Thistles and Thorns

by BobA. Troutt

Fall had come early in 1953 in the little town of Stoneyhollow Way in Carol County, Tennessee. The gold, yellow, and red leaves had blanketed the ground with a thick coat. They created a mysterious feeling of the changing of the seasons. Winter was only a bit away, as the last leaves of autumn floated in the cool air.

  My name is Benjamin Morris, but everyone calls me Benny. I attend college in Marshall County where I am studying to be a journalist. I am doing a story on the Legend of the Caw of the Crows, better known as The Scarecrow Murders. It is the story of an incident that happened some sixty years ago. I want my story to be as authentic as I can get it. So I am going to the place where it happened, Stoneyhollow Way, to nose around. But somewhere I must have made the wrong turn.

  Oh no, I thought, surely I am not lost. I drove on, down a narrow dirt road out in the middle of nowhere, where I didn’t see any houses, nor pass anyone on the road. Should I turn back? I thought, but I figured the road must come out somewhere. Carefully I drove on; the dust from the road was so bad it came into my car around the bottom of my doors and from under my backseat. I could taste the dust in my mouth as I took some deep breaths. It was hard to breathe.. I drove a little further. In front of me, I could see a little patch of black smoke hovering in the sky over the hill. Slowly, I approached the smoke. It was coming out of a chimney of an old weatherboard house, setting off the road, almost hidden in the trees. The black smoke gave it away. Carefully, I eased over to the side of the road and stopped. I look about, but I didn’t see anything but a giant beechnut tree by a spring across the road, a small creek with some paw-paw trees, and a thicket of wild plums down the creek. I pulled up into the driveway and got out.

  The house looked abandoned. The tin roof was stained with rust and wear. The windows had no screens but were a tarnished gray color from the dust and the settled rain. The porch was caved in on one corner held up only by a post. The porch had broken boards, missing planks, and a creepy darkness beneath it.

  I yelled, “Is anybody here?” There was no answer. I yelled again and a covey of quail took flight from the field across the road. Then I stepped up on the porch. The boards, snapping and popping, gave slightly. I carefully made my way over to the door. As I started to knock, the door slowly opened.

  A voice said, “May, I help you?

  Out of the dark room stepped a man. A light bulb dangled from the ceiling by a twisted cord and lit up the room as he pulled on the string. My eyes searched the room, seeing scattered pieces of odd furniture in the cold shell of a room.

  Then he spoke again, “May I help you?”

  I nervously told him my name and that I was working on a story about the scarecrow murder which had supposedly happened in this area.

  As he slowly stepped into the light, I could see him better. He was dressed in worn out, faded overalls with one suspender strapped across his shoulder. The other fell free down his back. His brogans were just as bad. They had slits cut in them to ease the tightness, I guess. The man’s shirt was plain and wrinkled. His hair was white with a touch of black about the sides. His face was rugged with a scraggly beard.

  We sat down on the porch to talk. The porch, I noticed, was already company to a three legged hound that lay curled up. “Get out of here you old hound dog,” yelled the stranger as the dog hurried off the porch. Then he pulled out a homemade twist of tobacco, pulled out a pocketknife, and cut him a chew. As he placed the chew in his mouth, he eyed me from top to bottom. “My name is Virgil, but some people call me Virg.”

  “They call me Benny,” I replied.

  “So you want to know about the murders?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’m working on a research paper, and I would like to have all the local information I can get first hand. I grew up hearing tales about the murders.”

  “You did?” he said. “You’re liable to hear about anything about those murders.”

  Then he spit, wiping the juice from his mouth with his sleeve. He said, “I’ve probably heard about it all.” Then he laughed, “he—he—he.”

  “Are you originally from around here?” I asked.

  “I guess—I guess you could say that,” he replied. “I been about everywhere.” Then he leaned forward in his chair, reached for a small piece of cedar, took his knife again and began to whittle. “There’s only a few things in this life that I have found that I like,” he said as the wood shavings flew in the air and fell into a small pile on the porch. “That was red-eyed gravy, ham and biscuits, the smell of rain in the summer and the smell of leaves burning in the fall.”

  Patiently, I sat and listened and began to jot down notes. Then he reached into a box and spit out into the yard. “You ever seen one of these homemade slingshots before?” he asked.

  “Only in stores,” I replied.

