Chapter Three
“I SEEN A GHOST”
Robert Shifflett:
I remember one night before the fireplace there was my uncle, my father's brother, tellin' not only me as a child, but my father about this occurrence across the mountain. As I say, many folks from this side of the mountain went over in season to work for the big farmers in the valley. These mountain people used to go over into the valley in the fall of the year at harvest time in late summer to harvest the wheat. They'd go back in autumn to harvest the corn crops. Everything was done by hand in those days, that is as far as cuttin' corn. And then after the corn was in, they would cut wood for the winter for these big farmers over there. And so as my uncle related, he had started out -- in those days you didn't work by the clock; you worked by the sun -- he started out just before daylight so he could get to his work.
He had started that mornin' up the hollow, up to the woods, a hollow called Lewis's Run. Most hollows had a stream in 'em; a stream was a run. And he said it was a dreary-lookin', spooky-lookin' place. And he said the farther he got the worse he felt. He felt cold chills. And he said he looked up the hollow and he saw a woman in old-time attire like his mother used to wear. And he said he didn't think anyone lived up there, so he asked himself, "Well, why would a woman be way up in this mountain this early in the mornin', a wild-lookin' place like this?" He said he kept walkin' and she kept comin'. And said when she got near him the clothes in particular didn't look natural, and he noticed she never batted an eye. She never blinked her eye just like she was lookin' through him and walked right by him and said he felt a chill and turned around. There was nobody there. And he said he went on up until he got to a good place to cut the wood and said the more he worked the more apprehension he felt about being up there, and he started out. And said when he got back to the self-same spot that he had met this woman comin' down, he saw her coming' back again. And he said his heart stood still then. And he had always heard, if you were confronted with anything supernatural or anyone from the grave, to ask in the name of the Lord what they wanted. And he said when she got up in front of him that time she didn't attempt to pass. She stopped right in front of him. And said it just paralyzed him, ev'rything but his tongue, and he said he did manage to git out, "What in the name of the Lord do you want?" And he said she pointed to a cliff on another mountain and said, "You see those rocks over there?" She said, "For one hundred years my bones been layin' in a cave under those rocks." Said, "I was murdered one hundred years ago, and my body was hid there, and if you will go git my bones and give 'em a Christian burial," said, "you'll be greatly rewarded for it." And said she just disappeared.
He come out and he told these people in the community what he thought he saw, and he tried to git someone to go with him and they laughed him to scorn. Naturally, the experience he'd had the first time had unnerved him enough he wasn't goin' to take a chance of meetin' her again in a remote place, so he didn't go. But I heard him swear in my father's house that that was absolutely true. That's how I heard it; he was tellin' my father.
Lloyd Powell:
Well, one time there was an old colored man lived over here -- you talkin' bout ghost stories -- and he lived right close to my grandfather, and he worked for the Browns. The Browns owned a farm, and he was a hand on the farm and my granddaddy lived right close to him, and he used to go down to talk with him some nights. They was great cronies. So he goes down one night, and he had a big chat with my grandfather at Headquarters. So as he was comin' on back home -- they was always sayin' that there was ghosts and he said, Well, he never was skeered of no ghost. So as he was comin' on back home -- just between his home and my grandfather's. They had a big old tobacco house stood right on the side the road -- So as he's comin' on in the night by that, just as he got about the opp'site of that old tobacco house, why there was a woman walked right out through the drawbars, right to the road, and he looked around and he looked at her, and he spoke to her and he says, "Is that you, Miss Dealy?" That's my mother. And said, she ain't said a word. And he walked on and she walked right along beside him, and he 'gin to walk a little faster and she did too. So they went on about twenty yard, and he had a creek he had to go across before he got to his house. And as he walked a little faster, she did too, and so he struck a trot and she did too. So when he got to the creek he just lit out a- runnin' and he took right through the creek, and when he got through the creek she stopped. And he was out of wind. He had just about twenty yards to go when he went to his house. And 'fore he got to the house he hollered for his wife, said, "Open the door, Ida!" And when he got to the door, 'fore she could open it, he fell agin it and knocked the door open. And he fainted when he fell inside. And she run, "Lord, what's the matter?" "Oh," he said, "there's sump'n got after me." Said, "There's some woman's followed me up the road." But said, "She would never speak." And said, "She disappeared and I don't know whar she went." That was all that I know. That happened down here - well, I'm fifty -- I think that happened about sixty years ago.
