Book Description:
When the ghost of Jake Calhouns
grandmother delivers a cryptic message to
him, he's drawn back to the mountains of
southern West Virginia, where he finds himself on a collision course with the
consequences of his past, the strained family ties that drove him to run, and the
woman he left behind.
Though he longs to return to the life he's made for himself in the city, a string of
deaths forces him to decide who he will be, where he belongs, and how he will
stop whoever is killing those closest to him.
Excerpt
"You all right, Buck?" He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of my
weight than I intended.
"Yeah," I lied. "Bit of a headache." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I need to check on
something. Be right in."
"Sure you're gonna be all right?" Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again.
“I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the pain
I knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again.
The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottoman
which could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it made
finding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. There
was no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn't ready to accept that it had. It
was bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn't want to consider what it would mean if
the thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel.
"Lose something?" Bonnie asked from the doorway.
Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain.
"Hello, Bonnie."
She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a pained
smile on her lips. "That the best you have for me?"
There were people in this town I didn't care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn't one of
them. She'd done nothing but love me.
I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, "Well if it isn't
Bonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?"
"Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.
Of Women Wronged: Hillbilly Hauntings
The days grow shorter, the air turns crisp, and something deep within us all knows
that the world is changing. Halloween draws near and with it a thinning of the
Curtain this world from the next, allowing haints – restless spirits – to slip closer
by than they were on brighter days.
No part of the world is without tales of restless spirits; stories of the sorrow, anger,
or injustice endured by the living. In Japan they tell of the onryō, wrathful spirits
devoted to revenge against the living. In Mexico, they talk of La Llorona, who
wander the water’s edge, mourning the loss of their children. Across Europe they
speak of the White Lady, symbols of betrayal and life cut short. When it comes to
tales of lost love and betrayal, my beloved West Virginia isn’t without a tale or two
of its own.
We tell the tales of Zona Heaster Shue, Screaming Jenny, the Weeping Woman of
Sweet Springs, Kate Carpenter, and our own White Lady of Flat Top Manor. Each
a spirit bound by sorrow, betrayal, or unfinished business. Let’s take a moment and
remember each, but take care, it’s said that people die twice, once when their heart
beats its last, and again when someone speaks their name for the final time.
In Greenbrier County they tell the tale of Zona Heaster Shue who - in 1897 - was
found dead under questionable circumstances. Her husband, Erasmus, was quick to
claim she had died peacefully. Zona’s mother wasn’t having it. She claimed that
Zona's ghost began to visit her in the dead of night, accusing Erasmus of murdering
her by snapping her neck. Confronted with the charges, a local judge ordered
Zona’s body exhumed, and the evidence of Erasmus’ guilt was revealed. Erasmus
was convicted of the crime, but Zona’s spirit still didn’t rest. She is said to haunt
Greenbrier County still, a chilling reminder that justice isn’t bound by the grave.
In Jefferson County we find a different sort of tale. There, when wind moans
through the trees and the moon lights the ground just so, it’s said that you can hear
the pain filled screams of a woman long dead. Screaming Jenny, a local woman
who died in pain and terror. It was a cold night in autumn when Jenny, poor and
living in an abandoned railroad shack, tried to warm herself by a fire. Somehow,
her clothes were set ablaze and, in her panic, she ran screaming and blind in search
of relief. She ran right onto the railroad tracks and into the path of an oncoming
train. Locals maintain that now and then the figure of Screaming Jenny - still
engulfed in flames – can be seen running through the night. Her ghostly shrieks a
reminder of her final, desperate moments.
From the tranquil beauty of Monroe County comes a tale of another ghostly
presence born of sorrow and despair. Known as the Weeping Woman of Sweet
Springs, it’s said that she was a bride abandoned at the altar or perhaps a grieving
mother who lost her child. Whatever the case, the young woman fell beneath the
weight of her broken heart, and cast herself into the spring where she drowned. But
she wouldn’t have a place on our list if that was the end for her. It’s said that she
still wanders, a ghostly figure draped in a flowing white gown, her soft sobbing
proof that some heartache is too deep to fade, even in death.
