a while and mingle with family and friends, who provided food and drinks for the occasion. Then the newlyweds would go to their new house to start their life together
.

The chivaree was supposed to be a secret event, but most newlyweds expected it and accepted it as good fun. As dusk approached, relatives and neighbors would gather all the noisemakers they could find—everything from musical instruments to buckets and pots and pans to beat on—and would meet at some common location, like the church. Then they would proceed to the couple's house when it was just about dark.

First, they would march around the house, singing and making as much racket as they could. This usually brought the couple to the door, but if it didn't, they would stop at the front door and knock. When the couple opened the door, three or four men would grab the groom, seat him astride a split rail from an old rail fence, and carry him off into the woods. Not too far from the house, they would tie him loosely to a tree or a fence post and leave him for a while to see if he could get loose and find his way home by himself. If it took him too long, some of the men would go back and get him.

While this was going on, the bride would invite all the visitors inside and offer them cookies or cake, with maybe some coffee or lemonade. Sometimes the guests would bring along additional refreshments, and the chivaree would turn into a party. Usually there would be music and dancing until bedtime. By the time the groom rejoined the group, he had usually calmed down if he had been angry, and everybody had a good time, including him.

After we heard this story, we were glad this custom was no longer observed when we got married!

 

Deep in the Kentucky hills on the first of June many years ago, young Nellie Crenshaw and her longtime love, Jeff Barnes, exchanged vows in the little community church they had attended all their lives. Everybody knew the young couple and showed up to witness their marriage ceremony and to wish them good luck.

It was an especially beautiful wedding. The bride and groom had been childhood sweethearts, and this June day was the fulfillment of their dreams. They had heard whispers of a chivaree, but they went on their way home as if they suspected nothing more. The afternoon passed slowly and the sun set low. They ate an early supper, and Nellie made some cookies and a pot of coffee in anticipation of the visitors they expected to come. Jeff kept looking out the window, not eager for his upcoming role in the night's festivities. Determined to be a good sport, he just wanted to get it over with.

The setting sun was a prearranged signal for the relatives and neighbors to meet in the churchyard. As soon as everybody arrived with their noisemakers, the whole group headed to the young couple's house. Nellie and Jeff listened to the ruckus outside and then opened the door and faced their visitors. The group stopped the noise and began to serenade the young couple with “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” All was calm until the song ended.

As the singers were nearing the end of the song, two men quietly edged their way close to the door. When the last note was sung, they suddenly grabbed the groom, dragged him out into the yard, and seated him on the split rail from the fence. Jeff offered the expected resistance, but went along with the prank. Off they went with him across the field to the woods behind the house, with everyone cheering and shouting. Those left behind joined the bride inside to set out the food and drinks. They laughed and talked while they waited.

Meanwhile, the men stopped near the foot of a tree that stood at the edge of a small clearing not far into the woods. The surrounding woods were already filling with shadows as the men tied Jeff loosely to a tree. Laughter and music were drifting across the field from the house where the party was getting under way. Figuring Jeff would be back to join the party in around half an hour, the men turned to leave.

“Come on, fellows,” Jeff called out. “You can't leave me here like this. You know a bear was spotted in these woods two days ago. Come on. You've had your fun, but it's dangerous. Now untie me!”

The men laughed and ignored him. The farther they walked away from him, the louder Jeff called. They could actually hear fear in his voice now. They were surprised that he was scared. They had heard about the bear sighting, too, but they figured that the animal was just passing through and was long gone by now. They didn't believe for a moment that Jeff was in any danger. They joined the others at the house and took some food and drinks outside to sit in the yard. They were relating how they had tied Jeff up when they were startled to hear terrifying screams from across the field from the clearing. There was no doubt the screams were coming from Jeff.

“Help! Help me!” Jeff yelled as if the cries were being ripped from his throat. “For God's sake, somebody help me!”

The men looked at each other. Jeff was really in trouble! Immediately, without a word, all the men ran through the field to the clearing at the edge of the woods. The screaming stopped before they arrived and, when they looked at the scene before them, they couldn't believe their eyes. What they saw in front of them was unthinkable. Jeff lay perfectly still, mauled and bleeding. A huge bear beside the broken body looked at the men. One man, who always carried a gun, pulled it from his pocket and fired into the air. The men began to shout at the bear until it turned and ran into the woods. They ran to Jeff, but it was too late. He was already dead.

It was one of those things that absolutely couldn't happen; yet it did. The hours and days that followed seemed unreal. The little church where the joyous wedding had taken place such a short time before was now the site of unbearable grief at Jeff's funeral. The day he was laid to rest, the neighbor men tracked and killed the bear.

Nellie moved out of the house that she and Jeff had built with so much love and happy expectations. She lived with her parents for a while, but she couldn't stand it for long. It was too hard to look at the woods and the house and the people. She moved away to live with an aunt in a faraway state. She never came back.