  Then he reached for a small rock out of a pile that lay by the edge of the porch. Carefully, he placed it into a leather pouch, pulled it back, and closed one eye. Then suddenly he freed his fingers from the pouch and shot the rock out across the yard. It hit a tin can lying beside the creek.

  “Hey, you’re pretty good,” I said.

  “Here, you try it,” he said, handing me the slingshot.

  I took aim and shot, but I aimed too high and went over the can into the water.

  “Not bad,” he said and then he giggled, “he—he—he. Here try it again,” he coached.

  I took another rock, reloaded, carefully took aim and released the pouch. Pop sounded the stone as a smile crossed my face.

  “Now you’re getting it,” he said. I reached to give it back but he said, “Keep it, I have plenty.”

  “Well, thank you,” I replied.

  I looked out from the porch and couldn’t believe I was here in the place where the scarecrow murder had taken place. There was a giant walnut tree at the edge of the yard and a Shabbyback Hickory across the way. It was breathtaking.

  “So you want to hear about the murder?” he said. “Well let me tell you what I know.” He spit again, wiped his mouth with his hand, and began to speak. “The year was 1892; Stoneyhollow was a striving young town. It was well known for its many kinds of mineral water. People came from all around to drink and bathe in it. They thought it had spiritual healing. But today the town is no more than an empty shell, battered in ruins and empty wells. The curse of the gypsy, people say, eventually robbed the town of its life and turned it into a ghost town. It was told by many that there were four men at the bar that night drinking heavily. They were said to be a bunch of troublemakers.”

  “Those are the boys that started it all,” I said.

  “Yep, that’s where it all came from. Some say those boys were the sons of the devil himself. Young Cyrus Willis—they called him Cy—was said to be the leader of this band. His younger brother, Billy Wayne, who had some sort of mental problem and two others, J.W. and Clinton, were seen together that night at the bar.

  ‘Cy, where do you think you’ll be ten years from now?’ asked J.W.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Cy. ‘Where do you think you’ll be?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really care,’ replied J.W.

  ‘Why don’t you go down and ask the gypsy camped outside of town. I bet she could tell you,’ said Clinton.

  ‘That’s a bunch of bull,’ laughed Cy. ‘Clinton, you don’t really believe in that do you?’ mocked Cy.

  ‘Bull,’ laughed J.W. ‘What’s the matter, Cy, are you afraid to go down there? Afraid of what you might find out?’

  ‘Afraid!’ cried Cy. ‘I’m not afraid of nothing, especially some old crazy fortune teller.’

  ‘Hey, Cy,’ interrupted J.W. ‘Let’s go down there and have a little fun. Let’s show those gypsies some old fashion hospitality from Stoneyhollow.’

  ‘Boys, I don’t have time for that,’ Cy replied.

  ‘Cluck, bac, bac, bac,’ sounded Clinton and J.W. ‘Chicken, Cy’s a chicke
n.’

  ‘No he’s not,’ cried Billy Wayne, standing up beside his brother.

  ‘Calm down, Billy Wayne,’ said Cy. ‘They’re only teasing me.’

  ‘Show them, Cy. You’re not afraid,’ said Billy. ‘Let’s go down there and have some fun.’

  ‘Okay, boys,’ agreed Cy. ‘The party is with the gypsies tonight.’

  “The gypsies were camped by Coon’s Creek, which ran through most of the county. As they left the bar, so the story goes, little did they know that the darkness of the night would long hover over the town of Stoneyhollow.”

  “Coon’s Creek, that’s a new one on me,” I said. “I heard they were camped out in a field.”

  “Trust me, son, I know a lot about the story you probably never heard,” replied Virg. “You see that creek across the road?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “That creek runs out of Coon’s Creek main stream not far from the site of the murder.”

  “Really?.Go on, Virg.”

  “Now where was I?” said Virg. “Roberta was a fair woman to look upon. She was the wife of Boone LaPaloma, and the mother of Jacqueline, who they called Jackie. Jackie means ‘a child with mystic powers.’ Roberta was a few years younger than Boone, and with her gypsy features she was a beautiful woman. As they finished supper, Roberta and Jacqueline cleaned up the dishes in the nearby creek. The story is told that when they were headed back to the wagon, Roberta sensed something was wrong. She took the pans Jacqueline had in her hand and told her to hurry and hide in the wagon. The child took off, sneaking into the back of the wagon where she hid. When Roberta got back to the wagon she woke Boone to tell him something was wrong. Suddenly, across the way, in the light of the moon, she saw the figure of four men coming that way. Then without warning her pet crow named Ollie began to caw and throw a shine.