From Mercer County and the grounds of an old plantation known as Flat Top
Manor comes the tale of the White Lady of Flat Top Manor, a restless spirit whose
tragic story is tangled in the past. Some say she was the young bride of the manor’s
original owner; others maintain that she was a servant who died at her master’s
hand. In either case, it is agreed by those who believe, that her life was cut short by
violence. Witnesses maintain that the air goes frigid long before her shadowy
figure - fleeting and ethereal – is seen gliding through the manor's hallways or
lingering at the edge of the woods. The truth of it is left to you, but the accounts of
witnesses and investigators alike have gone a long way to make Flat Top Manor's
reputation as one of the most haunted locations in the State.
Silent and still, the Greenbrier River flows through Summers County like an
apparition itself. It’s a peaceful scene as beautiful as any faery tale picture, but its
waters gave birth to a tale of lost love and lingering sorrow. Kate Carpenter was a
young woman deeply in love with the wrong man. Her family opposed her choice
of suitor and refused her their blessing. Unwilling to either set aside her love or go
against her kin, Kate threw herself into the river and drowned the dark, icy waters.
But as is the case in these tales, neither the depths of the river nor the touch of
death could quiet Kate’s restless spirit. She lingers near the place where she left
this world, a spectral form barely visible on misty mornings walking the
riverbanks. For Kate, death was better than the absence of the man she loved.
This Halloween, when autumn leaves rustle in a cold wind, remember the story of
these women as you sip your pumpkin-spiced drink. Their stories are the echoes of
unimaginable loss and suffering, and they leave us to wonder—what would we do
if faced with such sorrow? Would we find peace, or would our spirits, too, be
bound to the places where our hearts were broken? But let’s remember as well that
these spirits weren’t content to shuffle off the mortal coil the first time. Speaking
their names again – breathing life into their memory - might be enough to remind
them what binds them to this world.
The Haunted World of West Virginia’s Grannies
West Virginia, the place generations of my people have called home. Wild,
wonderful, and possessed of an undeniable beauty. But sometimes... the place just
ain't right.
Maybe it's the narrow roads snaking through claustrophobic forests. Maybe it's the
looming presence of the mountains, equal parts shelter, and constraint. Or maybe
it’s the tight-lipped locals, wary of strangers and burdened by the weight of tales
passed down since before their kin left the Old Country. Whispered stories that tell
of all manner of...other. Either way, it's hard to shake the feeling that my beloved
mountains are hiding secrets best left alone. That's the world that birthed the
Granny, or white witch; wise women, workers of poultices, charms, and yes - when
called for - curses. And it is the Granny that inspired my Coal Mountain series.
Only seems right to share a bit about them with you.
The origins of the Granny lie in the isolation and desperation of mountain life, in a
time and place far removed from modern medicine when the nearest doctor could
be a day or more away. When folks there got sick, they turned to the Grannies,
whose reputations were rooted in their understanding of herbalism and the
preparation of natural remedies; the ability to “stir a boil” and make a sick child
well. It was a short hop from a tea to cure a fever to a poultice to catch the eye of
the one you loved. And when the shadows grew long and the veil between worlds
thinned - as it’s said happens each Halloween - it's no surprise that folks turned to
the Grannies again, this time to keep that darkness at bay.
To their communities, the Grannies were keepers of ancient knowledge passed
down through generations; both revered and feared for the knowledge they
possessed. Their practices were a New World blend of Celtic, Native American,
Germanic, and African traditions, all interwoven with a dose of Christian beliefs
and survive still among the region's followers of Celtic Christianity.
