For two years, when I was 5 and 6 years old, the Johnson's lived a few hundred yards across a big field from us. Mr. Johnson's name was Lutie, I thought that was an odd name, and he was a small man, not much over 5 feet tall if that much. His wife was at least a foot taller, weighed at least twice what Lutie did, always had her hair pulled back in a ball and always had thick stockings rolled down to her ankles. Looking back, it seems to have been common for small or skinny men in the Pine Grove community to marry big women.
In the winter, and after the crops were laid by in summer, Lutie and his wife would walk across the field a couple of nights a week to talk to my parents. That was before anyone around there had tv's, most didn't have radios and few even had electricity, so visiting and talking was a common occurence. The topics were always the same--how the crops were doing, how many hogs would be killed, weather and other things common to farming--but Mr. Johnson would always get around to telling ghost stories before they left. Ghosts, goblins and other assorted monsters--commonly called boogers by country folks around here back then--were very real to 6 year olds and one story he told several times always scared the bajeebus out of me. Here's the story, in short form and without the embellishments Mr. Johnson always added.
In Tishomingo county, near where Mr. Johnson grew up, there was a cemetery with a huge oak tree near the fence that had several big limbs that had grown out over the road. In the early 1880's a drifter robbed a local man and in the process shot and killed him. A posse was formed, the robber was hunted down, caught and was hung on the tree at the cemetery on one of the limbs that grew over the road. He was captured late in the day and just as it was getting dusky dark he was hung. He was put on a horse, a rope was thrown over the limb and put around his neck and one of the posse members struck the horse with a stick. The horse ran out from under the guy but his foot hung, either in a stirrup or on the saddle, and his head was pulled off. The drifter and his head were burried but that wasn't the end of it.
Two weeks after the hanging one of the locals was riding by the cemetery right at dusk and a man with no head dropped down from the tree onto his horse behind him. The horse bolted, threw the local off and disappeared into the growing darkness with the headless man still on it. A few days later the headless man dropped down from the tree into a buggy with a man and his wife, also right at dusk. After a few more reports of the same thing happening the local folks stopped going by the cemetery from dusk until daylight. The few that did go by, all the way up until about 1920 when the tree was struck by lightening and cut down, reported seeing the headless man.
The other ghost stories he told never bothered me, but that one did. In my mind I could see the headless man chasing me, I was running and every time I looked back he was closer. When I was put in bed and the kerosene lamps blown out the headless man was right there with me. I would scrunch down in the bed, pull the cover over my head and was afraid to go to sleep. In the summer that was hot, but as long as my head was under the covers he couldn't get me. I had several "nightmare" dreams in which the headless man was chasing me and woke my parents yelling and screaming. Eventually I stopped having the dreams and forgot about it but when it was happening it was as real as anything could be, at least it was in the mind of a 6 year old. I hadn't thought about that in years but one of my co-workers told a story about his grandfather at work today that brought it back. Wonder if covering my head up will still keep the "boogers" away?
In the winter, and after the crops were laid by in summer, Lutie and his wife would walk across the field a couple of nights a week to talk to my parents. That was before anyone around there had tv's, most didn't have radios and few even had electricity, so visiting and talking was a common occurence. The topics were always the same--how the crops were doing, how many hogs would be killed, weather and other things common to farming--but Mr. Johnson would always get around to telling ghost stories before they left. Ghosts, goblins and other assorted monsters--commonly called boogers by country folks around here back then--were very real to 6 year olds and one story he told several times always scared the bajeebus out of me. Here's the story, in short form and without the embellishments Mr. Johnson always added.
In Tishomingo county, near where Mr. Johnson grew up, there was a cemetery with a huge oak tree near the fence that had several big limbs that had grown out over the road. In the early 1880's a drifter robbed a local man and in the process shot and killed him. A posse was formed, the robber was hunted down, caught and was hung on the tree at the cemetery on one of the limbs that grew over the road. He was captured late in the day and just as it was getting dusky dark he was hung. He was put on a horse, a rope was thrown over the limb and put around his neck and one of the posse members struck the horse with a stick. The horse ran out from under the guy but his foot hung, either in a stirrup or on the saddle, and his head was pulled off. The drifter and his head were burried but that wasn't the end of it.
Two weeks after the hanging one of the locals was riding by the cemetery right at dusk and a man with no head dropped down from the tree onto his horse behind him. The horse bolted, threw the local off and disappeared into the growing darkness with the headless man still on it. A few days later the headless man dropped down from the tree into a buggy with a man and his wife, also right at dusk. After a few more reports of the same thing happening the local folks stopped going by the cemetery from dusk until daylight. The few that did go by, all the way up until about 1920 when the tree was struck by lightening and cut down, reported seeing the headless man.
The other ghost stories he told never bothered me, but that one did. In my mind I could see the headless man chasing me, I was running and every time I looked back he was closer. When I was put in bed and the kerosene lamps blown out the headless man was right there with me. I would scrunch down in the bed, pull the cover over my head and was afraid to go to sleep. In the summer that was hot, but as long as my head was under the covers he couldn't get me. I had several "nightmare" dreams in which the headless man was chasing me and woke my parents yelling and screaming. Eventually I stopped having the dreams and forgot about it but when it was happening it was as real as anything could be, at least it was in the mind of a 6 year old. I hadn't thought about that in years but one of my co-workers told a story about his grandfather at work today that brought it back. Wonder if covering my head up will still keep the "boogers" away?