Robert Shifflett:
There have been various tales told about various places along this road that people have heard and they may have seen. This Headquarters legend may have started -- See, General Jackson brought his army across the Blue Ridge Mountains through Brown's Gap. Well, I don't know whether he stayed at Headquarters, but he had wounded men that died all along the route and they were buried at various places. And some say that those places that they have heard and seen things would imply that it was something pertainin' to the death of these soldiers. That was Stonewall Jackson's army.
And they were hard pressed. They thought the Union army would follow them across the mountains so they put up fortifications on top the mountain, you know. But they musta lost quite a few horses because they buried a cannon on that mountain. And there have been swords and various paraphernalia from the army equipment found. But at White Hall he slept in that house up there that night -- that old house above the store, Jones' store. Jackson slept that night and his army camped around somewhere there. The next mornin' he goes to New Market River, puts his army back on a train, ships 'em to Waynesboro, changes trains and brings his men in behind the Yankees this time and he trounces them, all in three days' time.
This Headquarters place down here's supposed to be haunted. I've heard from time to time that they have been things heard, and maybe seen there, too, that nobody could trace to any natural cause and certain parts of the house -- The finest part of the house, the brick part, the old part, wasn't lived in. Brightberry Brown built that house from the brick that were made on the plantation. It was a big place one time. It covered all the land that all the Bruces owned, but the Browns owned it at the time. I've heard tales. My wife sat at a wake up there when Mrs. Bruce died, Mrs. Fanny Bruce died, and she said they would hear on one or two occasions big crashin' in the room where the corpse was laid out, you know. And they'd go in there to see there would be nothin' happened, just sound like somethin' crushed all to pieces. Most of the people seemed to think that there's always sump'n wrong with certain parts of the building.
Hilma Yates:
Well, they had slaves down here. Old man Thomas H. Brown owned the place down here; was Headquarters; he lived there. And he had a bunch of slaves and said he was awful mean to his slaves. And said there was an old woman down there that she worked in the kitchen, worked around. They had different jobs for the slaves to do. I think she worked in the kitchen and all and she had a crick in her neck, and she went all the time with her head turned halfway 'round her neck and she couldn't straighten out her neck. So he told her one day he was tired of seein' her walk like that and, you know, with her head settin' around like that. And she told him, Well, she couldn't turn her head. He said, "Well, you come on out here." Say, "I'll fix it so you can turn your head." So he takes her down, set her down on the porch on that brick part of the house. And said, when he took her and he jerked her head around, her neck "crick." You could hear it click and broke her neck and killed her. And said that's why that house was hainted down there. Everybody after that old man broke that old nigger woman's neck out there, that slave's neck. That place, been sump'n -- well, that brick part of the house is what you always hear the haints in.
Wolves used to get after people's sheep awful bad. Used to raise a lot of sheep in this country and they say Old Man Brown I was tellin' you about, when the wolves was after his sheep, he used to have one of those stand where they'd hunt from. They was always huntin' and ev'ry fellow would have a certain stand that he'd stand, you know, watch 'em. When they come by they'd shoot 'em. They'd have these big wolf dogs, you know, where they'd take with 'em huntin'. And said this old man Thomas Brown, same old man what broke that old colored woman's neck, said he went out huntin' and he was kinda off-balance anyway, said he stayed there till he got tired and the wolves didn't come along and he had a little nigger boy with him and had a big dog with him, a wolf dog. Said he took and cut the little boy's head off and cut the dog's head off and put the boy's head on the dog and the dog's head on the boy and said, "Now won't you feel funny when you wake up." I don't know what they ever done to the old man. 'Course the slaves then was just like killin' your dog. I reckon they belonged to you. I reckon you could do what you pleased with 'em, in them days and times. If it hada been so, it coulda been so, and then maybe not. I don't know.