Grannies - including my own - professed the ability to craft powerful charms and
perform rituals that could protect against the things unseen that haunted the West
Virginia wilderness. They were known to craft hex signs – a practice drawn from
Germanic and Pennsylvania Dutch traditions – and utilized these colorful symbols
to guard a place from evils known and unknown. While many of these wards were
small works of art, some were simplicity incarnate. Among the latter was the
simple use of "haint blue," a soft, bluish-green color often seen on doorways,
windowsills, and even porch ceilings. Tradition maintained that "haints" - or
restless spirits – were unable to cross water. The color - mimicking water as it does
– was thought to create a protective barrier at doors and windows.
And then there were the curses—dark incantations spoken in secret, sometimes to
seek justice, other times to exact revenge. While not every Granny dabbled in
curses, there is no shortage of tales telling if a wronged woman who sought out a
Granny to set things right. As a teenager, I heard firsthand the tales of dead
livestock, blighted crops, or families plagued by mysterious illnesses after
someone crossed a Granny. It was plume foolish to doubt ht. It was the certainty of
the belief in the power of a Granny’s curse that led them to be treated with a blend
of respect and caution. Their power both admired and approached with
trepidation.
The folks of southern West Virginia being of primarily Scots and Irish decent, it
shouldn’t be a surprise that Halloween, or Samhain as it was once known, was a
time of great significance for the Grannies of the region. Folks had no doubt that
on that night the boundary between the living and the dead was at its weakest;
spirits walked freely among the living. So, the living turned to the Grannies as
gatekeepers, looking to them to perform ancient rituals – often Christian and pagan
in equal measure – to honor the dead, protect the living, and keep the darkest of
forces at bay. Bonfires – with deep roots in Celtic tradition - played a role in these
ceremonies. The Grannies would gather their communities around these fires,
where they burnt sage, rosemary, and other herbs believed to cleanse the area of
evil spirits.
The legacy of the Grannies remains tightly woven into the fabric of mountain
folklore, contributing to an all too familiar sense of unease that hangs about the
darkest corners, especially at Halloween. While many in the Mountain State have
forgotten the truth of their own stories, you can count on Halloween to breathe new
life in old tales, filled with strange occurrences, eerie encounters, and supernatural
events that defy explanation. And you can find signs of the past without looking to
hard. Children carve pumpkins having no knowledge that they are practicing an
ancient ritual meant to ward off evil. Candles burn in darkened windows absent
even the most distant remembrance of nights when they were lit to guide the
ancestors home on Halloween night.
As Halloween approaches and the nights grow longer, folks in my neck of the
woods aren’t strained by the idea that the world of the Grannies remains. The
world of the Grannies – that blend of ancient wisdom and supernatural wonder –
hasn't faded with time. No, it’ll never be truly lost. It floats through the hollers like
a whisper on the wind. It’s etched into the stone of the mountains themselves. So,
when the wind carries a distant howl to your ears, or the moon casts grasping
shadows across the ground, and you sense something off in the world... remember
that the ancient magic of the Grannies remains, just out of sight, but still in reach.
About the Author:
As a kid in elementary school, Edward Rollins hated
to read. Hated it…
Then his grandfather, who knew Edward loved the
Adam West "Batman" series, introduced him to
Batman comic books, the rest is nerd history. From
those early comics he went on to consume a steady
diet of books from fantasy to science fiction.
Eventually, he found a little game called Dungeons
and Dragons and a lifetime of telling stories was born.
He’s been a sailor, a soldier, a pastor, an engineer and a college professor;
sometimes all at once. Mostly, he hopes to know what he wants to be when he
grows up. Assuming he agrees to grow up…
A writer since college, he has published a handful of short stories and gaming
industry pieces over the years. "The Witch's Debt" is his first attempt at writing
“something of his own”.
Edward has lectured in convention and collegiate circles on the topics of gaming
simulations, fantasy world building and theology in fantasy settings. He is a fan of
1920s pulp and science fiction as well as the 1950s aesthetics of Raygun Gothic
and Atom-Punk.
While he lives in central Ohio with his wife and two incredible young adults – all
three of which make him proud -- his heart will always be in West Virginia.
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