Nobody else moved into the house, and soon it fell to ruin. Nellie's father used it for storage.

People claimed that it wasn't really deserted, though. They claimed that, on the anniversary of the wedding and the chivaree, laughter and singing could be heard at the house. These sounds were followed by heart-wrenching screams coming from the clearing in the woods. Hunters who ventured into the woods on the anniversary night reported that they heard a growl and felt cold chills. They never saw the bear, but they felt its presence stalking them. The sense of danger was so great that they hurried from the woods and never went back at night.

As the years went by, people were so disturbed by the house that Nellie's father eventually tore it down. Those who had to pass by the woods went as quickly as they could. Stories circulated about odd sounds in the clearing and at the spot where the old house used to be. Nobody ventured close enough to check out the sounds, and nobody ever mentioned another chivaree.

Tom Simpson, Roberta's father, kept several hives of bees on his farm. He had many bee stories to share. He believed in “telling the bees.”

This practice was an odd belief among some communities that may not actually be ghostly, but it definitely falls into the categories of spooky and unexplained. It was said that bees must be told and their hives draped in mourning if the beekeeper or any member of the keeper's family died. If this practice was not carried out, it was believed that the bees would swarm and leave their hives in search of a new home.

It was important in earlier days to have bees on the farm. The honey was used for many things, especially during the Great Depression, when sugar was rationed. Honey was used for such things as healing remedies and for baking. A favorite breakfast treat was hot biscuits, honey, and butter. Naturally, people who kept hives of bees did not want them to swarm and go elsewhere.

Telling the bees was a custom brought over from England and prevailed in New England and the edge of Appalachia. In 1858, American poet John Greenleaf Whittier even wrote a poem about it called “Telling the Bees.” Children read this popular poem in their textbooks at school.

Josh Simms, a Kentucky farmer, always kept several hives of bees at the end of his garden near his barn. He had a remarkable way with the bees that especially impressed his young niece Tina. She noticed that her Uncle Josh never got stung, even when he was taking honey from the hives. The bees would often land on him, but they would fly away without doing him any harm. Then never bothered anyone who was with him, either.

One day Tina and Josh were in the garden gathering vegetables near the beehives. The bees were darting about their heads, but then would fly on.

“Uncle Josh, can you talk to bees?” Tina asked. “Do you tell them not to sting us?”

“Sure, I talk to them,” he said, “but not exactly the way I talk to people. I guess they can tell what I'm feeling. They don't sting us because I let them know that we are not going to hurt them.”

Tina just smiled. She didn't know if what her uncle said was the truth or just something he made up to tease her.

One day at school, her class read Whittier's poem “Telling the Bees.” Tina was fascinated by it, and as soon as she saw her uncle again, she told him about it.

“Uncle Josh,” she asked, “do you know that you are supposed to tell the bees if anyone in the family dies?”

“I've heard that,” he answered, “and I've read the poem.”

“Do you know any beekeepers who told the bees when someone in the family died?” Tina continued.

“Yes,” he said. “I had a neighbor once who kept bees. When he died, the family told the bees and draped the hives with strips of black cloth. The bees didn't swarm and leave.”

“Do you think they would really swarm and leave if they weren't told?” she said. “Maybe they would have stayed anyway.”

He stood looking at his beehives for a minute before he answered.

“I think there is some truth to the custom,” he said finally. “I think they would leave if they weren't told. In fact, I saw it happen once when I was a young man, and I'll never forget it. Old man Leach's bees swarmed after he died because nobody told them he was dead.”

“How do you know that was why they swarmed?” she asked. “Did you see them leave the hives?”

“No, but I saw where they went. It was really strange, “he said.

“Where did they go?” Tina asked him.

“The Leach family thought the custom of telling the bees about a death was just silly superstition,” he told her. “They ignored it and made arrangements for the old man's burial several miles from his home. Most of us in the neighborhood went to the funeral. After the service was finished inside the church, he was carried to the graveyard next to the church, where he was to be buried. A few of us stayed behind after the coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. People left enough fresh flowers to completely cover the grave, so we placed them over the top.

“Then we heard an odd sound, like a buzzing or humming of some kind. As it got closer and louder, we looked up and saw a dark mass of something approaching from the sky. We were surprised to see that it was a swarm of bees. They landed right on top of Mr. Leach's grave! We stood there and stared in shock for a few seconds, and then we all scattered in every direction.”

“Maybe the bees were attracted to the fresh flowers on the grave,” Tina suggested.

“Some people thought that,” he said. “You know, the unbelievers. But the flowers hadn't been on the grave long enough to attract the bees. The bees had to have started flying before we put the flowers on the grave because the hives were several miles away. Some of us left immediately and went to Mr. Leach's house. We checked the hives, but they were deserted. The bees that came to the graveyard and landed on his grave were his bees. I'll never understand it, but they knew by some unknown means where to find him.”