  ‘Caw, caw, Roberta Martinez,’ he said, ‘evil appears.’ Martinez was Roberta’s maiden name,” said Virgil.

  “Slowly, Boone stood to his feet and looked as the four men rode into their camp. ‘Welcome,’ yelled Boone as the men got down off their horses.

  ‘Hello,’ said Cy.

  “The other men giggled. They all were about half drunk and the smell of cheap whiskey hung about them. Roberta stepped in front of the fire, and the glow of her beauty took the breath of the men. Cy had never seen a woman so beautiful in his life.

  Then J.W. spoke up, ‘Go on, Cy, ask her.’

  ‘Ask me what?’ she replied.

  By now, Cy didn’t care about some stupid old fortune. He was interested in her.

  ‘Ask me what?’ she said again.

  ‘Tell her Cy,’ said Clinton, ‘chicken.’

  Billy Wayne looked hard at him, and then turned to Cy.

  Cy spoke up, ‘The boys and I was wanting our fortune told. They said you could do it, but I say it’s a bunch of bull.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all you want?’ she questioned them. ‘Then after that, you’ll leave?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Cy with a slight giggle.

  Then Ollie cawed and said, ‘Evil approached, caw.’

  ‘Hey, Cy,’ said Billy Wayne, ‘look at that crow. He can talk. How can he do that?’

  ‘They say they split the tongue some way,’ replied Cy.

  ‘The splitting of the tongue releases the spirit of the crow’s heart,’ stated Roberta.

  ‘She’s not only good looking, she’s smart too,’ said Clinton.

  ‘Hush up,’ yelled Cy.

  “Then Boone stepped up and told them it was time for them to go.

  ‘Papa, I’ll take care of it,’ she said.

  ‘Papa,’ laughed Cy and the others. ‘Papa, does she wear the pants in the family?’ spoke up J.W.

  Papa went to reach for his gun when Cy jumped him and took it away from him, pushing Boone back against the wagon. ‘We don’t want no trouble,’ said Cy. ‘We come only to have our fortune told.’

  ‘Caw, caw, caw,’ went Ollie as he nervously moved about his perch.

  ‘Let’s get it done,’ said Roberta, ‘and ya’ll leave us alone.’

  “Gathering around the campfire, they sat down and waited. In a few minutes, Roberta was thrown into a deep trance. Ollie sat quietly on his perch and watched the four men. Boone waited near the wagon. The men didn’t know that Jacqueline was in the wagon, watching them through the cracks.

  “Shortly, Roberta began to utter as a cold chill circled the fire. The men felt it, shivered and began to have second thoughts. In the distance, the wind howled as the full moon hid behind a passing cloud. Roberta opened her eyes and looked at the men with her deep cold dark eyes. Then she spoke. ‘There was a seed that fell between stones that took root. It gave birth to a beautiful flower. As time passed, little to no rain fell and little to no sunlight shone upon it because the taller weeds surrounded it. As the weeds grew, they choked the flower out, but the weeds grew on.’”

  “What did it mean?’” I asked.

  “It was the curse she put on Stoneyhollow and the four men and their ancestors,” said Virg.

  “I never knew exactly what the words of the curse were until now,” I said.

  “How did you know?”

  “You pick up bits and pieces down through the years,” Virg replied. “You did want local information didn’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But you tell it like you were there.”

  “Maybe I was, in a way,” laughed Virg.

  “Come on, Virgil,” I said, “it’s spooky enough as it is.”

  Virgil just laughed, “He—he—he. The parable that she spoke made Cy furious.

  ‘Bull!’ he cried. ‘You’re nothing but a fake.’

  “The others started to laugh and make fun of the gypsy. Cy grabbed Boone and started to dance around the fire with him, while the others grabbed Roberta and held her down and tore off her dress. Cy then slapped Boone and threw him against the wagon. But little did Cy know, Boone had hit his head on the wagon wheel, bringing him to his death. One by one, they toyed with Roberta, having their way, as she fought to get away. But the men were too strong and she was weak. Jacqueline watched from inside the wagon, scared to death. She wanted to help, but she was afraid they would rape and kill her, too. As they had their way with Roberta, Ollie cawed and took flight, attacking the men, trying to drive them away from her.