I don't know whether anybody's ever seen anything or not, but they certainly hear things -- hear plenty of things over there they tell me. They been hearin 'em down there for two or three generations I know of, ever since my people owned it. They moved there in 1864 and they been hearin' things there ever since from then up until now. And all the children believes that. Lucille will be up here tomorrow night and she was born in there in that brick part of the house and raised in there and all. You ask her did she ever hear anything in that house down there that she couldn't give account of. They've seen a lot of lights and things around there that nobody couldn't give account of.
Mary Wood Shiflett:
Well, I'll tell you one experience. We were right down here to Headquarters. My daughter-in-law what was with me tonight, well, that was her homeplace. We were settin' up there with her mother one night just before she died. Her sister were there and had a cot there and I was sittin' 'side the bed where the lady was layin' and I was wipin' the sweat off her and givin' her cold water. There was a big door right there, and the wind were just as still and calm as it could be. All at once that door flew wide open and the lady and her sister layin' over there and another lady was settin' over in a chair kindly dozin'. And I reckon it was around twelve o'clock in the night. We was settin' there. That door flew wide open. So her sister got up and she shet that door and when she turned her back that door flew wide open agin. Wasn't a piece of wind anywhere a-blowin'. "Well," I said to the neighbor settin' there, I said, "Well, what do you think of that?" She said, "I don't know," Said, "There's not a piece of wind." We sit there. So I got up then and went in the kitchen and got a cup of coffee and came back. Dinin' room right over there. The little hall right in that way where you go in the livin' room. Dinin room right here. 'Twas prompt twelve o'clock. We were settin' there. Just had the light turned down low because the lady was so ill. We 'as lookin' for her to pass on any minute. All at once we heerd the pot tops just a-rattlin' in the dinin' room and I knew they had cleaned up already. Had a long table, oh, the table were long because they had so many, you know, to eat when they were younger people and they never did smallen the table down. The pot tops and the lids just rattled. And I thought to myself, "Well I just wonder who that is in there in the pots." So the lady was settin' over there and Mrs. Foster then were layin' over on the bed. I just kindly eased over to the door and I peeked around the door to see if I seen anybody, see if there were pots on the table. Wasn't no pots. Table settin' just like they'd left it. We could hear the pot lids. Hear 'em when they take 'em off and hear 'em when they put 'em back. I set myself down and all at once it looked like they brought in 'bout a dishpan full of knives and forks and spoons and dumped 'em over in the middle of the table. You never heered such a fuss in your life.
That's 'fore the lady died. She died next mornin nine o'clock. I said, "Well, sir," I said, "I don't believe daylight'll ever come tonight." I waited till four o'clock in the mornin' before I left down the road by myself. And it was even twelve o'clock but, you see, that house there used to keep slaves there, you see, and I told the lady there, I said, "I reckon the pore old slaves is gettin' the tables all ready fer 'em to eat." I said, "The pots is rattlin', the lids is rattlin', even poured out the knives and fork's on top of the table." Well, sir, when daylight did come I moved it on home. And the girl here, one of 'em sent word over there for me to come back over here, that their mother had passed on. Well, her mother when she died, I was settin' up over there with her, and so when they laid her out over in the parlor room, her brother was there and the whole house was settin' full of people. So they was a man and his wife was from up there and I used to work with 'em in the orchard and I were tellin' him about hearing things. He looked at me and he said, "I wish I could hear sump'n. It wouldn't scare me a bit." I said, "I wish you could hear sump'n too and see what I see."
