Hello and welcome to this week’s stories of Hometown Haunts. I hope you all are well and doing what you can to stay positive in these harsh times. It’s wild out right now. If there’s one bright spot I find, it’s talking to people and hearing their stories. I love them! While on vacation these past two weeks, a friend reminded me of an encounter she had in the valley of our hometown. It happened close to where my novel, Deep in the Hollow, takes place. We also talked about my experience at The Myrtle’s Plantation three years ago. We talked for hours about our experience and I knew I had to share them with you guys! It’s fun and a bit spine chilling to relive these memories. I’m all the livelier to share them with you!
Hidden Eyes: It was late summer, early fall, when the nights come early but not so early your inside before dinner. My husband and I decided to take our son creek fishing for the evening. It was one of our favorite things to do when we have time. The creek is nestled deep in a hollow between two mountains. There is said to be an old Indian burial ground somewhere along the creek. We’d been fishing for a few hours and decided to pack up and head home when this sick feeling filled my stomach. I felt like I was being watched, but by someone who wanted to harm me. I told my husband and we looked around and were vigilant while we finished packing our gear. I was sure my son, who was seven at the time, didn’t hear me. I told him to get in the vehicle while we put the poles and chairs in the back. He was safe inside but then started screaming at the top of his lungs. We’d taken the top off our Jeep that day, so he was fully exposed and staring with watery eyes into the woods. That’s when I saw a white shadow figure in the corner of my eye. He was across the creek but when I turned to give him my full attention, he was gone. Though I couldn’t see him, I could still feel his eyes on us. We hurried into the Jeep and my son climb into my lap. He wrapped his arms around my neck, sobbing, and refused to let go. We were about fifteen miles from the main road, so the twenty/thirty-minute drive was tense. My son refused to let go of me. The second, and I mean very second, we hit pavement he stopped. It was as if the incident never happened. He let go of my neck, put on his seat belt, and started singing along with the radio. I looked at my husband in shock and could see his own disbelief. My son never mentioned it again. My husband and I have often talked about it and have only visited the creek there once without our son. Nothing strange happened, but the memory of that night still lingers. Moral of the story, always listen to your gut and don’t get a wild hair to explore. Tuck tail and get your ass to safety. - J
Shadows in the Window: A few years ago, my husband was working in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I went down for a week visit and while there, we discovered The Myrtle Plantation. The sad story behind this haunted house pulled at my heart strings and I just had to see it. We also discovered you could stay for night visits. Yeah, that was happening too. My husband, being the supportive trooper that he is, agreed. On Friday night, we arrived around six o’clock for the last tour and dinner. We were showed to our rooms and told where we could go and couldn’t. It was a quiet night and we both were able to get some much-wanted reading done. I, of course being me, listened and questioned every creak to which my husband said, “You’re not going to experience anything real because you’re chasing the simple everyday things.” Point taken. I relaxed and eventually fell asleep with nothing rousing me in fright. It was a little disappointing but amazing at the same time. Never would I have thought I would get a chance to sleep in a plantation house. As we were leaving the next morning, I walked out front to get one final parting picture. That night, back in our room, I was going through those pictures and admiring the memories. My husband was the one to find a picture that left me gasping.
Was the servant saying goodbye? Was she letting me know she was there all along? OH MY GOSH WHAT IS WITH US ALL THE TIME AND WE DON’T EVEN KNOW IT! Chiiiilllllssss! Moral of the story, chase those stories and have fun along the way. It’s where the memories are made. Lots of haunting love, Brandy. For more on the Myrtle Plantation story you can visit www.myrtlesplantation.com/
Thanks, J, for these haunting memories. They will forever be cherished. Have a Hometown Haunt story to tell? Get them told and shared by emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org I can't wait to read your spine chilling stories!