  ‘Caw—caw—caw-evil men,’ he cried. ‘The eyes belong to me.’

  “Suddenly Cy slapped Ollie out of flight, knocking him to the ground. Quickly he reached for him and picked him up and then rung his neck. He then pitched Ollie’s body down beside Roberta as tears filled her eyes. Then Billy Wayne had his turn with her. Little did the men know that Billy Wayne’s seed would be the seed that would fall between two stones and impregnate her.

  ‘Curse be you all!” she cried, ‘and your town. There will come the time you’ll wish you were never lived.’

  “When she conceived the sky became angry, and the moon appeared to cry. The men laughed at her and kicked her, slapping her around. Suddenly, they heard a roaring sound in the sky; they grabbed their ears. Looking up, they saw the full moon hanging high over some nearby trees. There roosted a covey of crows that took flight and attacked the men. ‘Caw, caw, caw,’ they sounded as hundreds flogged the men. Quickly the men grabbed their horses and fled the camp. As the crows brutally attacked them they plucked J.W.’s eyes out and devoured his face, bringing him to his death. The others escaped into the woods as the crows went back to roost. Roberta crawled over to Boone, but it was too late. Her heart was filled with anger, and she cried out into the night with a haunting cry that the men heard from the distance.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Clinton.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Cy, ‘but let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Wait for me, Cy!’ cried Billy Wayne.

  Jacqueline hurried out of the wagon and ran to her mother in tears.

&nb
sp; ‘Papa is gone,’ cried Roberta. ‘Papa is gone.’

  ‘Oh, Papa,’ cried Jacqueline, ‘why, why?’

  “Legend has it, Benny, that the curse began with Billy Wayne’s seed at 2:00 o’clock in the morning. Roberta and Jacqueline put Boone’s body into the wagon and left that night out of the valley into the hills.

  “J.W.’s body, so they say, there wasn’t much left of him. The townspeople ruled some wild animal attacked and killed him. That night Cy and the others left Stoneyhollow Way and disappeared.

  “Out of the north blew a wind that drove Roberta and Jacqueline high into the mountain where they lodged between two hills of a valley that was long ago forgotten. In the valley, they buried Boone and Ollie and took refuge in a small cave hollowed out of the cliffs. Time passed in the valley. Jacqueline cared for her mother, who was with child.

  “Winter fell hard that year and settled into a long bitter season. You could hear the caw of the crows high above in the trees where they roosted. They watched over Roberta and Jacqueline and brought them food. As the north winds blew the cold bite of winter and heavy snows into the valley, it sometimes made it hard to survive, but the two women were strong and determined not to let it get them down. Their lives were interwoven, bonded together from the attack of the men. There would be no peace till the curse was fulfilled.

  “The longing of spring weighed upon their hearts. As the last signs of winter melted away, the early mountain flowers opened to spring. Finally, the cold bite of winter had passed. The valley had come alive with flowers, budding trees, and a warm stir in the breeze. The air was clean and brisk, filled with the fragrance of wild flowers. The enchanted songs of the birds awakened spring from its sleep.

  “Jacqueline’s spirit had drawn her to the edge of the cliffs that overlooked Stoneyhollow. As she stood that day upon the cliff, a great wind blew, and her hair waved in it. She knew that day that the men would return. From that day onward she waited. The coming of summer saw Roberta’s child delivered with the help of Jacqueline. She bore a son and named him Nicholas. Jacqueline was twelve years old.

  “Time passed and the child grew. Roberta had passed not long after childbirth, leaving Jacqueline to take care of the child. She was no more than a child herself left with a burden and curse that would remain with her till her dying days. Her mother, before she died, told her that she would no longer be called Jacqueline, but Jackel. On her mother’s death bed, she promised her that she would seek revenge on the men, and the curse would be fulfilled.

  “Two years later she stood on the cliff, the wind blowing as it had that first day she stood there. She knew one of them had returned. Not long afterward, Clinton, one of the men, was riding through the woods taking a shortcut back to Stoneyhollow. He became spooked with an awful feeling that someone was following him. Quickly, he looked about, but saw no one.