So long about 'leven o'clock, here was just the neighbors setting' up in this room and my daughter-in-law's mother layin' 'cross the hall in the parlor room, and her brother and her sister-in-law was settin' there in the floor. All at once we heard the awfulest noise fall. We thought the casket had fell off the stand in the floor. And her brother jumped up with his flashlight and said, "Law," said, "Sister's casket has fell off." Well, he run with the flashlight -- we didn't have electric lights then like we have now -- he run with his flashlight and we all follered him and when we got into the parlor room, there set the casket just like the undertakers had set it. But we couldn't give no 'count. We could even feel the door jar across that hall and into the settin' room that we was settin'. Look like you could feel the floor kindly shake. Right there at Headquarters. Lord, man, I could just set and talk all night about them ghost tales. We just heerd those things down there and I told Lucille, I said, "I wouldn't stay there by myself." Oh, there was ghosts always seen down there.
Lloyd Powell:
When my granddaddy bought that place down here, why, they moved over from the other side of the mountain. And so they had a lot of stuff to move. They brought over a load or two of stuff, two wagonfuls, and brought some of the women over and they stayed all night. Well, the menfolks went back 'cross the mountain fer to get some more furniture and stuff. Well, there was three women, I think. They was kinda brave. So they brought lard and all kinda groceries and stuff, you know, fer to have and that's what they brought with the first load. So they had a great big dog they brought along with 'em for these women to keep with 'em if anything bothered 'em. They said they had a big jar, a big stone jar, and they had lard in that and they put it in that big press back in that room. They put this lard and some meat and stuff in that. Well, the women stayed thar that night and the menfolks went on back over the mountain to get another load. So they said way in the night then they heerd sump'n fall in the dining room 'bout that old closet ,'bout that press what they put the lard and stuff. One of these women said to the other one, says, "Lawd have mercy." Says, "Let's get up and go in thar." Says, "That dog I bet done knocked that big jar of lard over." And they got up and lit the lamp and went in thar and the door was fastened to the press and everything. Wasn't no lard out nor dog wasn't in thar nor nothing. Well, they didn't see a thing. All they heerd was the noise. And when they come thar they had back in that hall a part where they used to keep the saddle under the stairsteps. And I heerd my granddaddy after he lived down that said they could hear 'em go out thar every night and dragging, taking the saddle out, you know, and hearing the belly cinch and the buckle part, you know, dragging across the floor when they went on out the door, went on down the steps. Had the saddle on their arm and the buckle on the belly hanging over, dragging on the floor. Said they heerd that and they went in that to see if somebody got the saddle or was going out. Some of the boys, they's always going out ariding, trying to catch a horse after night. Thar's the saddle and all back in thar just like they'd left it.
I did hear said there was somebody one night went up there to stay all night and said there was a colored woman come on down the stairsteps and went on across the room and went on out the door and down the steps and she vanished. They never did see her when she got out in the yard.
They had an old colored man lived in thar, I mean he used to work up here. That 'as when Miss Fannie and them lived down thar. That 'as my aunt, she married John, one of them Bruces. She used to buy sugar by the hundred pound sacks, you know. Well, they carried it back in that hall and set it back thar under the stairway. So Henry Hal, he was the cook. He'd always help 'em. And they sent Henry in thar, it 'as one night, sent Henry in thar fer to get some sugar fer the table. As Henry reached down in this sack and got out the sugar bowl, and as he raised up, he said there was some woman raked her fingers, raked her hands down over his face. And I think he fell and left the bucket of sugar. And I don't know wha' [whether] some of 'em had to go in thar and bring Henry out or not. Well, he said as he got the sugar out the sack and aimed to raise up to come on to go on in the other room, well, he said somebody wiped a cold hand down over his face. Yea. That skeered him, but he swore that was so. We 'as kids all, we used to go down thar every night and set thar and they'd tell all big tales, you know. Stay down thar till about 10 or 11 o'clock and then come home.
