Kentucky Hauntings (4 page)

A boy who lived in town had heard that the turkey drive was coming through. He had never shot a turkey, and he decided it would be a good time to try out his new twenty-two rifle. This could be his lucky day. His luck held as he sneaked the rifle out of the house and hid in the bushes along the road. His luck continued to run as he heard the dog bark and the turkeys fly to safety in the treetops. It deserted him completely, however, when he failed to notice one of the drovers climbing up a tree to try to scare the turkeys down.

The boy raised his rifle and sighted only the turkey. It was a big one that would win him a lot of admiration among his friends if he could shoot it. Behind the tree, the drover climbed swiftly and silently, out of the boy's line of vision. Two things happened at the same time. The young drover leaned around the tree and reached for the turkey. The young boy on the ground pulled the trigger and sent a bullet into the drover's head. The horrified boy watched as the drover's body fell to the ground with a thud. The turkey they'd both been after fled to another tree and was later caught and sold at market.

The shooter, who was a minor, was not jailed as an adult. He was sent away to a reform school up north, and the victim was sent to the cemetery. That was not the end of it, though. On the anniversary of that tragic incident, people heard the sound of wings in the trees. They heard a single shot and the thud of a body hitting the ground. They always looked, but nothing was there. The scene was destined to be replayed over and over for many years until finally the sounds got fainter and fainter and disappeared altogether.

The hunters in our community told this story. With little to do for entertainment when they were camped for the night on a hunting trip, they would resort to practical jokes to have some laughs. When they gathered at our home or the home of neighbors, they would recount their escapades. Most were innocent fun, but this one joke, which always stayed in our minds, had a terrible ending.

A fool's errand is sometimes also called a snipe hunt or a wild-goose chase. In early times in Kentucky and the southern United States, it was a type of practical joke that involved experienced people making fun of inexperienced people by setting them up with an impossible or imaginary task. Campers and hunters often practiced this kind of prank. The victim of the joke had to do silly or preposterous things to complete the task, but of course doing so was hopeless. The fool's errand came in two varieties: trying to find something that does not exist, or trying to accomplish an impossible task.

Many years ago, a group of hunters had pitched camp deep in the woods. After eating their dinner, cooked over an open fire, they were bored and looking for entertainment.

In the group was a young man named Ronald Wilson, who was on his first hunt. His presence made the opportunity for a fool's errand too good to pass up.

The group had considered a snipe hunt, but they discarded that idea because Ronald knew there really was such a thing as a snipe—it was a real bird that was very hard to catch. The group wanted something unreal and a whole lot scarier than a snipe. Finally, they came up with the idea of an imaginary monster called a Swamp Booger. Now that dinner was over, they were ready to put their plan into action.

“Boys, how would you like to catch a Swamp Booger tonight?” one hunter asked in mock seriousness.

“Naw, no way!” the others answered as planned.

“Ronald, how would you like to catch one?” the first hunter asked.

Ronald shifted uneasily on the ground and looked at the group.

“I never heard of a Swamp Booger,” he laughed nervously.

“Well, we've all seen it and had a crack at it,” said the hunter, “but none of us could catch it. You might just be the man to do the job!”

Ronald was tired from the day's hunt, and he didn't feel like hunting anything else that night. He did swell up a little with pride at being referred to as a man. All he really wanted, though, was to stretch out and go to sleep. It was obvious that this was not what his companions had in mind.

“What do you say?” the hunter persisted. “You up to giving it a try?”

All eyes were on Ronald, intent on their purpose of getting him to agree. He felt trapped and uneasy.

“I don't know,” he said. “What would I have to do?”

That was all the encouragement they needed. They all immediately moved closer to give him instructions.

“It's attracted by sounds,” one hunter said. “You have to beat two rocks together and call softly, ‘Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!'”

“It may take a few minutes, but you will hear it coming,” said another. “It drags its tail and growls a low growl just before it attacks. Don't let it get too close. It has paws with three claws only. You have to shoot when you hear the growl so it won't claw you to death.”

That didn't sound too inviting to Ronald.

“Why can't we all go hunt it together?” he asked.

“Oh, it won't show itself if it hears more than one person,” said a third hunter. “We'll all hide nearby and be quiet, but you have to go out and call it by yourself.”

“I wish I could catch it,” said the first hunter, “but it's too quick for a man my age. The man that brings it in will be a real hero! I wish it could be me!”

Suddenly, Ronald was caught up in the action by the idea of being a hero.

“Okay, I'll give it shot,” he told them.

One hunter handed him two rocks. Another passed him his gun. They helped him to his feet and pushed him along into the dark woods beyond the firelight.

They stopped and Ronald stumbled along alone, beating the rocks together. His self-confidence rose a little as he moved ahead. Maybe he really could catch this thing. It would be a great feeling to outdo the others. His walk was steadier now.

“Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!” he called softly.

Back at the campfire, the hunters rolled on the ground laughing. They could hardly believe that anyone would really be dumb enough to think there was a real thing called a Swamp Booger.

They heard Ronald move farther into the woods. They followed at a safe distance so Ronald would not discover them.

“Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!” Ronald kept calling.

Then suddenly they all heard something they were not supposed to hear. Something was dragging through the woods. Then it was growling!

The hunters heard the rocks go silent. A single shot rang out. The sounds that followed were terrifying. Ronald was screaming and struggling as the growling got louder. Then there was silence for just a minute. The hunters stood, unable to move, as they heard a dragging sound going in the opposite direction into the woods. They hurried to see what had happened to Ronald. It was horrible—and no longer a joke.

Ronald lay dead on the ground. His face had three claw marks. His gun had been fired once. The rocks were covered with blood, as if he had tried to use them to defend himself. Signs were evident that something like a tail had been dragged along the ground.