  “As he went a little further, his heart began to race, and his horse became nervous. Suddenly, across the woods, a shadowy figure crossed the way. Then he saw it again from his side. He couldn’t make it out; it was too fast. Then he heard a crying sound, and, as he looked, he saw a flock of crows nervously flying about, cawing. Then it happened again, and the shadowy figure raced for cover.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted. ‘I’m going to shoot!’

  As he raised his gun to fire, Jackel stepped out from the trees.

  ‘Who are you?’ he yelled.

  She replied, ‘Jackel.’

  “Then all of a sudden the crows took flight, spooking the horse, throwing him off backwards, and breaking his neck. The woods were blanketed with a black maze of crows hovering over Clinton’s body, plucking his eyes out and disfiguring his face. Quickly the crows took flight, and it seemed there were hundreds, darkening the sky. Then they say Jackel went over to his body and reached down and cut off a lock of his hair before leaving for the valley. When she arrived home, she took the hair and laid it upon her mother’s grave.

  “Not far away, Clinton’s horse had stopped running and stood drinking water at Coon’s Creek. A man from town was passing by and took the horse by the reins, hoping he could find the owner. As they entered the woods, the man looked up through the tree tops and noticed a covey of crows flying about and cawing. He was afraid someone may be hurt. The horse led him back into the woods to Clinton’s body. Fear fell over him. He couldn’t believe it; it was horrible. Terrified, he quickly ran back to the creek where he got on his wagon and took off toward town.

  ‘I had never seen anything like it!’ he cried as he told the townspeople what he had seen. They got together and followed him to the place. It was horrible. No one had ever seen anything like it.

  ‘But who was it?’ asked one woman.

  ‘Look at all the crows,’ said the man who found the body. ‘I have never seen so many.’

  Then one man spoke up, ‘It might be Clinton. I saw him ride out yesterday, and he may have been on his way home.’

  A woman cried, ‘Look at his face, what’s left of it!’

  ‘It must have been a wild animal,’ somebody said.

  Another man in the crowd replied, ‘A bear or mountain lion may have done this.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do for him now,’ said another man. ‘Let’s get him back to town.’

  ‘We need to be careful!’ a woman cried. ‘They may attack again.’

  ‘Should we get a hunting party?’ asked one man.

  ‘No,’ said another. ‘I don’t think they will come into town.’

  They carried Clinton’s body back to town. The talk spread like wildfire. People were afraid to go out. Everyone was in before dark, locked down with lights out till morning. Fear had bound up the town.”

  “Do you think, Virg, they realized the curse?”

  “Well,” he replied. “They didn’t say anything about it, then, but I believe the people knew deep inside.”

  “A year passed with no more attacks, and the people of Stoneyhollow Way had put it behind them. The children began to play outdoors once again. The townspeople started taking their leisure walks, and again, the men hunted in the woods.

  “The spirit of Jackel stood upon the cliffs once again, with the taunting of the wind. At that time, Cy and Billy Wayne rode into Stoneyhollow Way. The people watched for they knew Cy was evil in his ways, and wherever he went, trouble followed. He, in return, watched the people, his devilish laugh taunting them into fearing him. He returned because he had heard about Clinton. Cy recalled that night near Coon’s Creek, and what had happened with the gypsy. He also remembered the same thing happened to Clinton that happened to J.W. That was no coincidence; things like that don’t just happen. He thought the gypsy lived somewhere around here, and the only way to put an end to the curse was to kill her and the baby.

  “As they rode up to the hotel, he told Billy, ‘We’ll rest here, make some inquiries, and head out in the morning for the mountains. If she was held up anywhere, that‘s where she would be.’

  “That day darkness fell over Stoneyhollow Way and remained till the town became a ghost town years later. The fear of death haunted it. The people knew something bad was going to happen, but what they did not know. There were rumors in the past of things that had happened, but it was kept hush-hush by the townspeople because of their fear of Cy. The curse they had heard of was never talked about and when they saw Clinton they began to wonder.

  “The day of redemption was soon coming and everyone feared for their life. They quickly took refuge and boarded their windows and doors. Jackel sat upon the cliffs and perched about her were some crows. As she watched, the fear of death hung over the town. She knew it wouldn’t be long now. She would stand before the devil himself, Cy.

  “That night the crows attacked the town. The townspeople could hear the crows outside trying to get in, flying, flocking, and cawing. As the wind raped the town with dust and rain, you could he
ar the crying of a child screaming in the night. Cy and Billy Wayne lay in bed, listening to the cry of the child. Cy, with his stone face and deep set eyes, never said a word. His heart was hard and his soul was bitter as he awaited sunrise.

