An old Irish folk tale goes something like this:
Once upon a time there was a boy named Jack. He was the meanest boy in the village. He lied, cheated and was a known thief. As mean as he was, he was known far and wide for his wit and clever trickery.
One day when Jack was walking down the path through the woods (most likely up to something) he ran into the devil. The devil told him he had come to claim his soul.
Jack said, “Okay, I will go with you, if you can prove you are who you say you are.”
Then Jack quickly pulled out a little wooden box from his pocket. “If you are really the devil then you should be able to make yourself small enough to fit into this box.”
The devil hesitated. So Jack, laughed, “Just like I thought—you are not the devil,at all,” Jack said, and started on down the path.
But the devil called him back, “Very well, I accept your challenge. Set the box down on the ground and watch!”
In a cloud of red smoke the devil disappeared. Jack sprang onto the box, closed the lid and locked it with a key. The box began to rock and tumble, but the devil was trapped inside. “Now, I will bury you deep in a hole where you will never be able to bother me again,” Jack said.
“The devil cursed and cried out to Jack. “Oh, but the box will rot and I will be set free and then the first thing I will do is come for you!”
Jack scratched his head pondering on how many years it might take for the box to rot. If there was a lot of rain or snow, it might not be so very long.
“Alright Devil,” Jack said. “I will make a deal with you. If you agree to never claim my soul. I will set you free.” The devil agreed and the deal was bound. Jack went about his way for many years doing the things a mean boy does.
Then one day when Jack was old and gray, death claimed him. Heaven would not let him in and according to the bargain the devil could not accept him either.
So since that day, Jack has roamed the earth.
Now as you know, Halloween night is the thinnest night of the year. There are many holes which the supernatural and spirits can pass through to the material world.
What if the devil came calling at your door? He would be sure to turn away if he saw Jack was already there. He would never want to be tricked again.
So, if you don’t want the devil at your door, best carve a likeness of Jack on your pumpkin and set it on your porch!
Eerie Story: Today we were up in the NC mountains looking for a story and we got more than our money’s worth.
It was a cool morning and we were heading out to locate the spot known for the ‘Brown Mountain Lights’ for future reference.
On the road we stopped to admire an old farm house and take a few photos of the house and the horses. I could not resist petting the horses, but was soon distracted by a truck pulling up behind me. I turned to see my friend Debbie was already engaged in conversation with the old man in the truck.
Seeing this has a chance to learn the history of the old farm house I quickly abandoned the horses and joined her.
The man said his name was Tony Wilson, but that was not his real name, he changed his name when he moved to the mountains some 50 years ago. He said his real name quickly, it was Italian, but he refused to repeat it or spell it. Strange- what was he hiding from way up here in these hills?
I asked him about the house and learned it had been moved to that spot by horses and wagons in 1910. It was built for the Hamptons, who owned the funeral home.
Interesting enough, but when Deb asked if he had any problems with bears that is when it really got interesting.
The old man squinted his eyes and whispered, “Not bears, but the ‘killer’ is what worries me. I never go out of my house without my 224 or my shot gun.”
Deb and I looked at each other and then we encouraged him to tell us more. He told us that about a year ago, around 7:30 in the morning he was on his way to the barn, when he spied the ‘Killer’ in a low creeping position stalking 5 of his horse.
The ‘Killer’ according to him, was broad through the shoulders and chest, but narrow and lean toward his hunched up backside. He had long wiry black hair dusted with white spots. He reported the creature was at least 6 foot long with a long powerful tail.
He said it was obvious the ‘Killer’ was an experienced hunter, hungry and prepared to make a meal on at least one of his horses. In desperation the old man begun to shout at the creature and it raised its ugly head given him only a brief look before it ran off into the woods.
I asked him if he thought that the creature might be the illusive black panther or painter told about in mountain lure. He denied that it had any resemblance to a cat, nor to a man.
Since that time people on the mountain have reported domestic animals missing, and finding half-eaten carcass of horses, cattle and deer.
True or False, I will not be camping on Brown Mountain. Oh, by the way he said the little dog’s name was Satan.