Lucille Powell:
I was just a small kid then. He was cooking' - -he was our cook -- old Uncle Henry Howard. And mother sent him -- she used to buy our sugar by the hundred pounds and she kept it under the steps, you know, back in the hall that goes up over the brick part of the house and she kept the sugar under there -- so she sent Henry back to get a sugar bowl of sugar. And he started yellin'. You never heard such yellin' in your life. And, "Law' Miss Fanny, come here, come 'ere, Miss Fanny." Said, "Agnes has got me in the head." And he come out and Henry Howard was scared to death and he was rubbin' his head. And he always swore that Agnes had caught him in the head because, you know, he said Agnes was mad with him before she died because he didn't come and nurse her. That was Hilma and Lloyd's uncle.
Mervin Sandridge:
Lot of people here claim to have seen -- used to see things, hear things, you know. Used to claim houses would be haunted, you know. The Campbell house up here -- they used to claim that was haunted. There was a old fellow Prophet -- they was two of 'em, brothers -- they weren't scared o' nothin'. The only time they'd travel was at night and they'd go to somebody's house nearly ev'ry night. And they'd hear of sump'n like that, they'd go and set and watch and see what they could see and see what they could hear, but they said they never did see nothin' or hear nothin' like that. He said the only thing that ever he seen in his life and he never could figure out what it was, that he went to his brother's to play cards one night and he went through his field and when he got ready to go back, he seen this rail fence and thought to hisself, "Why in the world did they put a fence right in the middle of this field for?" And he went to reach up to catch on to the fence to get over and there weren't a fence there. And he stopped and looked and said, "Yea, it's there." And he went to step again and first thing this fence just disappeared. And he said the moon 'as shinin' bright as day and he ain't never figured -- he said the only thing he ever seen in his life or ever heard he never could figure what it was. I've heard him tell it many a time.
Mary Wood Shiflett:
One night we come up here to Old Man Sipes, lived over there in the Brown house. I'd been over there to see him about some hay and I went on 'cross that bridge and on down the road. Earl had the cows -- he was just a little feller, and I went up to the house to see about the hay while Earl was drivin' the cows. Went on down the road and I looked down beside of me and there 'as a big dog walkin', just trottin' along. He just trotted on along side of me. And he was a big black-lookin' dog -- big dark dog. That dog stood up that tall, but he just trotted along like he was one of those big police dogs. You've seen those big dark police dogs. He was big as one of those big police dogs and he just trotted right along side of me. I was smaller than I am now. I didn't weigh but 'bout a hundred and twenty-five. Looked like to me my breath was comin' and goin' and that dog just trottin' on along side of me. He never barked. He never made no noise. He just trotted right along side of me just like he'd a been my pet dog. And when he got there to Mr. Blake's gate he just walked right around in front of me, and I just slowed down when he walked round in front of me; he went right through that gate crack and that dog disappeared. And I ain't never seen that dog from that day to this and I'm tellin' you, man, I never did look fer him. Naw sir, that 'as the biggest dog I'd seen in this country and I ain't never seen that dog no more, but that dog disappeared when he went through that gate -- that dog just disappeared right in the air. Never did see him. Never did see which a way he went nor nothing, but I heerd the chain and heerd the gate rattle, and I saw him when he went through and when he got on the other side, but soon as you turn your eyes it's gone. Talk 'bout steppin', I didn't come back up this road no more after dark. When I got home I told Earl, I said, "I seen a ghost tonight." He said, "Where'd you see him, Mama?" I said "Right up there. Right down below the old Brown bridge." And I said, "He walked side of me till I got to Mr. Blake's gate and he just went right through that crack. When he went through that crack I could hear that gate shakin' and the chain, an when I looked that dog were gone." Didn't see no more dog. I quit comin' up this road after dark by myself.
Note: I have heard several inhabitants of Brown's Cove speak of the sightings of headless spectres. No one admits or claims to making such sightings personally, but there have been numerous second-hand mentionings of this type of phenomenon. Once Marybird McAllister related that her husband gave as a reason for not going out at night that he had seen a man at twilight who had no head. Mervin Sandridge also credits some of his neighbors with telling him of seeing figures in the woods with no heads. Since these were short and unrelated anecdotes and not part of longer narratives, they were not included in this book. --George Foss
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