  “Billy, who was childlike, looked up to his big brother. He loved Cy and Cy loved him more than anything. Cy had practically raised him after their parents died; all they had was each other. Cy and Billy waited. It wasn’t long till the sunlight crept through the boarded windows of the town.

  “That morning as the people rose and began to stir, they stepped outside. Everything was quiet, only the wind stirred. There were hundreds and hundreds of dead crows lying on the ground, on porches, roofs, and sidewalks. Hundreds of them were dead and their blood was on everything: walls, roofs, windows, and doors. The people didn’t know what to make of it. It looked like the crows had committed suicide. The street was covered in the crows’ blood.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ said one townsperson.

  ‘Well, we can’t leave them here,’ said another. ‘We have to take them outside of town and burn them.’

  “About then, Cy and Billy Wayne walked out of the hotel. The town watched. As Cy walked, he stepped on the birds and mashed them into the ground. Billy reached to pick one up but Cy slapped it out of his hand.

  ‘No,’ he cried. ‘Come on, Billy.’

  “Everyone pitched in, moving the crows as the two men rode out. As Jackel watched, she saw two riders headed for the foothills. She knew it must be Cy. As she watched from the cliffs, she saw a heavy black smoke coming up outside of town. She knew they were burning the dead crows.

  “Cy knew he was being watched. He kept both eyes sharp and his ears keen. Soon it would all come to a head and they both knew that. Only one would walk away when it was finished.

  “As he started up into the mountain, he stopped off at a small patch of sagebrush. There they rested a few minutes and Cy rolled up a cigarette. Suddenly he heard an ungodly scream that sent chills down his spine. Then out flew a covey of crows into the air. He reached for his gun and began to shoot. Three or four birds fell to the ground. He told Billy to stay put till he got back. Quickly, he mounted his horse and headed up the mountain slope. Jackel slowly rose up out of the sagebrush. But in the excitement Cy had dropped his cigarette on the ground. As the wind began to stir, the fire quickly spread. In a matter of minutes, Billy Wayne was circled by high flames and fire. Scared, he began to cry for Cy, but the crows had attacked him, knocking him off his horse.

  ‘Billy, Billy!’ he cried.

  “The crows fought him, holding him back from reaching Billy. Soon the fire had engulfed the field and there was nothing left but Billy’s charred body. As Jackel stepped up to Billy’s body, she cut a piece of his singed hair. The crows began to fly in and eat on the body.

  “By then, Cy had gotten away and was running toward the field, but when he got there he saw what was left of Billy. He fell beside the body and screamed out and cussed. The townspeople could see the smoke from the foothills, and they figured it was Cy and Billy Wayne. As the smoke slowly cleared away, they saw a few crows flying above.

  “Then Cy rose from his brother’s body, and he looked about. High up toward the mountain, he saw a girl standing on the cliff. He called out and cussed her and her child and vowed he would revenge his brother’s death, if it killed him. As he started up the mountain slope, Jackel went to her mother’s grave and placed the swigs of Billy’s hair upon her grave. Then she waited for Cy to arrive.

  “Hours later Cy made it up into the valley. When he arrived, he carefully looked around. He saw no one. As he walked, he came upon the graves of Boone, Roberta, and Ollie. He turned about and thought, if she’s dead then who was it I saw up on the cliff? Then Jackel stepped out.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Jackel,’ she said. ‘I was hidden in the wagon that night. I am Roberta and Boone’s daughter.’

  ‘I knew I should have checked the wagon,’ he said. ‘But it’s too late now.’

  “As he reached for his gun, out of the trees flew a covey of crows, attacking him. He took off running and the crows drove him toward the cliffs. As he reached up to grab some vines to hold onto, he lost his balance. He went head first over the cliffs, hanging himself with the vines around his neck. The crows moved in and covered his face. Jackel climbed down and took a piece of his hair and placed it upon her mother’s grave.

  “The sky turned black then, as the thunder roared. It began to rain. Jackel took refuge in the cave with Nicholas. The body of Cy hung from the cliffs, and the cry of the crows haunted the valley and the people of Stoneyhollow Way. The townspeople knew something bad had happened.”

  “Virgil, I have never heard the story quite that way. You make it sound so real, like you were there.”