Ronald's death was ruled as “death by an unknown animal attack.”

The hunters thought about it over and over in the next year. Of course there was no such beast as the one they had described to Ronald. It was just a coincidence that some animal had come out of the woods and killed him. They put it out of their minds and went on their annual hunt. Nobody mentioned the fool's errand they had sent Ronald on the year before.

They sat around the fire and ate their supper. They were thinking about turning in for the night when faint sounds came from the woods. The sounds came closer and closer, and the hunters realized they were hearing the sound of someone beating two rocks together.

“Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!” a voice called softly.

The frightened men dashed water on the fire, grabbed their gear, and loaded it on their truck. They drove as fast as they could and never looked back. Their hunting consisted of day trips from then on. None of them was foolish enough to go back into the woods at night again.

We travel a lot with our book signings and storytelling, and we take for granted the reserved room at a hotel or motel, hot food and hot showers, and the privacy of a room to ourselves where we can rest and feel safe. We live across the street from a historic inn, which gives us an idea of how it must have been long ago. There are lots of tales about peddlers and old inns, but this one illustrates the conditions we imagine.

In the old days, hotels and motels did not dot the landscape of our country like they do now. Now when we travel, we take these luxuries for granted, but this was not always the case. In early times, traveling salesmen (or peddlers, as they were often called) could not call ahead and reserve a room for the night. They had to depend on the hospitality of people who lived along the route they traveled to put them up for the night. This practice usually worked out well for all concerned. People living far from town welcomed a chance to buy things they needed from the peddlers, and they enjoyed the company and the news that the peddler passed on. The peddlers appreciated the food and a place to sleep, whether it would be a bed inside the house or a bed in the hay in the barn.

Naturally, there could be complications. Sometimes a peddler would encounter an unscrupulous host who would notice the peddler's money from prior sales. After offering the peddler a bed, the greedy host would wait until everyone was asleep and take action. He would kill and rob the unsuspecting peddler and dispose of the body somewhere nearby. Since there were no records of these travelers, the murderer would say that the peddler had left early or maybe never came by at all. Such disappearances were rarely pursued or solved.

The large farmhouse set among the trees was a happy sight for the peddler. He had done well so far, but he was getting too tired to go on to the next town. He stopped and showed his wares to the occupants of the house, and was pleased with his sales there. When his host extended an invitation for him to spend the night, the peddler gladly accepted the offer. He was especially happy to have shelter that night because a nasty storm was brewing, and he didn't want to be caught in it trying to get to the next town.

The farmer's wife hurried to get supper on the table before the storm hit. She didn't like having her hands in dishwater when lightning was in the air for fear it would shock or strike her. She was relieved that they finished dinner and the dishes just as the storm arrived in full force. The lightning danced on the rooftop, and the rain poured down in sheets.

It was a great night for sleeping, so they all retired early. The farmer's wife made a pallet for the peddler on the floor in front of the fireplace. He placed his pack beside him on the floor. The farmer had seen quite a lot of money in it when he paid him earlier.

“You should rest well here,” said the farmer. “We will try not to disturb you, but my wife will insist that we go to the cellar if the storm gets worse. She is afraid of storms.”

The peddler assured the farmer that he would be fine. They said goodnight, and all went to sleep except the farmer. He lay awake thinking about all the money the peddler was carrying.

That money would pay off all my debts if I had it
, he thought. A wicked plan began to form in his mind.

While the storm continued, the farmer slipped out of bed and crept into the living room. The peddler was sleeping peacefully on the floor, his pack beside him. If he heard the farmer's footsteps, he probably thought it was the family going to the cellar. The peddler's rest was undisturbed until the farmer picked up the poker and bashed in his head with one blow.

With his actions covered by the noise of the storm, the farmer dragged the peddler's body to the cellar. He hid it in an old rug, knowing it would not be discovered until he could take it out and bury it later. He made a second trip to get the peddler's pack with his goods and money, and hid the pack in a trunk in the corner of the cellar. He cleaned the poker and went back to bed. Sometime before dawn, the storm moved on.

The next morning, the farmer's wife was surprised to find the peddler gone. She had expected him to stay for breakfast.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He left as soon as the storm let up,” her husband told her. “He said he wanted to get an early start.”

She knew that peddlers did want to get an early start sometimes, so she thought no more about it. Soon after, while the wife and children were visiting neighbors, the farmer took the body and the trunk with the money out of his cellar and buried them where only he would know where to look. He figured he could get whatever amount of money he needed from the trunk when he needed it.

The farmer was shrewd enough not to pay off all his debts at once. He did not want to make anyone suspicious. He justified his killing the peddler by telling himself over and over that he had worked hard all his life and deserved some good luck, even if he had to create it for himself. Now all he had to do was wait and spend the money a little at a time. Nobody would suspect a thing. He would not have to pay for this crime.

Some time later, another storm came up right after supper. There was no guest that night, but the family ate early and went to bed as they had done before. The farmer's wife was just dozing off when she heard noises in the living room. She heard footsteps, a thud, and the sound of something being dragged to the cellar. She gave her husband a shake.

“Wake up!” she said. “Somebody is in the house.”

“It's just the storm,” he told her.

“No!” she insisted. “I heard something inside!”

Just to satisfy his wife, he got out of bed and went into the living room.

“Nothing's in here!” he called.

“Check the cellar,” she told him.

She heard her husband open the cellar door, and then she heard him scream! She sat up in bed as she heard what sounded like an inert body thumping from step to step to the bottom of the stairs. Her children were out of bed now and joined her as she hurried down to where the farmer's body lay. Nobody knows what he saw, but the look of fright on his face sent the wife and children running up the stairs to send for the sheriff.