  Virgil laughed, “I’ve been around all right,” he said, “and seen a lot of things. My mother told me a lot about what she knew. But she’s gone now.”

  “What happened to the town?” I asked.

  “The legend went on to say that after Cy’s death the burden was lifted from Jackel.The town was dying. A few years later some of the townspeople came down sick with a mysterious disease. People were dying and no one could figure out a cure. The disease had become an epidemic. Doctors from all around came to help. They quarantined the town; no one could get in and no one could leave.

  “The disease was later called the crow’s disease. They believed that when the crows attacked the town, they spread a virus through the people’s blood. The virus came from a rare blood disorder where the blood wouldn’t clot. The white blood cells would neutralize, causing it to stop fighting diseases. The blood becomes so thin, causing the organs to bleed from the inside out, and causing death. Finally, the town literally died out, except for a few people who made it somehow.

  “But stranger than that,” said Virgil. “Stories are told, mainly folklore, that years ago back in 1934-38, the town had come back alive through the children of the old town. During that time they say there were four women raped, and all bore children. The townspeople believed it was the son of Billy Wayne who had came back to avenge his family. But it was never proven. They say each victim was a descendent of the four men who raped Roberta.”

  “You have to be kidding!” I cried. “This is great! I have never heard this before. What happened after that? Did all the townspeople die?”

  “You can say that,” replied Virgil. “It was bad, real bad, they say. There’s not many who know that part. It was said that the blood of Nicholas, Billy Wayne’s son, was placed into the women and their children during the rape. But the question was if the disease spread on with their four children.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Did it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Virgil. “Who would be living to tell? Only Nicholas, who had some of his mother’s blood mixed in with his that he might live on. Things do happen.”

  “What about Jackel?” I asked.

  “Jackel and Nicholas remained in the valley for the rest of her life. The years ahead, 1903-1934, were called the years of silence. During that time, Nicholas grew up and Jackel grew old. He had adopted Jackel as his mother and a sister. Nicholas grew to be a man; Jackel grew old and feeble. She died in 1939 at the age of sixty-nine, leaving Nicholas alone. He buried her with the rest of the family and remained in the valley till 1943 when a bad drought killed all the trees and turned the valley barren. After that, he disappeared, and no one has seen him since. There’s an old folktale of a light seen in the mountain at night from Stoneyhollow, near the cliffs. The townspeople say it’s Nicholas looking, visiting the family that he so loved. Coon and fox hunters have told tales they have seen the light late at night and they say also you can hear him crying like the crows. Till this day they say it’s haunted the valley and Stoneyhollow Way.”

  “Do yo
u have any family still around, Virgil?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t,” he replied. “I am the last of mine. Mama and daddy are gone and my sister, too. It won’t be long till I’ll be gone. But you know, I’m glad my mother’s side of the caw of the crows will be told through your paper. Maybe you’ll do good on it.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I’ve got some great material this time.”

  “Hey, sport, what about taking one more shot with the sling shot, for old times’ sake?”

  “Sure, Virgil.”

  “You see that old fruit jar across the creek on the bank?” Virgil said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I see it.”

  Carefully, I aimed, pulled back, held, then released.

  “Not bad,” said Virgil.

  “But I missed,” I said.

  “But you were close and sometimes that says a lot,” chuckled Virgil, “he-he-he.”

  I told Virgil goodbye and thanked him for all his help. “I’ll bring you a copy when I get done,” I called out from the road.

  “You do that!” cried Virgil. “Good luck.”

  Virgil told me how to get back on the right road to get home. While on my way, I went over and over the story he had told me. The facts were so clear, and the story was so original. I was sure to get a good grade and I owed it all to Virgil. As I drove along, I picked up the slingshot he had given me. I was admiring his craftsmanship when I noticed some lettering under the edge of the tape. I quickly pulled over to the side of the road. Then I pulled off the tape from around the handle of the slingshot. There I found carved in the handle the name Nick Martinez. My smile quickly left my face as a chill ran up my spine. “Nick Martinez,” I whispered; could it be? Then suddenly I heard a thump on the hood of the car. Quickly, I looked about to see a crow standing there—caw—caw—caw, sounded the crow. Then it sounded like,he said, “Roberta says hi.” As the crow took flight, I threw my car in gear, and as I left, there was nothing but a rolling cloud of dust left behind.

  Weeping Waters